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Title: Noble Deeds of American Women - With Biographical Sketches of Some of the More Prominent
Author: Clement, J. (Jesse) [Editor]
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Noble Deeds of American Women - With Biographical Sketches of Some of the More Prominent" ***

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Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.

      The carat character (^) in Eng^d indicates that the following
      letter ("d") is superscripted.

  [Illustration: Eng^d by J.C. Buttre.





With Biographical Sketches of Some of the More Prominent.

Edited by


With an introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney.

   Such examples should be set before them as patterns for their daily


New Edition Revised.

New York:
Miller, Orton & Co.,

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
Geo. H. Derby & Co.,
In the Clerk's Office of the Northern District of New York.

Editor's Preface.

This work was suggested by one of a similar character, entitled "Noble
Deeds of Woman," an English work, which contains but three references to
American Women, two of which are of but very little importance. Only one
article is the same in both works, and that is the letter written by
Mrs. Sigourney to the women of Greece, in 1828, in behalf of the ladies
of Hartford.

This failure to do justice to American women, may have been an
oversight; be that as it may, a work of the kind here presented, seemed
to be needed, and we regret that its preparation had not been assigned
to an abler pen. Multitudes of works have been consulted, and such
anecdotes gleaned as it is thought will have a salutary influence on
the mind and heart. Should the records of female courage and virtue
herein presented to the daughters of the land, encourage, even in the
slightest degree, a laudable spirit of emulation, our humble labors will
not have been put forth in vain.

Facts are more sublime than fictions; and American women have actually
performed all the good, and grand, and glorious deeds which the honest
and judicious novelist dares ascribe to the female sex; hence we have
found no occasion, in striving to make this work interesting, to deviate
from the path of historical truth.

The sources whence our materials have been derived, are largely
indicated in the body of the work. Possibly, however, we may have
failed, in some instances, to indicate our indebtedness to historians
and biographers where such reference was justly demanded; suffice it to
say, therefore, once for all, that, although something like two hundred
of these pages are in our own language, we deserve but little credit for
originality, and would prefer to be regarded as an unpretending
compiler, rather than as an aspirant to the title of author.

                                                            J. C.


     The fact that eight thousand copies of this work have been
     published in less than a year after its appearance, indicates a
     degree of popularity which was not anticipated. In this edition we
     have thrown out a few pages of the old matter, and substituted, in
     most instances, fresher anecdotes; and this revision, with the
     illustrations which the liberal-minded publishers have added, will,
     it is hoped, render the work still more acceptable.

                                                            J. C.



  INTRODUCTION                                 13

  Mother of Washington                         25

  Wife of Washington                           33

  Wife of John Adams                           39

  Ann H. Judson                                52

  A Christian Woman in the Hour of Danger      66

  Humanity of Hartford Ladies                  69

  Mother Bailey                                73

  Elizabeth Heard                              76

  Ladies of Philadelphia in 1780               78

  Wife of President Reed                       80

  Completion of Bunker Hill Monument           85

  Lydia Darrah                                 89

  Widow Storey                                 93

  Mrs. Hendee                                  95

  Patriotic Women of Old Middlesex             97

  The Cacique's Noble Daughter                 99

  Humane Spirit of a Forest Maid              104

  Hannah Dustin                               108

  The Heroines of Bryant's Station            111

  Mrs. Daviess                                114

  A Kentucky Amazon                           118

  Heroism at Innis Settlement                 120

  Bold Exploit at Tampico                     124

  Dicey Langston                              125

  Rebecca Motte                               129

  Another Sacrifice for Freedom               132

  A Patriotic Donation                        133

  The Little Black-eyed Rebel                 134

  The Benevolent Quakeress                    136

  A Pioneer in Sunday Schools                 140

  The Women of Wyoming                        142

  Mary Gould                                  143

  The Mother of President Polk                145

  Trials of a Patriot                         146

  Intrepidity of Mrs. Israel                  164

  Incident in Missionary Life                 166

  A Kind-hearted Chippewa                     169

  Humanity of a Cherokee                      170

  Self-sacrificing Spirit of the Missionary   171

  Daring Exploit of Two Rebels                176

  Elizabeth Martin                            178

  The Mother's Effectual Petition             180

  Noteworthy Integrity                        182

  A Faithful Mother                           184

  Mrs. Spaulding                              186

  Wife of Colonel Thomas                      188

  Exemplary Piety                             190

  Adventure of a Patriotic Girl               192

  Mrs. Caldwell and the Tories                195

  Mother of Randolph                          198

  Cornelia Beekman                            199

  Mother of West                              202

  Heroic Endurance                            204

  Maternal Heroism                            211

  A Modern Dorcas                             213

  Sarah Hoffman                               218

  Heroism of Schoharie Women                  221

  A Sterling Patriot                          223

  Heroic Conduct at Monmouth                  237

  Courage of a Country Girl                   239

  The Ledyards at Fort Griswold               241

  Seneca Heroines                             244

  Martha Bratton                              246

  A Poor Woman's Offering                     250

  Mother of Jackson                           251

  Heroine of Fort Henry                       253

  A Benevolent Widow                          256

  Anne Fitzhugh                               258

  Esther Gaston                               261

  Remarkable Presence of Mind                 263

  Wife of Governor Griswold                   265

  Bold Exploit of a Young Girl                266

  Susanna Wright                              268

  Patriotism of 1770                          270

  Mrs. Spalding                               272

  Mrs. Dillard                                275

  Phoebe Phillips                             277

  Example of a Poor Widow                     279

  Elizabeth Estaugh                           284

  Kate Moore,                                 297

  Captivity of Mrs. Rowlandson                299

  Mrs. Bozarth                                303

  Heroine of Steel Creek                      305

  Benevolence of a Colored Woman              308

  Rebecca Edwards                             309

  The Beautiful Rebel                         311

  Harriet B. Stewart                          313

  A Kind and Benevolent Woman                 316

  Noble Example of Pioneers                   320

  Mrs. Slocumb                                323

  Wife of Captain Richardson                  330

  Striking Instance of Patience               331

  Susannah Elliott                            336

  Anna Elliott                                338

  Patriotic Stratagem                         340

  Influence of a Faithful Teacher             341

  Wife of Thomas Heyward                      343

  Noble Decision                              345

  A Tennessee Heroine                         346

  Mrs. M'Kay                                  352

  Heroic Conduct of a Daughter                354

  Heroic Decision                             356

  Daughter of Aaron Burr                      358

  Female Intrepidity                          361

  Wife of Richard Shubrick                    362

  Retort of Mrs. Ashe                         365

  Wife of a Drunkard                          366

  Mother of Dr. Dwight                        370

  Happy Results of Maternal Fidelity          373

  Mrs. Scott                                  375

  Success of Boldness                         378

  Mary Knight                                 380

  Wife of William Gray                        381

  Mrs. Huntington                             383

  Mrs. Biddle                                 385

  Kindness of Convicts                        387

  Margaret Prior                              388

  Noble Acts of Kindness                      395

  Wife of Dr. Ramsay                          398

  Margaret Schuyler                           400

  Noble Treatment of Enemies                  402

  Humanity Rewarded                           403

  Margaret Winthrop                           404

  A Pioneer Settler's Adventure               408

  Mrs. McKenny                                410

  The Fisherman's Heroic Wife                 416

  Mrs. James K. Polk                          418

  Widow Jenkins                               421

  Faithful Little Girl                        423

  Hospitality of California Women             424

  Sarah Lanman Smith                          425

  Brother saved by his Sister                 429

  Mrs. Borden                                 431

  Margaret Corbin                             432

  Mrs. Channing                               433

  Commendable Courage                         434

  Heroine of Shell's Bush                     435

  Father Taylor's Widowed Friend              437

  Revolutionary Mother                        440

  Successful Daring                           443

  Worthy Example of Forgiveness               444

  Crookshanks saved by a Female               445

  Patriotic Artist                            446

  Mohawk Women                                448

  Female in the Revolutionary Army            450

  Elizabeth Brant                             459

  Brief Anecdotes                             465

  Miss D. L. Dix                              474


The advantages of Biography are obvious and great. To the weight of
precept, it adds the force and efficacy of example. It presents correct
and beautiful models, and awakens the impulse to imitate what we admire.
Other sciences strengthen the intellect, this influences and amends the
heart. Other subjects interest the imagination, this modifies conduct
and character. By the recorded actions of the great and good, we
regulate our own course, and steer, star-guided, over life's trackless

In remote ages, the department of Female Biography was almost a void.
Here and there on the pages of the Sacred Volume, a lineament, or a
form, is sketched with graphic power, either as a warning, or bright
with the hues of heaven. Yet uninspired history, though she continued to
utter "her dark sayings upon the harp," was wont to relapse into silence
at the name of woman. Classic antiquity scarcely presents aught that
might be cited as a sustained example. In the annals of ancient Greece,
the wife of one of its philosophers has obtained a place, but only
through the varied trials, by which she contributed to perfect his
patience. Rome but slightly lifts the household veil from the mother of
the Gracchi, as she exultingly exhibits her heart's jewels. Cleopatra,
with her royal barge, casts a dazzling gleam over the Cydnus, but her
fame is like the poison of the reptile that destroyed her. Boadicea
rushes for a moment in her rude chariot over the battle field, but the
fasces and the chains of Rome close the scene.

Modern Paganism disclosed a still deeper abyss of degradation for woman.
The aboriginal lord of the American forests lays the burden on the
shoulder of his weaker companion, and stalks on in unbowed majesty, with
his quiver and his tomahawk. Beneath the sultry skies of Africa, she
crouches to drink the poison water before her judges, having no better
test of her innocence than the deliverer, Death. In India, we see her
plunging into the Ganges her female infants, that they may escape her
lot of misery, or wrapped in the flames of the burning pile, turn into
ashes with the corpse of her husband. Under the sway of the Moslem, her
highest condition is a life-long incarceration, her best treatment, that
of a gilded toy--a soulless slave. Throughout the whole heathen world,
woman may be characterized, as Humanity, in Central Asia has been, by an
elegant French writer, as "always remaining anonymous,--indifferent to
herself,--not believing in her liberty, having none,--and leaving no
trace of her passage upon earth."

Christianity has changed the scene. Wherever her pure and pitying spirit
prevails, the sway of brute force is softened, and the "weaker vessel"
upheld. Bearing in her hand the blessed Gospel, "a light to lighten the
Gentiles, and the glory of the people Israel," she adds to the
literature of the world a new volume, the History of Woman. She spreads
a page, for which the long, slow ages had neither looked, nor
inquired,--neither waited for, nor imagined, the page of female

So liberal have been our own immediate times in supplying fitting
materials, that an extensive and valuable library might readily be
selected in this department alone. Since knowledge has shed her baptism
upon the head of woman, her legitimate sphere of duty has become
extended, and enriched by incident. We see her not only brought forward
as a teacher, but entering unrebuked the fields of science and
literature; we see her amid the hardships of colonial life, displaying a
martyr's courage, or ascending the deck of the mission ship to take her
part in "perils among the heathen."

The venerable moralist of Barley Wood, who so perseveringly encouraged
her sex to reflect, to discriminate, to choose the good and refuse the
evil, who, after attaining the age of sixty years, presented them with
eleven new and instructive volumes, has not long laid down her pen, for
the rest and reward of the righteous. That high souled apostle of
erring, suffering humanity, to whose dauntless benevolence crowned heads
did honor, whose melodious voice I almost fancy that I again hear, as in
the plain garb of her order, she stood as a tutelary being among the
convicts at Newgate,--she has but recently arisen to that congenial
society of the just made perfect, who rejoice over "one sinner that

And the harp of that tuneful one, so recently exchanged for a purer
harmony, still breathes upon our hearts the echoes of her varied lay, as
when touched by her hand it warbled--

  "Fame hath a voice, whose thrilling tone
    Can bid the life pulse beat,
  As when a trumpet's note hath blown,
    Warning the hosts to meet;
  But ah! let mine, a woman's breast,
  With words of home-born love be bless'd."

She, too, who sleeps beneath the hopia-tree in Burmah, whose courage and
constancy no hero has transcended, how rapidly has she been followed in
the same self denying path, by others who "counted not their lives dear
unto them," if they might bear to the perishing heathen the name and
love of a Redeemer.

And one still lives, the wonderful Scandinavian maiden, whose melody now
holds our own land in enchantment, and who exhibits, on a scale hitherto
unknown in the world's history, rare endowments, boundless liberality,
and deep humility; God's grace held in subservience to the good of her
fellow creatures. Through the power of song, which, as the compeer of
the nightingale, she possesses, and with a singular freedom from vanity
and selfishness, she charms and elevates, while with the harvest of her
toils she feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, comforts the desolate,
aids the hallowed temple to uplift its spire, and the school to spread
its brooding wing over the children of future generations.

  One there lives, who doth inherit
  Angel gifts with angel spirit,
  Bidding streams of gladness flow
  Through the realms of want and woe,
  'Mid lone age and misery's lot,
  Kindling pleasures long forgot,
  Seeking minds oppress'd with night,
  And on darkness shedding light;
  She the seraph's speech doth know,
  She hath learn'd their deeds below
  So, when o'er this misty strand,
  She shall clasp their waiting hand,
  They will fold her to their breast,
  More a sister than a guest.

If all true greatness should be estimated by its tendencies, and by the
good it performs, it is peculiarly desirable that woman's claims to
distinction should be thus judged and awarded. In this young western
world, especially in New England, her agency has been admitted, and her
capacity tested, of mingling a healthful leaven with the elements of a
nation's character. Here, her presence has been acknowledged, and her
aid faithfully rendered, from the beginning. There is a beautiful
tradition, that the first foot which pressed the snow clad rock of
Plymouth was that of Mary Chilton, a fair young maiden, and that the
last survivor of those heroic pioneers was Mary Allerton, who lived to
see the planting of twelve out of the thirteen colonies, which formed
the nucleus of these United States.

In the May Flower, eighteen wives accompanied their husbands to a waste
land and uninhabited, save by the wily and vengeful savage. On the
unfloored hut, she who had been nurtured amid the rich carpets and
curtains of the mother land, rocked her new born babe, and complained
not. She, who in the home of her youth had arranged the gorgeous shades
of embroidery, or, perchance, had compounded the rich venison pasty as
her share in the housekeeping, now pounded the coarse Indian corn for
her children's bread, and bade them ask God's blessing, ere they took
their scanty portion. When the snows sifted through their miserable
roof-trees upon her little ones, she gathered them closer to her bosom;
she taught them the Bible, and the catechism, and the holy hymn, though
the war-whoop of the Indian rang through the wild. Amid the untold
hardships of colonial life, she infused new strength into her husband by
her firmness, and solaced his weary hours by her love. She was to him,

  "An undergoing spirit, to bear up
  Against whate'er ensued."

During the struggle of our Revolution, the privations sustained, and the
efforts made by women, were neither few nor of short duration. Many of
them are delineated in the present volume, and in other interesting ones
of the same class, which have found favor with the public.

Yet innumerable instances of faithful toil, and patient endurance, must
have been covered with oblivion. In how many a lone home, whence the
father was long sundered by a soldier's destiny, did the Mother labor to
perform to their little ones both his duties and her own, having no
witness of the extent of her heavy burdens, and sleepless anxieties,
save the Hearer of Prayer.

A good and hoary headed man, who had passed the limits of fourscore,
once said to me, "my father was in the army during the whole eight years
of the Revolutionary war, at first as a common soldier, afterwards as an
officer. My mother had the sole charge of us, four little ones. Our
house was a poor one, and far from neighbors. I have a keen remembrance
of the terrible cold of some of these winters. The snow lay so deep and
long, that it was difficult to cut or draw fuel from the woods, and to
get our corn to mill, when we had any. My mother was the possessor of a
coffee mill. In that she ground wheat, and made coarse bread, which we
ate, and were thankful. It was not always that we could be allowed as
much, even of this, as our keen appetites craved. Many is the time that
we have gone to bed, with only a drink of water for our supper, in
which a little molasses had been mingled. We patiently received it, for
we knew our mother did as well for us as she could, and hoped to have
something better in the morning. She was never heard to repine; and
young as we were, we tried to make her loving spirit and heavenly trust,
our example.

"When my father was permitted to come home, his stay was short, and he
had not much to leave us, for the pay of those who achieved our
liberties was slight, and irregularly rendered. Yet when he went, my
mother ever bade him farewell with a cheerful face, and not to be
anxious about his children, for she would watch over them night and day,
and God would take care of the families of those who went forth to
defend the righteous cause of their country. Sometimes we wondered that
she did not mention the cold weather, or our short meals, or her hard
work, that we little ones might be clothed, and fed, and taught. But she
would not weaken his hands, or sadden his heart, for she said a
soldier's lot was harder than all. We saw that she never complained, but
always kept in her heart a sweet hope, like a well of living water.
Every night ere we slept, and every morning when we arose, we lifted our
little hands for God's blessing on our absent father, and our endangered

How deeply the prayers from such solitary homes, and faithful hearts,
were mingled with the infant liberties of our dear native land, we may
not know until we enter where we see no more "through a glass darkly,
but face to face."

Incidents repeatedly occurred during this contest of eight years,
between the feeble colonies and the strong motherland, of a courage
that ancient Sparta would have applauded.

In a thinly settled part of Virginia, the quiet of the Sabbath eve was
once broken by the loud, hurried roll of the drum. Volunteers were
invoked to go forth and prevent the British troops, under the pitiless
Tarleton, from forcing their way through an important mountain pass. In
an old fort resided a family, all of whose elder sons were absent with
our army, which at the North opposed the foe. The father lay enfeebled
and sick. Around his bedside the Mother called their three sons, of the
ages of thirteen, fifteen, and seventeen.

"Go forth, children," said she, "to the defence of your native clime.
Go, each and all of you. I spare not my youngest, my fair-haired boy,
the light of my declining years.

"Go forth, my sons. Repel the foot of the invader, or see my face no

It has been recorded in the annals of other climes, as well as our own,
that Woman, under the pressure of unusual circumstances, has revealed
unwonted and unexpected energies. It is fitting that she should prove
herself equal to every emergency, nor shrink from any duty that dangers
or reverses may impose.

Still, her best happiness and true glory are doubtless found in her own
peculiar sphere. Rescued, as she has been, from long darkness, by the
precepts of the religion of Jesus, brought forth into the broad sunlight
of knowledge and responsibility, she is naturally anxious to know how to
discharge her debt to the age, and to her own land. Her patriotism is,
to labor in the sanctuary of home, and in every allotted department of
education, to form and train a race that shall bless their country, and
serve their God.

There has been sometimes claimed for her, under the name of "_rights_,"
a wider participation in the pursuits, exposures, and honors
appertaining to men. Were these somewhat indefinite claims conceded,
would the change promote her welfare? Would she be a gainer by any added
power or sounding title, which should require the sacrifice of that
delicacy which is the life-blood of her sex?

Would it be better for man to have no exercise for those energies, which
the state of a gentle, trustful being calls forth; those protecting
energies which reveal his peculiar strength, and liken him to a god-like
nature? Would it add either to her attractions or his happiness, to
confront her in the arena of political strife, or enable her to bear her
part in fierce collision with the bold and unprincipled? Might it not
endanger or obliterate that enthusiasm of love, which she so much
prizes, to meet the tutelary spirit of his home delights, on the steep
unsheltered heights of ambition, as a competitor or a rival?

Would it be as well for the rising generation, who are given into the
arms of Woman for their earliest guidance, that the ardor of her nature
should be drawn into different and contradictory channels? When a
traveler in those lands where she goes forth to manual toil in the
fields, I have mourned to see her neglected little ones, deprived of
maternal care, unsoftened by the blandishments of its tenderness,
growing up like animals, groveling, unimpressible, unconscientious.
Whatever detaches her thoughts or divides her heart from home duties and
affections, is especially a loss to the young plants that depend on her
nurture and supervision.

If, therefore, the proposed change should profit neither man, woman, nor
the rising race, how can it benefit the world at large? Is it not the
province of true wisdom to select such measures as promote the greatest
good of the greatest number?

A moralist has well said, that "in contentions for power, both the
philosophy and poetry of life are dropped and trodden down." A still
heavier loss would accrue to domestic happiness, and the interests of
well balanced society, should the innate delicacy and prerogative of
woman, _as woman_, be sacrificed or transmuted.

"I have given her as a help-meet," said the Voice that cannot err, when
it spake unto Adam "in the cool of the day," amid the trees of Paradise.
Not as a slave, a clog, a toy, a wrestler, a prize-fighter, a ruler. No.
A _helper_, such as was meet for man to desire, and for her to become.

If the unerring Creator has assigned different spheres of action to the
sexes, it is to be presumed that some adaptation exists to their
respective sphere, that there is work enough in each to employ them, and
that the faithful performance of that work will be for the welfare of
both. If He hath constituted one as the priestess of the "inner temple,"
committing to her charge its veiled shrine and sacred harmonies, why
should she covet to rage amid the warfare at its gates, or to ride on
the whirlwind that may rock its turrets? Rushing, uncalled, to the
strife, or the tumult, or the conflict, will there not linger in her
heart the upbraiding question, "with whom didst thou leave thy few sheep
in the wilderness?" Why need she be again tempted by pride, or
curiosity, or glozing words, to forfeit her own Eden?

The true nobility of Woman is to keep her own sphere, and adorn it, not
as the comet, daunting and perplexing other systems, but like the star,
which is the first to light the day and the last to leave it. If she win
not the laurel of the conqueror and the blood-shedder, her noble deeds
may leave "footprints on the sands of time," and her good works, "such
as become those that profess godliness," find record in the Book of

Sisters, are not our rights sufficiently comprehensive, the sanctuary of
home, the throne of the heart, the moulding of the whole mass of mind,
in its first formation? Have we not power enough in all realms of sorrow
and suffering, over all forms of want and ignorance, amid all ministries
of love, from the cradle-dream to the sealing of the sepulchre?

Let us be content and faithful, aye, more,--grateful and joyful,--making
this brief life a hymn of praise, until admitted to that choir which
knows no discord, and where melody is eternal.

                                            L. HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.


  [Illustration: Woman with plaque "Noble Deeds"]


As the "mother" of our nation's "chief," it seems appropriate that Mary
Washington should stand at the head of American females whose deeds are
herein recorded. Her life was one unbroken series of praiseworthy
actions--a drama of many scenes, none blood-chilling, none tragic, but
all noble, all inspiring, and many even magnanimous. She was uniformly
so gentle, so amiable, so dignified, that it is difficult to fix the eye
on any one act more strikingly grand than the rest. Stretching the eye
along a series of mountain peaks, all, seemingly, of the same height, a
solitary one cannot be singled out and called more sublime than the

It is impossible to contemplate any one trait of her character without
admiration. In republican simplicity, as her life will show, she was a
model; and her piety was of such an exalted nature that the daughters of
the land might make it their study. Though proud of her son, as we may
suppose she must have been, she was sensible enough not to be betrayed
into weakness and folly on that account. The honors that clustered
around her name as associated with his, only humbled her and made her
apparently more devout. She never forgot that she was a Christian
mother, and that her son, herself, and, in perilous times especially,
her country, needed her prayers. She was wholly destitute of
aristocratic feelings, which are degrading to human beings; and never
believed that sounding titles and high honors could confer lasting
distinctions, without moral worth. The greatness which Byron, with so
much justness and beauty, ascribes to Washington, was one portion of the
inestimable riches which the son inherited from the mother:

  "Where may the weary eye repose,
    When gazing on the great,
  Where neither guilty glory glows,
    Nor despicable state?
  Yes, one--the first--the last--the best--
  The Cincinnatus of the West,
    Whom envy dared not hate--
  Bequeathed the name of Washington,
  To make men blush there was but one."

Moulding, as she did, to a large extent, the character of the great
Hero, Statesman and Sage of the Western World; instilling into his young
heart the virtues that warmed her own, and fitting him to become the man
of unbending integrity and heroic courage, and the father of a great and
expanding republic, she may well claim the veneration, not of the lovers
of freedom merely, but of all who can appreciate moral beauty and
thereby estimate the true wealth of woman's heart. A few data and
incidents of such a person's life should be treasured in every American

The maiden name of Mrs. Washington was Mary Bell. She was born in the
Colony of Virginia, which is fertile in great names, towards the close
of the year 1706. She became the second wife of Mr. Augustine
Washington, a planter of the "Old Dominion," on the sixth of March,
1730. He was at that time a resident of Westmoreland county. There, two
years after this union, George, their oldest child, was born. While the
"father of his country" was an infant, the parents removed to Stafford
county, on the Rappahannock river, opposite Fredericksburg.

Mrs. Washington had five more children, and lost the youngest in its
infancy. Soon after this affliction, she was visited, in 1743, with a
greater--the death of her husband. Thus, at the age of thirty-seven,
Mrs. Washington became a widow, with five small children. Fortunately,
her husband left a valuable property for their maintenance. It was
mostly in land, and each son inherited a plantation. The one daughter
was also suitably provided for. "It was thus," writes Mr. Sparks, "that
Augustine Washington, although suddenly cut off in the vigor of manhood,
left all his children in a state of comparative independence. Confiding
in the prudence of the mother, he directed that the proceeds of all the
property of her children should be at her disposal, till they should
respectively come of age."

The same writer adds that, "this weighty charge of five young children,
the eldest of whom was eleven years old, the superintendence of their
education, and the management of complicated affairs, demanded no common
share of resolution, resource of mind, and strength of character. In
these important duties Mrs. Washington acquitted herself with fidelity
to her trust, and with entire success. Her good sense, assiduity,
tenderness and vigilance, overcame every obstacle; and, as the richest
reward of a mother's solicitude and toil, she had the happiness of
seeing all her children come forward with a fair promise into life,
filling the sphere allotted to them in a manner equally honorable to
themselves, and to the parent who had been the only guide of their
principles, conduct and habits. She lived to witness the noble career of
her eldest son, till, by his own rare merits, he was raised to the head
of a nation, and applauded and revered by the whole world."

Two years after the death of his father, George Washington obtained a
midshipman's warrant, and had not his mother opposed the plan, he would
have entered the naval service, been removed from her influence, acted
a different part on the theatre of life, and possibly changed the
subsequent aspect of American affairs.

Just before Washington's departure to the north, to assume the command
of the American army, he persuaded his mother to leave her country
residence, and assisted in effecting her removal to Fredericksburg.
There she took up a permanent abode, and there died of a lingering and
painful disease, a cancer in the breast, on the twenty-fifth of August,

A few of the many lovely traits of Mrs. Washington's character, are
happily exhibited in two or three incidents in her long, but not
remarkably eventful life.

She who looked to God in hours of darkness for light, in her country's
peril, for Divine succor, was equally as ready to acknowledge the hand
and to see the smiles of the "God of battles" in the victories that
crowned our arms; hence, when she was informed of the surrender of
Cornwallis, her heart instantly filled with gratitude, and raising her
hands, with reverence and pious fervor, she exclaimed: "Thank God! war
will now be ended, and peace, independence and happiness bless our

When she received the news of her son's successful passage of the
Delaware--December 7th, 1776--with much self-possession she expressed
her joy that the prospects of the country were brightening; but when she
came to those portions of the dispatches which were panegyrical of her
son, she modestly and coolly observed to the bearers of the good
tidings, that "George appeared to have deserved well of his country for
such signal services. But, my good sirs," she added, "here is too much
flattery!--Still, _George will not forget the lessons I have taught
him_--he will not forget _himself_, though he is the subject of so much

In like manner, when, on the return of the combined armies from
Yorktown, Washington visited her at Fredericksburg, she inquired after
his health and talked long and with much warmth of feeling of the scenes
of former years, of early and mutual friends, of all, in short, that the
past hallows; but to the theme of the ransomed millions of the land, the
theme that for three quarters of a century has, in all lands, prompted
the highest flights of eloquence, and awakened the noblest strains of
song, to the deathless fame of her son, she made not the slightest

In the fall of 1784, just before returning to his native land, General
Lafayette went to Fredericksburg, "to pay his parting respects" to Mrs.
Washington. "Conducted by one of her grandsons, he approached the house,
when the young gentleman observed: 'There, sir, is my grandmother!'
Lafayette beheld--working in the garden, clad in domestic-made clothes,
and her gray head covered with a plain straw hat--the mother of 'his
hero, his friend and a country's preserver!' The lady saluted him
kindly, observing: 'Ah, Marquis! you see an old woman; but come, I can
make you welcome to my poor dwelling without the parade of changing my
dress.'" During the interview, Lafayette, referring to her son, could
not withhold his encomiums, which drew from the mother this beautifully
simple remark: "I am not surprised at what George has done, for he was
always a good boy."

The remains of Mrs. Washington were interred at Fredericksburg. On the
seventh of May, 1833, the corner-stone of a monument to her memory was
laid under the direction of a Committee who represented the citizens of
Virginia. General Jackson, then President of the United States, very
appropriately took the leading and most honorable part in the ceremony.
With the following extracts from the closing part of his chaste and
elegant Address, our humble sketch may fittingly close:

"In tracing the few recollections which can be gathered, of her
principles and conduct, it is impossible to avoid the conviction, that
these were closely interwoven with the destiny of her son. The great
points of his character are before the world. He who runs may read them
in his whole career, as a citizen, a soldier, a magistrate. He possessed
unerring judgment, if that term can be applied to human nature; great
probity of purpose, high moral principles, perfect self-possession,
untiring application, and an inquiring mind, seeking information from
every quarter, and arriving at its conclusions with a full knowledge of
the subject; and he added to these an inflexibility of resolution, which
nothing could change but a conviction of error. Look back at the life
and conduct of his mother, and at her domestic government, as they have
this day been delineated by the Chairman of the Monumental Committee,
and as they were known to her contemporaries, and have been described
by them, and they will be found admirably adapted to form and develop,
the elements of such a character. The power of greatness was there; but
had it not been guided and directed by maternal solicitude and judgment,
its possessor, instead of presenting to the world examples of virtue,
patriotism and wisdom, which will be precious in all succeeding ages,
might have added to the number of those master-spirits, whose fame rests
upon the faculties they have abused, and the injuries they have

"Fellow citizens, at your request, and in your name, I now deposit this
plate in the spot destined for it; and when the American pilgrim shall,
in after ages, come up to this high and holy place, and lay his hand
upon this sacred column, may he recall the virtues of her who sleeps
beneath, and depart with his affections purified, and his piety
strengthened, while he invokes blessings upon the Mother of


  A woman's noblest station is retreat:
  Her fairest virtues fly from public sight;
  Domestic worth--that shuns too strong a light.

                                     LORD LYTTLETON.

  The drying up a single tear has more
  Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.


Woman may possess an equal share of the elements of greatness with man,
but she has not an equal opportunity to display them in such a manner as
to call forth the admiration and applause of the world. She was not made
to pour the tide of eloquence in the Senate chamber, or lead on to
victory the brave and heroic spirits of the land. Her course leads
mainly through the quiet valley of domestic retirement, where the stream
can rarely leap from dizzy heights with a thundering plunge, whose
echoes shall go booming on to fill the ear of coming generations: her
movements and influence are more like those of springs, which, flowing
noiselessly and unseen, are widely scattered, and every where diffuse
incalculable blessings.

The wife of Washington could not be the hero of a seven-years' war, or
the chief magistrate of a republic; but, as the companion of such a man,
she could shine, in her own proper sphere, with a lustre as mild, as
steady, as serene, as his. And thus she did. Prompt to obey the calls of
duty, when the voice of humanity beckoned her to the camp, she hastened
away, at the sacrifice of ease and comfort, to relieve the wants of the
suffering; and when forced to leave her "paradise" at Mount Vernon, to
preside, as the matron of the nation, at the President's house, she did
it with a dignity and propriety perhaps never equalled, certainly never
excelled. But let us not anticipate.

Martha Dandridge was born in New Kent county, Virginia, in May, 1732.
She was endowed with good sense, a strong mind, sound ideas of feminine
proprieties, and correct views of woman's practical duties: and these
had to answer measurably as a substitute for the discipline of female
seminaries, which were rare in the "Old Dominion," and in the Colonies
generally, in her younger days. The advantages to be derived from
domestic instruction, she enjoyed, and those only. They, however, were
cut off at the age of seventeen, by her union in marriage with Colonel
Daniel P. Custis, a gentleman of many excellent parts. They settled on
his plantation in her native county. Beautiful, lovely in disposition,
and fascinating in manners, the young wife was warmly admired by her
neighbors and all with whom she came in contact; and her residence,
known as the "_White House_," was the centre of strong attractions, and
the scene of much genuine or--which is the same thing--_Virginian_,
hospitality. Colonel Custis became the father of three children, and
then died. Previous to this solemn event, however, the White House had
been veiled in weeds for the loss of his oldest child.

With two small children, a son and daughter, Mrs. Custis early found
herself a widow, with the disposition and management of all pecuniary
interests left by her confiding husband, at her control. As sole
executrix, it is said that she "managed the extensive landed and
pecuniary concerns of the estate with surprising ability, making loans
on mortgages, of money, and through her stewards and agents, conducting
the sales or exportation of the crops to the best possible advantage."

But from the cares of an extensive estate she was shortly relieved. On
the sixth of January, 1759, she gave her hand, with upwards of a hundred
thousand dollars, to Colonel George Washington, another planter of her
native Colony. At the same time, she relinquished into his hands the
guardianship of her children--the son six, and the daughter four years
old--together with the care of their property. From the White House,
Mrs. Washington now removed to Mount Vernon, which remained her home
till her death, and became the final resting place of her remains.

In her new home, as in the White House, she superintended the affairs of
the household, exercising continual control over all culinary matters;
carefully educating her offspring, and aiming to rear them up for
usefulness. These duties she discharged with the utmost assiduity and
faithfulness, in spite of the many social obligations which a woman in
her position must necessarily encounter.[1] Nor did the demands of
courtesy and of her family debar her from habitual and systematic
charities, dispensed in her neighborhood, or from those most important
of all daily duties, the calls of the "closet." In the language of Miss
Conkling, in her Memoir: "It is recorded of this devout Christian, that
never during her life, whether in prosperity or in adversity, did she
omit that daily self-communion and self-examination, and those private
devotional exercises, which would best prepare her for the self-control
and self-denial by which she was, for more than half a century, so
eminently distinguished. It was her habit to retire to her own apartment
every morning after breakfast, there to devote an hour to solitary
prayer and meditation."

  [1] We have the authority of Mr. Sparks for asserting that while
  Washington's pursuits were those of a retired planter, he seldom passed
  a day when at home without the company of friends or strangers,
  frequently persons of great celebrity, and demanding much attention from
  the lady of the house.

In 1770, she lost a child of many prayers, of bright hopes, and of much
promise, her blooming daughter. She looked upon this affliction as a
visitation from Him who doeth all things well, and bore it with becoming
resignation, which the Christian only is prepared to do.

During the Revolution, Mrs. Washington was accustomed to pass the
winters with her husband at the head quarters of the army and the
summers at Mount Vernon; and it was in the camp that she shone with the
lustre of the true woman. "She was at Valley Forge in that dreadful
winter of 1777-8, her presence and submission to privation strengthening
the fortitude of those who might have complained, and giving hope and
confidence to the desponding. She soothed the distresses of many
sufferers, seeking out the poor and afflicted with benevolent kindness,
extending relief wherever it was in her power, and with graceful
deportment presiding in the Chief's humble dwelling."[2]

  [2] Mrs. Washington, in writing to Mrs. Warren, says, "The General's
  apartment is very small; he has had a log cabin built to dine in, which
  has made our quarters more tolerable than at first."

In 1781, she lost her last surviving child, John Custis, aged twenty
seven. Her widowed daughter-in-law and the four children, she took to
her own home, and thenceforward they were the objects of her untiring

The life of Mrs. Washington, after her husband took the Presidential
chair, was marked by no striking incidents, and affords scanty material
of the nature marked out for this work. During the eight years that he
was Chief Magistrate, she presided in his mansion with the same
unaffected ease, equanimity and dignified simplicity that had marked her
previous course in more retired circles. Visitors were received on all
days _except the Sabbath_, and, irrespective of rank, shared in her
courtesies and hospitalities. A portion of each summer, at that period,
was passed in the quiet and seclusion of Mount Vernon, she rarely, if
ever, accompanying her husband on his tours through the land. She
expressed regret when he was chosen President, because she preferred
"to grow old" with him "in solitude and tranquillity;" hence it is not
surprising that she found a luxury in retiring for a season from the
scenes of public life, and in attending to the education of her
grand-children and to other self-imposed tasks and important duties, in
the performance of which she could bless her friends and honor God.

After the death of her illustrious companion, which occurred in
December, 1799, she remained at Mount Vernon; where she spent seventeen
months mourning her loss; receiving the visits of the great from all
parts of our land, and from various parts of the earth; attending, as
heretofore, to her domestic concerns; perfecting in the Christian
graces, and ripening for the joys of a holier state of being. On the
twenty-second of May, 1801, she who, while on earth, could be placed in
no station which she did not dignify and honor, was welcomed to the
glories of another world.


  The mother in her office holds the key
  Of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin
  Of character, and makes the being who would be a savage,
  But for her gentle cares, a Christian man.

                                            OLD PLAY.

  ----O we will walk this world,
  Yoked in all exercise of noble aim.


Abigail Smith was a daughter of the Rev. William Smith, a Congregational
minister of Weymouth, Massachusetts, where she was born on the eleventh
of November, 1744, O. S. "It was fashionable to ridicule female
learning," in her day; and she says of herself in one of her letters, "I
was never sent to any school." She adds, "I was always sick. Female
education, in the best families, went no further than writing and
arithmetic." But notwithstanding her educational disadvantages, she read
and studied in private, and kept up a brisk correspondence with
relatives, and by these means expanded and fed her mind, and cultivated
an easy and graceful style of writing.

On the twenty-fifth of October, 1764, Miss Smith became the wife of John
Adams, a lawyer of Braintree.[3]

  [3] The part of the town in which he lived was afterwards called Quincy
  in honor of Mrs. Adams's maternal grandfather.

Her grandson, Charles Francis Adams, to whose Memoir of her we are
indebted for these statistics, says, that "the ten years immediately
following, present little that is worth recording."

Prior to 1778, Mr. and Mrs. Adams had been separated at sundry times, in
all, more than three years, which was a severe trial to her fortitude.
The strength of her conjugal affection may be gathered from an extract
from one of her letters: "I very well remember," she writes, "when the
eastern circuits of the courts, which lasted a month, were thought an
age, and an absence of three months, intolerable; but we are carried
from step to step, and from one degree to another, to endure that which
at first we think impossible." Thus she was schooled for separation from
her husband, when, in 1778, he went to France as a joint commissioner.
While he was absent from his country on that occasion, faithful to the
calls of duty, she remained at home, and managed, as she had done
before, the affairs of the household and farm. And _there_ let the
reader look at her and see a picture of a true mother of the Revolution.
"She is a farmer cultivating the land, and discussing the weather and
crops; a merchant reporting prices-current and the rates of exchange,
and directing the making up of invoices; a politician, speculating upon
the probabilities of peace or war; and a mother, writing the most
exalted sentiments to her son."

What nobler deed could the mother, thus situated, do with her son, John
Quincy Adams, in a foreign land, than to write to him in a tone like
that of the extracts which follow, and which are taken from letters
dated 1778-80:

"'Tis almost four months since you left your native land, and embarked
upon the mighty waters, in quest of a foreign country. Although I have
not particularly written to you since, yet you may be assured you have
constantly been upon my heart and mind.

"It is a very difficult task, my dear son, for a tender parent to bring
her mind to part with a child of your years going to a distant land; nor
could I have acquiesced in such a separation under any other care than
that of the most excellent parent and guardian who accompanied you. You
have arrived at years capable of improving under the advantages you will
be likely to have, if you do but properly attend to them. They are
talents put into your hands, of which an account will be required of you
hereafter; and being possessed of one, two, or four, see to it that you
double your numbers.

"The most amiable and most useful disposition in a young mind is
diffidence of itself; and this should lead you to seek advice and
instruction from him, who is your natural guardian, and will always
counsel and direct you in the best manner, both for your present and
future happiness. You are in possession of a natural good understanding,
and of spirits unbroken by adversity and untamed with care. Improve your
understanding by acquiring useful knowledge and virtue, such as will
render you an ornament to society, an honor to your country, and a
blessing to your parents. Great learning and superior abilities, should
you ever possess them, will be of little value and small estimation,
unless virtue, honor, truth, and integrity are added to them. Adhere to
those religious sentiments and principles which were early instilled
into your mind, and remember that you are accountable to your Maker for
all your words and actions.

"Let me enjoin it upon you to attend constantly and steadfastly to the
precepts and instructions of your father, as you value the happiness of
your mother and your own welfare. His care and attention to you render
many things unnecessary for me to write, which I might otherwise do; but
the inadvertency and heedlessness of youth require line upon line and
precept upon precept, and, when enforced by the joint efforts of both
parents, will, I hope, have a due influence upon your conduct; for, dear
as you are to me, I would much rather you should have found your grave
in the ocean you have crossed, or that any untimely death crop you in
your infant years, than see you an immoral, profligate, or graceless

"You have entered early in life upon the great theatre of the world,
which is full of temptations and vice of every kind. You are not wholly
unacquainted with history, in which you have read of crimes which your
inexperienced mind could scarcely believe credible. You have been taught
to think of them with horror, and to view vice as

    'a monster of so frightful mien,
  That, to be hated, needs but to be seen.'

"Yet you must keep a strict guard upon yourself, or the odious monster
will soon lose its terror by becoming familiar to you. The modern
history of our own times, furnishes as black a list of crimes, as can be
paralleled in ancient times, even if we go back to Nero, Caligula, or
Cæsar Borgia. Young as you are, the cruel war into which we have been
compelled by the haughty tyrant of Britain and the bloody emissaries of
his vengeance, may stamp upon your mind this certain truth, that the
welfare and prosperity of all countries, communities, and, I may add,
individuals, depend upon their morals. That nation to which we were once
united, as it has departed from justice, eluded and subverted the wise
laws which formerly governed it, and suffered the worst of crimes to go
unpunished, has lost its valor, wisdom and humanity, and, from being the
dread and terror of Europe, has sunk into derision and infamy....

"Some author, that I have met with, compares a judicious traveler to a
river, that increases its stream the further it flows from its source;
or to certain springs, which, running through rich veins of minerals,
improve their qualities as they pass along. It will be expected of you,
my son, that, as you are favored with superior advantages under the
instructive eye of a tender parent, your improvement should bear some
proportion to your advantages. Nothing is wanting with you but
attention, diligence, and steady application. Nature has not been

"These are times in which a genius would wish to live. It is not in the
still calm of life, or the repose of a pacific station, that great
characters are formed. Would Cicero have shone so distinguished an
orator if he had not been roused, kindled, and inflamed by the tyranny
of Catiline, Verres, and Mark Anthony? The habits of a vigorous mind are
formed in contending with difficulties. All history will convince you of
this, and that wisdom and penetration are the fruit of experience, not
the lessons of retirement and leisure. Great necessities call out great
virtues. When a mind is raised and animated by scenes that engage the
heart, then those qualities, which would otherwise lie dormant, wake
into life and form the character of the hero and the statesman. War,
tyranny, and desolation are the scourges of the Almighty, and ought no
doubt to be deprecated. Yet it is your lot, my son, to be an eye witness
of these calamities in your own native land, and, at the same time, to
owe your existence among a people who have made a glorious defence of
their invaded liberties, and who, aided by a generous and powerful ally,
with the blessing of Heaven, will transmit this inheritance to ages yet

"Nor ought it to be one of the least of your incitements towards
exerting every power and faculty of your mind, that you have a parent
who has taken so large and active a share in this contest, and
discharged the trust reposed in him with so much satisfaction as to be
honored with the important embassy which at present calls him abroad.

"The strict and inviolable regard you have ever paid to truth, gives me
pleasing hopes that you will not swerve from her dictates, but add
justice, fortitude, and every manly virtue which can adorn a good
citizen, do honor to your country, and render your parents supremely
happy, particularly your ever affectionate mother.

... "The only sure and permanent foundation of virtue is religion. Let
this important truth be engraven upon your heart. And also, that the
foundation of religion is the belief of the one only God, and a just
sense of his attributes, as a being infinitely wise, just, and good, to
whom you owe the highest reverence, gratitude, and adoration; who
superintends and governs all nature, even to clothing the lilies of the
field, and hearing the young ravens when they cry; but more particularly
regards man, whom he created after his own image, and breathed into him
an immortal spirit, capable of a happiness beyond the grave; for the
attainment of which he is bound to the performance of certain duties,
which all tend to the happiness and welfare of society, and are
comprised in one short sentence, expressive of universal benevolence,
'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.'...

"Justice, humanity, and benevolence, are the duties you owe to society
in general. To your country the same duties are incumbent upon you, with
the additional obligation of sacrificing ease, pleasure, wealth, and
life itself for its defence and security. To your parents you owe love,
reverence, and obedience to all just and equitable commands. To
yourself,--here, indeed, is a wide field to expatiate upon. To become
what you ought to be, and what a fond mother wishes to see you, attend
to some precepts and instructions from the pen of one, who can have no
motive but your welfare and happiness, and who wishes in this way to
supply to you the personal watchfulness and care, which a separation
from you deprived you of at a period of life, when habits are easiest
acquired and fixed; and though the advice may not be new, yet suffer it
to obtain a place in your memory, for occasions may offer, and perhaps
some concurring circumstances unite, to give it weight and force.

"Suffer me to recommend to you one of the most useful lessons of life,
the knowledge and study of yourself. There you run the greatest hazard
of being deceived. Self-love and partiality cast a mist before the eyes,
and there is no knowledge so hard to be acquired, nor of more benefit
when once thoroughly understood. Ungoverned passions have aptly been
compared to the boisterous ocean, which is known to produce the most
terrible effects. 'Passions are the elements of life,' but elements
which are subject to the control of reason. Whoever will candidly
examine themselves, will find some degree of passion, peevishness, or
obstinacy in their natural tempers. You will seldom find these
disagreeable ingredients all united in one; but the uncontrolled
indulgence of either is sufficient to render the possessor unhappy in
himself, and disagreeable to all who are so unhappy as to be witnesses
of it, or suffer from its effects.

"You, my dear son, are formed with a constitution feelingly alive; your
passions are strong and impetuous; and, though I have sometimes seen
them hurry you into excesses, yet with pleasure I have observed a
frankness and generosity accompany your efforts to govern and subdue
them. Few persons are so subject to passion, but that they can command
themselves, when they have a motive sufficiently strong; and those who
are most apt to transgress will restrain themselves through respect and
reverence to superiors, and even, where they wish to recommend
themselves, to their equals. The due government of the passions, has
been considered in all ages as a most valuable acquisition. Hence an
inspired writer observes, 'He that is slow to anger is better than the
mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city.' This
passion, coöperating with power, and unrestrained by reason, has
produced the subversion of cities, the desolation of countries, the
massacre of nations, and filled the world with injustice and oppression.
Behold your own country, your native land, suffering from the effects of
lawless power and malignant passions, and learn betimes, from your own
observation and experience, to govern and control yourself. Having once
obtained this self-government, you will find a foundation laid for
happiness to yourself and usefulness to mankind. 'Virtue alone is
happiness below;' and consists in cultivating and improving every good
inclination, and in checking and subduing every propensity to evil. I
have been particular upon the passion of anger, as it is generally the
most predominant passion at your age, the soonest excited, and the least
pains are taken to subdue it;

  ----'what composes man, can man destroy.'"

With such a mother to counsel him, one is led to ask, how could John
Quincy Adams _help_ becoming a noble-minded and great man? Who wonders
that, with good natural endowments and his excellent privileges, coupled
with maternal training, he fitted himself to fill the highest office in
the gift of a free people?

In June, 1784, Mrs. Adams sailed for London to join her husband, who was
then our Minister at the Court of St. James. While absent, she visited
France and Netherlands; resided for a time in the former country; and
returned with her knowledge of human nature, of men, manners, &c.,
enlarged; disgusted with the splendor and sophistications of royalty,
and well prepared to appreciate the republican simplicity and frankness
of which she was herself a model. While Mr. Adams was Vice-President and
President, she never laid aside her singleness of heart, and that
sincerity and unaffected dignity which had won for her many friends
before her elevation, and which, in spite of national animosity,
conquered the prejudices and gained the hearts of the aristocracy of
Great Britain. But her crowning virtue was her Christian humility, which
is beautifully exemplified in a letter which she wrote to Mr. Adams, on
the 8th of February, 1797, "the day on which the votes for President
were counted, and Mr. Adams, as Vice-President, was required by law to
announce himself the President elect for the ensuing term:"

  "'The sun is dressed in brightest beams,
  To give thy honors to the day.'

"And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each ensuing season. You
have this day to declare yourself head of a nation. 'And now, O Lord, my
God, thou hast made thy servant ruler over the people. Give unto him an
understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and come in before
this great people; that he may discern between good and bad. For who is
able to judge this thy so great a people?' were the words of a royal
sovereign; and not less applicable to him who is invested with the chief
magistracy of a nation, though he wear not a crown, nor the robes of

"My thoughts and my meditations are with you, though personally absent;
and my petitions to Heaven are, that 'the things which make for peace
may not be hidden from your eyes.' My feelings are not those of pride or
ostentation, upon the occasion. They are solemnized by a sense of the
obligations, the important trusts, and numerous duties connected with
it. That you may be enabled to discharge them with honor to yourself,
with justice and impartiality to your country, and with satisfaction to
this great people, shall be the daily prayer of your

                                                          "A. A."

From her husband's retirement from the Presidency, in 1801, to the close
of her life, in 1818, Mrs. Adams remained constantly at Quincy.
Cheerful, contented, and happy, she devoted her last years, in that
rural seclusion, to the reciprocities of friendship and love, to offices
of kindness and charity, and, in short, to all those duties which tend
to ripen the Christian for an exchange of worlds.

But it would be doing injustice to her character and leaving one of her
noblest deeds unrecorded, to close without mentioning the influence for
good which she exerted over Mr. Adams, and her part in the work of
making him what he was. That he was sensible of the benignant influence
of wives, may be gathered from the following letter which was addressed
to Mrs. Adams from Philadelphia, on the eleventh of August, 1777:

"I think I have some times observed to you in conversation, that upon
examining the biography of illustrious men, you will generally find some
female about them, in the relation of mother, or wife, or sister, to
whose instigation a great part of their merit is to be ascribed. You
will find a curious example of this in the case of Aspasia, the wife of
Pericles. She was a woman of the greatest beauty, and the first genius.
She taught him, it is said, his refined maxims of policy, his lofty
imperial eloquence, nay, even composed the speeches on which so great a
share of his reputation was founded.

"I wish some of our great men had such wives. By the account in your
last letter, it seems the women in Boston begin to think themselves able
to serve their country. What a pity it is that our generals in the
northern districts had not Aspasias to their wives.

"I believe the two Howes have not very great women to their wives. If
they had, we should suffer more from their exertions than we do. This is
our good fortune. A smart wife would have put Howe in possession of
Philadelphia a long time ago."

While Mr. Adams was wishing that some of our great men had such wives as
Aspasia, he had such a wife, was himself such a man, and owed half his
greatness to _his_ Aspasia. The exalted patriotism and the cheerful
piety infused into the letters she addressed to him during the long
night of political uncertainty that hung over these Colonies,
strengthened his courage, fired his nobler feelings, nerved his higher
purposes and, doubtless, greatly contributed to make him the right hand
man of Washington.

The diligent and faithful Andromaches, the gifted and patriotic
_Aspasias_ of the Revolution, did their portion of the great work
silently and unseen. Secretly they urged their husbands and sons to the
battle-field, secretly spoke to them by letter in the camp or
convention, and secretly prayed for wisdom to guide our statesmen and
victory to crown our arms. Thus privately acting, how little of their
labor or their worth is known. How few of their names are treasured in
our annals. With rare exceptions, like the builders of the pyramids,
their initials are lost. Then, while we have the name and the noble
example of Mrs. Adams, with a few of her patriotic compeers, let us
pledge our unswerving devotion to Freedom over the _unknown_ names of
the wives and mothers who secretly assisted in nerving the arm that
broke the sceptre of British dominion on these shores, and gave the
eagle of Liberty a safe and abiding home on our mountain tops.


  God has a bright example made of thee,
  To show that womankind may be
  Above that sex which her superior seems.


About the commencement of the present century, a new field was opened
for the display of Christian heroism. The despairing wail of the pagan
millions of the East, had reached the ears of a few of the most devoted
people of God on these Western shores, and the question arisen, Who
shall lead the way to heathen realms, who among us first encounter the
perils of an attempt to plant the standard of the Cross beside the
pagodas of Buddhism? He who would then go forth, must leave his native
land with the parting benediction of but few friends; must be
accompanied with few and faint prayers; must make his own path through
the tiger-haunted jungles, and face alone the untried dangers of a
dubious assault on the strong-holds of pagan superstition. But,
notwithstanding the discouragements inwoven with the contemplation of
the undertaking, and the great peril that must attend its completion, it
was magnanimous and sublime, and there were hearts in the land
philanthropic enough to embark in it and brave enough to face its
terrors without fainting.

Among the foremost Americans who offered their services in this work,
were the Rev. Adoniram Judson and his wife. They embarked from Salem,
Massachusetts, for Calcutta, with Samuel Newell and lady, on the
nineteenth of February, 1812: and five days afterwards Messrs. Hall and
Nott, with their wives, and Mr. Rice, sailed from Philadelphia for the
same place. The names of these pioneer missionaries are sacred to the
memory of all living Christians, and, being embodied in the history of
the grandest enterprise of the age, are to be handed down to all future

While all the female portion of this little band, exhibited many
excellent traits of character, and worked well while their day lasted,
no other one endured so many and so great hardships and trials,
encountered such fearful perils, and had such an opportunity to test the
strength of the higher virtues, as Mrs. Judson.

Ann Hasseltine was born at Bradford, in Essex county, Massachusetts, on
the twenty-second day of December, 1789. She was an active and
enthusiastic child; of a gay disposition, yet thoughtful at times; and
before she was seventeen, gave religion that attention which its
importance demands.

She became acquainted with Mr. Judson in 1810. He was then a student in
the Andover Theological Seminary, preparing for the work of foreign
missions. A mutual and strong attachment sprang up, and they were
married in February, 1812, two weeks before their embarkation for India.

Mr. and Mrs. Judson first halted at Serampore. There, soon after their
arrival, they were immersed by an English missionary, having changed
their views of the ordinance of baptism on the long voyage across the
Atlantic and Indian oceans. From that place they were soon driven by the
Directors and Agents of the British East India Company, who were at that
time opposed to the introduction of the Christian religion into those
parts. They sailed from Madras for Rangoon, on the twenty-second of
June, 1813, and settled at the latter place.

From the commencement of missionary toil, Mrs. Judson had many
inconveniences to encounter, but they were met with patience and served
to strengthen that energy which, it will be seen, was afterwards so much
needed and so strikingly displayed. Four or five years after settling at
Rangoon, Mr. Judson went to Chittagong, in a neighboring province, to
secure help, some Arracanese converts being there, who spoke the Burman
language. He expected to return within three months. "At the expiration
of this period, however, when his return was daily expected, a vessel
from Chittagong arrived at Rangoon, bringing the distressing
intelligence that neither he nor the vessel in which he had embarked had
been heard of at that port. Similar tidings were also contained in
letters which Mrs. Judson received from Bengal.

"While the missionaries were in this state of fearful suspense, an
incident occurred which was well calculated to increase the perplexity
and dismay in which they were plunged. Mr. Hough,[4] who had continued
quietly studying the language, at the mission house, was suddenly
summoned to appear immediately at the court house, and it was rumored
among the affrighted domestics and neighbors who followed the officers
that came for Mr. Hough, that the king had issued a decree for the
banishment of all the foreign teachers. It was late in the afternoon
when he made his appearance before the despotic tribunal that was
charged with the execution of the imperial decree, and he was merely
required to give security for his appearance the following morning;
when, as the unfeeling magistrates declared, 'if he did not tell all the
truth relative to his situation in the country, they would write with
his heart's blood.' Mr. Hough was detained from day to day on the most
flimsy pretences, himself unable to speak the language, and with no one
near him who would attempt to explain his situation or vindicate his
objects and his conduct. The viceroy whom Mr. and Mrs. Judson had known,
had recently been recalled to Ava, and he who now held the reins of the
government was a stranger, and, as his family were not with him, Mrs.
Judson, according to the etiquette of the court, could not be admitted
to his presence. The order which had led to the arrest was found to
relate to some Portuguese priests whom the king had banished, and Mr.
Hough was at first summoned to give assurance that he was not one of the
number, and then detained by the officers in order to extort money for
his ransom. He was at length released by order of the viceroy, to whom
Mrs. Judson boldly carried the cause and presented a petition which she
had caused her teacher to draw up for the purpose.

  [4] Mr. Hough was a printer in the employment of the Baptist Board.

"The anxiety occasioned by this arrest and its train of petty
annoyances, and still more by the protracted and mysterious absence of
Mr. Judson, was at this time greatly increased by rumors which reached
Rangoon, of an impending war between the English and the Burman
governments. There were but few English vessels lying in the river, and
the English traders who were in the country were closing their business
and preparing to hasten away, at any new indications of hostilities that
should be presented. The condition of the missionaries was rendered
still more distressing by the ravages of the cholera, which now, for the
first time made its appearance in Burmah, and was sending its terrors
throughout the empire. The poor people of Rangoon fell in hundreds
before its frightful progress. The dismal death-drum continually gave
forth its warning sound as new names were added to the melancholy list
of victims to the desolating malady. In these gloomy circumstances, they
saw ship after ship leave the river, bearing away all the foreigners who
were in the province, until at length the only one remaining was on the
eve of sailing. Harassed with doubts concerning the uncertain fate of
Mr. Judson, and surrounded with perils, they saw before them what
appeared the last opportunity of leaving the country, before the
threatened hostilities should begin, and they should be exposed to all
the merciless cruelties of barbarian-warfare.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hough decided to go on board and escape to Bengal, while
escape was still in their power, and they urged Mrs. Judson to accompany
them. She at length reluctantly yielded to their advice, and with a
heart burdened with sorrows she embarked with her companions, on the
fifth of July, in the only ship that remained to carry them from the
country. The ship, however, was delayed for several days in the river,
and was likely to be subjected to still further detention. Mrs. Judson,
who had gone on board rather in obedience to the entreaties of her
associates, and the dictates of prudence, than from the suggestions of
that truer instinct which often serves to guide the noblest natures in
great emergencies, now decided to leave the ship and return alone to the
mission house, there to await either the return of her husband, or the
confirmation of her worst fears respecting his fate. It was a noble
exhibition of heroic courage, and gave assurance of all the
distinguished qualities which, at a later period and amid dangers still
more appalling, shone with unfailing brightness around the character of
this remarkable woman. The event justified her determination; and,
within a week after her decision was taken, Mr. Judson arrived at
Rangoon, having been driven from place to place by contrary winds, and
having entirely failed of the object for which he undertook the

  [5] Gammell's History of American Baptist Missions.

In the summer of 1820, Mrs. Judson's health had become so far undermined
by the deleterious influences of the climate, that it was deemed
necessary that she should go to Calcutta for medical advice, better
physicians being located there than in Rangoon. She was so feeble that
her husband was obliged to accompany her. She was soon removed to
Serampore, where were eminently skillful physicians and a purer
atmosphere. Her health so improved in six months that she returned with
her husband to Rangoon. The malady which had afflicted her was the
chronic liver complaint. It was not entirely removed at Serampore, and a
few months after her return, it began to distress her more than ever. It
was now thought that nothing but a visit to her native land could save
her. Accordingly, on the twenty-first of August, 1821, she started for
Calcutta, where, after some delay, she found a ship bound to England, by
which route she returned, reaching New York on the twenty-fifth of
September, 1822.

She remained in this country nine months. During that short period,
aside from paying a visit to her relations, she attended the Triennial
Convention at Washington, held in May, 1823; visited the larger cities
North and South; attended numerous meetings of female associations; and
prepared a history of the Burman mission which was so ably written that
even the London Quarterly Review, and, if we mistake not, other English
periodicals of high critical character, noticed it in commendatory

The following extracts from letters written to Dr. Wayland while in this
country, show the interest she took in the affairs of Burmah while
absent from that land of her adoption. Under date of "Baltimore, January
twenty-second, 1823," she says, "I want the Baptists throughout the
United States to feel, that Burmah _must be converted_ through their
instrumentality. They must do more than they have ever yet done. They
must _pray_ more, they must _give_ more, and make greater efforts to
prevent the Missionary flame from becoming extinct. Every Christian in
the United States should feel as deeply impressed with the importance of
making continual efforts for the salvation of the heathen, as though
their conversion depended solely on himself. Every individual Christian
should feel himself guilty if he has not done and does not continue to
do _all_ in his power for the spread of the gospel and the enlightening
of the heathen world. But I need not write thus to you. You see, you
feel the misery of the heathen world. Try to awaken Christians around
you. Preach frequently on the subject of Missions. I have remarked it to
be the case, when a minister feels _much_ engaged for the heathen, his
people generally partake of his spirit."

Writing from Washington in the following March, she says, "I long to be
in Rangoon, and am anxiously hoping to get away in the spring. Do make
inquiries relative to the sailing of ships from Boston and Salem. I must
not miss one good opportunity."

With her health much improved though not fully restored, she sailed for
her Burman home on the twenty-second of June, 1823, and reached Rangoon
on the fifth of the following December. She found the work of the
mission prospering. The next year, however, a war broke out between the
Burman government and the English in Bengal, and, not only suspended the
operations of the missionaries, but jeopardised their lives. They were
supposed to be spies employed by the English government. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson, with Dr. Price, another of the missionaries, were at that time
at Ava, where the imperial government of the Burman Empire had just been

"It was on the eighth of June, 1824, that a company of Burmans, headed
by an officer, and attended by a 'spotted-faced son of the prison,' came
to the mission house, and, in the presence of Mrs. Judson seized her
husband and Dr. Price, and after binding them tight with cords, drove
them away to the court house. From this place they were hurried, by
order of the king, without examination, to a loathsome dungeon, known as
'the death prison,' where along with the other foreigners they were
confined, each loaded with three pairs of fetters and fastened to a long
pole, so as to be incapable of moving. Meanwhile, Mrs. Judson was shut
up in her house, deprived of her furniture and of most of her articles
of property, and watched for several days by an unfeeling guard, to
whose rapacious extortions and brutal annoyances she was constantly
exposed, without being able to make any exertion for the liberation of
the prisoners, or the mitigation of their cruel sentence. She however,
at length succeeded in addressing a petition to the governor of the
city, who had the prisoners in charge. By a present of one hundred
dollars to his subordinate officer, their condition was somewhat
meliorated, and by the unwearied perseverance of Mrs. Judson, and her
affecting appeals to the sympathies of the governor, he was induced to
grant her occasional permission to go to the prison, and at length to
build for herself a bamboo shed in the prison yard, where she took up
her abode, in order that she might prepare food for the prisoners, and
otherwise minister to their necessities.

"At the end of nine months they were suddenly removed from Ava to
Amarapura, and thence to a wretched place several miles beyond, called
Oung-pen-la, where it was arranged that they should be put to death in
presence of the pakah-woon, as a kind of sacrifice in honor of his
taking command of a new army of fifty thousand men about to march
against the English. This sanguinary chief had been raised from a low
condition to the rank of woongyee; but in the height of his power, just
as he was about to march at the head of the army he had mustered, he
fell into disgrace, was charged with treason, and executed, at an hour's
notice, with the unqualified approbation of all classes of people at
Ava. His timely execution saved the missionaries from the fate which
hung over them, and they were left uncared for in the miserable cells of
Oung-pen-la, till the near approach of the English to the capitol
induced the king to send for Mr. Judson, to accompany the embassy that
was about to start for the English camp, for the purpose of averting the
destruction that now threatened the Golden City.

"During this period of a year and a half Mrs. Judson followed them from
prison to prison, beneath the darkness of night and the burning sun of
noon-day, bearing in her arms her infant daughter,--the child of sorrow
and misfortune, who was born after the imprisonment of its
father,--procuring for them food which Burman policy never supplies to
prisoners, and perpetually interceding for them with their successive
keepers, with the governor of the city, with the kinsmen of the monarch,
and the members of the royal household. More than once the queen's
brother gave orders that they should be privately put to death; but such
was the influence which Mrs. Judson possessed over the mind of the
governor, that he evaded the order each time it was given, and assured
her that for her sake he would not execute her husband, even though he
was obliged to execute all the others. And when at last they were to be
taken from his jurisdiction and driven to the horrid prison-house of
Oung-pen-la, at the command of the pakah-woon, the old man humanely
summoned Mrs. Judson from the prison where he had permitted her to go
and sit with her husband, in order that she might be spared the pangs
of a separation which he had not the power to prevent. Her own pen has
traced, in lines that will never be forgotten by those who read them,
the affecting history of the dismal days and nights of her husband's
captivity. We follow her alike with admiration and the deepest sympathy
as she takes her solitary way from Ava, at first in a boat upon the
river, and then in a Burman cart, in search of the unknown place to
which the prisoners have been carried. At length, overcome with fatigue,
with exposure, and the bitter pangs of hope deferred, we see her in a
comfortless cabin, prostrate with disease and brought to the very gates
of death,--while her infant is carried about the village by its father
in the hours of his occasional liberation, to be nourished by such
Burman mothers as might have compassion on its helpless necessities.

"Such is a single scene from this melancholy record of missionary
suffering. History has not recorded; poetry itself has seldom portrayed,
a more affecting exhibition of Christian fortitude, of female heroism,
and all the noble and generous qualities which constitute the dignity
and glory of woman. In the midst of sickness and danger, and every
calamity which can crush the human heart, she presented a character
equal to the sternest trial, and an address and fertility of resources
which gave her an ascendency over the minds of her most cruel enemies,
and alone saved the missionaries and their fellow captives from the
terrible doom which constantly awaited them. Day after day and amid the
lonely hours of night was she employed in conciliating the favor of
their keepers, and in devising plans for their release, or the
alleviation of their captivity. Sometimes, she confesses, her thoughts
would wander for a brief interval to America and the beloved friends of
her better days; 'but for nearly a year and a half, so entirely
engrossed was every thought with present scenes and sufferings, that she
seldom reflected on a single occurrence of her former life, or
recollected that she had a friend in existence out of Ava.'"[6]

  [6] Gammell.

When peace was declared between the two powers, by the terms of
negotiation, the European prisoners were all released; and thus closed
the long and brutal incarceration of the missionaries. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson immediately departed for Rangoon. They soon removed to Amherst, a
new town on the Salwen or Martaban river. After having established a
mission there, Mr. Judson had occasion to visit Ava. He started on the
fifth of July, 1826, leaving his wife and infant daughter in the care of
kind friends. He was detained at the Capital longer than he had
anticipated; and before he returned he received the painful intelligence
that his wife was dead. "A remittent fever had settled on her
constitution, already enfeebled by suffering and disease, and she died
on the twenty-fourth of October, 1826, amid the universal sorrow, alike
of the English residents at Amherst and of the native Christians who
had gathered around her at her new home. Her infant daughter died a few
weeks afterwards, and side by side they were laid to rest, under a large
hopia tree a few rods from the house where she had resided. Two marble
stones, procured by the contributions of several female friends in her
native land, are the humble memorial that marks the spot where sleeps
one whose "name will be remembered in the churches of Burmah, in future
times, when the pagodas of Gaudama shall have fallen; when the spires of
Christian temples shall gleam along the waters of the Irrawaddy and the
Salwen: and when the 'Golden City' shall have lifted up her gates to let
the King of Glory in."


  O rainbow of the battle-storm!
    Methinks thou'rt gleaming on my sight;
  I see thy fair and fragile form
    Amid the thick cloud of the fight.

                                 SARA J. CLARKE.

  One grain of incense with devotion offered,
  Is beyond all perfumes or Sabæan spices.


The following incident, we are informed by Mrs. Ellet, was communicated
to a minister--Rev. J. H. Saye--by two officers in the Revolutionary
war. One of them was in the skirmish referred to; the other lived near
the scene of action; hence, it may be relied on as authentic. The name
of the heroine is unknown, which is greatly to be regretted:

"Early in the war, the inhabitants on the frontier of Burke county,
North Carolina, being apprehensive of an attack by the Indians, it was
determined to seek protection in a fort in a more densely populated
neighborhood in an interior settlement. A party of soldiers was sent to
protect them on their retreat. The families assembled, the line of
march was taken towards their place of destination, and they proceeded
some miles unmolested--the soldiers marching in a hollow square, with
the refugee families in the centre. The Indians who had watched these
movements, had laid a plan for their destruction. The road to be
traveled lay through a dense forest in the fork of a river, where the
Indians concealed themselves, and waited till the travelers were in the
desired spot. Suddenly the war-whoop sounded in front, and on either
side; a large body of painted warriors rushed in, filling the gap by
which the whites had entered, and an appalling crash of fire-arms
followed. The soldiers, however, were prepared; such as chanced to be
near the trees darted behind them, and began to ply the deadly rifle;
the others prostrated themselves upon the earth, among the tall grass,
and crawled to trees. The families screened themselves as best they
could. The onset was long and fiercely urged; ever and anon amid the din
and smoke, the warriors would rush, tomahawk in hand, towards the
centre; but they were repulsed by the cool intrepidity of the back-woods
riflemen. Still they fought on, determined on the destruction of the
victims who offered such desperate resistance. All at once an appalling
sound greeted the ears of the women and children in the centre; it was a
cry from their defenders--a cry for powder! 'Our powder is giving out,'
they exclaimed. 'Have you any? Bring us some, or we can fight no
longer!' A woman of the party had a good supply. She spread her apron on
the ground, poured her powder into it, and going round, from soldier to
soldier, as they stood behind the trees, bade each who needed powder put
down his hat, and poured a quantity upon it. Thus she went round the
line of defence, till her whole stock, and all she could obtain from
others, was distributed. At last the savages gave way, and, pressed by
their foes, were driven off the ground. The victorious whites returned
to those for whose safety they had ventured into the wilderness.
Inquiries were made as to who had been killed, and one running up,
cried, 'Where is the woman that gave us the powder? I want to see her!'
'Yes!--yes!--let us see her!' responded another and another; 'without
her we should have been all lost!' The soldiers ran about among the
women and children, looking for her and making inquiries. Directly came
in others from the pursuit, one of whom observing the commotion, asked
the cause, and was told. 'You are looking in the wrong place,' he
replied. 'Is she killed? Ah, we were afraid of that!' exclaimed many
voices. 'Not when I saw her,' answered the soldier. 'When the Indians
ran off, she was on _her knees in prayer_ at the root of yonder tree,
and there I left her.' There was a simultaneous rush to the tree--and
there, to their great joy, they found the woman safe, and still on her
knees in prayer. Thinking not of herself, she received their applause
without manifesting any other feeling than gratitude to Heaven for their
great deliverance."


  As the rivers farthest flowing,
    In the highest hills have birth;
  As the banyan broadest growing,
    Oftenest bows its head to earth,
  So the noblest minds press onward,
    Channels far of good to trace;
  So the largest hearts bend downward,
    Circling all the human race.

                             MRS. HALE.

The sympathies of a free people are always aroused when a nation is
struggling for freedom. Hence the war between the Turks and Greeks not
only called forth the eloquence of American orators, but the mothers and
daughters of the land, reminded of the long struggle of their husbands
and fathers for liberty, were alive to the interests, and prayed much
for the ransom of the latter people. Nor was this all; the sufferings to
which the war reduced the Greeks, so much moved the hearts of females
that, in one instance at least, they made a demonstration of their
sympathy worthy of record. The ladies of Hartford, Connecticut, sent out
a ship to the women of Greece, containing money, and articles of wearing
apparel, wrought by themselves expressly for an offering to suffering
humanity. Mrs. Sigourney, the Secretary of the Ladies' Committee, wrote
the following letter to accompany the contribution:

"_United States of America, March 12th, 1828._
    _The Ladies of Hartford, in Connecticut, to the
    Ladies of Greece._

"SISTERS AND FRIENDS,--From the years of childhood your native clime has
been the theme of our admiration: together with our brothers and our
husbands, we early learned to love the country of Homer, of Aristides,
of Solon, and of Socrates. That enthusiasm which the glory of ancient
Greece enkindled in our bosoms, has preserved a fervent friendship for
her descendants: we have beheld with deep sympathy the horrors of
Turkish domination, and the struggles so long and nobly sustained by
them for existence and for liberty.

"The communications of Dr. Howe, since his return from your land, have
made us more intimately acquainted with your personal sufferings. He has
presented many of you to us in his vivid descriptions, as seeking refuge
in caves, and, under the branches of olive trees, listening for the
footsteps of the destroyer, and mourning over your dearest ones slain in

"Sisters and friends, our hearts bleed for you. Deprived of your
protectors by the fortune of war, and continually in fear of evils worse
than death, our prayers are with you, in all your wanderings, your wants
and your griefs. In this vessel (which may God send in safety to your
shores!) you will receive a portion of that bounty wherewith He hath
blessed us. The poor among us have given according to their ability, and
our little children have cheerfully aided, that some of you and your
children might have bread to eat and raiment to put on. Could you but
behold the faces of our little ones brighten, and their eyes sparkle
with joy, while they give up their holidays, that they might work with
their needles for Greece; could you see those females who earn a
subsistence by labor, gladly casting their mite into our treasury, and
taking hours from their repose that an additional garment might be
furnished for you; could you witness the active spirit that pervades all
classes of our community, it would cheer for a moment the darkness and
misery of your lot.

"We are the inhabitants of a part of one of the smallest of the United
States, and our donations must therefore, of necessity, be more limited
than those from the larger and more wealthy cities; yet such as we have,
we give in the name of our dear Saviour, with our blessings and our

"We know the value of sympathy--how it arms the heart to endure--how it
plucks the sting from sorrow--therefore we have written these few lines
to assure you, that in the remoter parts of our country, as well as in
her high places, you are remembered with pity and with affection.

"Sisters and friends, we extend across the ocean our hands to you in the
fellowship of Christ. We pray that His Cross and the banner of your
land may rise together over the Crescent and the Minaret--that your sons
may hail the freedom of ancient Greece restored, and build again the
waste places which the oppressor hath trodden down; and that you,
admitted once more to the felicities of home, may gather from past
perils and adversities a brighter wreath for the kingdom of Heaven.

                                             "LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY,
                            "_Secretary of the Greek Committee of
                                          Hartford, Connecticut._"


  No braver dames had Sparta,
  No nobler matrons Rome.

                       W. D. GALLAGHER.

Anna Warner was born in Groton, Connecticut, on the eleventh of October,
1758, and married Captain Elijah Bailey of the same town, in 1774. He
participated in the hardships and dangers, and she in the trials of the
struggle for Independence. He is dead; she is still living.[7]

  [7] We are informed by the Postmaster of Groton, in a letter dated the
  tenth of December, 1850, that Mrs. B. is still living, and that her mind
  is somewhat impaired. She is now in her ninety-third year.

She was a witness of the terrible massacre at Fort Griswold, in Groton,
on the sixth of September; and the following morning she hurried off to
the scene of carnage, a distance of three miles, to search for an uncle
who was among the brave defenders. She found him among the fatally
wounded: at his request that he might see his wife and child before he
died, she ran home, caught and saddled a horse for the feeble mother,
and taking the child in her arms, carried it the whole distance, that it
might receive the kisses and benediction of its dying father!

In the month of July, 1813 a blockading fleet appeared off the harbor of
New London; and on the thirteenth, demonstrations were noticed of an
intention to attack the place. Intense excitement now prevailed not only
in New London, but in all the adjacent towns. Fort Griswold was once
more occupied; small cannon--all to be had--were planted, and every
preparation possible was made for a vigorous defence. The greatest
deficiency was in flannel for cartridges; and in the emergency a
messenger was dispatched to the village to consult with Mrs. Bailey on
the most expeditious method of obtaining a supply. She promptly offered
to see that each family was visited, and the wants of the soldiery made
known. This was done, and each individual in the neighborhood cheerfully
presented her and her co-laborers whatever of the desired articles could
be spared, some in garments and some in the raw material. When these
were delivered to the messenger, and there was still found a deficiency,
she slyly slipped an under garment from her own person and charged him
to give _that_ to the British. As the enemy did not deem it expedient to
make an attack, it is difficult to tell what aid that garment rendered;
nor does it matter: its patriotic surrender showed the noble spirit
which has always actuated "mother Bailey," and was an appropriation for
her country which never caused her a blush.[8]

  [8] The editor of the Democratic Review, to whom we are indebted for a
  portion of these facts, visited the heroine of Groton in the fall of
  1846, in the number of his periodical for the January following spoke of
  her as a remarkable woman, physically, as well as mentally and
  patriotically. She was then eighty-eight years old, yet as agile as a
  girl of eighteen, and neither sight nor hearing had began to fail. "Such
  then," he adds, "is Mother Bailey. Had she lived in the palmy days of
  ancient Roman glory, no matron of the mighty empire would have been more
  highly honored." In the same article Mrs. B. is spoken of as the
  Postmistress of Groton, an office, which the present Postmaster assures
  us, she never held.

  Since the above was originally stereotyped, Mrs. Bailey has died. Her
  demise occurred in the winter of 1850-1.


  Kindness has resistless charms.


  Why should'st thou faint? Heaven smiles above,
  Though storm and vapor intervene.

                                       PARK BENJAMIN.

Mrs. Elizabeth Heard, "a widow of good estate, a mother of many children
and a daughter of Mr. Hull, a revered minister formerly living at
Pisquataqua," was among the sufferers from captivity by the Indians in
the latter part of the seventeenth century. She was taken at the
destruction of Major Waldron's garrison in Dover, New Hampshire, about
1689. She was permitted to escape on account of a favor which she had
shown a young Indian thirteen years before--she having secreted him in
her house on the "calamitous day," in 1676, when four hundred savages
were surprised in Dover.[9]

  [9] Drake's Indian Captivities.

Having been suffered to escape, writes the Rev. John Pike, minister at
Dover, to Dr. Cotton Mather, "she soon after safely arrived at Captain
Gerish's garrison, where she found a refuge from the storm. Here she
also had the satisfaction to understand that her own garrison, though
one of the first that was assaulted, had been bravely defended and
successfully maintained against the enemy. This gentlewoman's garrison
was on the most extreme frontier of the province, and more obnoxious
than any other, and therefore incapable of being relieved. Nevertheless,
by her presence and courage it held out all the war, even for ten years
together; and the persons in it have enjoyed very eminent preservations.
It would have been deserted if she had accepted offers that were made
her by her friends to abandon it and retire to Portsmouth among them,
which would have been a damage to the town and land."


  I have not shut mine ears to their demands,
  Nor posted off their suits with slow delays.


During the long war which resulted in the Independence of the American
Colonies, the women all over the land were warmly interested in the
condition of the soldiers, and prompt to relieve their wants when
suffering. There was, at times, a sad deficiency of wearing apparel; and
many are the instances in which a noble sacrifice of ease and a liberal
expenditure of time and strength, were made by the ladies that this
comfort might be restored to the self-sacrificing soldiers.

In 1780, the ladies of Philadelphia city and county, learning that the
soldiers were in great need of clothing, sold their jewelry and
converted _other_ trinkets into something more serviceable; collected by
solicitation large sums of money; purchased the raw material, plied the
needle "with all diligence;" and in a short time the aggregate amount of
their contributions was $7,500.[10]

  [10] This sum was raised in and immediately around Philadelphia. The
  efforts of the ladies were not, however, limited to their own
  neighborhood. They addressed circulars to the adjoining counties and
  states, and the response of New Jersey and Maryland was truly generous.

The number of shirts made by the ladies of Philadelphia during that
patriotic movement, was twenty-two hundred! These were cut out at the
house of Mrs. Sarah Bache, daughter of Dr. Franklin. This lady writing
to a Mrs. Meredith, of Trenton, New Jersey, at that time, says, "I am
happy to have it in my power to tell you that the sums given by the good
women of Philadelphia for the benefit of the army, have been much
greater than could be expected, and given with so much cheerfulness and
so many blessings, that it was rather a pleasing than a painful task to
call for them. I write to claim you as a Philadelphian, and shall think
myself honored in your donation."


                                  Mightier far
  Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway
  Of magic potent over sun and star,
  Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
  And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast.


  Undaunted by the tempest, wild and chill,
  That pours its restless and disastrous roll,
  O'er all that blooms below.

                                         SANDS' YAMOYDEN.

Prominent among the ladies of Philadelphia who, in the summer and fall
of 1780, were active in assisting the sufferers in the American army,
was Esther Reed, the wife of President Reed. She stood at the head of
the Association till her death, which occurred on the eighteenth of
September of that year. She was succeeded by Mrs. Sarah Bache, Mrs.
Francis, Mrs. Clarkson, Mrs. Blair and Mrs. Hillegas, who were
constituted an Executive Committee.

  [11] The facts embodied in this notice of Mrs. Reed, are mainly obtained
  from the Life and Correspondence of President Reed. _Vide_ volume II.,
  chapter XII.

The maiden name of Mrs. Reed was De Berdt. She was born in London on the
twenty-second of October, 1746. There, about the year 1763, she became
acquainted with Mr. Joseph Reed, of New Jersey, then a student at the
Temple. She had fond parents and lived in affluence, but from these she
at length turned, and, being married in May, 1770, "followed the lover
of her youth to these wild Colonies." Philadelphia became the home of
the happy couple. The wife of an American, she imbibed the sentiments
and manifested the spirit of an American, and to the day of her death
showed herself worthy to be the wife of an American soldier. "During
five years of war, more than half the time her family was broken up, and
for a long period the young wife, with her little children and an aged
mother, was driven to seek a distant and precarious refuge." Her husband
was an Adjutant-General, and was in the camp much of the time, till he
was chosen President--or, as we now say, Governor--of Pennsylvania, in
1778. Her letters written to him, breathe a patriotic and submissive
spirit, and a cheerful trust in that "presiding Power" from whom all
solace is derived in seasons of danger, disappointment and affliction.

She was placed at the head of the voluntary association of Philadelphia
ladies at its formation in May, and as early as the twentieth of the
following month, it will be seen, by an extract from a letter written by
Mr. Reed to General Washington, the business of the society was
progressing admirably: "The ladies have caught the happy contagion, and
in a few days Mrs. Reed will have the honor of writing to you on the
subject. It is expected she will have a sum equal to £100,000, to be
laid out according to your Excellency's direction, in such a way as may
be thought most honorable and gratifying to the brave old soldiers who
have borne so great a share of the burden of this war. I thought it best
to mention it in this way to your Excellency for your consideration, as
it may tend to forward the benevolent scheme of the donors with
dispatch. I must observe that the ladies have excepted such articles of
necessity, as clothing, which the states are bound to provide."

The following letter, written the next month, explains itself:

                                      "ESTHER REED TO WASHINGTON.
                                          "Philadelphia, July 4th, 1780.

"SIR,--The subscription set on foot by the ladies of this city for the
use of the soldiery, is so far completed as to induce me to transmit to
your Excellency an account of the money I have received, and which,
although it has answered our expectations, does not equal our wishes,
but I am persuaded will be received as a proof of our zeal for the great
cause of America, and our esteem and gratitude for those who so bravely
defend it.

"The amount of the subscription is 200,580 dollars, and £625 6_s._ 8_d._
in specie, which makes in the whole, in paper money, 300,634 dollars.

"The ladies are anxious for the soldiers to receive the benefit of it,
and wait your directions how it can best be disposed of. We expect some
considerable addition from the country, and have also wrote to the other
States in hopes the ladies there will adopt similar plans, to render it
more general and beneficial.

"With the utmost pleasure I offer any further attention and care in my
power to complete the execution of the design, and shall be happy to
accomplish it agreeable to the intention of the donors and your wishes
on the subject.

"The ladies of my family join me in their respectful compliments and
sincerest prayer for your health, safety, and success.

             "I have the honor to be,
                       "With the highest respect,
                               "Your obedient humble servant,
                                                        "E. REED."

During the months of July and August, though in feeble health, Mrs. Reed
held frequent correspondence with General Washington on the best mode of
administering relief to the destitute soldiers. Her desire to make
herself useful may be inferred from the tone of a letter addressed to
her husband from the banks of the Schuylkill, on the twenty-second of
August. Among other things, she says, "I received this morning a letter
from the General, and he still continues his opinion that the money in
my hands should be laid out in linen; he says, no supplies he has at
present or has a prospect of are any way adequate to the wants of the
army. His letter is, I think, a little formal, as if he was hurt by our
asking his opinion a second time, and our not following his directions,
after desiring him to give them. The letter is very complaisant, and I
shall now endeavor to get the shirts made as soon as possible. _This is
another circumstance to urge my return to town, as I can do little
towards it here._"

The responsible and onerous duties of Mrs. Reed during the summer of
1780, were no doubt injurious to her already poor health, and hastened
the approach of death. Early in September she was laid upon a bed of
fatal illness, and before the month had closed, as before mentioned, she
was in the "mysterious realm." The Council and Assembly adjourned to pay
their last respect to her exalted virtues. Her remains were deposited in
the Presbyterian burying-ground in Arch Street, and the following
epitaph was inscribed on her tomb:

    "In memory of ESTHER, the beloved wife of Joseph Reed,
        President of this State, who departed this life
    On the 18th of September, A. D. 1780, aged 34 years.
    Reader! If the possession of those virtues of the heart
  Which make life valuable, or those personal endowments which
  Command esteem and love, may claim respectful and affectionate
        Remembrance, venerate the ashes here entombed.
        If to have the cup of temporal blessings dashed
  In the period and station of life in which temporal blessings
  May be best enjoyed, demands our sorrow, drop a tear, and
    Think how slender is that thread on which the joys
                  And hopes of life depend."


  The tardy pile, slow rising there,
  With tongueless eloquence shall tell
  Of them who for their country fell.


                  Ladies, you deserve
  To have a temple built _you_.


The Bunker Hill Monument Association was incorporated in June, 1823.
Nothing further was done that year. At the second annual meeting, which
was held on the seventeenth of June, efficient plans were devised to
carry forward the enterprise; and at the end of another year, just half
a century after the battle, the corner stone was laid. General Lafayette
was then on a visit to the United States, and was appropriately chosen
to take a leading part in this interesting ceremony. The monument did
not get fairly under way till the spring of 1827. This apparent
tardiness was owing to the circumstance that the material was to be
brought from a granite quarry in Quincy, and a rail road--the first in
the United States--had to be built from the quarry to the wharf in
Quincy to convey the stone.

In 1828, the funds were exhausted, and the work was not resumed till
1834. Within a year the work was again suspended for the same cause.
Nothing further was done, and but little said, till 1839, when it was
announced that two gentlemen--Amos Lawrence, Esq., of Boston, and Judah
Truro, Esq., of New Orleans--would give ten thousand each, provided a
sum sufficient to complete the monument could be raised. This liberal
offer caused some momentary stimulation; but no proposal immediately
made was deemed expedient.

The affairs of the Association now wore, as they had done once or twice
before, a gloomy aspect. In the annual report, made on the seventeenth
of June, 1840, doubts were expressed whether the present generation
would see the monument completed. The same discouraging remark was made
soon after, in one of the sewing circles of Boston, when, instead of
depressing the spirits, it raised the ambition and quickened the
thoughts of the ladies, and several of them proposed to get up a Fair.
It was a happy suggestion; was forthwith sanctioned by the board of
directors; prompted the issuing of a circular by a sub-committee of the
same; raised the stentorian voice of a free and patriotic press, and met
with immediate favor all over the land.

The ladies had moved in the matter--_had taken the work into their own
hands_--and all doubts in regard to its speedy completion seemed to
vanish. The Fair was announced to be held in Quincy Hall, Boston, to
commence on the fifth of September, 1840 Every female in the land was
invited to contribute some article of her own hands' production, to the
exhibition. The patriotic spirit of the _mothers_ of the Revolution was
now warm in the hearts of their _daughters_, and ten thousand hands,
engaged in the work of preparation, were "plying the needle with
exquisite art."

The ladies were to have the complete management of the Fair; and, all
things in readiness, it commenced. The product of so much industry and
ingenuity, dispensed at the hands of the ladies, presented a scene to
the thousands who gathered around the numerous well-stored tables, that
is described by a writer--doubtless an eye-witness--as "brilliant and

  [12] Frothingham's Siege of Boston.

The Fair continued till the fifteenth of the month. Its success was
chronicled from day to day in a journal called "The Monument," printed
in the Hall. It was the grandest movement of the kind ever made in the
country; was conducted throughout in the most admirable manner, and
wound up in triumph. Its net proceeds were $30,035 50. To this sum and
the $20,000 pledged by the two gentlemen before mentioned, was soon
added enough, from other sources, to make the fund $55,153 27; and the
work went on to its completion.[13] Thus, at length, a "duty had been
performed;" this imperishable offering to Freedom, "which had its
commencement in manly patriotism," was "crowned by garlands of grace and

  [13] The last stone was raised on the morning of the twenty-third of
  July, 1842; the government of the Association and a multitude of other
  people were present on the occasion. Just before this act took place, a
  cannon was raised to the apex and discharged--a morning salute to call
  the people together to engage in the matins of Freedom. Edward Carnes,
  Jr., of Charlestown, accompanied the stone in its ascent, waving the
  American flag as he went up, and the Charlestown Artillery were
  meanwhile firing salutes to announce to the surrounding country the
  interesting event.


  The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
  For that were stupid and irrational;
  But he whose noble soul its fear subdues,
  And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.

                                     JOANNA BAILLIE.

We find the following anecdote of the amiable and heroic Quakeress,
Lydia Darrah, in the first number of the American Quarterly Review:

When the British army held possession of Philadelphia, General Howe's
head quarters were in Second street, the fourth door below Spruce, in a
house which was before occupied by General Cadwalader. Directly
opposite, resided William and Lydia Darrah, members of the Society of
Friends. A superior officer of the British army, believed to be the
Adjutant General, fixed upon one of their chambers, a back room, for
private conference; and two of them frequently met there, with fire and
candles, in close consultation. About the second of December, the
Adjutant General told Lydia that they would be in the room at seven
o'clock, and remain late; and that they wished the family to retire
early to bed; adding, that when they were going away, they would call
her to let them out, and extinguish their fire and candles. She
accordingly sent all the family to bed; but, as the officer had been so
particular, her curiosity was excited. She took off her shoes, and put
her ear to the key-hole of the conclave. She overheard an order read for
all the British troops to march out, late in the evening of the fourth,
and attack General Washington's army, then encamped at White Marsh. On
hearing this, she returned to her chamber and laid herself down. Soon
after, the officers knocked at her door, but she rose only at the third
summons, having feigned to be asleep. Her mind was so much agitated
that, from this moment, she could neither eat nor sleep; supposing it to
be in her power to save the lives of thousands of her countrymen; but
not knowing how she was to convey the necessary information to General
Washington, nor daring to confide it even to her husband. The time left,
was, however, short; she quickly determined to make her way, as soon as
possible, to the American outposts. She informed her family, that, as
they were in want of flour, she would go to Frankfort for some; her
husband insisted that she should take with her the servant maid; but, to
his surprise, she positively refused. She got access to General Howe,
and solicited--what he readily granted,--a pass through the British
troops on the lines. Leaving her bag at the mill, she hastened towards
the American lines, and encountered on her way an American, Lieutenant
Colonel Craig, of the light horse, who, with some of his men, was on the
look-out for information. He knew her, and inquired whither she was
going. She answered, in quest of her son, an officer in the American
army; and prayed the Colonel to alight and walk with her. He did so,
ordering his troops to keep in sight. To him she disclosed her momentous
secret, after having obtained from him the most solemn promise never to
betray her individually, since her life might be at stake, with the
British. He conducted her to a house near at hand, directed a female in
it to give her something to eat, and he speeded for head quarters, where
he brought General Washington acquainted with what he had heard.
Washington made, of course, all preparation for baffling the meditated
surprise. Lydia returned home with her flour; sat up alone to watch the
movement of the British troops; heard their footsteps; but when they
returned, in a few days after, did not dare to ask a question, though
solicitous to learn the event. The next evening, the Adjutant General
came in, and requested her to walk up to his room, as he wished to put
some questions. She followed him in terror; and when he locked the door,
and begged her, with an air of mystery to be seated, she was sure that
she was either suspected, or had been betrayed. He inquired earnestly
whether any of her family were up the last night he and the other
officer met:--she told him that they all retired at eight o'clock. He
observed--"I know _you_ were asleep, for I knocked at your chamber door
three times before you heard me;--I am entirely at a loss to imagine who
gave General Washington information of our intended attack, unless the
walls of the house could speak. When we arrived near White Marsh, we
found all their cannon mounted, and the troops prepared to receive us;
and we have marched back like a parcel of fools."


  Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip,
  But only crow-bars loose the bull-dog's lip;
  Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields,
  Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields.


The first man who commenced a settlement in the town of Salisbury,
Vermont, on the Otter creek, was Amos Storey, who, in making an opening
in the heart of the wilderness on the right of land to which the first
settler was entitled, was killed by the fall of a tree. His widow, who
had been left in Connecticut, immediately resolved to push into the
wilderness, with her ten small children, to take his place and preserve
and clear up his farm. And this bold resolution she carried out to the
letter, in spite of every difficulty, hardship and danger which for
years constantly beset her in her solitary location in the woods. Acre
after acre of the dense and dark forest melted away before her axe,
which she handled with the dexterity of the most experienced chopper.
The logs and bushes were piled and burnt by her own strong and untiring
hand: crops were raised, by which, with the fruits of her fishing and
unerring rifle, she supported herself and her hardy brood of children.
As a place of refuge from the assaults of Indians or dangerous wild
beasts, she dug out an underground room, into which, through a small
entrance made to open under an overhanging thicket in the bank of the
stream, she nightly retreated with her children. And here she continued
to reside, thus living and thus laboring, unassisted, till, by her own
hand and the help which her boys soon began to afford her, she cleared
up a valuable farm and placed herself in independent circumstances in

  [14] For this anecdote and that of Mrs. Hendee, we are indebted to the
  Hon. Daniel P. Thompson, of Montpelier, author of "The Green Mountain
  Boys," "Locke Amsden," &c. In a note to the author, in a letter which
  contained these anecdotes, he appropriately observes that "the women of
  the Green Mountains deserve as much credit for their various displays of
  courage, endurance and patriotism, in the early settlement of their
  State, as was ever awarded to their sex for similar exhibitions in any
  part of the world. In the controversy with New York and New Hampshire,
  which took the form of war in many instances; in the predatory Indian
  incursions, and in the war of the Revolution, they often displayed a
  capacity for labor and endurance, a spirit and firmness in the hour of
  danger, and a resolution and hardihood in defending their families, and
  their threatened land against all enemies, whether domestic or foreign,
  that would have done honor to the dames of Sparta."


  I am their mother, who shall bar me from them.


On the burning of Royalton, Vermont, by the Indians, in 1776, Mrs.
Hendee, of that place, exhibited a praiseworthy and heroic character.
The attack was sudden, and her husband being absent in the Vermont
regiment, and she being in the field, the Indians seized her children,
carried them across White river, at that place perhaps an hundred yards
wide and quite deep for fording, and placed them under the keepers
having the other persons they had collected, thirty or forty in number,
in charge. On discovering the fate of her children, Mrs. Hendee
resolutely dashed into the river, waded through, and fearlessly entering
the Indian camp, regardless of their tomahawks menacingly flourished
round her head, boldly demanded the release of her little ones, and
persevered in her alternate upbraidings and supplications, till her
request was granted. She then carried her children back through the
river and landed them in safety on the other bank. But not content with
what she had done, like a patriot, as she was, she immediately
returned, begged for the release of the children of others; again was
rewarded with success, and brought two or three more away; again
returned and again succeeded, till she had rescued the whole fifteen of
her neighbors' children who had been thus snatched away from their
distracted parents. On her last return to the camp of the enemy, the
Indians were so struck with her conduct that one of them declared that
so brave a squaw deserved to be carried across the river, and offered to
take her on his back and carry her over. She, in the same spirit,
accepted the offer, mounted the back of the gallant savage, was carried
to the opposite bank, where she collected her rescued troop of children,
and hastened away to restore them to their over-joyed parents.


  In the radiant front superior shines
  That first paternal virtue, public zeal,
  Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey,
  And, ever musing on the common weal,
  Still labors glorious with some great design.


"Old Middlesex" being our native county, with peculiar pleasure and some
local pride, we record the following anecdote. Should the historical
ploughshare be driven through the other towns in the county, and the
towns generally of Massachusetts, it would turn up similar gems in
abundance, "of purest ray serene." We quote from Butler's History of

"After the departure of Colonel Prescott's regiment of 'minute-men,'
Mrs. David Wright, of Pepperell, Mrs. Job Shattuck, of Groton, and the
neighboring women, collected at what is now Jewett's Bridge, over the
Nashua, between Pepperell and Groton, clothed in their absent husbands'
apparel, and armed with muskets, pitchforks, and such other weapons as
they could find; and having elected Mrs. Wright their commander,
resolutely determined that no foe to freedom, foreign or domestic,
should pass that bridge. For rumors were rife, that the regulars were
approaching and frightful stories of slaughter flew rapidly from place
to place, and from house to house.

"Soon there appeared one[15] on horseback, supposed to be treasonably
engaged in conveying intelligence to the enemy. By the implicit command
of Sergeant Wright, he is immediately arrested, unhorsed, searched, and
the treasonable correspondence found concealed in his boots. He was
detained prisoner, and sent to Oliver Prescott, Esq., of Groton, and his
dispatches were sent to the Committee of Safety."

  [15] Captain Leonard Whiting, of Hollis, N. H., a noted tory, who was
  the bearer of dispatches from Canada to the British in Boston.


  I think of thee, sweet lady, as of one
    Too pure to mix with others, like some star,
  Shining in pensive beauty all alone,
    Kindred with those around, yet brighter far.

                                          MRS. WELBY.

In his history of the Conquest of Florida, Mr. Theodore Irving repeats,
very interestingly, the story of Juan Ortiz who, with three other
Spaniards, fell into the hands of the Indians by stratagem. The four
captives were taken to the village of Hirrihigua, the cacique, who
ordered them to be executed on a day of religious festival. Three were
shot with arrows; and then "Juan Ortiz, a youth, scarce eighteen years
of age, of a noble family of Seville, was the fourth victim. As they
were leading him forth, his extreme youth touched with compassion the
hearts of the wife and daughters of the cacique, who interceded in his

"The cacique listened to their importunities, and granted for the
present the life of Ortiz;--but a wretched life did he lead. From
morning until evening he was employed in bringing wood and water, and
was allowed but little sleep and scanty food. Not a day passed that he
was not beaten. On festivals he was an object of barbarous amusement to
the cacique, who would oblige him to run, from sunrise until sunset, in
the public square of the village, where his companions had met their
untimely end, Indians being stationed with bows and arrows, to shoot
him, should he halt one moment. When the day was spent, the unfortunate
youth lay stretched on the hard floor of the hut, more dead than alive.
At such times the wife and daughters of the cacique would come to him
privately with food and clothing, and by their kind treatment his life
was preserved.

"At length the cacique, determining to put an end to his victim's
existence, ordered that he should be bound down upon a wooden frame, in
the form of a huge gridiron, placed in the public square, over a bed of
live coals, and roasted alive.

"The cries and shrieks of the poor youth reached his female protectors,
and their entreaties were once more successful with the cacique. They
unbound Ortiz, dragged him from the fire, and took him to their
dwelling, where they bathed him with the juice of herbs, and tended him
with assiduous care. After many days he recovered from his wounds,
though marked with many a scar.

"His employment was now to guard the cemetery of the village. This was
in a lonely field in the bosom of a forest. The bodies of the dead were
deposited in wooden boxes, covered with boards, without any fastening
except a stone or a log of wood laid upon the top; so that the bodies
were often carried away by wild beasts.

"In this cemetery was Ortiz stationed, with a bow and arrows, to watch
day and night, and was told that should a single body be carried away,
he would be burnt alive. He returned thanks to God for having freed him
from the dreaded presence of the cacique, hoping to lead a better life
with the dead than he had done with the living.

"While watching thus one long wearisome night, sleep overpowered him
towards morning. He was awakened by the falling lid of one of the
chests, and running to it, found it empty. It had contained the body of
an infant recently deceased, the child of an Indian of great note.

"Ortiz doubted not some animal had dragged it away, and immediately set
out in pursuit. After wandering for some time, he heard, at a short
distance within the woods, a noise like that of a dog gnawing bones.
Warily drawing near to the spot, he dimly perceived an animal among the
bushes, and invoking succor from on high, let fly an arrow at it. The
thick and tangled underwood prevented his seeing the effect of his shot,
but as the animal did not stir, he flattered himself that it had been
fatal: with this hope he waited until the day dawned, when he beheld his
victim, a huge animal of the panther kind, lying dead, the arrow having
passed through his entrails and cleft his heart.

"Gathering together the mangled remains of the infant, and replacing
them in the coffin, Ortiz dragged his victim in triumph to the village,
with the arrow still in his body. The exploit gained him credit with the
old hunters, and for some time softened even the ferocity of the
cacique. The resentment of the latter, however, from the wrongs he had
suffered from white men, was too bitter to be appeased. Some time after,
his eldest daughter came to Ortiz, and warned him that her father had
determined to sacrifice him at the next festival, which was just at
hand, and that the influence of her mother, her sisters, and herself
would no longer avail him. She wished him, therefore, to take refuge
with a neighboring cacique named Mucozo, who loved her and sought her in
marriage, and who, for her sake, would befriend him. 'This very night at
midnight,' said the kind-hearted maiden, 'at the northern extremity of
the village you will find a trusty friend who will guide you to a
bridge, about two leagues hence; on arriving there, you must send him
back, that he may reach home before the morning dawn, to avoid
suspicion--for well he knows that this bold act, in daring to assist
you, may bring down destruction upon us both. Six leagues further on,
you will come to the village of Mucozo--tell him I have sent you, and
expect him to befriend you in your extremity--I know he will do it--go,
and may your God protect you!' Ortiz threw himself at the feet of his
generous protectress, and poured out his acknowledgments for the
kindness she had always shown him. The Indian guide was at the place
appointed, and they left the village without alarming the warlike
savages. When they came to the bridge, Ortiz sent back the guide, in
obedience to the injunction of his mistress, and, continuing his flight,
found himself, by break of day, on the banks of a small stream near the
village of Mucozo.

"Looking cautiously around, he espied two Indians fishing. As he was
unacquainted with their language, and could not explain the cause of his
coming, he was in dread lest they should take him for an enemy and kill
him. He, therefore, ran to the place where they had deposited their
weapons and seized upon them. The savages fled to the village without
heeding his assurances of friendly intention. The inhabitants sallied
out with bows and arrows, as though they would attack him. Ortiz fixed
an arrow in his bow, but cried out at the same moment, that he came not
as an enemy but as an ambassador from a female cacique to their chief.
Fortunately one present understood him, and interpreted his words. On
this the Indians unbent their bows, and returning with him to their
village, presented him to Mucozo. The latter, a youthful chieftain, of a
graceful form and handsome countenance, received Ortiz kindly for the
sake of her who had sent him; but, on further acquaintance, became
attached to him for his own merits, treating him with the affection of a


                          "Beneath the gloom
  Of overshadowing forests, sweetly springs
  The unexpected flower."

Some of the noblest attributes of humanity are sometimes exhibited by
the wild children of the forest. These attributes, in such cases, seem,
like trees in the remotest wilderness, to have gained, by their
spontaneous growth, surprising height, symmetry and beauty.

A lovelier character than Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan, king of the
country where the first white settlement in Virginia was made, is rarely
found among any people. She was lovely in the broadest as well as
noblest sense of that word--lovely in features, lovely in disposition,
lovely in the highest adornments of Christian grace. She was, in 1607,
"a girl of ten or twelve years of age, who, not only for feature,
countenance and expression, much exceeded any of the rest of her people,
but for wit and spirit was the only nonpareil of the country." Such was
Pocahontas, as described by the first white man, probably, who ever saw
her, and in whose behalf, at the above date, she displayed the
tenderness and true grandeur of her nature.

The colonists, writes Mr. Hildreth, in his new History of the United
States, "were specially instructed to seek for a passage to the South
Sea; and it was thought that possibly the Chickahoming might lead
thither. Having ascended as high as he could in his barge, Captain Smith
followed up the stream in a canoe, with two colonists and two Indians
for companions; and when the canoe would float no longer, he left the
two colonists to guard it, and struck inland with a single Indian as a
guide. Set upon unexpectedly by a large party of natives, who had
already surprised and killed the two men left to guard the canoe, Smith
bound his Indian guide to his arm as a buckler, and made a vigorous
defence, killing three of the assailants; but as he retreated backward,
he presently sank into a miry swamp, and was taken prisoner. His captors
would have killed him, but he amused them with a pocket compass. Carried
in a sort of triumph through several villages, he was taken before
Powhatan, the same chief whom he had visited in company with Newport. An
attempt was made to engage his services--at least so Smith understood
it--in surprising the colonists at Jamestown. Having failed in this,
after much consultation, it was resolved to put him to death. He was
dragged to the ground and his head placed upon a stone; Powhatan raised
a club to dash out his brains"--and now view the highly dramatic scene
which follows, as pictured by Mrs. Sigourney in a few lines of masterly

    The sentenced captive see--his brow how white!
  Stretched on the turf, his manly form lies low,
  The war club poises for its fatal blow,
    The death-mist swims before his darkened sight;
  Forth springs the child, in tearful pity bold,
  Her head on his reclines, her arms his neck enfold,

  "The child! what madness fires her? Hence! Depart!
    Fly, daughter, fly! before the death-stroke rings;
  Divide her, warriors! from that English heart."
    In vain, for with convulsive grasp she clings:
  She claims a pardon from her frowning sire;
  Her pleading tones subdue his gathered ire,
    And so, uplifting high his feathery dart,
  That doting father gave the child her will,
  And bade the victim live and be his servant still.

After Smith had been an inmate of Powhatan's wigwam awhile, he was
permitted to leave the Indians. Sometime after this the savages,
becoming alarmed by witnessing Smith's wonderful feats, "laid a plan to
get him into their power under the pretence of wishing an interview with
him in their territory. But Pocahontas, knowing the desire of the
warriors, left the wigwam after her father had gone to sleep, and ran
more than nine miles through the woods to inform her friend Captain
Smith of the danger that awaited him, either by stratagem or attack."

Subsequently the colony at Jamestown was threatened with famine, when,
accompanied by a few companions, she was accustomed to go to the fort
every day or two with baskets of corn, and thus her

  ----"generous hand vouchsafed its tireless aid
  To guard a nation's germ."

At the age of seventeen or eighteen, Pocahontas married a pious young
English officer, named Thomas Rolfe, and went with him to England, where
she was baptized and called Rebecca, and where she soon died. Well may
it be said of her, in the language of the poet, slightly altered,

  It is not meet such names should moulder in the grave.


                     Experience teaches us
  That resolution 's a sole help at need;
  And this, my lord, our honor teacheth us,
  That we be bold in every enterprise.


On the fifteenth of March, 1697, a band of Indian prowlers broke into
the house of Mr. Dustin, of Haverhill, Massachusetts, and captured his
wife, her nurse,[16] and a babe about one week old. The last was killed
before leaving the town. The other two were marched through the
wilderness for several days till they came to a halt on an island in the
Merrimac river about six miles above Concord, New Hampshire. There they
were placed in a wigwam occupied by two men, three women, seven children
of theirs, and an English boy who had been captured about a year
previous at Worcester, Massachusetts. The captives remained there till
the thirtieth of that month before they planned escape. On that day the
boy was requested by Mrs. Dustin to ask his master where to strike "to
kill instantly;" and the savage was simple enough to tell, and also
instructed him in the art of scalping. "At night," to use the concise
language of Mr. Bancroft, "while the household slumbers, the captives,
each with a tomahawk, strike vigorously, and fleetly, and with division
of labor,--and of the twelve sleepers, ten lie dead; of one squaw the
wound was not mortal; one child was spared from design. The love of
glory next asserted its power; and the gun and tomahawk of the murderer
of her infant, and a bag heaped full of scalps were choicely kept as
trophies of the heroine.--The streams are the guides which God has set
for the stranger in the wilderness: in a bark canoe, the three descend
the Merrimac to the English settlements, astonishing their friends by
their escape, and filling the land with wonder at their successful

  [16] Mrs. Mary Neff.

Mrs. Dustin had the happiness of meeting her husband and seven children,
who had escaped from the house before the savages entered, and the honor
of a very handsome present from Colonel Nicholson, governor of Maryland,
as a reward for her heroism.[17]

  [17] Eleven years after the capture of Mrs. Dustin, a party of French
  and Indians from Canada made an attack upon the inhabitants of
  Haverhill, and killed and captured about forty persons. Several women
  exhibited on the occasion a remarkable degree of sagacity, courage and
  presence of mind. We condense from Mirick's History of Haverhill.

  Ann Whittaker escaped the tomahawk by hiding in an apple chest under the
  stairs.--A negro servant, named Hagar, covered a couple of children with
  tubs in the cellar and then concealed herself behind some meat barrels.
  The Indians trod on a foot of one of the children and took meat from the
  barrel behind which Hagar had hidden, without discovering any of
  them.--The wife of Thomas Hartshorn, took all her children except the
  babe--which she was afraid would cry--through a trap-door into the
  cellar. The enemy entered and plundered the house, but did not find the
  way into the cellar. They took the infant from its bed in the garret and
  threw it out of the window. Strange to say, though stunned, it lived and
  grew to rugged manhood.--The wife of Captain Simon Wainwright, after the
  enemy had killed her husband, let them into the house and treated them
  kindly. They at length demanded money, when she went out, as she
  pretended, to get it. They soon ascertained--though too late to find
  her--that she had fled with all her children but one, who was taken


  The brave example cannot perish
  Of courage.


  Nor could the boldest of our youth have dared
  To pass our outworks.

                                    POPE'S HOMER.

At the siege of Bryant's station near Lexington, Kentucky, in August,
1782, the water in the fort was exhausted; and as the nearest place to
obtain a supply was a spring several rods off, it would require no small
risk and, consequently, no common intrepidity to undertake to bring it.
A body of Indians in plain sight, were trying to entice the soldiers to
attack them without the walls, while another party was concealed near
the spring, waiting, it was supposed, to storm one of the gates, should
the besieged venture out. It was thought probable that the Indians in
ambush would remain so until they saw indications that the other party
had succeeded in enticing the soldiers to open engagement.

The position of things was explained to the women, and they were invited
to each take a bucket and march to the spring in a body. "Some, as was
natural, had no relish for the undertaking, and asked why the men could
not bring water as well as themselves, observing that they were not
bullet-proof, and the Indians made no distinction between male and
female scalps. To this it was answered, that the women were in the habit
of bringing water every morning to the fort; and that if the Indians saw
them engaged as usual, it would induce them to think that their
ambuscade was undiscovered; and that they would not unmask themselves
for the sake of firing at a few women, when they hoped, by remaining
concealed a few moments longer, to obtain complete possession of the
fort: that if men should go down to the spring, the Indians would
immediately suspect something was wrong, would despair of succeeding by
ambuscade, and would instantly rush upon them, follow them into the
fort, or shoot them down at the spring.

"The decision was soon made. A few of the boldest declared their
readiness to brave the danger, and the younger and more timid rallying
in the rear of these veterans, they all marched down in a body to the
spring, within point blank shot of more than five hundred Indian
warriors! Some of the girls could not help betraying symptoms of terror;
but the married women, in general, moved with a steadiness and composure
that completely deceived the Indians. Not a shot was fired. The party
were permitted to fill their buckets, one after another, without
interruption; and although their steps became quicker and quicker, on
their return, and when near the fort, degenerated into a rather
unmilitary celerity, with some little crowding in passing the gate, yet
not more than one-fifth of the water was spilled, and the eyes of the
youngest had not dilated to more than double their ordinary size."[18]

  [18] M'Clung's Sketches of Western Adventure.


               'Tis late before
  The brave despair.


Samuel Daviess was an early settler at a place called Gilmer's Lick, in
Lincoln county, Kentucky. In the month of August, 1782, while a few rods
from his house, he was attacked early one morning by an Indian; and
attempting to get within doors, he found that his house was already
occupied by other Indians. Pursued by his foe, he ran into a cornfield
and lay concealed till the savage gave up the chase and returned to the
house. He then ran to his brother's station, five miles off, gave the
alarm, and was soon returning with five stout, well armed men.

  [Illustration: THE INDIAN HORSE THIEF.]

Meanwhile the Indians--four in number--who had entered the house while
the fifth was in pursuit of Mr. Daviess, routed Mrs. Daviess and the
children from their beds, and they soon understood that they must take
up a line of march--they knew not whither. As soon as she was dressed,
Mrs. Daviess "commenced showing the Indians one article of clothing and
then another, which pleased them very much; and in that way delayed them
at the house nearly two hours. In the mean time, the Indian who had
been in pursuit of her husband returned, with his hands stained with
poke berries, which he held up, and with some violent gestures and
waving of his tomahawk, attempted to induce the belief, that the stain
on his hands was the blood of her husband, and that he had killed him.
She was enabled at once to discover the deception, and instead of
producing any alarm on her part, she was satisfied that her husband had
escaped uninjured.

"After the savages had plundered the house of every thing that they
could conveniently carry off with them, they started, taking Mrs.
Daviess and her children--seven in number--as prisoners, along with
them. Some of the children were too young to travel as fast as the
Indians wished, and discovering, as she believed, their intention to
kill such of them as could not conveniently travel, she made the two
oldest boys carry them on their backs. The Indians, in starting from the
house, were very careful to leave no signs of the direction they had
taken, not even permitting the children to break a twig or weed as they
passed along. They had not gone far before an Indian drew his knife and
cut off a few inches of Mrs. Daviess' dress, so that she would not be
interrupted in traveling.

"Mrs. Daviess was a woman of cool, deliberate courage, and accustomed to
handle the gun, so that she could shoot well, as many of the women were
in the habit of doing in those days. She had contemplated, as a last
resort, that if not rescued in the course of the day, when night came on
and the Indians had fallen asleep, she would deliver herself and
children by killing as many of the Indians as she could--thinking that
in a night attack as many of them as remained would most probably run

  [19] Collins's Historical Sketches of Kentucky.

Mr. Daviess and his comrades reaching the house and finding it empty,
hastened on in pursuit of the Indians. They had gone but a few miles
before they overtook the retreating party. Two Indian spies in the rear,
first discovered the pursuers, and running on, overtook the three
others, with the prisoners, and knocked down and scalped, though they
did not kill, the oldest boy. At that moment the pursuers fired at the
Indians, but missed. The latter were now alarmed and confused, and Mrs.
Daviess, taking advantage of this circumstance, jumped into a sink hole
with her infant in her arms; and the Indians fleeing, every child was

"Kentucky, in its early days, like most new countries, was occasionally
troubled by men of abandoned character, who lived by stealing the
property of others, and, after committing their depredations, retired to
their hiding places, thereby eluding the operation of the law. One of
these marauders, a man of desperate character, who had committed
extensive thefts from Mr. Daviess, as well as from his neighbors, was
pursued by Daviess and a party whose property he had taken, in order to
bring him to justice. While the party were in pursuit, the suspected
individual, not knowing any one was pursuing him, came to the house of
Daviess, armed with his gun and tomahawk--no person being at home but
Mrs. Daviess and her children. After he had stepped into the house, Mrs.
Daviess asked him if he would drink something--and having set a bottle
of whiskey upon the table, requested him to help himself. The fellow,
not suspecting any danger, set his gun up by the door, and while
drinking, Mrs. Daviess picked up his gun, and placing herself in the
door, had the gun cocked and leveled upon him by the time he turned
around, and in a peremptory manner ordered him to take a seat, or she
would shoot him. Struck with terror and alarm, he asked what he had
done. She told him he had stolen her husband's property and that she
intended to take care of him herself. In that condition she held him a
prisoner, until the party of men returned and took him into their

  [20] Collins.


  This is true courage.

                   WHITEHEAD'S ROMAN FATHER.

During the summer of 1787, writes Mr. McClung, in his Sketches of
Western Adventure, "The house of Mr. John Merrill, of Nelson county,
Kentucky, was attacked by the Indians, and defended with singular
address and good fortune. Merrill was alarmed by the barking of a dog
about midnight, and upon opening the door in order to ascertain the
cause of the disturbance, he received the fire of six or seven Indians,
by which one arm and one thigh were broken. He instantly sank upon the
floor, and called upon his wife to close the door. This had scarcely
been done when it was violently assailed by the tomahawks of the enemy,
and a large breach soon effected. Mrs. Merrill, however, being a perfect
amazon, both in strength and courage, guarded it with an axe, and
successively killed or badly wounded four of the enemy as they attempted
to force their way into the cabin.

"The Indians ascended the roof, and attempted to enter by way of the
chimney; but here again they were met by the same determined enemy.
Mrs. Merrill seized the only feather bed which the cabin afforded, and
hastily ripping it open, poured its contents upon the fire. A furious
blaze and stifling smoke instantly ascended the chimney, and brought
down two of the enemy, who lay for a few moments at the mercy of the
lady. Seizing the axe, she quickly dispatched them, and was instantly
afterwards summoned to the door, where the only remaining savage now
appeared, endeavoring to effect an entrance, while Mrs. Merrill was
engaged at the chimney. He soon received a gash in the cheek, which
compelled him, with a loud yell, to relinquish his purpose, and return
hastily to Chillicothe, where, from the report of a prisoner, he gave an
exaggerated account of the fierceness, strength, and courage of the
'long knife squaw!'"


  Courage alone can save us.


The account of the Indians' attack on the Innis settlement, near
Frankfort, Kentucky, in April, 1792, has been differently related by
different writers. The most reliable account is doubtless that given by
the Rev. Abraham Cook, a minister of the Baptist denomination and the
brother of Jesse and Hosea Cook, whose wives were the heroines of the
settlement. The attack was made on the twenty-eighth of the month, by
about one hundred Indians, and at three points almost simultaneously.
The first onset was upon the Cooks who lived in cabins close together,
and where was displayed a degree of intrepidity rarely matched.

"The brothers were near their cabins, one engaged in shearing sheep, the
other looking on. The sharp crack of rifles was the first intimation of
the proximity of the Indians; and that fire was fatal to the
brothers--the elder fell dead, and the younger was mortally wounded, but
enabled to reach the cabin. The two Mrs. Cook, with three children--two
whites and one black--were instantly collected in the house, and the
door, a very strong one, made secure. The Indians, unable to enter,
discharged their rifles at the door, but without injury, as the balls
did not penetrate through the thick boards of which it was constructed.
They then attempted to cut it down with their tomahawks, but with no
better success. While these things occurred without, there was deep
sorrow, mingled with fearless determination and high resolve within. The
younger Cook, mortally wounded, immediately the door was barred, sank
down on the floor, and breathed his last; and the two Mrs. Cook were
left the sole defenders of the cabin, with the three children. There was
a rifle in the house, but no balls could be found. In this extremity,
one of the women got hold of a musket ball, and placing it between her
teeth, actually bit it into two pieces. With one she instantly loaded
the rifle. The Indians, failing in their attempts to cut down the door,
had retired a few paces in front, doubtless to consult upon their future
operations. One seated himself upon a log, apparently apprehending no
danger from within. Observing him, Mrs. Cook took aim from a narrow
aperture and fired, when the Indian gave a loud yell, bounded high in
the air, and fell dead. This infuriated the savages, who threatened--for
they could speak English--to burn the house and all the inmates. Several
speedily climbed to the top of the cabin, and kindled a fire on the
boards of the roof. The devouring element began to take effect, and
with less determined and resolute courage within, the certain
destruction of the cabin and the death of the inmates, must have been
the consequence. But the self possession and intrepidity of these
Spartan females were equal to the occasion. One of them instantly
ascended to the loft, and the other handed her water, with which she
extinguished the fire. Again and again the roof was fired, and as often
extinguished. The water failing, the undaunted women called for some
eggs, which were broken and the contents thrown upon the fire, for a
time holding the flames at bay. Their next resource was the bloody
waistcoat of the husband and brother-in-law, who lay dead upon the
floor. The blood with which this was profusely saturated, checked the
progress of the flames--but, as they appeared speedily to be gathering
strength, another, and the last expedient ... proved successful. The
savage foe yielded, and the fruitful expedients of female courage
triumphed. One Indian, in bitter disappointment, fired at his unseen
enemy through the boards, but did not injure her, when the whole
immediately descended from the roof.

"About the time the attack commenced, a young man named McAndre, escaped
on horseback, in view of the Indians, who, it was supposed, would give
the alarm to the older neighboring settlements. As soon as they
descended from the house top, a few climbed some contiguous trees, and
instituted a sharp look out. While in the trees, one of them fired a
second ball into the loft of the cabin, which cut to pieces a bundle of
yarn hanging near the head of Mrs. Cook, but without doing further
injury. Soon after, they threw the body of the dead Indian into the
adjacent creek, and precipitately fled."


  A thousand hearts are great within my bosom;
  Advance our standards.


  Rocks have been shaken from their solid base;
  But what shall move a dauntless soul?

                                       JOANNA BAILLIE.

At the capture of Tampico, which took place on the fourteenth of
November, 1846, a noteworthy act was performed by a lady, whose
patriotism and daring should not be forgotten. She not only gave
Commodore Connor full information in regard to the defence of the place,
with a plan of the harbor, town and forts, but when the squadron was
approaching, though opposed by the city council and even menaced, she
hoisted the American flag and persisted in waving it beneath the very
eye of the _ayuntamiento_! This intrepid woman was Mrs. Ann Chase, wife
of the American Consul.



  Thou soul of love and bravery!


Dicey Langston was the daughter of Solomon Langston, of Laurens
district, South Carolina. She possessed an intrepid spirit, which is
highly serviceable in times of emergency, and which, as she lived in the
days of the Revolution, she had more than one opportunity to display.
Situated in the midst of tories, and being patriotically inquisitive,
she often learned by accident, or discovered by strategy, the plottings
so common in those days, against the whigs. Such intelligence she was
accustomed to communicate to the friends of freedom on the opposite side
of the Ennoree river.

Learning one time that a band of loyalists--known in those parts as the
"Bloody scout"--were about to fall upon the "Elder settlement," a place
where a brother of hers and other friends were residing, she resolved to
warn them of their danger. To do this she must hazard her own life. But
off she started, alone, in the darkness of the night; traveled several
miles through the woods, and over marshes and across creeks, through a
country where foot-logs and bridges were then unknown; came to the
Tyger, a rapid and deep stream, into which she plunged and waded till
the water was up to her neck; she then became bewildered, and zigzagged
the channel for some time; reached the opposite shore at length--for a
helping Hand was beneath, a kind Providence guiding her:--hastened on;
reached the settlement, and her brother and the whole community were

She was returning one day from another settlement of whigs--in the
Spartanburg district, when a company of tories met her and questioned
her in regard to the neighborhood she had just left; but she refused to
communicate the desired information. The leader of the band then held a
pistol to her breast, and threatened to shoot her if she did not make
the wished for disclosure. "Shoot me if you dare! I will not tell you!"
was her dauntless reply, as she opened a long handkerchief that covered
her neck and bosom, thus manifesting a willingness to receive the
contents of the pistol, if the officer insisted on disclosures or life.
The dastard, enraged at her defying movement, was in the act of firing,
at which moment one of the soldiers threw up the hand holding the
weapon, and the cowerless heart of the girl was permitted to beat on.

The brothers of Dicey were no less patriotic than she; and they having,
by their active services on the side of freedom, greatly displeased the
loyalists, these latter were determined to be revenged. A desperate
band accordingly went to the house of their father, and finding the sons
absent, they were about to wreak their vengeance on the old man, whom
they hated for the sons' sake. With this intent one of the party drew a
pistol; but just as it was aimed at the breast of her aged and infirm
father, Dicey rushed between the two, and though the ruffian bade her
get out of his way or receive in her own breast the contents of the
pistol, she regarded not his threats, but flung her arms around her
father's neck and declared she would receive the ball first, if the
weapon must be discharged. Such fearlessness and willingness to offer
her own life for the sake of her parent, softened the heart of the
"bloody scout," and Mr. Langston lived to see his noble daughter perform
other heroic deeds.

One time her brother James, in his absence, sent to the house for a gun
which he had left in her care, with orders for her to deliver it to no
one except by his direction. On reaching the house one of the company
who where directed to call for it, made known their errand, whereupon
she brought and was about to deliver the weapon. At this moment it
occurred to her that she had not demanded the countersign agreed on
between herself and brother. With the gun still in her hand, she looked
the company sternly in the face, and remarking that they wore a
suspicious look, called for the countersign. Hereupon one of them, in
jest, told her she was too tardy in her requirements; that both the gun
and its holder were in their possession. "Do you think so," she boldly
asked, as she cocked the disputed weapon and aimed it at the speaker.
"If the gun is in your possession," she added, "take charge of it!" Her
appearance indicated that she was in earnest, and the countersign was
given without further delay. A hearty laugh on the part of the "liberty
men," ended the ceremony.


  We can make our lives sublime.


During the Revolutionary war, while Fort Motte, situated on Congaree
river, in South Carolina, was in the hands of the British, in order to
effect its surrender, it became necessary to burn a large mansion
standing near the centre of the trench. The house was the property of
Mrs. Motte. Lieut. Colonel Lee communicated to her the contemplated work
of destruction with painful reluctance, but her smiles, half
anticipating his proposal, showed, at once, that she was willing to
sacrifice her property if she could thereby aid in the least degree
towards the expulsion of the enemy and the salvation of the land. The
reply she made to the proposal was that she was "gratified with the
opportunity of contributing to the good of her country, and should view
the approaching scene with delight!"[21]

  [21] MRS. BREWTON,--since Foster--one of the most amiable and
  enlightened of the whig ladies, was an inmate of Mrs. Motte's family at
  the time of the destruction of her house. Meeting with her shortly after
  the signing of the preliminary articles of peace at Philadelphia, I
  inquired--"How it had happened, that she, a helpless, unprotected widow,
  without any charge of improper conduct, had so far incurred the enmity
  of the British commanders, as to have been arrested without ceremony,
  and hurried unprepared, into exile." She answered--"That she knew no act
  of hers which had merited such ungentlemanly and inhuman treatment."
  Entering, however, into conversation relative to the siege and surrender
  of Fort Motte, she gave at once a clue to the transaction. While the
  American forces were at a distance, Major M'Pherson, the commander of
  the post, suffered Mrs. Motte and her family to remain, and an apartment
  was allowed for their accommodation. But when the post at Thompson's,
  but a little removed from him, was attacked and carried, anticipating
  the fate which awaited him, immediate removal was not only advised, but
  insisted on. At the moment of departure, Mrs. Brewton seeing a quiver of
  arrows, which had been presented to Mr. Motte by a favorite African,
  said to her friend, "I will take these with me, to prevent their
  destruction by the soldiers." With the quiver in her hands, she was
  passing the gate, when Major M'Pherson, drawing forth a shaft, and
  applying the point to his finger, said, "what have you here, Mrs.
  Brewton?" "For God's sake be careful," she replied "these arrows are
  poisoned." The ladies immediately passed on to the out-house, which they
  were now to inhabit. In the siege which directly followed, when the
  destruction of the house was determined upon, and missiles eagerly
  sought for by Lieutenant Colonel Lee for conveying the fire to the
  shingles, these arrows being remembered, were presented by Mrs. Motte,
  with a wish for the happy accomplishment of the end proposed. It was
  afterwards known, that the first arrow missed its aim, and fell at the
  feet of the commander, who taking, it up, with strong expressions of
  anger, exclaimed, "I thank you, Mrs. Brewton." The second arrow took
  effect, and set fire to the roof, when the brisk discharge of a six
  pounder being maintained by Captain Finley, in the direction of the
  stair-case, every effort to extinguish it proved fruitless, until, from
  the apprehension of the roof falling in, the garrison were compelled to
  surrender at discretion. General Greene arriving soon after, paid to
  Major M'Pherson the tribute of applause due to his excellent defence,
  declaring, "that such gallantry could not fail to procure for him a high
  increase of reputation." This compliment, however, does not appear to
  have soothed the mortified soldier; for, walking immediately up to Mrs.
  Brewton, he said, "to _you_ madam, I owe this disgrace; it would have
  been more charitable to have allowed me to perish by poison, than to be
  thus compelled to surrender my post to the enemy." This speech alone,
  accounts for the enmity against Mrs. Brewton.--[Knapp's American

The husband of this noble-hearted widow had so involved himself by
securities for friends, that after the struggle for Independence was
over, it was impossible for her to immediately meet all demands against
the estate. She, however, resolved that they should some day be
liquidated--that, life and health being continued long enough, all
obligations of her husband's contracting should be good against herself.
She purchased a large tract of rice land on credit, and by industry and
economy was able, in a short time, to pay the old demands, and lived to
accumulate a handsome property. She reminds us of Solomon's picture of
the virtuous woman: "She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the
fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard."... "She looketh well to the
ways of her household, and eateth not of the bread of idleness."


  A patriot's birth-right thou may'st claim.


The subject of the following anecdote was a sister of General Woodhull,
and was born at Brookhaven, Long Island, in December, 1740. Her husband
was a member of the Provincial Convention which met in May, 1775, and of
the Convention which was called two years after, to frame the first
state constitution.

While Judge William Smith was in the Provincial Congress, his lady was
met, at a place called Middle Island, by Major Benjamin Tallmadge, who
was then on his march across Long Island. He told her he was on his way
to her house to capture the force then possessing Fort St. George, and
that he might be obliged to burn or otherwise destroy her dwelling-house
and other buildings in accomplishing this object. Ready to make any
sacrifice for the good of her bleeding country, she promptly assured the
Major that the buildings were at his disposal, to destroy or not, as
efforts to dislodge the enemy might require.


  Large charity doth never soil,
  But only whitens soft white hands.--LOWELL.

When General Greene was retreating through the Carolinas, after the
battle of the Cowpens, and while at Salisbury, North Carolina, he put up
at a hotel, the landlady of which was Mrs. Elizabeth Steele. A
detachment of Americans had just had a skirmish with the British under
Cornwallis at the Catawba ford, and were defeated and dispersed; and
when the wounded were brought to the hotel, the General no doubt felt
somewhat discouraged, for the fate of the south and perhaps of the
country seemed to hang on the result of this memorable retreat. Added to
his other troubles was that of being penniless; and Mrs. Steele,
learning this fact by accident, and ready to do any thing in her power
to further the cause of freedom, took him aside and drew from under her
apron two bags of specie. Presenting them to him she generously said,
"Take these, for you will want them, and I can do without them."[22]

  [22] Never did relief come at a more propitious moment; nor would it be
  straining conjecture to suppose that he resumed his journey with his
  spirits cheered and brightened by this touching proof of woman's
  devotion to the cause of her country. [Greene's Life of Nathaniel


              Some there are
  By their good deeds exalted


Mary Redmond, the daughter of a patriot of Philadelphia of some local
distinction, had many relatives who were loyalists. These were
accustomed to call her "the little black-eyed rebel," so ready was she
to assist women whose husbands were fighting for freedom, in procuring
intelligence. "The dispatches were usually sent from their friends by a
boy who carried them stitched in the back of his coat. He came into the
city bringing provisions to market. One morning when there was some
reason to fear he was suspected, and his movements were watched by the
enemy, Mary undertook to get the papers from him in safety. She went, as
usual, to the market, and in a pretended game of romps, threw her shawl
over the boy's head and secured the prize. She hastened with the papers
to her anxious friends, who read them by stealth, after the windows had
been carefully closed."

When the whig women in her neighborhood heard of Burgoyne's surrender,
and were exulting in secret, the cunning little "rebel," prudently
refraining from any open demonstration of joy, "put her head up the
chimney and gave a shout for Gates!"


  How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out,
  And court the offices of soft humanity!


Charity Rodman was born in Newport, Rhode Island, in the year 1765. Her
father was a sea-captain, and died at Honduras while she was in infancy.
She married Thomas Rotch, of Nantucket, Massachusetts, on the sixth of
June, 1790. Soon afterwards the Rotch family removed to New Bedford,
where they have since distinguished themselves by their energy and
uprightness of character, and their success in the mercantile business,
being extensively engaged in the whale-fishery. Of some of them, as
traffickers, it may be said, as it was of the merchants of Tyre in the
days of her glory: "they are among the honorable of the earth."

  [23] Some of the facts embodied in this article were gathered by the
  author while on a visit to Massillon, Ohio, in the summer of 1847, and
  were communicated to the public at that time through the columns of the
  Western Literary Messenger; others were lately and very obligingly
  furnished by Dr. William Bowen, of that place.

About the year 1801, Mrs. Rotch removed with her husband to Hartford,
Connecticut, where she remained till 1811. She then, in a feeble state
of health, and for its improvement, accompanied her husband on a journey
through Ohio, and other parts of the West. The mildness of the winter
was favorable to her constitution, and, restored to comfortable health,
she returned to Hartford in the early part of the next summer. The
following November she removed to Kendol, in Stark county, Ohio, near
the site of the present village of Massillon.

There the mind of Mrs. Rotch, coöperating with the long-cherished wishes
of her heart, originated and matured plans for the establishment of a
"school for orphan and destitute children." Having traveled much, she
had made extensive observations; and with an eye always open to the
condition and wants of human kind, she early and often felt the force of
a remark once made to her by an English friend: "That there were a great
many children _wasted_ in this country"--a painful truth, but no less
applicable to Great Britain than to the United States.

Her husband died in 1823, and bequeathed to her, during life, his large
and entire estate. His personal property was left in her hands to be
disposed of as her philanthropic heart might dictate. This formed the
basis of the school-fund which she left, and which, four or five years
after her death, which occurred on the sixth of August, 1824, amounted
to twenty thousand dollars. The interest of this sum has since purchased
a farm of one hundred and eighty-five acres, one and a half miles from
the village of Massillon, and erected, at a cost of five thousand
dollars, a large brick edifice for educational and dwelling purposes,
which has been open seven years and which sustains forty pupils. The
real and personal estate of the institution, is now estimated at
thirty-five thousand dollars.

A class of ten pupils enter annually and remain four years. The school
is established on the manual labor plan; and the boys are thoroughly
instructed in the art of husbandry, and the girls in culinary duties and
the manufacture of their own wearing apparel. Children enter between the
ages of ten and fourteen, hence the youngest leave as advanced in life
as their fifteenth year, a period when their habits of industry and
their moral principles usually become too well established to be easily

This school, founded by the benevolence of a single individual--a
devout, yet modest and quiet member of the Society of Friends--is
destined to become a source of inestimable blessings. Every half
century, five hundred otherwise neglected plants in the garden of
humanity, will there be pruned and nurtured, and strengthened for the
storms of life; and many of them will doubtless be fitted to bear fruit
here to the glory of God, and be finally transplanted to bloom in
eternal youth in the gardens above.

The offspring of Christian philanthropy, the school will stand as a
lasting memorial of woman's worth. The highest ambition of its founder
was to be a blessing to those who should come after her; and it may be
said that while she did not live in vain, neither did she die in vain.
Her death threw a legacy into the lap of orphanage, the benignant
influence of which will long be felt.

The grave of Mrs. Rotch is overlooked by the monument of her
munificence, but no marble nor enduring object marks the spot. Virtues
like hers neither crave nor need _chiseled_ words of praise; they are
engraved on the hearts of the succored, to be remembered while those
hearts continue to beat; and the feet of befriended children will keep a
path open to the grave of their foster-mother, for ages.


  --Doubtless unto thee is given
  A life that bears immortal fruit
  In such great offices as suit
  The full-grown energies of heaven.

                           TENNYSON'S IN MEMORIAM.

The Ohio Company, which was organized in Boston in the year 1787, built
a stockade fort during the next two years, at Marietta, and named it
_Campus Martius_. The year it was completed, the Rev. Daniel Storey, a
preacher at Worcester, Massachusetts, was sent out as a chaplain. He
acted as an evangelist till 1797, when he became the pastor of a
Congregational church which he had been instrumental in collecting in
Marietta and the adjoining towns, and which was organized the preceding
year. He held that relation till the spring of 1804. Probably he was the
first Protestant minister whose voice was heard in the vast wilderness
lying to the north-west of the Ohio river.

  [24] The facts contained in this article we find in a series of papers,
  by S. P. Hildreth, Esq., published in "The American Pioneer," in 1842.

In the garrison at Marietta was witnessed the formation and successful
operation of one of the first Sunday schools in the United States. Its
originator, superintendent and sole teacher, was Mrs. Andrew Lake, an
estimable lady from New York. Every Sabbath, after "Parson Storey" had
finished his public services, she collected as many of the children at
her house as would attend, and heard them recite verses from the
Scriptures, and taught them the Westminster catechism. Simple in her
manner of teaching and affable and kind in her disposition, she was able
to interest her pupils--usually about twenty in number--and to win their
affections to herself, to the school, and, subsequently, in some
instances, to the Saviour. A few, at least, of the little children that
used to sit on rude benches, low stools and the tops of meal bags, and
listen to her sacred instructions and earnest admonitions, have
doubtless ere this became pupils, with her, in the "school of Christ"


  The guardians of the land.


Justice and gratitude, writes Miner,[25] "demand a tribute to the
praiseworthy spirit of the wives and daughters of Wyoming. While their
husbands and fathers were on public duty, they cheerfully assumed a
large portion of the labor which females could do. They assisted to
plant, made hay, husked and garnered the corn. As the settlement was
mainly dependent on its own resources for powder, Mr. Hollenback caused
to be brought up the river a pounder; and the women took up their
floors, dug out the earth, put it in casks, and run water through
it,--as ashes are bleached:--then took ashes, in another cask, and made
ley--mixed the water from the earth with weak ley, boiled it, set it to
cool, and the saltpetre rose to the top. Charcoal and sulphur were then
used, and powder was produced for the public defence."

  [25] History of Wyoming, page 212.


  Far rung the groves and gleamed the midnight grass,
  With flambeau, javelin and naked arm;
  As warriors wheeled their culverins of brass,
  Sprung from the woods a bold athletic mass,
  Whom virtue fires and liberty combines.


  Such is the power of mighty love.


Early in the evening of the third day of July, 1778--the date of the
memorable Wyoming massacre--Mrs. Mary Gould, wife of James Gould, with
the other females remaining in the village of Wyoming, sought safety in
the fort. In the haste and confusion attending this act, she left a boy
of hers about four years old, behind. Obeying the instincts of a mother,
and turning a deaf ear to the admonitions of friends, she started off on
a perilous search for the missing one. It was dark; she was alone, and
the foe was lurking around; but the agonies of death could not exceed
her agonies of suspense; so she hastened on. She traversed the fields
which, but a few hours before,

  "Were trampled by the hurrying crowd;"


  "--fiery hearts and armed hands
  Encountered in the battle cloud,"

and where unarmed hands were now resting on cold and motionless hearts.
After a search of between one and two hours, she found her child on the
bank of the river, sporting with a little band of playmates. Clasping
the jewel in her arms, she hurried back and reached the fort in safety.


  Holy as heaven a mother's tender love!
  The love of many prayers, and many tears,
  Which changes not with dim, declining years.

                                          MRS. NORTON.

The late President Folk's mother, who died at Columbia, Tennessee, in
the winter of 1851-2, was a member of the Presbyterian church, a highly
exemplary Christian, and a faithful mother. The lessons which she taught
her son in youth, were not forgotten when he had arrived at manhood, and
risen to the highest office in the gift of a free and sovereign people.
A single anecdote will show the abiding recollection and influence of
her teachings.

A gentleman, who once visited Mr. Polk at the White House, remarked to
him that his respect for the Sabbath was highly gratifying to the
religious sentiment of the country; whereupon he made the following
reply: "I was taught by a pious mother to fear God, and keep his
commandments, and I trust that no cares of a government of my own, will
ever tempt me to forget what I owe to the government of God."


  Press on! if fortune play thee false
  To-day, to-morrow she 'll be true.

                              PARK BENJAMIN.

During the latter part of the Revolution, Thomas McCalla lived in
Chester district, South Carolina. He removed thither from Pennsylvania,
with his young wife, in 1778. He was a whole-hearted whig; served in the
American army before moving to the south, and again enlisted soon after
reaching his new home. He was in all the engagements attending Sumter's
operations against the enemy, till the seventeenth of August, 1780,
when, by permission, he went to visit his family. A short time
afterwards he again joined the fighting men, but was almost immediately
taken prisoner, sent to Camden, thrown into jail and threatened daily
with hanging. The persevering and heroic endeavors of his affectionate
and patriotic wife, to obtain his release, are detailed in the following
interesting manner by the author of the Women of the Revolution:

While this brave man was languishing in prison, expecting death from day
to day, his wife remained in the most unhappy state of suspense. For
about a month she was unable to obtain any tidings of him. The rumor of
Sumter's surprise, and that of Steel, came to her ears; she visited the
places where those disasters had occurred, and sought for some trace of
him, but without success. She inquired, in an agony of anxiety, of the
women who had been to Charlotte for the purpose of carrying clothes or
provisions to their husbands, brothers, or fathers, not knowing but that
he had gone thither with the soldiers; but none could give her the least
information. Imagination may depict the harrowing scenes that must have
passed, when females returning to their homes and children after
carrying aid to the soldiers, were met by such inquiries from those who
were uncertain as to the fate of their kindred. To these hapless
sufferers no consolation availed, and too often was their suspense
terminated by more afflicting certainty.

In the midst of Mrs. McCalla's distress, and before she had gained any
information, she was called to another claim on her anxiety; her
children took the small-pox. John was very ill for nine days with the
disease, and his mother thought every day would be his last. During this
terrible season of alarm, while her mind was distracted by cares, she
had to depend altogether upon herself, for she saw but one among her
neighbors. All the families in the vicinity were visited with the
disease, and to many it proved fatal. As soon as her child was so far
recovered as to be considered out of danger, Mrs. McCalla made
preparations to go to Camden. She felt convinced that it was her duty to
do so, for she clung to the hope that she might there learn something
of her husband, or even find him among the prisoners.

With her to resolve was to act, and having set her house in order, she
was in the saddle long before day, taking the old Charleston road
leading down on the west side of the Catawba river. The mountain gap on
Wateree creek was passed ere the sun rose, and by two o'clock she had
crossed the river, passing the guard there stationed, and entered
Camden. Pressing on with fearless determination, she passed the guard,
and desiring to be conducted to the presence of Lord Rawdon, was
escorted by Major Doyle to the head-quarters of that commander. His
Lordship then occupied a large, ancient looking house on the east side
of the main street. The old site of the town is now in part deserted,
and that building left standing alone some four hundred yards from any
other, as if the memories associated with it had rendered the
neighborhood undesirable. It was here that haughty and luxurious
nobleman fixed his temporary residence, "sitting as a monarch," while so
many true-hearted unfortunates, whose fate hung on his will, were
languishing out their lives in prison, or atoning for their patriotism
on the scaffold.

Into the presence of this august personage Mrs. McCalla was conducted by
the British major. Her impression at first sight was favorable; he was a
fine looking young man, with a countenance not unprepossessing, which we
may suppose was eagerly searched for the traces of human sympathy by one
who felt that all her hopes depended on him. His aspect gave her some
encouragement, and being desired to explain the object of her visit, she
pleaded her cause with the eloquence of nature and feeling; making known
the distressed situation of her family at home, the fearful anxiety of
mind she had suffered on account of the prolonged absence of her husband
and her ignorance of his fate, and her children's urgent need of his
care and protection. From Major Doyle she had at length learned that he
was held a prisoner by his lordship's orders. She had come, therefore,
to entreat mercy for him; to pray that he might be released and
permitted to go home with her. This appeal to compassion she made with
all the address in her power, nor was the untaught language of distress
wanting in power to excite pity in any feeling heart.

Lord Rawdon heard her to the end. His reply was characteristic. "I would
rather hang such ---- rebels than eat my breakfast." This insulting
speech was addressed to his suppliant while her eyes were fixed on him
in the agony of her entreaty, and the tears were streaming down her
cheeks. His words dried up the fountain at once, and the spirit of the
American matron was roused. "Would you?" was her answer, while she
turned on him a look of the deepest scorn. A moment after, with a
struggle to control her feelings, for she well knew how much depended on
that--she said, "I crave of your lordship permission to see my husband."

The haughty chief felt the look of scorn his cruel language had called
up in her face, for his own conscience bore testimony against him, but
pride forbade his yielding to the dictates of better feeling. "You
should consider, madam," he answered, "in whose presence you now stand.
Your husband is a rebel----"

Mrs. McCalla was about to reply--but her companion, the Major, gave her
a look warning her to be silent, and in truth the words that sprang to
her lips would have ill pleased the Briton. Doyle now interposed, and
requested his lordship to step aside with him for a moment. They left
the apartment, and shortly afterwards returned. Rawdon then said to his
visitor, with a stately coldness that precluded all hope of softening
his determination: "Major Doyle, madam, has my permission to let you go
into the prison. You may continue in the prison _ten minutes only_.
Major, you have my orders." So saying, he bowed politely both to her and
the officer, as intimating that the business was ended, and they were
dismissed. They accordingly quitted the room.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sight of the prison-pen almost overcame the fortitude of the
resolute wife. An enclosure like that constructed for animals, guarded
by soldiers, was the habitation of the unfortunate prisoners, who sate
within on the bare earth, many of them suffering with the prevalent
distemper, and stretched helpless on the ground, with no shelter from
the burning sun of September. "Is it possible," cried the matron,
turning to Doyle, "that you shut up men in this manner, as you would a
parcel of hogs!" She was then admitted into the jail, and welcome indeed
was the sight of her familiar face to McCalla. The time allotted for the
interview was too short to be wasted in condolement or complaint; she
told him she must depart in a few minutes, informed him of the state of
his family--inquired carefully what were his wants, and promised speedy
relief. When the ten minutes had expired, she again shook hands with
him, assuring him she would shortly return with clothes for his use, and
what provisions she could bring, then turning walked away with a firm
step, stopping to shake hands with young John Adair and the other
captives with whom she was acquainted. The word of encouragement was not
wanting, and as she bade the prisoners adieu, she said: "Have no fear;
the women are doing their part of the service." "I admire your spirit,
madam," Doyle observed to her, "but must request you to be a little more

Mrs. McCalla was furnished by the Major with a pass, which she showed to
the officer on duty as she passed the guard on her return, and to the
officer at the ferry. She rode with all speed, and was at home before
midnight; having had less than twenty-four hours for the accomplishment
of her whole enterprise; in that time riding one hundred miles, crossing
the river twice, and passing the guard four times--visiting her husband,
and having the interview with Lord Rawdon, in which probably for the
first time in his life he felt uneasiness from a woman's rebuke. It
convinced him that even in the breast of woman a spirit of independence
might dwell, which no oppression could subdue, and before which brute
force must quail, as something of superior nature. How must the
unexpected outbreaking of this spirit, from time to time, have dismayed
those who imagined it was crushed forever throughout the conquered

It is proper to say that Mrs. McCalla met with kinder treatment from the
other British officers to whom she had occasion to apply at this time,
for they were favorably impressed by the courage and strength of
affection evinced by her. Even the soldiers, as she passed them, paid
her marks of respect. The tories alone showed no sympathy nor pity for
her trials; it being constantly observed that there was deeper hostility
towards the whigs on the part of their countrymen of different politics,
than those of English birth.

Mrs. McCalla began her work immediately after her arrival at home;
making new clothes, altering and mending others, and preparing
provisions. Her preparations being completed, she again set out for
Camden. This time she had the company of one of her neighbors, Mrs. Mary
Nixon. Each of the women drove before her a pack-horse, laden with the
articles provided for the use of their suffering friends. They were
again admitted to the presence of Lord Rawdon to petition for leave to
visit the prisoners, but nothing particular occurred at the interview.
His lordship treated the matron who had offended him with much
haughtiness, and she on her part felt for him a contempt not the less
strong that it was not openly expressed. From this time she made her
journeys about once a month to Camden, carrying clean clothes and
provisions; being often accompanied by other women bound on similar
errands, and conveying articles of food and clothing to their captive
fathers, husbands, or brothers. They rode without escort, fearless of
peril by the way, and regardless of fatigue, though the journey was
usually performed in haste, and under the pressure of anxiety for those
at home as well as those to whose relief they were going. On one
occasion, when Mrs. McCalla was just about setting off alone upon her
journey, news of a glorious event was brought to her; the news of the
battle of King's Mountain, which took place on the seventh of October.
She did not stop to rejoice in the victory of her countrymen, but went
on with a lightened heart, longing, no doubt, to share the joy with him
who might hope, from the changed aspect of affairs, some mitigation of
his imprisonment.

... About the first of December, Mrs. McCalla went again to Camden. On
the preceding trip she had met with Lord Cornwallis, by whom she was
treated with kindness. Whatever hopes she had grounded on this, however,
were doomed to disappointment; he was this time reserved and silent. She
was afterwards informed by the Major that a considerable reverse had
befallen his majesty's troops at Clermont, and the annoyance felt on
this account--Doyle said--was the cause of his not showing as much
courtesy as he usually did to ladies. "You must excuse him," observed
the good-natured officer, who seems to have always acted the part of a
peacemaker on these occasions; and he added that Cornwallis had never
approved of the cruelties heretofore practised.

Towards the last of December the indefatigable wife again performed the
weary journey to Camden. McCalla's health had been impaired for some
months, and was now declining; it was therefore necessary to make a
strenuous effort to move the compassion of his enemies, and procure his
release. Rawdon was in command, and she once more applied to him to
obtain permission for her husband to go home with her. As might have
been anticipated, her petition was refused: his lordship informed her
that he could do nothing in the premises; but that if she would go to
Winnsboro' and present her request to Lord Cornwallis, he might possibly
be induced to give her an order for the liberation of the prisoner.

To Winnsboro', accordingly, she made her way, determined to lose no time
in presenting her application. It was on New Year's morning that she
entered the village. The troops were under parade, and his lordship was
engaged in reviewing them; there could be no admission, therefore, to
his presence for some time, and she had nothing to do but remain a
silent spectator of the imposing scene. A woman less energetic, and less
desirous of improving every opportunity for the good of others, might
have sought rest after the fatigues of her journey, during the hours her
business had to wait; Sarah McCalla was one of heroic stamp, whose
private troubles never caused her to forget what she might do for her
country. She passed the time in noticing particularly every thing she
saw, not knowing but that her report might do service. After the lapse
of several hours, the interview she craved with Cornwallis was granted.
He received her with courtesy and kindness, listened attentively to all
she had to say, and appeared to feel pity for her distresses. But his
polished expression of sympathy, to which her hopes clung with
desperation, was accompanied with regret that he could not, consistently
with the duties of his Majesty's service, comply unconditionally with
her request. He expressed, nevertheless, entire willingness to enter
into an exchange with General Sumter, releasing McCalla for any prisoner
he had in his possession. Or he would accept the pledge of General
Sumter that McCalla should not again serve until exchanged, and would
liberate him on that security. "But, madam," he added, "it is Sumter
himself who must stand pledged for the keeping of the parole. We have
been too lenient heretofore, and have let men go who immediately made
use of their liberty to take up arms against us."

With this the long-tried wife was forced to be content, and she now saw
the way clear to the accomplishment of her enterprise. She lost no time
in returning home, and immediately set out for Charlotte to seek aid
from the American general. She found Sumter at this place, nearly
recovered of the wounds he had received in the action at Blackstock's,
in November. Her appeal to him was at once favorably received. He gave
her a few lines, stating that he would stand pledged for McCalla's
continuance at home peaceably until he should be regularly exchanged.
This paper was more precious than gold to the matron whose perseverance
had obtained it; but it was destined to do her little good. She now made
the best of her way homeward. After crossing the Catawba, she
encountered the army of General Morgan, was stopped, being suspected to
be a tory, and taken into his presence for examination. The idea that
she could be thus suspected afforded her no little amusement, and she
permitted the mistake to continue for some time, before she produced the
paper in Sumter's hand-writing which she well knew would remove every
difficulty. She then informed the General of her visit to Winnsboro' on
the first of January, and her sight of the review of the troops. Morgan
thanked her for the information and dismissed her, and without further
adventure she arrived at her own house.

A few days after her return, the British army, being on its march from
Winnsboro', encamped on the plantation of John Service, in Chester
district, and afterwards at Turkey creek. Mrs. McCalla went to one of
those camps in the hope of seeing Lord Cornwallis. She succeeded in
obtaining this privilege; his lordship recognised her as soon as she
entered the camp, and greeted her courteously, questioning her as to her
movements, and making many inquiries about Sumter and Morgan. On this
last point she was on her guard, communicating no more information than
she felt certain could give the enemy no manner of advantage, nor
subject her friends to inconvenience. At length she presented to the
noble Briton the paper which she imagined would secure her husband's
freedom. What was her disappointment when he referred her to Lord
Rawdon, as the proper person to take cognizance of the affair! The very
name was a death-blow to her hopes, for she well knew she could expect
nothing from his clemency. Remonstrance and entreaty were alike in vain;
Cornwallis was a courteous man, but he knew how, with a bland smile and
well-turned phrase of compliment, to refuse compliance even with a
request that appealed so strongly to every feeling of humanity, as that
of an anxious wife pleading for the suffering and imprisoned father of
her children. She must submit, however, to the will of those in power;
there was no resource but another journey to Camden, in worse than doubt
of the success she had fancied just within her reach.

It was a day or two after the battle of the Cowpens that she crossed the
ferry on her way to Camden. She had not yet heard of that bloody action,
but, observing that the guard was doubled at the ferry, concluded that
something unusual had occurred. As she entered the village, she met her
old friend Major Doyle, who stopped to speak to her. His first inquiry
was if she had heard the news; and when she answered in the negative, he
told her of the "melancholy affair" that had occurred at the Cowpens.
The time, he observed, was most inauspicious for the business on which
he knew she had come. "I fear, madam," he said, "that his lordship will
not treat you well."

"I have no hope," was her answer, "that he will let Thomas go home; but,
sir, it is my duty to make efforts to save my husband. I will thank you
to go with me to Lord Rawdon's quarters."

Her reception was such as she had expected. As soon as Rawdon saw her,
he cried angrily, "You here again, madam! Well--you want your husband--I
dare say! Do you not know what the ---- rebels have been doing?"

"I do not, sir," replied the dejected matron, for she saw that his mood
was one of fury.

"If we had hung them," he continued, "we should have been saved this.
Madam! I order you most positively never to come into my presence

It was useless, Mrs. McCalla knew, to attempt to stem the tide; she did
not therefore produce, nor even mention the paper given her by Sumter,
nor apologise for the intrusion by saying that Lord Cornwallis had
directed her to apply to him; but merely answered in a subdued and
respectful tone by asking what she had done.

"Enough!" exclaimed the irritated noble. "You go from one army to
another, and Heaven only knows what mischief you do! Begone."

She waited for no second dismissal, but could not refrain from saying,
as she went out, in an audible voice, "My countrymen must right me."
Lord Rawdon called her back and demanded what she was saying. She had
learned by this time some lessons in policy, and answered, with a smile,
"We are but simple country folk." His lordship probably saw through the
deceit, for turning to his officer, he said, "Upon my life, Doyle, she
is a wretch of a woman!" And thus she left him.

That great event--the battle of the Cowpens--revived the spirits of the
patriots throughout the country. Every where, as the news spread, men
who had before been discouraged flew to arms. The action took place on
the seventeenth of January, 1781; on the twenty-second of the same
month, six wagons were loaded with corn at Wade's island, sixty miles
down the Catawba for the use of General Davison's division. The whole
whig country of Chester, York and Lancaster may be said to have risen in
mass, and was rallying to arms. Mecklenburg, North Carolina, was again
the scene of warlike preparation; for the whigs hoped to give the enemy
another defeat at Cowans or Batisford on the Catawba. On the
twenty-fourth of January, General Sumter crossed this river at
Landsford, and received a supply of corn from Wade's island. His object
was to cross the districts to the west, in the rear of the advancing
British army, to arouse the country and gather forces as he went,
threaten the English posts at Ninety-Six and Granby, and go on to
recover the State. While Cornwallis marched from his encampment on
Service's plantation, the whigs of Chester, under the gallant Captains
John Mills and James Johnston, were hovering near, watching the
movements of the hostile army as keenly as the eagle watches his
intended prey. Choosing a fit opportunity, as they followed in the
rear, they pounced upon a couple of British officers, one of whom was
Major McCarter, at a moment when they had not the least suspicion of
danger, took them prisoners in sight of the enemy, and made good their
retreat. By means of this bold exploit the liberation of McCalla was
brought about, at a time when his wife was wholly disheartened by her
repeated and grievous disappointments. When General Sumter passed
through the country, a cartel of exchange was effected, giving the two
British officers in exchange for the prisoners of Chester district in
Camden and Charleston.

The person sent with the flag to accomplish this exchange in Camden, was
Samuel Neely of Fishing creek. As he passed through the town to the
quarters of Lord Rawdon, he was seen and recognized by the prisoners,
and it may be supposed their hearts beat with joy at the prospect of
speedy release. But in consequence of some mismanagement of the
business, the unfortunate men were detained in jail several weeks
longer. Neely was in haste to proceed to Charleston, being anxious, in
the accomplishment of his mission in that city, to get his son Thomas
out of the prison-ship, and in his hurry probably neglected some
necessary formalities. His countrymen in Camden were kept in confinement
after his return from Charleston with his son. Captain Mills was
informed of this, and indignant at the supposed disrespect shown by Lord
Rawdon to the cartel of General Sumter, wrote a letter of remonstrance
to Rawdon, which he entrusted to Mrs. McCalla to be conveyed to him.

Our heroine was accompanied on this journey by Mrs. Mary Nixon, for she
judged it impolitic that the letter should be delivered by one so
obnoxious to his lordship as herself. Still she deemed it her duty to be
on the spot to welcome her liberated husband, supply all his wants, and
conduct him home. The distance was traversed this time with lighter
heart than before, for now she had no reason to fear disappointment.
When they arrived at Camden, they went to the jail. John Adair was
standing at a window; they saw and greeted each other, the women
standing in the yard below. Perhaps in consequence of his advice, or
prudential considerations on their part, they determined not to avail
themselves of the good offices of Major Doyle on this occasion. Adair
directed them to send the jailor up to him, and wrote a note introducing
his sister to the acquaintance of Lord Rawdon. The two women then
proceeded to the quarters of that nobleman. When they arrived at the
gate, Mrs. McCalla stopped, saying she would wait there, and her
companion proceeded by herself. She was admitted into the presence of
Lord Rawdon, who read the note of introduction she handed to him, and
observed, referring to the writer--that the small-pox had almost
finished him; still, he had come very near escaping from the jail; that
he was "a grand 'scape-gallows." On reading the letter of Captain Mills
his color changed, and when he had finished it, turning to Mrs. Nixon,
he said in an altered tone: "I am sorry these men have not been
dismissed, as of right they ought." He immediately wrote a discharge for
eleven of the prisoners, and put it into her hands, saying: "You can get
them out, madam. I am very sorry they have been confined so many weeks
longer than they should have been." At the same time he gave Mrs. Nixon
a guinea. "This," he said, "will bear your expenses."

His lordship accompanied her on her way out, and as she passed through
the gate his eye fell on Mrs. McCalla, whom he instantly recognized.
Walking to the spot where she stood near the gate, he said fiercely:
"Did I not order you, madam, to keep out of my presence?" The matron's
independent spirit flashed from her eyes, as she answered: "I had no
wish, sir, to intrude myself on your presence; I stopped at the gate on
purpose to avoid you." Unable to resist the temptation of speaking her
mind for once, now that she had a last opportunity, she added: "I might
turn the tables on you, sir, and ask, why did _you_ come out to the gate
to insult a woman? I have received from you nothing but abuse. My
distresses you have made sport of, and I ceased long since to expect
anything from you but ill-treatment. I am now not your supplicant; I
came to _demand_, as a right, the release of my husband!" So saying, she
bowed to him contemptuously, wheeled about, and deliberately walked off,
without stopping to see how her bold language was received. Mrs. Nixon
hastened after her, pale as death, and at first too much frightened to
speak. As soon as she found voice, she exclaimed: "Sally, you have
ruined us, I am afraid! Why, he may put us both in jail!"

Mrs. McCalla laughed outright. "It is not the first time, Mary," she
replied, "that I have given him to understand I thought him a villain!"
The two made their way back to the prison, but even after they got there
Mrs. Nixon had not recovered from her terror. She was informed that it
would be some time before the prisoners could be released. The
blacksmith was then sent for, and came with his tools. The sound of the
hammering in the apartments of the jail, gave the first intimation to
the women who waited to greet their friends, that the helpless captives
were chained to the floor. This precaution had been adopted not long
before, in consequence of some of the prisoners having attempted an
escape. They were then put in handcuffs or chained by the ankle. These
men left the place of their long imprisonment and suffering in company
with the two women, and as they marched through the streets of Camden,
passing the British guard, they sang at the top of their voices the
songs of the "liberty-men."


  He is not worthy of the honey comb,
  That shuns the hive because the bees have stings.


During the Revolution, Israel Israel, a true whig and a worthy farmer,
residing on the banks of the Delaware, near Wilmington, was, for a short
time, a prisoner on board the frigate Roebuck, directly opposite his own
house and land. While thus situated, it was reported by some loyalists
by whose treachery he had been betrayed into the hands of the enemy,
that he had said repeatedly that "he would sooner drive his cattle as a
present to George Washington, than receive thousands of dollars in
British gold for them." The commander hearing the report, to be revenged
on the rebel, sent a small detachment of soldiers to drive his cattle,
which were in plain sight of the frigate, down to the Delaware, and have
them slaughtered before their owner's eyes. Mrs. Israel,[26] who was
young and sprightly, and brave as a Spartan, seeing the movements of
the soldiers as she stood in her doorway, and divining their purpose as
they marched towards the meadow where the cattle were grazing, called a
boy about eight years old, and started off in great haste, to defeat, if
possible, their marauding project. They threatened and she defied, till
at last they fired at her. The cattle, more terrified than she,
scattered over the fields; and as the balls flew thicker she called on
the little boy "Joe" the louder and more earnestly to help, determined
that the assailants should not have one of the cattle. _They did not._
She drove them all into the barn-yard, when the soldiers, out of respect
to her courage, or for some other cause, ceased their molestations and
returned to the frigate.

  [26] The maiden name of Mrs. Israel was Hannah Erwin. Her first meeting
  with her husband was romantic enough. Mr. Israel had sailed in a sloop,
  or packet, from Philadelphia, to visit New Castle where his mother and
  family resided. He observed on deck an extremely pretty girl, hardly
  seventeen years of age, and very neatly and tastefully dressed, with the
  finest turned foot and ankle in the world. All who went on such voyages
  were then obliged to furnish themselves with provisions; and his
  attention was drawn by the young girl's kindly distribution of her
  little stock, handing it about from one to another, till but little was
  left for her own portion. In passing him, she modestly hesitated a
  moment, and then offered him a share. This led to conversation; he
  learned that she was the daughter of highly respectable parents, and
  resided in Wilmington. Love at first sight was as common in those days
  as now. After seeing his mother, he visited Wilmington; became better
  acquainted, offered himself and was accepted: and on his marriage,
  rented the farm above mentioned, and commenced life anew.--[Mrs.


  Love's holy flame for ever burneth;
  From heaven it came, to heaven returneth;
  Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
    ... at times oppressed.
  It here is tried and purified,
  Then hath in heaven its perfect rest.
  It soweth here with toil and care,
  But the harvest time of love is there.


No class of laborers in the broad harvest field of the world endure so
many sacrifices of comfort and of home felicities as the missionaries to
foreign countries. Of the trials peculiar to _mothers_ who go forth on
such an errand of humanity, the keenest must be their separation from
their children. The pernicious habits and influences of a pagan
community, often render it absolutely necessary that their offspring
should be sent to a civilized land to be educated. This duty, however
painful, is imperative, and they who accuse the mother of hardness
because she does it, are either grossly ignorant, or haters of truth.
Many instances of heroic firmness and almost superhuman calmness under
such trials, are on record, but one may stand as a type of the whole.

Mrs. Comstock[27] of the Burmah Baptist mission felt called upon to part
with her two children, whom God had given her while on the field of
labor. The hour for separation came, and taking them by the hand, she
led them down to the ship that was to bear them for ever from her sight.
Having invoked the blessing of Heaven upon them, she gave each the
parting kiss and, with streaming eyes, lifted her hands towards heaven
and exclaimed: "My Saviour! I do this for thee."

  [27] Sarah Davis Comstock was the wife of the Rev. Grover S. Comstock,
  who was stationed at Kyouk Phyoo in the province of Arracan, Burmah. She
  was born at Brookline, Massachusetts, in 1812 and died at Ramree, April
  twenty-eighth, 1843.

  Amid the jungles of the East,
    Where gloomiest forms of sin are rife,
  Like flowerets in a desert drear,
    Her treasured ones had sprung to life.

  And smiling round her, day by day,
    Though cares unnumbered weigh her heart,
  Their prattle, full of music tones,
    Unceasing joy and hope impart.

  Their little minds, like tender buds
    In vernal hours, she sees unfold,
  And young affection in their eyes
    Is gleaming like a gem of gold.

  But 'mid the toils that press her sore--
    The spirit-wants of 'wildered ones--
  These buds must often miss the dew,
    And plead in vain for constant suns.

  She sees their smiles, their music hears,
    And feels affection's holy thrall;
  But duty's voice, from out the skies,
    In sweeter tones, is heard o'er all.

  To Western climes, illumed by truth,
    And blest with learning's sacred flowers,
  These blossoms of her heart must go,
    To bloom henceforth in stranger bowers.

  She leads them to the waiting ship;
    She kneels in anguish on the deck,
  And while she breathes a silent prayer,
    Their arms like tendrils twine her neck.

  She tears her from the loved away,
    Whom she on earth no more may see,
  And looking up to heaven, exclaims,
    "_My Saviour, I do this for thee!_"

  Then hastens to her task again,
    The pleasant task her Saviour's given,
  That, finished all, she may ascend,
    And lure the distant ones to heaven.


  Both men and women belie their nature
  When they are not kind.

                             BAILEY'S FESTUS.

In the early settlement of Ohio, Daniel Convers was captured by the
savages; but he had the good fortune to be purchased by a noble-hearted
Indian whose wife possessed a kindred spirit. His condition, we are
informed in the Pioneer History of Ohio, "was not that of a slave, but
rather an adoption into the family as a son. The Indian's wife, whom he
was directed to call mother, was a model of all that is excellent in
woman, being patient, kind-hearted, humane and considerate to the wants
and comfort of all around her, and especially so to their newly adopted
son. To sum up all her excellences in a brief sentence of the captive's
own language, she was 'as good a woman as ever lived.'"[28]

  [28] Mr. Convers escaped from his Chippewa friends, at Detroit. Touching
  the treatment he received from his adopted mother, a writer says: "How
  few among the more civilized race of whites would ever imitate the
  Christian charities of this untaught daughter of nature!"


            How poor an instrument
  May do a noble deed.


During the Revolution, a young Shawanese Indian was captured by the
Cherokees and sentenced to die at the stake. He was tied, and the usual
preparations were made for his execution, when a Cherokee woman went to
the warrior to whom the prisoner belonged, and throwing a parcel of
goods at his feet, said she was a widow and would adopt the captive as
her son, and earnestly plead for his deliverance. Her prayer was
granted, and the prisoner taken under her care. He rewarded her by his
fidelity, for, in spite of the entreaties of his friends, whom he was
allowed to visit, he never left her.


    Thou know 'st not, Afric! sad of heart and blind,
      Unskilled the precious Book of God to read;
    Thou canst not know, what moved that soul refined,
      Thy lot of wretchedness to heed,
    And from her fireside, bright with hallowed glee,
  To dare the boisterous surge and deadly clime for thee.

                                           MRS. SIGOURNEY.

We know not how one may exhibit greater benevolence than to offer life
for the spiritual good of the heathen; and he virtually does this who
goes to some, at least, of the missionary stations. Those in Africa are
the most unhealthy, and their history presents a frightful bill of
mortality. In his journal of January, 1846, Dr. Savage, of the
Protestant Episcopal mission in Africa, states that during the nine
years previous to that date, the whole number of missionaries under the
patronage of the different Boards, in Africa, had been sixty-one, and of
that number forty were then dead. American Baptists alone lost eleven
between 1826 and 1848. Five of them were buried in the single town of
Monrovia. With such facts as these, touching African missions, staring
the disciple of Christ in the face, it must require no common degree of
moral courage for him to embark in the enterprise.

The following letter, by Miss Maria V. Chapin, of Vermont, was written
prior to her leaving this country for West Africa, and breathes the
sentiments of a self-sacrificing and heroic Christian. Multitudes of
like examples, equally as noble, might be pointed out, but it seems to
be needless: this letter may stand as a type of the spirit usually
exhibited under similar circumstances. It was addressed to the Rev. Dr.
Vaughan, then Secretary of the Foreign Committee of the Protestant
Episcopal church:

"The question of my personally engaging in a mission to the heathen, has
long been before my mind, and received, as it claimed, my most serious
and prayerful consideration. This great work is now brought nearer to my
mind than I could ever before regard it, and I trust it does not appear
the less desirable. I have considered the subject in every light, so far
as I am able from the information I have respecting it, and I can never
take up the question again, to find reasons for going. My mind is now
settled as to the duty, should no unforeseen providence prevent, of
leaving home and country for a heathen land. A long adieu to my kindred
and friends will rend the heart; I feel already that it will; but at the
same time, the prospect of doing good to some poor heathen soul will
fill it with joy, and the hope of advancing, in ever so small a degree,
the cause of my Redeemer, will be a constant feast to the soul. The
silent tear of parental affection and solicitude would indeed overpower
me, had I not confidence that He who thus afflicts, will support, my
beloved parents. Neither, in the present case, can I think it proper to
follow, altogether, the opinion of friends. With the smiles of my
heavenly Father, I must be happy, though friends forsake me. I feel an
inexpressible pleasure in commending them to God, assured that they will
be enabled to give up their child without regret, in the hope that she
will do good to perishing souls. And I have, also, that blessed hope,
that, should we never again meet in this world, we shall be a happy
family circle at the right hand of God. Still, I feel my own
insufficiency to decide a question of such importance as that of leaving
all that the heart holds most dear on earth, to encounter the toils and
hardships of a missionary life. Indeed, I would not decide for myself. I
trust solely to Him who has promised grace and strength. Though, at
times, great weakness has constrained me to shrink at the prospect
before me, I have been consoled and supported in the assurance that God
will perfect strength in my weakness. I feel a desire to act in
accordance with the will of God; to do nothing which would be
displeasing in His sight. I think I am willing to be, and to do,
anything for the sake of the glory of God; and if I can only be sure
that I am wholly under the guidance of His spirit, I shall be fully
satisfied. It is difficult, I know, to analyze one's feelings, and
ascertain the real character of the motives by which we are actuated; I
feel my liability to be deceived, and my need of Divine assistance. The
only question which concerns me, is, are my motives pure and holy?
Never would I bear the missionary standard, without having in my heart
the missionary spirit. I have calmly and deliberately weighed the
subject, and feel that no attraction from its novelty, no impulse from
its moral dignity, can bear up, and carry forward any one, amidst the
long continued labors of almost uniform sameness which you represented
to me; nothing but a thorough conviction of being in the path of duty,
nothing but the approving smile of Heaven, can keep one from
despondency, from sinking into hopeless inactivity; but I have calmly
and deliberately weighed the subject, and feel a willingness to give up
comforts, and submit to privations, to forsake ease and endure toil, to
assemble no more 'with the great congregation,' but seek the Lord in the
wilderness, or in the desert--in short, to make every sacrifice of
personal ease and gratification, for the one great object of making
known a crucified Saviour to those who are perishing in ignorance and
sin. Indeed, what sacrifice can be too great, if what is done for Him
who bought us with his own blood can be called a sacrifice, for those to
make, who have themselves experienced the efficacy of a Saviour's blood?
I have reflected, that should I go out, cheered by the smiles of
friends, and encouraged by the approbation of the churches, yet soon,
amidst a people of strange speech, I shall see these smiles only in
remembrance, and hear the voice of encouragement only in dying whispers
across the ocean. Yet, when I have considered the command of Christ, 'Go
ye and teach all nations,'--and when, in pouring out my soul on this
subject to the Father of light, I have realized more of that sweet
'peace which passeth all understanding;' objections have all dwindled to
a point; I have been enabled, by the eye of faith, to discover the
finger of God, pointing me to the benighted African, and have heard his
voice saying, with the affection of a Father and the authority of a
Sovereign, 'Come, follow me'--'He that loveth father or mother more than
me, is not worthy of me;' and adding, for my encouragement, 'I will
never leave thee nor forsake thee.' I do feel that God calls me to
become a missionary, and do, with this belief, resolve to consider
myself as devoted to that service, hoping that God will qualify me, and
make me a faithful servant for Christ's sake."[29]

  [29] This letter was written in the fall of 1841. Miss Chapin,
  afterwards Mrs. Savage, embarked for Africa on the twenty-eighth of the
  following January, and reached Cape Palmas on the twenty-fifth of March.
  As might be anticipated, her labors soon closed. She died on the field,
  in December, 1843.

    "That life is long which answers life's great end."


  Think'st thou there dwells no courage but in breasts
  That set their mail against the ringing spears,
  When helmets are struck down? Thou little knowest
  Of nature's marvels.

                                              MRS. HEMANS.

During the sieges of Augusta and Cambridge, two young men of the name of
Martin, belonging to Ninety-Six district, South Carolina, were in the
army. Meanwhile their wives, who remained at home with their
mother-in-law, displayed as much courage, on a certain occasion, as was
exhibited, perhaps, by any female during the struggle for Independence.

Receiving intelligence one evening that a courier, under guard of two
British officers, would pass their house that night with important
dispatches, Grace and Rachel Martin resolved to surprise the party and
obtain the papers. Disguising themselves in their husbands' outer
garments and providing themselves with arms, they waylaid the enemy.
Soon after they took their station by the road-side, the courier and his
escort made their appearance. At the proper moment, the disguised ladies
sprang from their bushy covert, and presenting their pistols, ordered
the party to surrender their papers. Surprised and alarmed, they obeyed
without hesitation or the least resistance. The brave women having put
them on parole, hastened home by the nearest route, which was a by-path
through the woods, and dispatched the documents to General Greene by a
single messenger, who probably had more courage than the trio that
lately bore them.

Strange to say, a few minutes after the ladies reached home, and just as
they had doffed their male attire, the officers, retracing their steps,
rode up to the house and craved accommodations for the night. The mother
of the heroines asked them the cause of their so speedy return after
passing her house, when they exhibited their paroles and said that "two
rebels" had taken them prisoners. Here the young ladies, in a rallying
mood, asked them if they had no arms, to which query they replied, that,
although they had, they were arrested so suddenly that they had no time
to use them. We have only to add that they were hospitably entertained,
and the next morning took their leave of the women as ignorant of the
residence of their captors as when first arrested.


  The mothers of our Forest-land!
  Their bosoms pillowed _men_.

                       W. D. GALLAGHER.

  --A fine family is a fine thing.


The mother-in-law of the two patriotic women spoken of in the preceding
article, was a native of Caroline county, Virginia. Her maiden name was
Marshall. On marrying Mr. Abram Martin, she removed to South Carolina.

When the Revolutionary war broke out, she had seven sons old enough to
enlist in their country's service; and as soon as the call to arms was
heard, she said to them, "Go, boys, and fight for your country! fight
till death, if you must, but never let your country be dishonored. Were
I a man I would go with you."

Several British officers once called at her house, and while receiving
some refreshments, one of them asked her how many sons she had. She told
him, eight; and when asked where they were, she boldly replied, "Seven
of them are engaged in the service of their country." The officer
sneeringly observed that she had enough of them. "No, sir, I wish I had
fifty!" was her prompt and proud reply.

Only one of those seven sons was killed during the war. He was a captain
of artillery, served in the sieges of Savannah and Charleston, and was
slain at the siege of Augusta. Soon after his death a British officer
called on the mother, and in speaking of this son, inhumanly told her
that he saw his brains blown out on the battle field. The reply she made
to the monster's observation was: "He could not have died in a nobler

When Charleston was besieged, she had three sons in the place. She heard
the report of cannon on the occasion, though nearly a hundred miles west
of the besieged city. The wives of the sons were with her, and
manifested great uneasiness while listening to the reports; nor could
the mother control her feelings any better. While they were indulging in
silent and, as we may suppose, painful reflections, the mother suddenly
broke the silence by exclaiming, as she raised her hands: "Thank God!
they are the children of the republic!"[30]

  [30] Vide Women of the Revolution, vol. 1 p. 278.


          What rhetoric didst thou use
  To gain this mighty boon?


James M. Wilson was one of the unfortunate young men who engaged in the
Cuban invasion, in 1851; and he was taken prisoner and sent to Spain.
His mother petitioned for his release through President Fillmore, and so
earnest, so full of the beauty of maternal love, and so touching was her
appeal, that her request was granted, and the erring son was permitted
to return to his mother's embrace. The following is a copy of the letter
which she addressed to the President. It is said to have called forth
flattering commendation from the heads of State and the highest
encomiums from the Majesty of Spain.

                                          NEW ORLEANS, Sept. 25, 1851.

DEAR FATHER OF OUR COUNTRY:--To you I look for help. My dear son is one
of the unfortunate prisoners to Spain. He is all the child I have; is
only nineteen years old, not twenty-two, as stated. He was innocent and
unsuspecting, and the more easily duped. He saw no means of making a
support for himself and me, we being poor: he could get no employment;
my health was bad; he therefore hoped to do something by going to Cuba.
But, alas! I am worse than poor! Death would have been more welcome. His
father died, when he was very young, in Texas, which makes him more dear
to me. Oh! cruel fate, why have I lived to see this? Perhaps to suit
some wise design. God's will be done, not mine! I have prayed for his
life from the time he left; it was spared. Dear President, will it be
possible for you to do any thing? Can you comfort me? I am wearing away.
Methinks I cannot bear up under the idea of ten years; perhaps executed,
or detained for life, or the climate cause his death. I feel for all of
them, and pray for all. It was not my will that he should go; he was
seduced into it by others. Dear father of the land of my birth, can you
do any thing? Will you ask for their release? Methinks you will, and it
would be granted. Will you feel offended with me for appealing to you
for comfort? If so, I beg pardon. My distress has stimulated me to
venture to dare to address the President. To whom else could I look for
comfort? If you could but see me, I know you would pity me. If any one
knew I had approached you, they might think I presumed much. Perhaps I
do. Yet methinks you will view it in charity.

      With all due respect to your Excellency.
                                                   OPHELIA P. TALBOT.


  Honesty, even by itself, though making many adversaries
  Whom prudence might have set aside, or charity have softened,
  Evermore will prosper at the last.


We have often read an interesting story of a stockbroker who, just
before his death, laid a wager on parole with a Parisian capitalist; and
a few weeks after his death, the latter visited the widow and gave her
to understand that her late husband had lost a bet of sixteen thousand
francs. She went to her secretary, took out her pocket-book, and counted
bank notes to the stated amount, when the capitalist thus addressed her:
"Madame, as you give such convincing proof that you consider the wager
binding, _I_ have to pay you sixteen thousand francs. Here is the sum,
for _I_ am the loser, and not your husband."

An act that, in principle, matches the above, came to light not long
since in Philadelphia. During the speculations of 1837-38, Mr. C., a
young merchant of that city, possessed of a handsome fortune, caught the
mania, entered largely into its operations, and for a time was
considered immensely rich. But when the great revulsion occurred he was
suddenly reduced to bankruptcy. His young wife immediately withdrew
from the circles of wealth and fashion, and adapted her expenses, family
and personal, to her altered circumstances.

At the time of Mr. C.'s failure, his wife was in debt to Messrs. Stewart
and Company, merchants of Philadelphia, about two hundred dollars for
articles which she had used personally. This debt, she had no means of
liquidating. It became barred by the statute of limitation, before Mr.
C. became solvent, though his circumstances gradually improved. After
the lapse of twelve years, and when the creditors had looked upon the
debt as lost, Mrs. C. was able to take the principle, add to it twelve
years' interest, enclose the whole in a note and address it to Messrs.
Stewart and Company.[31]

  [31] Messrs. Stewart and Company, upon the receipt of the money,
  addressed a note in reply to Mrs. C., in which they requested her
  acceptance of the accompanying gift, as a slight testimonial of their
  high appreciation of an act so honorable and so rare as to call forth
  unqualified admiration. Accompanying the letter was sent a superb
  brocade silk dress, and some laces of exquisite texture and great
  value.--[Philadelphia Enquirer.


  --Her pure and holy spirit now
  Doth intercede at the eternal throne.

                                MISS LANDON.

The following anecdote strikingly illustrates the strength of maternal
love, the beauty of faith, and the efficacy of prayer. It was related by
a blind preacher:

"When I was about eighteen years of age, there was a dancing party in
Middleboro, Massachusetts, which I was solicited to attend, and act, as
usual, in the capacity of musician. I was fond of such scenes of
amusements then, and I readily assented to the request. I had a pious
mother; and she earnestly remonstrated against my going. But, at length,
when all her expostulations and entreaties failed in changing my
purpose, she said: 'Well, my son, I shall not forbid your going, but
remember, that all the time you spend in that gay company, I shall spend
in praying for you at home.' I went to the ball, but I was like the
stricken deer, carrying an arrow in his side. I began to play; but my
convictions sank deeper and deeper, and I felt miserable indeed. I
thought I would have given the world to have been rid of that mother's
prayers. At one time I felt so wretched and so overwhelmed with my
feelings, that I ceased playing and dropped my musical instrument from
my hand. There was another young person there who refused to dance; and,
as I learned, her refusal was owing to feelings similar to my own, and
perhaps they arose from a similar cause. My mother's prayers were not
lost. That was the last ball I ever attended, except _one_, where I was
invited to play again, but went and prayed and preached _instead_, till
the place was converted into a Bochim, a place of weeping. The
convictions of that wretched night never wholly left me, till they left
me at the feet of Christ, and several of my young companions in sin ere
long were led to believe and obey the gospel also."


  Through the deep wilderness, where scarce the sun
  Can cast his darts, along the winding path
  The pioneer is treading.


                            An energy
  A spirit that will not be shaken.


One of the first two settlers of Northumberland, New Hampshire, was
Daniel Spaulding, who removed thither in the summer of 1767. On the way
to his new home, with his wife and child, the last burnt himself so
badly at Plymouth that the mother was obliged to remain and take care of
him, while Mr. Spaulding proceeded to the end of the journey. She soon
became uneasy, and, anxious to join her husband, started off with her
child, twenty-one months old, to travel twenty-six miles through the
wilderness. A friend who had agreed to accompany her the whole distance
with a horse, returned after traveling about one third of the way.
Undaunted and persevering, she pushed on, alone and on foot; waded
through Baker's river with her child in her arms; was overtaken by a
heavy "thunder gust" in the afternoon, and thoroughly drenched; seated
herself beside a tree when darkness appeared, and held her child in her
lap through a long and sleepless night; resumed her journey early the
next morning; waded through a small pond, with the water waist-high;
pushed on to another river, which, though swollen by the rain of the
preceding day and looking rapid and terrifying, she forded in safety;
and at eleven o'clock that day, the second of her journey, she met her
husband, who was on his way back with a horse for her accommodation.[33]

  [32] The substance of this anecdote we find in the second number of the
  first volume of a periodical called "Historical Collections," published
  nearly thirty years ago at Concord, New Hampshire, and edited by J.
  Farmer and J. B. Moore. The anecdote was communicated by Adino N.
  Brackett, Esq., of Lancaster, and appeared in the June number for 1822.

  [33] This pioneer matron of northern New Hampshire, was living at
  Lancaster, in 1822, then in her eighty-second year. She was a
  descendant, "in the third degree," of Mrs. Dustin, the heroine of


  Then since there is no other way but fight or die,
  Be resolute, my lord, for victory.


Jane Thomas, wife of John Thomas, Colonel of the Spartan regiment of
South Carolina, was a native of Chester county, Pennsylvania. She was a
woman of remarkable coolness and intrepidity, as a single act of hers,
in the times that tried _women's_ souls, plainly indicates.

Governor Rutledge having stored a quantity of arms and ammunition in the
house of Colonel Thomas, under a guard of twenty-five men, the tories
were determined to obtain these munitions. To this end they sent a large
party under Colonel More of North Carolina. Apprised of their approach
and not daring to engage with a force so superior, Colonel Thomas fled
with his twenty-five soldiers, taking along as much ammunition as could
be conveniently carried. Two young men and the women were now the sole
occupants of the house. The tories marched up to the door, but instead
of being invited by the ladies to enter, they were ordered off the
premises. Not choosing to obey the commands of the mistress, they
commenced firing into the logs of the house. The compliment was
instantly returned from the upper story; and the women now loading the
guns for the older of the two young men to discharge, a constant and
perilous firing was kept up from the chamber, which soon made the
assailants desperate. They forthwith attempted to demolish the "batten
door," but it was too strongly barricaded. Finding that themselves were
likely to share a worse fate then the door, they finally obeyed the
original orders of the intrepid mistress; withdrew from the premises and
fled. Mrs. Thomas soon afterwards descended, and opening the door, there
met her returning husband.--The ammunition saved on that occasion by the
courage of a woman, was the main supply, it is said, of Sumter's army in
the skirmishes at Rocky Mount and Hanging Rock.


  I've pored o'er many a yellow page
    Of ancient wisdom, and have won,
  Perchance, a scholar's name--but sage
    Or bard have never taught thy son
  Lessons so dear, so fraught with holy truth,
  As those his mother's faith shed on his youth.

                                  GEORGE W. BETHUNE.

A lady in the district of Beaufort, South Carolina, at the age of
seventy-six, anxious once more to enjoy the society of all her children
and grandchildren, invited them to spend a day with her. The interview
was permitted and was very affecting. It "was conducted just as we
should suppose piety and the relation sustained by the parties would
dictate. She acknowledged God in this, as well as in every other way.
Her eldest son, who is a minister of the Gospel in the Baptist
denomination, commenced the exercises of the day, by reading the
Scriptures and prayer. The whole family then joined in the song of
praise to the Giver of every good and perfect gift. This service was
concluded by a suitable exhortation from the same person. Eighty-five of
her regular descendants were present. Forty-four children and
grandchildren, arrived at maturity, sat at the same table at dinner. Of
that number, forty-three professed faith in Jesus Christ; of the four
surviving sons of this excellent lady, two were preachers of the Gospel,
and the other two deacons in the Baptist church.

"Two of her grandsons were also ministers of the same church. When the
day was drawing to a close the matron called her numerous children
around her, gave them each salutary advice and counsel, and bestowed
upon all her parting blessing. The day was closed by her youngest son,
with exercises similar to those with which it commenced.

"Mrs. ---- lived eight years after this event, leaving, at her death,
one hundred and fifteen lineal descendants, in which large number not a
swearer nor drunkard is to be found."[34]

  [34] Jabez Burns, D. D.


  Firm for your country: *    *
     *    * it were a noble life,
  To be found dead embracing her.


                      There is strength
  Deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck
  But little.

                                    MRS. HEMANS.

We find the following incident in the first volume of American
Anecdotes, "original and select." The young heroine of the adventure
afterwards married a rich planter named Threrwits, who lived on the
Congaree. She has been dead more than half a century, but her name
should be remembered while this republic is permitted to stand.

"At the time General Greene retreated before Lord Rawdon from
Ninety-Six, when he had passed Broad river, he was very desirous to send
an order to General Sumter, who was on the Wateree, to join him, that
they might attack Rawdon, who had divided his force. But the General
could find no man in that part of the state who was bold enough to
undertake so dangerous a mission. The country to be passed through for
many miles was full of blood thirsty tories, who, on every occasion that
offered, imbrued their hands in the blood of the whigs. At length Emily
Geiger presented herself to General Greene, and proposed to act as his
messenger: and the General, both surprised and delighted, closed with
her proposal. He accordingly wrote a letter and delivered it, and at the
same time communicated the contents of it verbally, to be told to Sumter
in case of accidents.

"Emily was young, but as to her person or adventures on the way, we have
no further information, except that she was mounted on horseback, upon a
side-saddle, and on the second day of her journey she was intercepted by
Lord Rawdon's scouts. Coming from the direction of Greene's army, and
not being able to tell an untruth without blushing, Emily was suspected
and confined to a room; and as the officer in command had the modesty
not to search her at the time, he sent for an old tory matron as more
fitting for that purpose. Emily was not wanting in expedient, and as
soon as the door was closed and the bustle a little subsided, she _ate
up the letter_, piece by piece. After a while the matron arrived, and
upon searching carefully, nothing was to be found of a suspicious nature
about the prisoner, and she would disclose nothing. Suspicion being thus
allayed, the officer commanding the scouts suffered Emily to depart
whither she said she was bound; but she took a route somewhat
circuitous to avoid further detention, and soon after struck into the
road to Sumter's camp, where she arrived in safety. Emily told her
adventure, and delivered Greene's verbal message to Sumter, who, in
consequence, soon after joined the main army at Orangeburgh."


      --The spell is thine that reaches
  The heart.


  Prudence protects and guides us.


Rachel Caldwell was the daughter of the Rev. Alexander Craighead and the
wife of David Caldwell, D. D., whose history is somewhat identified with
that of North Carolina. For several years he was at the head of a
classical school at Guilford in that state, and in the vocation of
teacher he had, at times, the efficient aid of his faithful and talented
companion. She was a woman of exalted piety; and such a degree of
success attended her "labor of love" in the school, that it became a
common saying that "Dr. Caldwell makes the scholars, and Mrs. Caldwell
makes the preachers."

More than once during the Revolution, the house of Dr. Caldwell, who was
a stanch friend of his country, was assailed by tories:[35] and on one
occasion, while his wife was alone and the marauders were collecting
plunder, they broke open a chest or drawer and took therefrom a
table-cloth which was the gift of her mother. She seized it the moment
the soldier had it fairly in his hand, and made an effort to wrest it
from him. Finding she would be the loser in a trial of physical
strength, she instinctively resorted to the power of rhetoric. With her
grasp still firm on the precious article, she turned to the rest of the
plunderers, who stood awaiting the issue of the contest, and in a
beseeching tone and with words warm with eloquence, asked if some of
their number had not wives for the love of whom they would assist her,
and spare the one dear memorial of a mother's affection! Her plea,
though short, was powerful, and actually moved one man to tears. With
rills of sympathy running down his cheeks, he assured her he had a
wife--a wife that he loved--and that for her sake the table-cloth should
be given up. This was accordingly done, and no further rudeness was

  [35] The tories not only destroyed his property, but drove him into the
  woods, where he was often obliged to pass nights; and some of his
  escapes from captivity or death are said to have been almost
  miraculous.--He resumed his labors as teacher and pastor after the war;
  and continued to preach till his ninety-sixth year. He died in 1824, at
  the age of ninety-nine. His wife died the following year, in the
  eighty-seventh of her age.

In the fall of 1780, a "way-worn and weary" stranger, bearing dispatches
from Washington to Greene, stopped at her house and asked for supper and
lodgings. Before he had eaten, the house began to be surrounded by
tories, who were in pursuit of him. Mrs. Caldwell led him out at a
back-door, unseen in the darkness, and ordered him to climb a large
locust tree, and there remain till the house was plundered and the
pursuers had departed. He did so. Mrs. Caldwell lost her property, but
her calmness and prudence saved the express, and that was what most
concerned the patriotic woman.


       She led me first to God;
  Her words and prayers were my young spirit's dew;
       For when she used to leave
       The fireside every eve,
  I knew it was for prayer that she withdrew.


The biographers of John Randolph mention the interesting fact that his
mother taught him to pray. This all-important maternal duty made an
impression on his heart. He lived at a period when skepticism was
popular, particularly in some political circles in which he had occasion
to mingle; and he has left on record his testimony in regard to the
influence of his mother's religious instruction. Speaking of the subject
of infidelity to an intimate friend, he once made the following

"I believe I should have been swept away by the flood of French
infidelity if it had not been for one thing--the remembrance of the time
when my sainted mother used to make me kneel by her side, taking my
little hands folded in hers, and cause me to repeat the Lord's Prayer."


  The smallest worm will turn when trodden on,
  And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.


                  The vaunts
  And menace of the vengeful enemy
  Pass like the gust, that roared and died away
  In the distant tree.


Mrs. Cornelia Beekman was a daughter of Pierre Van Cortlandt, Lieutenant
Governor of New York from 1777 to 1795; and she seems to have inherited
her father's zeal for the rights of his country. She was born at the
Cortlandt manor house, "an old fashioned stone mansion situated on the
banks of the Croton river," in 1752; was married when about seventeen or
eighteen, to Gerard G. Beekman; and died on the fourteenth of March,
1847. A few anecdotes will illustrate the noble characteristics of her

  [36] For a fuller account of her life, see the second volume of Mrs.
  Ellet's Women of the Revolution, to which work we are indebted for the
  substance of these anecdotes.

When the British were near her residence, which was a short distance
from Peekskill, a soldier entered the house one day and went directly to
the closet, saying, in reply to a question she put to him, that he
wanted some brandy. She reproved him for his boldness and want of
courtesy, when he threatened to stab her with a bayonet. Unalarmed by
his oath-charged threats--although an old, infirm negro was the only aid
at hand--she in turn threatened him, declaring that she would call her
husband and have his conduct reported to his commander. Her sterness and
intrepidity, coupled with her threats, subdued the insolent coward, and,
obeying her orders, he marched out of the house.

A party of tories, under command of Colonels Bayard and Fleming, once
entered her house, and, with a great deal of impudence and in the most
insulting tone, asked if she was not "the daughter of that old rebel,
Pierre Van Cortlandt?" "I am the daughter of Pierre Van Cortlandt, but
it becomes not such as you to call my father a rebel," was her dauntless
reply. The person who put the question now raised his musket, at which
menacing act, she coolly reprimanded him and ordered him out of doors.
His heart melted beneath the fire of her eye, and, abashed, he sneaked

In one instance, a man named John Webb, better known at that time as
"Lieutenant Jack," left in her charge a valise which contained a new
suit of uniform and some gold. He stated he would send for it when he
wanted it, and gave her particular directions not to deliver it to any
one without a written order from himself or his brother Samuel. About
two weeks afterwards, a man named Smith rode up to the door in haste,
and asked her husband, who was without, for Lieutenant Jack's valise.
She knew Smith, and had little confidence in his _professed_ whig
principles; so she stepped to the door and reminded her husband that it
would be necessary for the messenger to show his order before the valise
could be given up.

"You know me very well, Mrs. Beekman; and when I assure you that
Lieutenant Jack sent me for the valise, you will not refuse to deliver
it to me, as he is greatly in want of his uniform."

"I do know you very well--_too well_ to give you the valise without a
written order from the owner or the Colonel."

Soon after this brief colloquy, Smith went away without the valise, and
it was afterwards ascertained that he was a rank tory, and at that very
hour in league with the British. Indeed Major Andre was concealed in his
house that day, and had Smith got possession of Webb's uniform, as the
latter and Andre were about the same size, it is likely the celebrated
spy would have escaped and changed the reading of a brief chapter of
American history. Who can tell how much this republic is indebted to the
prudence, integrity, courage and patriotism of Cornelia Beekman?

  [Illustration: WEST AND HIS MOTHER.]


  O wondrous power! how little understood--
    Entrusted to the mother's mind alone--
  To fashion genius, form the soul for good,
    Inspire a West, or train a Washington.

                                      MRS. HALE.

When Benjamin West was seven years old, he was left, one summer day,
with the charge of an infant niece. As it lay in the cradle and he was
engaged in fanning away the flies, the motion of the fan pleased the
child, and caused it to smile. Attracted by the charms thus created,
young West felt his instinctive passion aroused; and seeing paper, pen
and some red and black ink on a table, he eagerly seized them and made
his first attempt at portrait painting. Just as he had finished his
maiden task, his mother and sister entered. He tried to conceal what he
had done, but his confusion arrested his mother's attention and she
asked him what he had been doing. With reluctance and timidity, he
handed her the paper, begging, at the same time, that she would not be
offended. Examining the drawing for a short time, she turned to her
daughter and, with a smile, said, "I declare, he has made a likeness of
Sally." She then gave him a fond kiss, which so encouraged him that
he promised her some drawings of the flowers which she was then holding,
if she wished to have them.

The next year a cousin sent him a box of colors and pencils, with large
quantities of canvas prepared for the easel, and half a dozen
engravings. Early in the morning after their reception, he took all his
materials into the garret, and for several days forgot all about school.
His mother suspected that the box was the cause of his neglect of his
books, and going into the garret and finding him busy at a picture, she
was about to reprimand him; but her eye fell on some of his
compositions, and her anger cooled at once. She was so pleased with them
that she loaded him with kisses and promised to secure his father's
pardon for his neglect of school.

How much the world is indebted to Mrs. West for her early and constant
encouragement of the immortal artist. He often used to say, after his
reputation was established, "_My mother's kiss made me a painter!_"


  'Tis not now who is stout and bold,
  But who bears hunger best and cold.


On the twenty-seventh of July, 1755, Mrs. Howe, of Hinsdale, New
Hampshire, with seven children and two other women and their children,
was taken captive by the Indians, and marched through the wilderness to
Crown Point. There Mrs. Howe, with some of the other prisoners, remained
several days. The rest were conducted to Montreal to be sold, but the
French refusing to buy them, they were all brought back, except Mrs.
Howe's youngest daughter, who was presented to Governor De Vaudreuil.

Ere long the whole party started for St. Johns by water. Night soon came
on; a storm arose; the darkness became intense; the canoes separated,
and just before day Mrs. Howe was landed on the beach, ignorant of the
destiny of her children. Raising a pillow of earth with her hands, she
laid herself down to rest with her infant on her bosom. A toilsome day's
journey brought her and her captors to St. Johns, and pressing onward
they soon reached St. Francis, the home of the latter. A council having
been called and the customary ceremonies performed, Mrs. Howe, with her
infant left to her care, was put in the charge of a squaw, whom she was
ordered to call mother.

"At the approach of winter, the squaw, yielding to her earnest
solicitations, set out with Mrs. Howe and her child, for Montreal, to
sell them to the French. On the journey both she and her infant were in
danger of perishing from hunger and cold; the lips of the child being at
times so benumbed, as to be incapable of imbibing its proper
nourishment. After her arrival in the city, she was offered to a French
lady; who, seeing the child in her arms, exclaimed, 'I will not buy a
woman, who has a child to look after.' I shall not attempt to describe
the feelings with which this rebuff was received by a person who had no
higher ambition than to become a slave. Few of our race have hearts made
of such unyielding materials, as not to be broken by long-continued
abuse; and Mrs. Howe was not one of this number. Chilled with cold, and
pinched with hunger, she saw in the kitchen of this inhospitable house
some small pieces of bread, floating in a pail amid other fragments,
destined to feed swine; and eagerly skimmed them for herself. When her
Indian mother found that she could not dispose of her, she returned by
water to St. Francis, where she soon died of small pox, which she had
caught at Montreal. Speedily after, the Indians commenced their winter
hunting. Mrs. Howe was then ordered to return her child to the captors.
The babe clung to her bosom; and she was obliged to force it away. They
carried it to a place called 'Messiskow,' on the borders of the river
Missiscoui, near the north end of lake Champlain upon the eastern shore.
The mother soon followed, and found it neglected, lean, and almost
perishing with hunger. As she pressed its face to her cheek, the eager,
half-starved infant bit her with violence. For three nights she was
permitted to cherish it in her bosom; but in the day-time she was
confined to a neighboring wigwam, where she was compelled to hear its
unceasing cries of distress, without a possibility of contributing to
its relief.

"The third day the Indians carried her several miles up the lake. The
following night she was alarmed by what is usually called the great
earthquake, which shook the region around her with violent concussions.
Here, also, she was deserted for two nights in an absolute wilderness;
and, when her Indian connections returned, was told by them that two of
her children were dead. Very soon after, she received certain
information of the death of her infant. Amid the anguish awakened by
these melancholy tidings, she saw a distant volume of smoke; and was
strongly inclined to make her way to the wigwam from which it ascended.
As she entered the door, she met one of the children, reported to be
dead; and to her great consolation found that he was in comfortable
circumstances. A good-natured Indian soon after informed her, that the
other was alive on the opposite side of the lake, at the distance of a
few miles only. Upon this information she obtained leave to be absent
for a single day; and, with the necessary directions from her informant,
set out for the place. On her way she found her child, lean and hungry,
and proceeded with it to the wigwam. A small piece of bread, presented
to her by the Indian family in which she lived, she had carefully
preserved for this unfortunate boy; but, to avoid offending the family
in which he lived, was obliged to distribute it in equal shares to all
the children. The little creature had been transported at the sight of
his mother; and, when she announced her departure, fell at her feet, as
if he had been dead. Yet she was compelled to leave him; and satisfied
herself, as far as she was able, by commending him to the protection of
God. The family in which she lived, passed the following summer at St.
Johns. It was composed of the daughter and son-in-law of her late
mother. The son-in-law went out early in the season on an expedition
against the English settlements. At their return, the party had a
drinking frolic, their usual festival after excursions of this nature.
Drunkenness regularly enhances the bodily strength of a savage, and
stimulates his mind to madness. In this situation he will insult, abuse,
and not unfrequently murder, his nearest friends. The wife of this man
had often been a sufferer by his intemperance. She therefore proposed to
Mrs. Howe that they should withdraw themselves from the wigwam until
the effects of his present intoxication were over. They accordingly
withdrew. Mrs. Howe returned first, and found him surly and ill-natured,
because his wife was absent. In the violence of his resentment he took
Mrs. Howe, hurried her to St. Johns, and sold her for a trifling sum to
a French gentleman, named Saccapee.

"Upon a little reflection, however, the Indian perceived that he had
made a foolish bargain. In a spirit of resentment he threatened to
assassinate Mrs. Howe; and declared that if he could not accomplish his
design, he would set fire to the fort. She was therefore carefully
secreted, and the fort watchfully guarded, until the violence of his
passion was over. When her alarm was ended, she found her situation as
happy in the family, as a state of servitude would permit. Her new
master and mistress were kind, liberal, and so indulgent as rarely to
refuse anything that she requested. In this manner they enabled her
frequently to befriend other English prisoners, who, from time to time,
were brought to St. Johns.

"Yet even in this humane family she met with new trials. Monsieur
Saccapee, and his son, an officer in the French army, became at the same
time passionately attached to her. This singular fact is a forcible
proof that her person, mind, and manners, were unusually agreeable. Nor
was her situation less perplexing than singular. The good will of the
whole family was indispensable to her comfort, if not to her safety; and
her purity she was determined to preserve at the hazard of her life. In
the house where both her lovers resided, conversed with her every day,
and, together with herself, were continually under the eye of her
mistress, the lovers a father and a son, herself a slave, and one of
them her master, it will be easily believed that she met with very
serious embarrassments in accomplishing her determination. In this
situation she made known her misfortunes to Colonel Peter Schuyler of
Albany, then a prisoner at St. Johns. As soon as he had learned her
situation he represented it to the Governor De Vaudreuil. The Governor
immediately ordered young Saccapee into the army; and enjoined on his
father a just and kind treatment of Mrs. Howe. His humanity did not stop
here. Being informed that one of her daughters was in danger of being
married to an Indian of St. Francis, he rescued her from this miserable
destiny, and placed her in a nunnery with her sister. Here they were
both educated as his adopted children.

"By the good offices of Colonel Schuyler, also, who advanced
twenty-seven hundred livres for that purpose, and by the assistance of
several other gentlemen, she was enabled to ransom herself, and her four
sons. With these children she set out for New England in the autumn of
1758, under the protection of Colonel Schuyler, leaving her two
daughters behind.[37] As she was crossing lake Champlain, young
Saccapee came on board the boat, in which she was conveyed; gave her a
handsome present; and bade her adieu. Colonel Schuyler being obliged to
proceed to Albany with more expedition than was convenient for his
fellow travelers, left them in the care of Major Putnam, afterwards
Major-General Putnam. From this gentleman she received every kind
office, which his well known humanity could furnish; and arrived without
any considerable misfortune at the place of their destination."[38]

  [37] After the treaty of peace at Paris, Mrs. Howe went to Canada and
  brought home the younger daughter, who left the nunnery with a great
  deal of reluctance. The older went to France with Monsieur Dr.
  Vaudreuil, and was there married to a man named Louis.

  [38] Dwight's Travels.


  Is there a man, into the lion's den
  Who dares intrude to snatch his young away?


During the campaign of 1777, a soldier of the Fifty-fifth regiment was
sitting with his wife at breakfast, when a bomb entered the tent, and
fell between the table and a bed where their infant was sleeping. The
mother urged her husband to go round the bomb and seize the child, his
dress being, from the position of things, more favorable than hers for
the prosecution of the dangerous task: but he refused, and running out
of the tent, begged his wife to follow, saying that the fusee was just
ready to communicate with the deadly combustibles. The fond mother,
instead of obeying, hastily tucked up her garments to prevent their
coming in contact with the bomb; leaped past it; caught the child, and
in a moment was out of danger.

In December, 1850, the house of Peter Knight, of Bath, Maine, caught
fire, and a small child, asleep in the room where the flames burst out,
would have perished but for the self-possession and daring of its
mother. One or two unsuccessful attempts had been made by others to
rescue it, when the mother, always the last to despair, made a desperate
effort, and secured the prize. When the two were taken from the window
of the second story, the dress of Mrs. Knight was in flames!


  'Tis truth divine, exhibited on earth,
  Gives charity her being.


Isabella, the wife of Dr. John Graham, was born in Scotland, on the
twenty-ninth of July, 1742. At the age of seventeen she became a member
of the church in Paisley of which the Rev. Dr. Witherspoon, afterwards
President of Princeton college, was the pastor. Dr. Graham was a
physician of the same town. Her marriage took place in 1765. The next
year Dr. Graham was ordered to join his regiment then stationed in
Canada. After spending a few months at Montreal, he removed to Fort
Niagara, where he remained in the garrison four years.

Just before the Revolutionary war the sixteenth regiment of Royal
Americans was ordered to the island of Antigua. Thither Dr. Graham
removed with his family, and there he died in 1774. Mrs. Graham then
returned to her native land.

In 1789 she came to this country, and permanently settled in the city of
New York. She there opened a school for young ladies, and gained a high
reputation in her profession. She united with the Presbyterian church
of which John Mason, D. D., was pastor, and was noted, through all the
latter years of her life, for the depth of her piety and her Christian
benevolence. She made it a rule to give a tenth part of her earnings to
religious and charitable purposes. In 1795 she received, at one time, an
advance of a thousand pounds on the sale of a lease which she held on
some building lots; and not being used to such large profits, she said,
on receiving the money, "Quick, quick, let me appropriate the tenth
before my heart grows hard."

Two years afterwards, a society was organized and chartered, for the
relief of poor widows; and Mrs. Graham was appointed first directress.
Each of the managers had a separate district, and she had the
superintendence of the whole. A house was purchased by the society,
where work was received for the employment of the widows; and a school
was opened for the instruction of their children. "Besides establishing
this school, Mrs. Graham selected some of the widows, best qualified for
the task, and engaged them, for a small compensation, to open day
schools for the instruction of the children of widows, in distant parts
of the city: she also established two Sabbath schools, one of which she
superintended herself, and the other she placed under the care of her
daughter. Wherever she met with Christians sick and in poverty, she
visited and comforted them; and in some instances opened small
subscription lists to provide for their support. She attended
occasionally for some years at the Alms House for the instruction of the
children there, in religious knowledge: in this work she was much
assisted by a humble and pious female friend, who was seldom absent from
it on the Lord's day.

"It was often her custom to leave home after breakfast, to take with her
a few rolls of bread, and return in the evening about eight o'clock. Her
only dinner on such days was her bread, and perhaps some soup at the
Soup House, established by the Humane Society for the poor, over which
one of her widows had been, at her recommendation, appointed."[39]

  [39] Mrs. Bethune's Life of Mrs. Graham, abridged.

In the winter of 1804-5, before a Tract or Bible Society had been formed
in New York, she visited between two and three hundred of the poorer
families, and supplied them with a Bible where they were destitute. She
also distributed tracts which were written, at her request, by a friend,
"and lest it might be said it was cheap to give advice, she usually gave
a small sum of money along with the tracts."

On the fifteenth of March, 1806, a society was organized in New York for
providing an Asylum for Orphan Children; and Mrs. Graham occupied the
chair on the occasion. Her sympathies were strongly enlisted in this
organization, and she was one of the trustees at the time of her death.

"In the winter of 1807-8, when the suspension of commerce by the
embargo, rendered the situation of the poor more destitute than ever,
Mrs. Graham adopted a plan best calculated in her view to detect the
idle applicant for charity, and at the same time to furnish employment
for the more worthy amongst the female poor. She purchased flax, and
lent wheels where applicants had none. Such as were industrious took the
work with thankfulness, and were paid for it; those who were beggars by
profession, never kept their word to return for the flax or the wheel.
The flax thus spun was afterwards woven, bleached, and made into
table-cloths and towels for family use."[40]

  [40] Mrs. Bethune.

When the Magdalen Society was established by some gentlemen, in 1811, a
board of ladies was elected for the purpose of superintending the
internal management of the house; and Mrs. Graham was chosen President.
This office she continued to hold till her death. The next year the
trustees of the Lancasterian School solicited the services of several
women to instruct the pupils in the catechism. Mrs. Graham cheerfully
assisted in this task, instruction being given one afternoon in each

"In the spring of 1814 she was requested to unite with some ladies, in
forming a Society for the Promotion of Industry amongst the poor. The
Corporation of the city having returned a favorable answer to their
petition for assistance, and provided a house, a meeting of the Society
was held, and Mrs. Graham once more was called to the chair. It was the
last time she was to preside at the formation of a new society. Her
articulation, once strong and clear, was now observed to have become
more feeble. The ladies present listened to her with affectionate
attention; her voice broke upon the ear as a pleasant sound that was
passing away. She consented to have her name inserted in the list of
managers, to give what assistance her age would permit in forwarding so
beneficent a work. Although it pleased God to make her cease from her
labors, before the House of Industry was opened, yet the work was
carried on by others, and prospered. Between four and five hundred women
were employed and paid during the following winter. The Corporation
declared in strong terms their approbation of the result, and enlarged
their donation, with a view to promote the same undertaking for the
succeeding winter."

Mrs. Graham died on the twenty-seventh of July, 1814. Of no woman of the
age may it be said with more propriety, as it was of Dorcas: "This woman
was full of good works and alms-deeds, which she did." Yet few women are
more humble than was Mrs. Graham, or think less of their benevolent
deeds. Her daughter, Mrs. Bethune, writing of her decease, says that she
departed in peace, not trusting in her wisdom or virtue, like the
philosophers of Greece and Rome; not even, like Addison, calling on the
profligate to see a good man die; but, like Howard, afraid that her good
works might have a wrong place in the estimate of her hope, her chief
glory was that of a "sinner saved by grace."


  Still to a stricken brother turn.


In the act of incorporation of the Widow's Society, established in the
city of New York, in 1797, with the name of Mrs. Graham, is associated
that of Mrs. Sarah Hoffman. This lady was the daughter of David Ogden,
one of the judges of the Supreme Court of New Jersey, before the
elevation of the provinces into states. She was born at Newark, on the
eighth of September, 1742; and married Nicholas Hoffman, in 1762. She
early took delight in doing good, being thus prompted by deep religious
principle. Cautious and discriminating, her charities were bestowed
judiciously, and she was able to do much good without the largest means.
In her benevolent operations, however, she usually acted in an
associated capacity.

As already intimated, she was a member of the society formed "for the
relief of poor widows with small children." That this institution
prospered under the control of such women as Mrs. Hoffman and Mrs.
Graham, may be inferred from their report made in April, 1803.
"Ninety-eight widows and two hundred and twenty-three children," this
document states, "were brought through the severity of the winter with a
considerable degree of comfort."

Mrs. Hoffman, Mrs. Graham and their associates, often perambulated the
districts of poverty and disease, from morning till night, entering the
huts of want and desolation, and carrying comfort and consolation to
many a despairing heart. They clambered to the highest and meanest
garrets, and descended to the lowest, darkest and dankest cellars, to
administer to the wants of the destitute, the sick, and the dying. They
took with them medicine as well as food; and were accustomed to
administer Christian counsel or consolation, as the case required, to
the infirm in body and the wretched in heart. They even taught many poor
creatures, who seemed to doubt the existence of an overruling
Providence, to pray to Him whose laws they had broken and thereby
rendered themselves miserable.[41]

  [41] Knapp's Female Biography.

In Mrs. Hoffman's character, to tenderness of feeling were added great
firmness, strength of mind, and moral courage. She was often seen in the
midst of contagion and suffering where the cheek of the warrior would
blanch with fear. She exposed her own life, however, not like the
warrior, to destroy, but to save; and hundreds _were_ saved by her
humane efforts, combined with those of her co-workers. Her life
beautifully exemplified the truth of what Crabbe says of woman:

  ----In extremes of cold and heat,
    Where wandering man may trace his kind;
  Wherever grief and want retreat,
    In woman they compassion find.

And if, as the poet Grainger asserts,

  The height of virtue is to serve mankind,

Mrs. Hoffman reached a point towards which many aspire, but above which
few ascend.


  Invaders! vain your battles' steel and fire.


During the struggle for Independence, there were three noted forts in
the Schoharie settlement, called the Upper, Middle and Lower; and when,
in the autumn of 1780, Sir John Johnson sallied forth from Niagara, with
his five hundred or more British, tory and German troops, and made an
attack on these forts, an opportunity was given for the display of
patriotism and courage, as well by the women of the settlement as by the

When the Middle fort was invested, an heroic and noted ranger named
Murphy, used his rifle balls so fast as to need an additional supply;
and, anticipating his wants, Mrs. Angelica Vrooman caught his bullet
mould, some lead and an iron spoon, ran to her father's tent, and there
moulded a quantity of bullets amid

                                "the shout
  Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray
  Of dissonant instruments, the clang of arms,
  The shriek of agony, the groan of death."

While the firing was kept up at the Middle fort, great anxiety
prevailed at the Upper; and during this time Captain Hager, who
commanded the latter, gave orders that the women and children should
retire to a long cellar, which he specified, should the enemy attack
him. A young lady named Mary Haggidorn, on hearing these orders, went to
Captain Hager and addressed him as follows:--"Captain, I shall not go
into that cellar. Should the enemy come, I will take a spear, which I
can use as well as any _man_, and help defend the fort." The Captain,
seeing her determination, made the following reply:--"Then take a spear,
Mary, and be ready at the pickets to repel an attack." She cheerfully
obeyed, and held the spear at the picket, till "huzzas for the American
flag" burst on her ear, and told that all was safe.[42]

  [42] _Vide_ History of Schoharie county, p. 410-11.


  With nerve to wield the battle-brand,
    And join the border-fray,
  They shrank not from the foeman,
    They quailed not in the fight,
  But cheered their husbands through the day,
    And soothed them through the night.

                                   W. D. GALLAGHER.

The most noted heroine of the Mohawk valley, and one of the bravest and
noblest mothers of the Revolution, was Nancy Van Alstine. Her maiden
name was Quackinbush. She was born near Canajoharie, about the year
1733, and was married to Martin J. Van Alstine, at the age of eighteen.
He settled in the valley of the Mohawk, and occupied the Van Alstine
family mansion. Mrs. Van Alstine was the mother of fifteen children. She
died at Wampsville, Madison county, in 1831.

In the month of August, 1780, an army of Indians and tories, led on by
Brant, rushed into the Mohawk valley, devastated several settlements,
and killed many of the inhabitants: and during the two following months,
Sir John Johnson, made a descent and finished the work which Brant had
begun. The two almost completely destroyed the settlements throughout
the valley. It was during those trying times that Mrs. Van Alstine
performed a portion of her heroic exploits which are so interestingly
related by Mrs. Ellet.

"While the enemy, stationed at Johnstown, were laying waste the country,
parties continually going about to murder the inhabitants and burn their
dwellings, the neighborhood in which Mrs. Van Alstine lived remained in
comparative quiet, though the settlers trembled as each sun arose, lest
his setting beams should fall on their ruined homes. Most of the men
were absent, and when, at length, intelligence came that the destroyers
were approaching, the people were almost distracted with terror. Mrs.
Van Alstine called her neighbors together, endeavored to calm their
fears, and advised them to make immediate arrangements for removing to
an island, belonging to her husband, near the opposite side of the
river. She knew that the spoilers would be in too great haste to make
any attempt to cross, and thought if some articles were removed, they
might be induced to suppose the inhabitants gone to a greater distance.
The seven families in the neighborhood were in a few hours upon the
island, having taken with them many things necessary for their comfort
during a short stay. Mrs. Van Alstine remained herself to the last, then
crossed in the boat, helping to draw it far up on the beach. Scarcely
had they secreted themselves before they heard the dreaded warwhoop, and
descried the Indians in the distance. It was not long before one and
another saw the homes they loved in flames. When the savages came to Van
Alstine's house, they were about to fire that also, but the chief,
interfering, informed them that Sir John would not be pleased if that
house were burned--the owner having extended civilities to the baronet
before the commencement of hostilities. 'Let the old wolf keep his den,'
he said, and the house was left unmolested. The talking of the Indians
could be distinctly heard from the island, and Mrs. Van Alstine rejoiced
that she was thus enabled to give shelter to the houseless families who
had fled with her. The fugitives, however, did not deem it prudent to
leave their place of concealment for several days, the smoke seen in
different directions too plainly indicating that the work of devastation
was going on.

"The destitute families remained at Van Alstine's house till it was
deemed prudent to rebuild their homes. Later in the following autumn an
incident occurred which brought much trouble upon them. Three men from
the neighborhood of Canajoharie, who had deserted the whig cause and
joined the British, came back from Canada as spies, and were detected
and apprehended. Their execution followed; two were shot, and one, a
bold, adventurous fellow, named Harry Harr, was hung in Mr. Van
Alstine's orchard. Their prolonged absence causing some uneasiness to
their friends in Canada, some Indians were sent to reconnoitre and learn
something of them. It happened that they arrived on the day of Harr's
execution, which they witnessed from a neighboring hill. They returned
immediately with the information, and a party was dispatched--it is said
by Brant--to revenge the death of the spies upon the inhabitants. Their
continued shouts of 'Aha, Harry Harr!' while engaged in pillaging and
destroying, showed that such was their purpose. In their progress of
devastation, they came to the house of Van Alstine, where no
preparations had been made for defence, the family not expecting an
attack, or not being aware of the near approach of the enemy. Mrs. Van
Alstine was personally acquainted with Brant, and it may have been owing
to this circumstance that the members of the family were not killed or
carried away as prisoners. The Indians came upon them by surprise,
entered the house without ceremony, and plundered and destroyed
everything in their way. Mrs. Van Alstine saw her most valued articles,
brought from Holland, broken one after another, till the house was
strewed with fragments. As they passed a large mirror without
demolishing it, she hoped it might be saved; but presently two of the
savages led in a colt from the stable, and the glass being laid in the
hall, compelled the animal to walk over it. The beds which they could
not carry away, they ripped open, shaking out the feathers and taking
the ticks with them. They also took all the clothing. One young Indian,
attracted by the brilliancy of a pair of inlaid buckles on the shoes of
the aged grandmother seated in the corner, rudely snatched them from her
feet, tore off the buckles, and flung the shoes in her face. Another
took her shawl from her neck, threatening to kill her if resistance were
offered. The eldest daughter, seeing a young savage carrying off a
basket containing a hat and cap her father had brought her from
Philadelphia, and which she highly prized, followed him, snatched her
basket, and after a struggle succeeded in pushing him down. She then
fled to a pile of hemp and hid herself, throwing the basket into it as
far as she could. The other Indians gathered round, and as the young one
rose clapped their hands, shouting 'Brave girl!' while he skulked away
to escape their derision. During the struggle Mrs. Van Alstine had
called to her daughter to give up the contest; but she insisted that her
basket should not be taken. Having gone through the house, the intruders
went up to the kitchen chamber, where a quantity of cream in large jars
had been brought from the dairy, and threw the jars down stairs,
covering the floor with their contents. They then broke the window glass
throughout the house, and unsatisfied with the plunder they had
collected, bribed a man servant by the promise of his clothes and a
portion of the booty to show them where some articles had been hastily
secreted. Mrs. Van Alstine had just finished cutting out winter clothing
for her family--which consisted of her mother-in-law, her husband and
twelve children, with two black servants--and had stowed it away in
barrels. The servant treacherously disclosed the hiding place, and the
clothing was soon added to the rest of the booty. Mrs. Van Alstine
reproached the man for his perfidy, which she assured him would be
punished, not rewarded by the savages, and her words were verified; for
after they had forced him to assist in securing their plunder, they
bound him and put him in one of their wagons, telling him his treachery
to the palefaces deserved no better treatment. The provisions having
been carried away, the family subsisted on corn, which they pounded and
made into cakes. They felt much the want of clothing, and Mrs. Van
Alstine gathered the silk of milkweed, of which, mixed with flax, she
spun and wove garments. The inclement season was now approaching, and
they suffered severely from the want of window glass, as well as their
bedding, woolen clothes, and the various articles, including cooking
utensils, taken from them. Mrs. Van Alstine's most arduous labors could
do little towards providing for so many destitute persons; their
neighbors were in no condition to help them, the roads were almost
impassable, besides being infested by Indians, and their finest horses
had been taken. In this deplorable situation, she proposed to her
husband to join with others who had been robbed in like manner, and make
an attempt to recover their property from the Indian castle, eighteen or
twenty miles distant, where it had been carried. But the idea of such an
enterprise against an enemy superior in numbers and well prepared for
defence, was soon abandoned. As the cold became more intolerable and the
necessity for doing something more urgent, Mrs. Van Alstine, unable to
witness longer the sufferings of those dependent on her, resolved to
venture herself on the expedition. Her husband and children endeavored
to dissuade her, but firm for their sake, she left home, accompanied by
her son, about sixteen years of age. The snow was deep and the roads in
a wretched condition, yet she persevered through all difficulties, and
by good fortune arrived at the castle at a time when the Indians were
all absent on a hunting excursion, the women and children only being
left at home. She went to the principal house, where she supposed the
most valuable articles must have been deposited, and on entering, was
met by the old squaw who had the superintendence, who demanded what she
wanted. She asked for food; the squaw hesitated; but on her visitor
saying she had never turned an Indian away hungry, sullenly commenced
preparations for a meal. The matron saw her bright copper tea-kettle,
with other cooking utensils, brought forth for use. While the squaw was
gone for water, she began a search for her property, and finding several
articles gave them to her son to put into the sleigh. When the squaw,
returning, asked by whose order she was taking those things, Mrs. Van
Alstine replied, that they belonged to her; and seeing that the woman
was not disposed to give them up peaceably, took from her pocket-book a
paper, and handed it to the squaw, who she knew could not read. The
woman asked whose name was affixed to the supposed order, and being told
it was that of 'Yankee Peter'--a man who had great influence among the
savages, dared not refuse submission. By this stratagem Mrs. Van Alstine
secured, without opposition, all the articles she could find belonging
to her, and put them into the sleigh. She then asked where the horses
were kept. The squaw refused to show her, but she went to the stable,
and there found those belonging to her husband, in fine order--for the
savages were careful of their best horses. The animals recognised their
mistress, and greeted her by a simultaneous neighing. She bade her son
cut the halters, and finding themselves at liberty they bounded off and
went homeward at full speed. The mother and son now drove back as fast
as possible, for she knew their fate would be sealed if the Indians
should return. They reached home late in the evening, and passed a
sleepless night, dreading instant pursuit and a night attack from the
irritated savages. Soon after daylight the alarm was given that the
Indians were within view, and coming towards the house, painted and in
their war costume, and armed with tomahawks and rifles. Mr. Van Alstine
saw no course to escape their vengeance but to give up whatever they
wished to take back; but his intrepid wife was determined on an effort,
at least, to retain her property. As they came near she begged her
husband not to show himself--for she knew they would immediately fall
upon him--but to leave the matter in her hands. The intruders took their
course first to the stable, and bidding all the rest remain within
doors, the matron went out alone, followed to the door by her family,
weeping and entreating her not to expose herself. Going to the stable
she enquired in the Indian language what the men wanted. The reply was
'our horses.' She said boldly--'They are ours; you came and took them
without right; they are ours, and we mean to keep them.' The chief now
came forward threateningly, and approached the door. Mrs. Van Alstine
placed herself against it, telling him she would not give up the animals
they had raised and were attached to. He succeeded in pulling her from
the door, and drew out the plug that fastened it, which she snatched
from his hand, pushing him away. He then stepped back and presented his
rifle, threatening to shoot her if she did not move; but she kept her
position, opening her neckhandkerchief and bidding him shoot if he
dared. It might be that the Indian feared punishment from his allies for
any such act of violence, or that he was moved with admiration of her
intrepidity; he hesitated, looked at her for a moment, and then slowly
dropped his gun, uttering in his native language expressions implying
his conviction that the evil one must help her, and saying to his
companions that she was a brave woman and they would not molest her.
Giving a shout, by way of expressing their approbation, they departed
from the premises. On their way they called at the house of Col. Frey,
and related their adventure, saying that the white woman's courage had
saved her and her property, and were there fifty such brave women as
the wife of 'Big Tree,' the Indians would never have troubled the
inhabitants of the Mohawk valley. She experienced afterwards the good
effects of the impression made at this time....

"It was not long after this occurrence that several Indians came upon
some children left in the field while the men went to dinner, and took
them prisoners, tomahawking a young man who rushed from an adjoining
field to their assistance. Two of these--six and eight years of
age--were Mrs. Van Alstine's children. The savages passed on towards the
Susquehanna, plundering and destroying as they went. They were three
weeks upon the journey, and the poor little captives suffered much from
hunger and exposure to the night air, being in a deplorable condition by
the time they returned to Canada. On their arrival, according to custom,
each prisoner was required to run the gauntlet, two Indian boys being
stationed on either side, armed with clubs and sticks to beat him as he
ran. The eldest was cruelly bruised, and when the younger, pale and
exhausted, was led forward, a squaw of the tribe, taking pity on the
helpless child, said she would go in his place, or if that could not be
permitted, would carry him. She accordingly took him in her arms, and
wrapping her blanket around him, got through with some severe blows. The
children were then washed and clothed by order of the chief, and supper
was given them. Their uncle--then also a prisoner--heard of the arrival
of children from the Mohawk, and was permitted to visit them. The little
creatures were sleeping soundly when aroused by a familiar voice, and
joyfully exclaiming, 'Uncle Quackinbush!' were clasped in his arms. In
the following spring the captives were ransomed, and returned home in
fine spirits."[43]

  [43] Women of the Revolution.

Prior to the commencement of hostilities, Mr. Van Alstine had purchased
a tract of land on the Susquehanna, eighteen miles below Cooperstown;
and thither removed in 1785. There as at her former home, Mrs. Van
Alstine had an opportunity to exhibit the heroic qualities of her
nature. We subjoin two anecdotes illustrative of forest life in the
midst of savages.

"On one occasion an Indian whom Mr. Van Alstine had offended, came to
his house with the intention of revenging himself. He was not at home,
and the men were out at work, but his wife and family were within, when
the intruder entered. Mrs. Van Alstine saw his purpose in his
countenance. When she inquired his business, he pointed to his rifle,
saying, he meant 'to show Big Tree which was the best man.' She well
knew that if her husband presented himself he would probably fall a
victim unless she could reconcile the difficulty. With this view she
commenced a conversation upon subjects in which she knew the savage
would take an interest, and admiring his dress, asked permission to
examine his rifle, which, after praising, she set down, and while
managing to fix his attention on something else poured water into the
barrel. She then gave him back the weapon, and assuming a more earnest
manner, spoke to him of the Good Spirit, his kindness to men, and their
duty to be kind to each other. By her admirable tact she so far
succeeded in pacifying him, that when her husband returned he was ready
to extend to him the hand of reconciliation and fellowship. He partook
of some refreshment, and before leaving informed them that one of their
neighbors had lent him the rifle for his deadly purpose. They had for
some time suspected this neighbor, who had coveted a piece of land, of
unkind feelings towards them because he could not obtain it, yet could
scarcely believe him so depraved. The Indian, to confirm his story,
offered to accompany Mrs. Van Alstine to the man's house, and although
it was evening she went with him, made him repeat what he had said, and
so convinced her neighbor of the wickedness of his conduct, that he was
ever afterwards one of their best friends. Thus by her prudence and
address she preserved, in all probability, the lives of her husband and
family; for she learned afterwards that a number of savages had been
concealed near, to rush upon them in case of danger to their companion.

"At another time a young Indian came in and asked the loan of a drawing
knife. As soon as he had it in his hand he walked up to the table, on
which there was a loaf of bread, and unceremoniously cut several slices
from it. One of Mrs. Van Alstine's sons had a deerskin in his hand, and
indignantly struck the savage with it. He turned and darted out of the
door, giving a loud whoop as he fled. The mother just then came in, and
hearing what had passed expressed her sorrow and fears that there would
be trouble, for she knew the Indian character too well to suppose they
would allow the matter to rest. Her apprehensions were soon realized by
the approach of a party of savages, headed by the brother of the youth
who had been struck. He entered alone, and inquired for the boy who had
given the blow. Mr. Van Alstine, starting up in surprise, asked
impatiently, 'What the devilish Indian wanted?' The savage,
understanding the expression applied to his appearance to be anything
but complimentary, uttered a sharp cry, and raising his rifle, aimed at
Van Alstine's breast. His wife sprang forward in time to throw up the
weapon, the contents of which were discharged into the wall, and pushing
out the Indian, who stood just at the entrance, she quickly closed the
door. He was much enraged, but she at length succeeded in persuading him
to listen to a calm account of the matter, and asked why the quarrel of
two lads should break their friendship. She finally invited him to come
in and settle the difficulty in an amicable way. To his objection that
they had no rum, she answered--'But we have tea;' and at length the
party was called in, and a speech made by the leader in favor of the
'white squaw,' after which the tea was passed round. The Indian then
took the grounds, and emptying them into a hole made in the ashes,
declared that the enmity was buried forever. After this, whenever the
family was molested, the ready tact of Mrs. Van Alstine, and her
acquaintance with Indian nature, enabled her to prevent any serious
difficulty. They had few advantages for religious worship, but whenever
the weather would permit, the neighbors assembled at Van Alstine's house
to hear the word preached. His wife, by her influence over the Indians,
persuaded many of them to attend, and would interpret to them what was
said by the minister. Often their rude hearts were touched, and they
would weep bitterly while she went over the affecting narrative of our
Redeemer's life and death, and explained the truths of the Gospel. Much
good did she in this way, and in after years many a savage converted to
Christianity blessed her as his benefactress."


  Proud were they by such to stand,
    In hammock, fort or glen;
  To load the sure old rifle--
    To run the leaden ball--
  To watch a battling husband's place,
    And fill it should he fall.

                             W. D. GALLAGHER.

During the battle of Monmouth, a gunner named Pitcher was killed; and
when the call was made for some one to take the place of her fallen
husband, his wife, who had followed him to the camp, and thence to the
field of conflict, unhesitatingly stepped forward, and offered her
services. The gun was so well managed as to draw the attention of
General Washington to the circumstance, and to call forth an expression
of his admiration of her bravery and her fidelity to her country. To
show his appreciation of her virtues and her highly valuable services,
he conferred on her a lieutenant's commission. She afterwards went by
the name of _Captain Molly_.

The poet Glover tells us, in his Leonidas, that Xerxes boasted

  "His ablest, bravest counselor and chief
  In Artemisia, Caria's matchless queen;"

and Herodotus also very justly eulogizes the same character. Yet
Artemisia was scarcely more serviceable to Xerxes in the battle of
Salamis, than "Captain Molly" to Washington in the battle of Monmouth.
One served in a Grecian expedition, to gratify her great spirit, vigor
of mind and love of glory; the other fought, partly, it may be, to
revenge the death of her husband, but more, doubtless, for the love she
bore for an injured country, "bleeding at every vein." One was rewarded
with a complete suit of Grecian armor; the other with a lieutenant's
commission, and both for their bravery. If the queen of Caria is
deserving of praise for her martial valor, the name of the heroic wife
of the gunner, should be woven with hers in a fadeless wreath of song.


  Honor and shame from no condition rise,
  Act well your part, there all the honor lies.


In December, 1777, while Washington was at Valley Forge and the enemy
was in Philadelphia, Major Tallmadge was stationed between the two
places with a detachment of cavalry, to make observations and to limit
the range of British foragers. On one occasion, while performing
this duty, he was informed that a country girl had gone into
Philadelphia--perhaps by Washington's instigation--ostensibly to sell
eggs, but really and especially to obtain information respecting the
enemy; and curiosity led him to move his detachment to Germantown. There
the main body halted while he advanced with a small party towards the
British lines. Dismounting at a tavern in plain sight of their outposts,
he soon saw a young girl coming out of the city. He watched her till she
came up to the tavern; made himself known to her, and was about to
receive some valuable intelligence, when he was informed that the
British light horse were advancing. Stepping to the door he saw them in
full pursuit of his patroles. He hastily mounted, but before he had
started his charger, the girl was at his side begging for protection.
Quick as thought, he ordered her to mount behind him. She obeyed, and in
that way rode to Germantown, a distance of three miles. During the whole
ride, writes the Major in his Journal, where we find these details,
"although there was considerable firing of pistols, and not a little
wheeling and charging, she remained unmoved, and never once complained
of fear."


  Ah never shall the land forget
    How gushed the life-blood of the brave;
  Gushed warm with hope and courage yet,
    Upon the soil they fought to save.

  How few like thee enquire the wretched out,
  And court the offices of soft humanity.


"It will be remembered that at the time of the burning of New London,
Connecticut, a detachment of the army of the traitor Arnold, under whose
personal direction that feat of vandalism was performed, was directed to
attack and carry Fort Griswold at Groton, on the opposite side of the
river. It was then under the command of Colonel Ledyard, a brave and
meritorious officer, whose memory will live in the warm affections of
his country, as that of one of the early martyrs to her liberty, whilst
the granite pile which now lifts its summit above the spot where he was
sacrificed, shall long remain to bear the record of his death. The fort
was, in truth, little more than an embankment of earth, thrown up as a
breast-work for the handful of troops it surrounded, and with a strong
log-house in the center. The force which attacked it was altogether
superior to that of its defenders, even when the difference in their
position is taken into view. The case was so hopeless, that the
slightest share of prudence would have suggested retreat. But the chafed
and gallant spirits of Ledyard and his men would not permit them to
retire before a marauding enemy, however powerful, without making at
least one effort to beat him back. With a boldness and heroism scarcely
ever surpassed, they stood their ground, until overwhelming numbers of
the enemy were in the fort, and engaged hand to hand with its heroic
defenders. Fierce and terrible, for a few moments, was the encounter,
and it was not until the last ray of hope was gone, and nothing but a
useless effusion of blood would have resulted from further resistance,
that they at length yielded. In doing so, however, they were inclined to
believe that the gallantry displayed by their little band, would at
least shelter them from indignity. Ledyard had turned the handle of his
sword to the commander of the assailants, and in answer to the question,
'who commands this fort,' replied, 'I did, sir, but you do now,' when he
was pierced to the heart with his own weapon, and by the dastardly hand
in which he had just placed it. An almost indiscriminate butchery now
commenced; many falling instantly dead and some being desperately
wounded. The fort was then entirely at the disposal of the enemy. The
barbarity, however, did not end there. When it was found that several of
the prisoners were still alive, the British soldiers piled their mangled
bodies in an old cart and started it down the steep and rugged hill,
towards the river, in order that they might be there drowned. But
stumps and stones obstructed the passage of the cart; and when the enemy
had retreated--for the aroused inhabitants of that region soon compelled
them to the step--the friends of the wounded came to their aid and thus
several lives were saved."[44]

  [44] Democratic Review, vol. 20, pp. 93-4.

One of the "ministering angels" who came the next morning to the aid of
the thirty-five wounded men, who lay all night freezing in their own
blood, was Miss Mary Ledyard, a near relative of the Colonel. "She
brought warm chocolate, wine, and other refreshments, and while Dr.
Downer of Preston was dressing their wounds, she went from one to
another, administering her cordials, and breathing into their ears
gentle words of sympathy and encouragement. In these labors of kindness
she was assisted by another relative of the lamented Colonel
Ledyard--Mrs. John Ledyard--who had also brought her household stores to
refresh the sufferers, and lavished on them the most soothing personal
attentions. The soldiers who recovered from their wounds, were
accustomed, to the day of their death, to speak of these ladies in terms
of fervent gratitude and praise."[45]

  [45] Mrs. Ellet.


  They fought like brave _men_, long and well.


In the celebrated battle between the French and Indians, which occurred
near Victor, in the western part of New York, in 1687, five Seneca women
took an active part in the bloody conflict. Mr. Hosmer, the poet,
alludes to the circumstance in one of his celebrated "Lectures on the
Iroquois," from the manuscript of which we have been permitted to copy,
as follows:

"The memory of illustrious women who have watched in defence of altar
and hearth, the deeds of the sterner sex, has been enshrined in song,
and honored by the Historic Muse. Joan of Arc, and the dark-eyed maid of
Saragossa in all coming time will be chivalric watch-words of France and
Spain, but not less worthy of record, and poetic embalmment, were the
_five_[46] devoted heroines who followed their red lords to the
battle-field near ancient Ganagarro, and fought with unflinching
resolution by their sides. Children of such wives could not be
otherwise than valiant. Bring back your shield, or be brought upon it,
was the Spartan mother's stern injunction to her son: but roused to a
higher pitch of courage, the wild daughters of the Genesee stood in the
perilous pass, and in the defence of their forest homes, turned not back
from the spear, 'the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.'"

  [46] _Vide_ Doc. His, Vol. 1. p. 256.


  Not to the ensanguined field of death alone
  Is valor limited.


  Our country first, their glory and their pride.

                                        J. T. FIELDS.

Martha Bratton was the wife of William Bratton a native of Pennsylvania.
She was born in Rowan county, North Carolina. They settled near York
ville, in South Carolina, where she died in 1816. Two or three anecdotes
will suffice to illustrate her character.

In June, 1780, a party of British and tory marauders, were attacked by a
company of whigs under Colonel Bratton, at Mobley Meeting House, in
Fairfield district, South Carolina, and defeated. Advertised of this
disaster, Colonel Turnbull, commander of a detachment of British troops
at Rocky Mount, Chester county, ordered Captain Huck to proceed with his
cavalry to the frontier of the province, collecting all the royal army
on his march, and if possible to subdue the rebels. An engagement soon
took place between Captain Huck and Colonel Bratton; but before the
battle, the Colonel's wife had an opportunity to display her character
in a truly heroic manner. The evening preceding, Huck arrived at the
Colonel's house, and entering in an uncivil manner, demanded of his wife
where her husband was. She boldly replied "He is in Sumter's army!" Huck
then tried to persuade her to induce her husband to join the British,
and even went so far as to promise him a commission, in case he would do
so. But neither persuasion nor argument availed any thing. With the
firmness of a true patriot, she assured him that she would rather see
him--faithful to his country--perish in Sumter's army, than clothed with
any power or graced with any honor royalty could bestow! At this point,
a soldier, exasperated at her bold and fearless manner, seized a reaping
hook that hung in the piazza and threatened to kill her if she did not
give particular and full information in regard to her husband. But with
the weapon still at her throat, she promptly refused; and, but for the
interference of the officer second in command, she would have lost her

Huck now ordered her to prepare supper for himself and the whole band.
With this request she complied, and then retired to an upper apartment
with her children. Supper over, Huck posted his sentinels along the road
and went with his officers to another house, half a mile off, to pass
the night.

Convinced that the royalists would seek revenge for their late defeat at
Mobley's Meeting House, and naturally fearing that his own family might
be among the victims, Colonel Bratton had that day marched from
Mecklenburg county, North Carolina, with seventy-five men. Late in the
evening he drew near his house, and learning that the enemy were there,
and ascertaining their number, he made speedy preparations for an
attack. The guard of the royalists was neglected, and he found no
trouble in reconnoitering the encampment. All things ready, the attack
was made before Huck had finished his morning nap. He awoke only to
attempt to rally his men and then lie down again to sleep for ever! The
tories seeing their leader fall, fled, or made the attempt. Some _did_
escape, others were killed, others taken prisoners. The firing ceased
about day light, when Mrs. Bratton made her appearance. She received the
wounded on both sides, and showed them impartial attention, setting
herself to work immediately, dressing their wounds and trying to relieve
their pains. She who was so brave in the hour of danger, was no less
humane in a time of suffering.[47]

  [47] The following toast was drunk at Brattonsville, York district, on
  the twelfth of July, 1839, at a celebration of Huck's Defeat.

  "The memory of Mrs. Martha Bratton.--In the hands of an infuriated
  monster, with the instrument of death around her neck, she nobly refused
  to betray her husband; in the hour of victory she remembered mercy, and
  as a guardian angel, interposed in behalf of her inhuman enemies.
  Throughout the Revolution she encouraged the whigs to fight on to the
  last; to hope on to the end. Honor and gratitude to the woman and
  heroine, who proved herself so faithful a wife--so firm a friend to

Prior to the fall of Charleston at a period when ammunition was very
scarce, Governor Rutledge intrusted to her a small stock of powder. This
fact some tory ascertained, and communicated to the British at a station
not far off. A detachment was forthwith sent out to secure the treasure,
of which movement Mrs. Bratton received early intimation. Resolving that
the red coats should not have the prize, she laid a train of powder from
the depot to the spot she chose to occupy; and when they came in sight,
she blew it up. "Who has dared to do this atrocious act? Speak quickly,
that they may meet the punishment they deserve," was the demand of the
officer in command. "Know then, 'twas _I_," was the dauntless reply of
Mrs. Bratton, "and let the consequences be what they will," she added,
"I glory in having frustrated the mischief contemplated by the merciless
enemies of my country."


  The world is but a word;
  Were it all yours, to give it in a breath,
  How quickly were it gone!


The following anecdote was related, a few years ago, by the Rev. W. S.
Plumer, while addressing the Virginia Baptist Education Society. We
regret that he did not give the name of the good woman who possessed
such commendable zeal for the missionary cause.

"A poor woman had attended a missionary meeting a few years since. Her
heart was moved with pity. She looked around on her house and furniture
to see what she could spare for the mission. She could think of nothing
that would be of any use. At length she thought of her five children,
three daughters and two sons. She entered her closet, and consecrated
them to the mission. Two of her daughters are now in heathen lands, and
the other is preparing to go. Of her sons, one is on his way to India,
and the other is preparing for the ministry, and inquiring on the
subject of a missionary life."


        How often has the thought
        Of my mourn'd mother brought
  Peace to my troubled spirit, and new power
        The tempter to repel.
        Mother, thou knowest well
  That thou has bless'd me since my natal hour.


The mother of General Jackson had three children. Their names were Hugh,
Robert and Andrew. The last was the youngest and lost his father when an
infant. Like the mother of Washington, she was a very pious woman, and
strove to glorify God as much in the rearing of her children as in the
performance of any other duty. She taught Andrew the leading doctrines
of the Bible, in the form of question and answer, from the Westminster
catechism; and those lessons he never forgot. In conversation with him
some years since, says a writer, "General Jackson spoke of his mother in
a manner that convinced me that she never ceased to exert a secret power
over him, until his heart was brought into reconciliation with God."
This change, however, he did not experience till very late in
life--after he had retired from the Presidency. He united with the
Presbyterian church near the close of the year 1839, then in his
seventy-third year. Just before his death, which occurred in June, 1845,
he said to a clergyman, "My lamp of life is nearly out, and the last
glimmer is come. I am ready to depart when called. The Bible is true....
Upon that sacred volume I rest my hope of eternal salvation, through the
merits and blood of our blessed Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ."

If departed spirits, the saintly and ascended, are permitted to look
from their high habitation, upon the scenes of earth, with what holy
transport must the mother of Andrew Jackson have beheld the death-bed
triumph of her son. The lad whom she early sent to an academy at the
Waxhaw meeting-house, hoping to fit him for the ministry, had become a
man, and led the hosts of the land through many a scene of conflict and
on to a glorious and decisive victory; had filled the highest office in
the world, and was now an old man, able, in his last earthly hour, _by
the grace of God attending her early, pious instruction_, to challenge
death for his sting and to shout "victory" over his opening grave.


        Judge me not ungentle,
  Of manner's rude, and insolent of speech,
  If, when the public safety is in question,
  My zeal flows warm and eager from my tongue.

                                  ROWE'S JANE SHORE.

The siege of Fort Henry, at the mouth of Wheeling creek, in Ohio county,
Virginia, occurred in September, 1777. Of the historical _fact_ most
people are aware; yet but few, comparatively, knew how much the little
band in the garrison, who held out against thirty or forty times their
number of savage assailants, were indebted, for their success, to the
courage and self-devotion of a single female.

The Indians kept up a brisk firing from about sunrise till past noon,
when they ceased and retired a short distance to the foot of a hill.
During the forenoon the little company in the fort had not been idle.
Among their number were a few sharp shooters, who had burnt most of the
powder on hand to the best advantage. Almost every charge had taken
effect; and probably the savages began to see that they were losing
numbers at fearful odds, and had doubtless retired for consultation. But
they had less occasion for anxiety, just at that time, than the men,
women and children in the garrison. As already hinted, the stock of
powder was nearly exhausted. There was a keg in a house ten or twelve
rods from the gate of the fort, and as soon as the hostilities of the
Indians were suspended, the question arose, who shall attempt to seize
this prize? Strange to say, every soldier proffered his services, and
there was an ardent contention among them for the honor. In the weak
state of the garrison, Colonel Shepard, the commander, deemed it
advisable that only one person should be spared; and in the midst of the
confusion, before any one could be designated, a girl named Elizabeth
Zane,[48] interrupted the debate, saying that her life was not so
important, at that time, as any one of the soldier's, and claiming the
privilege of performing the contested service. The Colonel would not, at
first, listen to her proposal; but she was so resolute, so persevering
in her plea, and her argument was so powerful, that he finally suffered
the gate to be opened, and she passed out. The Indians saw her before
she reached her brother's house, where the keg was deposited; but, for
some unknown cause, they did not molest her, until she re-appeared with
the article under her arm. Probably divining the nature of her burden,
they discharged a volley as she was running towards the gate; but the
whizzing balls only gave agility to her feet, and herself and the prize
were quickly safe within the gate. The result was that the soldiers
inspired with enthusiasm by this heroic adventure, fought with renewed
courage, and, before the keg of powder was exhausted, the enemy raised
the siege.

  [48] We learn, from Withers, that Miss Zane has since had two husbands.

  The name of the second was Clarke, a resident of Ohio. She was living,
  not long since, near St. Clairsville.


                Charity ever
  Finds in the act reward.

                     BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Several years ago, a poor widow had placed a smoked herring,--the last
morsel of food she had in the house--on the table for herself and
children, when a stranger entered and solicited food, saying that he had
had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. The widow unhesitatingly
offered to share the herring with him, remarking, at the same time, "We
shall not be forsaken, or suffer deeper for an act of charity."

  [Illustration: THE WIDOW AND HER SON.]

As the stranger drew near the table and saw the scantiness of the fare,
he asked, "And is this all your store? Do you offer a share to one you
do not know? Then I never saw charity before. But, madam, do you not
wrong your children by giving a part of your morsel to a stranger?"
"Ah," said she, with tears in her eyes, "I have a boy, a darling son,
somewhere on the face of the wide world, unless Heaven has taken him
away; and I only act towards you as I would that others should act
towards him. God, who sent manna from heaven, can provide for us as he
did for Israel; and how should I this night offend him, if my son
should be a wanderer, destitute as you, and he should have provided for
him a home, even as poor as this, were I to turn you unrelieved away!"

The stranger whom she thus addressed, was the long absent son to whom
she referred; and when she stopped speaking, he sprang from his feet,
clasped her in his arms, and exclaimed, "God, indeed, has provided just
such a home for your wandering son, _and has given him wealth to reward
the goodness of his benefactress_. My mother! O, my mother!"[49]

  [49] Abridged from Cyclopedia of Moral and Religious Anecdotes.


  Who shall find a valiant woman?
  The price of her is as things brought from afar.


                               'T is the last
  Duty that I can pay to my dear lord.


The wife of Colonel William Fitzhugh, of Maryland, while he was absent
at one time during the Revolution, was surprised by the news that a
party of British soldiers was approaching her house. She instantly
collected her slaves; furnished them with such weapons of defence as
were at hand; took a quantity of cartridges in her apron, and, herself
forming the van, urged her sable subalterns on to meet the foe. Not
looking for resistance, the advancing party, on beholding the amazon
with her sooty invincibles, hastily turned on their heels and fled.

  [Illustration: THE HEROIC MOTHER.]

On a subsequent occasion, a detachment of soldiers marched at midnight
to Colonel Fitzhugh's house, which was half a mile from the shore, and
near the mouth of the Patuxent river, and knocked at the door. The
Colonel demanding who was there, and receiving for reply that the
visitants were "friends to King George," told the unwelcome intruders
that he was blind and unable to wait upon them, but that his wife would
admit them forthwith. Lighting a candle and merely putting on her
slippers, she descended, awoke her sons, put pistols in their hands,
and, pointing to the back door, told them to flee. She then let the
soldiers in at the front door. They inquired for Colonel Fitzhugh, and
said he must come down stairs at once and go as a prisoner to New York.
She accordingly dressed her husband--forgetting meanwhile, to do as much
for herself--and when he had descended, he assured the soldiers that his
blindness, and the infirmities of age unfitted him to take care of
himself, and that it could hardly be desirable for them to take in
charge so decrepit and inoffensive a person. They thought otherwise; and
his wife, seeing he must go, took his arm and said she would go too. The
officer told her she would be exposed and must suffer, but she persisted
in accompanying him, saying that he could not take care of himself, nor,
if he could, would she permit a separation.

It was a cold and rainy night, and with the mere protection of a cloak,
which the officer took down and threw over her shoulders before leaving
the house, she sallied forth with the party. While on the way to their
boat, the report of a gun was heard, which the soldiers supposed was the
signal of a rebel gathering. They hastened to the boat, where a parole
was written out with trembling hand, and placed in the old gentleman's
possession. Without even a benediction, he was left on shore with his
faithful and fearless companion, who thought but little of her wet feet
as she stood and saw the cowardly detachment of British soldiers push
off and row away with all their might for safety.


  True fortitude is seen in great exploits
  That justice warrants and that wisdom guides.


  The good alone are great.


On the morning of July thirtieth, 1770, Esther Gaston, afterwards the
wife of Alexander Walker, hearing the firing at the battle of Rocky
Mount, took with her a sister-in-law, and, well mounted, pushed on
towards the scene of conflict. They soon met two or three cowardly men,
hastening from the field of action. Esther hailed and rebuked them, and
finding entreaties would not cause them to retrace their steps, she
seized the gun from the hands of one of them, exclaiming, "Give _us_
your guns, then, and we will stand in your places." The cowards,
abashed, now wheeled, and, in company with the females, hurried on to
face the cannon's mouth.

While the strife was still raging, Esther and her companion busied
themselves in dressing the wounded and quenching the thirst of the
dying. Even their helpless enemies shared in their humane services.

During the battle of Hanging Rock, which occurred the next week, Esther
might be seen at Waxhaw church, which was converted for the time into a
hospital, administering to the wants of the wounded.

As kind as patriotic, with her hands filled with soothing cordials, she
was seen, through all her life, knocking at the door of suffering


  Were I the monarch of the earth,
  And master of the swelling sea,
  I would not estimate their worth,
  Dear woman, half the price of thee.

                              GEO. P. MORRIS.

Mr. Ralph Izard, a true "liberty man," resided, during the struggle for
Independence, near Dorchester, in South Carolina. He was for awhile
aid-de-camp to the commander of the Light Troops, and was an especial
object of British hatred. On one occasion, while at home, he came very
near falling into the hands of the enemy. A number of British soldiers
surrounded his house, and on discovering them he hid himself in the
clothes-press. They were confident he was in the house, and having
instituted a thorough but ineffectual search, threatened to burn the
building, unless his wife would point out his place of concealment. She
adroitly evaded answering directly all queries respecting his quarters.
They next robbed his wardrobe; seized all the better articles they could
find in the house, and even tried to force off her finger-rings. She
still remained composed and courageous, yet courteous and urbane,
knowing that much, every thing, in fact, depended on her self-control.
Her calmness and apparent unconcern led the marauders to conclude that
they had been misled in supposing Mr. Izard was in the house; and at
length they departed. He then sprang from his covert, and, rushing out
by a back door, crossed the Ashley river and notified the Americans on
the opposite side, of the state of things.

Meantime, the ruffians returned to the house, and, strange to say, went
directly to the clothes-press. Again disappointed, they retired; but
they were soon met by a body of cavalry, handsomely whipped, and all the
fine articles belonging to Mr. Izard's wardrobe and house were


  Happy the man, and happy sure he was,
  So wedded.


The residence of the first Governor of Connecticut, was at Blackhall,
near Long Island Sound. While British ships were lying at anchor in
these waters on a certain occasion, a party of marines in pursuit of his
Excellency, presented themselves at the door. It being impossible for
him to escape by flight, his affectionate and thoughtful wife secreted
him in a large new meat barrel or tierce--for although he was somewhat
corpulent, he could not vie in physical rotundity with the early and
honored Knickerbocker magistrates. He was cleverly packed away in the
future home of doomed porkers, just as the soldiers entered and
commenced their search. Not finding him readily, they asked his
quick-witted wife one or two hard questions, but received no very
enlightening answer. The Legislature had convened a day or two before at
Hartford, and she intimated that he was or ought to be at the capital.
Unsuccessful in their search, the soldiers took their boat and returned
to the ship. Before they had reached the latter, his unpacked Honor was
on a swift steed, galloping to Gubernatorial head-quarters.


  Some god impels with courage not thy own.

                                 POPE'S HOMER.

Robert Gibbes was the owner of a splendid mansion on John's Island, a
few miles from Charleston, South Carolina, known, during the Revolution,
as the "Peaceful Retreat." On his plantation the British encamped on a
certain occasion; and the American authorities sent two galleys up the
Stono river, on which the mansion stood, to dislodge them. Strict
injunctions had been given to the men not to fire on the house, but Mr.
Gibbes not being aware of this fact, when the firing commenced, thought
it advisable to take his family to some remote place for shelter. They
accordingly started in a cold and drizzly rain and in a direction
ranging with the fire of the American guns. Shot struck the trees and
cut the bushes beside their path for some distance. When about a mile
from the mansion, and out of danger, reaching the huts occupied by the
negroes on the plantation, Mrs. Gibbes, being chilled and exhausted, was
obliged to lie down. Here, when they supposed all were safe, and began
to rejoice over their fortunate escape, to their great astonishment,
they discovered that a boy named Fenwick, a member of the family, had
been left behind.[50] It was still raining, was very dark, and imminent
danger must attend an effort to rescue the lad. And who would risk life
in attempting it? The servants refused. Mr. Gibbes was gouty and feeble,
and prudence forbade him to again venture out. At length, the oldest
daughter of the family, Mary Ann, only thirteen years old, offers to go
alone. She hastens off; reaches the house, still in possession of the
British; begs the sentinel to let her enter; and though repeatedly
repulsed, she doubles the earnestness of her entreaties, and finally
gains admittance. She finds the child in the third story; clasps him in
her arms; hastens down stairs, and, passing the sentry, flees with the
shot whizzing past her head; and herself and the child are soon with the
rest of the family.

  [50] In addition to her own family, Mrs. Gibbes had the care of the
  seven orphan children of Mrs. Fenwick, her sister-in-law, and two other
  children. It is not surprising, that, in the confusion of a sudden
  flight from the house, one of the number should be left behind.


  Work for some good, be it ever so slowly;
  Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly;
  Labor--all labor is noble and holy.

                                    MRS. OSGOOD.

Susanna Wright removed to this country with her parents from Warrington,
in Great Britain, in the year 1714. The family settled in Lancaster
county, Pennsylvania. Susanna was then about seventeen. "She never
married; but after the death of her father, became the head of her own
family, who looked up to her for advice and direction as a parent, for
her heart was replete with every kind affection."

She was a remarkable economist of time, for although she had the
constant management of a large family, and, at times, of a profitable
establishment, she mastered many of the sciences; was a good French,
Latin and Italian scholar; assisted neighbors in the settlement of
estates, and was frequently consulted as a physician.

"She took great delight in domestic manufacture, and had constantly much
of it produced in her family. For many years she attended to the rearing
of silk worms, and with the silk, which she reeled and prepared
herself, made many articles both of beauty and utility, dying the silk
of various colors with indigenous materials. She had at one time upwards
of sixty yards of excellent mantua returned to her from Great Britain,
where she had sent the raw silk to be manufactured."

This industrious and pious Quakeress, who seems to have possessed all
the excellencies defined in Solomon's inventory of the virtuous woman,
lived more than four score years, an ornament to her sex and a blessing
to the race.

                          "There was no need,
  In those good times, of trim callisthenics,--
  And there was less of gadding, and far more
  Of home-bred, heart-felt comfort, rooted strong
  In industry, and bearing such rare fruit
  As wealth may never purchase."


  In conduct, as in courage, you excel,
  Still first to act what you advise so well.

                                    POPE'S HOMER.

In the early part of February, 1770, the women of Boston publicly
pledged themselves to abstain from the use of tea, "as a practical
execution of the non-importation agreement of their fathers, husbands
and brothers." We are credibly informed, writes the editor of the Boston
Gazette of February ninth, "that upwards of one hundred ladies at the
north part of the town, have, of their own free will and accord, come
into and signed an agreement, not to drink any tea till the Revenue Acts
are passed." At that date three hundred matrons had become members of
the league.

Three days after the above date, the young women followed the example of
their mothers, multitudes signing a document which read as follows: "We,
the daughters of those patriots who have and do now appear for the
public interest, and, in that, principally regard their posterity,--as
such do with pleasure engage with them in denying ourselves the drinking
of foreign tea, in hopes to frustrate a plan which tends to deprive the
whole community of all that is valuable in life."

Multitudes of females in New York and Virginia, and, if we mistake not,
some in other states, made similar movements; and it is easy to
perceive, in the tone of those early pledges of self-denial for honor,
liberty, country's sake, the infancy of that spirit which, quickly
reaching its manhood, planned schemes of resistance to oppression on a
more magnanimous scale, and flagged not till a work was done which
filled half the world with admiration and the whole with astonishment.


  Through trials hard as these, how oft are seen
  The tender sex, in fortitude serene.

                                    ANN SEWARD.

Mrs. Spalding was the niece of General Lachlan McIntosh, daughter of
Colonel William McIntosh and mother of Major Spalding, of Georgia.

In 1778, after Colonel Campbell took possession of Savannah, Georgia,
that section of the country was infested with reckless marauders, and
many families fled to avoid their ruthlessness. Mr. Spalding retired
with his wife and child to Florida; and twice during the Revolution, she
traversed "the two hundred miles between Savannah and St. John's river,
in an open boat, with only black servants on board, when the whole
country was a desert, without a house to shelter her and her infant

The part she bore in the dangers of the Revolution and the anxieties to
which she was necessarily subjected, so impaired her health that "many
years afterwards it was deemed necessary that she should try the climate
of Europe. In January, 1800, she, with her son and his wife, left
Savannah in a British ship of twenty guns, with fifty men, built in all
points to resemble a sloop of war, without the appearance of a cargo.
When they had been out about fifteen days, the captain sent one morning
at daylight, to request the presence of two of his gentlemen passengers
on deck. A large ship, painted black and showing twelve guns on a side,
was seen to windward, running across their course. She was obviously a
French privateer. The captain announced that there was no hope of
out-sailing her, should their course be altered; nor would there be hope
in a conflict, as those ships usually carried one hundred and fifty men.
Yet he judged that if no effort were made to shun the privateer, the
appearance of his ship might deter from an attack. The gentlemen were of
the same opinion. Mr. Spalding, heart-sick at thought of the perilous
situation of his wife and mother, and unwilling to trust himself with an
interview till the crisis was over, requested the captain to go below
and make what preparation he could for their security. After a few
minutes' absence the captain returned to describe a most touching scene.
Mrs. Spalding had placed her daughter-in-law and the other inmates of
the cabin for safety in the two state-rooms, filling the berths with the
cots and bedding from the outer cabin. She had then taken her station
beside the scuttle, which led from the outer cabin to the magazine, with
two buckets of water. Having noticed that the two cabin boys were
heedless, she had determined herself to keep watch over the magazine.
She did so till the danger was past. The captain took in his light
sails, hoisted his boarding nettings, opened his ports, and stood on
upon his course. The privateer waited till the ship was within a mile,
then fired a gun to windward, and stood on her way. This ruse preserved
the ship."[51]

  [51] Mrs. Ellet.


  Thy country, glorious, brave and fair,
  Thine all of life--
  Her name alone thy heart's depths stirred,
  And filled thy soul with war-like pride.

                                    SARA J. CLARKE.

The day before the battle at the Green Spring, in the Spartanburg
district, South Carolina, Colonel Clarke, of the Georgia volunteers,
with about two hundred men, stopped at the house of Captain Dillard and
were cordially welcomed to a good supply of refreshments. In the evening
of the same day, Colonel Ferguson and another officer named Dunlap, with
a party of tories, arrived at the same house and inquired of the
mistress, if Colonel Clarke had been there, to which question she gave a
direct and honest answer. He then inquired in regard to the time of
Clarke's departure and the number of his men. She could not guess their
number, but said they had been gone a long time. She was then ordered to
get supper, which she did, though in a less hospitable spirit than she
had prepared the previous meal. While at work, she overheard some of the
conversation of the officers, by which she learned that they were bent
on surprising Colonel Clarke, and would start for that purpose when
supper was dispatched. As soon as the food was on the table, Mrs.
Dillard hurried out at the back door, bridled a horse that stood in the
stable, and mounting without saddle, rode till nearly daylight before
reaching the Green Spring where Clarke had encamped, and where he was to
be attacked by Ferguson, at the break of day or sooner, as she had
learned before starting.

She had just aroused the whigs and notified them of their danger, when a
detachment of two hundred picked, mounted men, commanded by Dunlap,
rushed into the camp. They found their intended victims ready for the
charge; were quickly driven out of the camp, and glad to escape by
flight. Thus, fortunately for the friends of freedom, ended this battle,
which, but for the daring of a single patriotic woman, would doubtless
have resulted in the annihilation of the little band of Georgia


  The secret pleasure of a generous act
  Is the great mind's great bribe.


Phoebe Foxcroft, afterwards the wife of Samuel Phillips, the joint
founder, with his uncle, of the academy at Andover, Massachusetts, was a
native of Cambridge, in the same state. Reared beneath the shades of
"Old Harvard" and being the daughter of a man of wealth and high
respectability, it is almost needless to say that she was well educated
and highly refined. To mental attainments she added the finishing charm
of female character, glowing piety. The last forty years or more of her
life were passed at Andover, where, after the death of her husband, she
assisted in founding the celebrated Theological seminary. She died in

It is said that she was accustomed, for years, to make the health of
every pupil in the academy a subject of personal interest. Her
attentions to their wants were impartial and incalculably beneficial. To
those that came from remote towns, and were thus deprived of parental
oversight, she acted the part of a faithful mother.

Affectionate, kind, generous, watchful, as a christian guardian; she was
unbending, self-sacrificing and "zealous, yet modest," as a patriot.
During the seven years' struggle for freedom, she frequently sat up till
midnight or past, preparing bandages and scraping lint for the hospitals
and making garments for the ragged soldiers.

An offender of justice was once passing her house on his way to the
whipping-post, when a boy, who observed him from her window, could not
withhold a tear. He tried to conceal his emotion, but Mrs. Phillips saw
the pearl drop of pity, and while a kindred drop fell from her own eyes,
she said to him, with much emphasis and as though laying down some
golden maxim--"When you become a law maker, examine the subject of
corporeal punishment, and see if it is not unnatural, vindictive and
productive of much evil." She was very discriminating, and could detect
talent as well as tears; and addressed the lad with a premonition that
he was destined to become a legislator--which was indeed the case.
Elected to the assembly of the state, with the sacred command of his
early and revered mentor impressed on his memory, he early called the
attention of that body to the subject of corporeal punishment; had the
statute book revised and the odious law, save in capital offences,
expunged, and the pleasure of announcing the fact to the original
suggestor of the movement.


  Howe'er it be, it seems to me
    'Tis only noble to be good;
  Kind hearts are more than coronets,
    And simple faith than Norman blood.


The following article was communicated to the Christian Watchman and
Reflector, of Boston, for January thirtieth, 1851. The facts are given
without coloring or embellishment. The subject of the article has gone
to the grave, but the influence of her exemplary life has not ceased to
be felt. Her

               "Speaking dust
  Has more of life than half its breathing moulds."

Some twenty years since, the writer became pastor of a church in the
town of B. A few weeks after my settlement, I called at the humble
dwelling of a poor widow, with whom I had already become somewhat
acquainted. Having been apprised of the high estimation in which she was
held by the church of which she was a member, for her cheerful and
consistent piety, an interesting and profitable interview was
anticipated. I had been seated but a few moments when she placed in my
hand one dollar, and proceeded, by way of explanation, to make the
following statements, which I give as nearly as possible in her own

"Before you came among us, our church and people where in a very
depressed and disheartened condition. For two or three Sabbaths we had
no religious services during the day. How sad to be as sheep without a
shepherd, and to have the house of God closed on his holy day! If the
Lord would only send us a pastor, I felt willing to do any thing in my
power to aid in sustaining him. But then the thought occurred to me,
What can _you_ do, a poor widow, with four small children to support,
and your house rent to pay? It is quite as much as you can do to meet
necessary expenses. For a moment I was sad; but my mind still dwelt upon
the subject, until finally this plan occurred to me: 'God has blessed
you with excellent health, and you can sit up and work between the hours
of nine and eleven or twelve o'clock at night; and what you thus earn
you can give for that object.' I was at once relieved, and resolved
before the Lord that, if he would send us a pastor, I would immediately
commence my labors, and do what I could to aid in sustaining and
encouraging him. I felt that now I could pray consistently, as I was
willing to do my duty. With a faith and fervor to which I had before
been a stranger, I besought the Lord speedily to favor us with an
under-shepherd; and soon you came here to preach for us. I believed God
sent you; and although at first you had no idea of remaining, I never
doubted that you would become our pastor. As soon as you had accepted
the call of the church, I began to work in accordance with my vow, and
that dollar is the result of my earning, the last four weeks. And O, you
would rejoice with me, could you know how much I have enjoyed these
silent hours of night, when my children around me are wrapt in slumber,
and all is as the stillness of the grave. The Lord has been with me
continually, and I have had uninterrupted communion with him. When God
had given us a pastor, I felt I must pray for a blessing to attend his
labors among us; and, often have I been so impressed with the importance
of a revival of religion, and the conversion of my children, and the
people of this place, that I have been obliged to leave my work, and
kneel down before my Maker, and earnestly plead with him that his Spirit
may accomplish this work. Even after I had retired to rest, I have
sometimes been obliged to arise and pray that he would save the souls of
this people. And, blessed be his holy name, he has listened to prayer
for this object also. When I heard of the numbers who attended the
religious inquiry meeting, and the hopeful conversion of some to God, I
felt I could say, 'This is the Lord, I have waited for him;' and I
believe he will do greater things than these in our midst. Thus has God
blessed one of the most unworthy of all his creatures; and I have often
been led to sing, while I have been laboring here, lowly as is my

  'I would not change my blest estate,
  With all that earth calls rich or great;
  And, while my faith can keep her hold,
  I envy not the sinner's gold.'"

My attention had been absorbed with this interesting and affecting
narrative; nor had I any inclination to interrupt it with remarks of my
own. I now thought I could read the secret of the apparent success which
had attended my labors in so short a time. As soon as I could recover
from my emotions, I said to her, I am grateful for your prayers and this
proffered donation; but, as my parish affords me a competent support, I
can on no account feel at liberty to appropriate to my own private use
the money thus earned. No; you shall have the additional satisfaction,
while you are toiling at these unseasonable hours of night, of knowing
that what you place in my hands shall be sacredly devoted to the cause
of Christian benevolence, which I am sure you ardently love. With this
she expressed herself satisfied; and continued her toils and prayers.

It may be asked, What was the result? The answer is recorded with
pleasure, and, I trust, with gratitude to God. Besides punctually
attending all the meetings of the church, and laboring much in private
for the eternal welfare of souls; besides supporting her family with
more ease than formerly, as she stated to her pastor, at the close of
the first year, and paying her assessments in several charitable
societies to which she belonged, and also contributing something
whenever a public collection was taken for benevolent objects; in
addition to all this, she had placed in my hands ten dollars and a half,
which was appropriated as stated above. Her donations for objects of
religious charity must have amounted to at least _twelve dollars_ during
that year, which, it is presumed, exceeded the amount given for similar
objects by any other member of the church, although quite a number
possessed a comfortable share of wealth. It may be thought that she was
engaged in some business which yielded a handsome profit to reward her
toils. But no; her business was shoe-binding, not then by any means very
profitable. And who, with her disposition and spirit, could not do
something to aid the cause of God? But what she earned and gave was not
all. Her prayers, it is believed, had secured for the church a pastor,
and been the means, with others, of the commencement of a revival of
religion, which continued to prevail to a greater or less extent, for
three successive years, during which time a large number were hopefully
converted and added to the church: and among them several of her older
children, who were away from home.


  A perfect woman, nobly planned,
  To warn, to comfort and command;
  And yet a spirit still, and bright
  With something of an angel light.


Elizabeth Haddon was the oldest daughter of John Haddon, a well educated
and wealthy, yet humble, Quaker, of London. She had two sisters, both of
whom, with herself, received the highest finish of a practical
education. Elizabeth possessed uncommon strength of mind, earnestness,
energy and originality of character, and a heart overflowing with the
kindest and warmest feelings. A single anecdote of her childhood, told
by Mrs. Child, will illustrate the nobleness of nature which
characterized her life:

"At one time, she asked to have a large cake baked, because she wanted
to invite some little girls. All her small funds were expended for
oranges and candy on this occasion. When the time arrived, her father
and mother were much surprised to see her lead in six little ragged
beggars. They were, however, too sincerely humble and religious to
_express_ any surprise. They treated the forlorn little ones very
tenderly, and freely granted their daughter's request to give them some
of her books and playthings at parting. When they had gone, the good
mother quietly said, 'Elizabeth, why didst thou invite strangers,
instead of thy schoolmates?' There was a heavenly expression in her eye,
as she looked up earnestly, and answered, 'Mother, I wanted to invite
_them_, they looked _so_ poor.'"

When eleven years of age, she accompanied her parents to the Yearly
Meeting of the Friends, where she heard, among other preachers, a very
young man named John Estaugh, with whose manner of presenting divine
truth she was particularly pleased. Many of his words were treasured in
her memory. At the age of seventeen she made a profession of religion,
uniting herself with the Quakers.

During her early youth, William Penn visited the house of her father,
and greatly amused her by describing his adventures with the Indians.
From that time she became interested in the emigrant Quakers, and early
began to talk of coming to America. Her father at length purchased a
tract of land in New Jersey, with the view of emigrating, but his
affairs took a new turn, and he made up his mind to remain in his native
land. This decision disappointed Elizabeth. She had cherished the
conviction that it was her duty to come to this country; and when, at
length, her father, who was unwilling that any of his property should
lie unimproved, offered the tract of land in New Jersey to any relative
who would settle upon it, she promptly agreed to accept of the
proffered estate. Willing that their child should follow in the path of
duty, at the end of three months, and after much prayer, the parents
consented to let Elizabeth join "the Lord's people in the New World."

Accordingly, early in the spring of 1700, writes Mrs. Child, in whose
sweet language, slightly condensed, the rest of the narrative is told,
arrangements were made for her departure, and all things were provided
that the abundance of wealth, or the ingenuity of affection, could

A poor widow of good sense and discretion accompanied her, as friend and
housekeeper, and two trusty men servants, members of the Society of
Friends. Among the many singular manifestations of strong faith and
religious zeal, connected with the settlement of this country, few are
more remarkable than the voluntary separation of this girl of eighteen
years old from a wealthy home and all the pleasant associations of
childhood, to go to a distant and thinly inhabited country, to fulfill
what she considered a religious duty. And the humble, self-sacrificing
faith of the parents, in giving up their child, with such reverend
tenderness for the promptings of her own conscience, has in it something
sublimely beautiful, if we look at it in its own pure light. The parting
took place with more love than words can express, and yet without a tear
on either side. Even during the long and tedious voyage, Elizabeth never
wept. She preserved a martyr-like cheerfulness and serenity to the end.

The house prepared for her reception stood in a clearing of the forest,
three miles from any other dwelling. She arrived in June, when the
landscape was smiling in youthful beauty; and it seemed to her as if the
arch of heaven was never before so clear and bright, the carpet of the
earth never so verdant. As she sat at her window and saw evening close
in upon her in that broad forest home, and heard, for the first time,
the mournful notes of the whippo-wil and the harsh scream of the jay in
the distant woods, she was oppressed with a sense of vastness, of
infinity, which she never before experienced, not even on the ocean. She
remained long in prayer, and when she lay down to sleep beside her
matron friend, no words were spoken between them. The elder, overcome
with fatigue, soon sank into a peaceful slumber; but the young
enthusiast lay long awake, listening to the lone voice of the whippo-wil
complaining to the night. Yet, notwithstanding this prolonged
wakefulness, she arose early and looked out upon the lovely landscape.
The rising sun pointed to the tallest trees with his golden finger, and
was welcomed with a gush of song from a thousand warblers. The poetry in
Elizabeth's soul, repressed by the severe plainness of her education,
gushed up like a fountain. She dropped on her knees, and, with an
outburst of prayer, exclaimed fervently, "Oh, Father, very beautiful
hast thou made this earth! How bountiful are thy gifts, O Lord!"

To a spirit less meek and brave, the darker shades of the picture would
have obscured these cheerful gleams; for the situation was lonely and
the inconveniences innumerable. But Elizabeth easily triumphed over all
obstacles, by practical good sense and the quick promptings of her
ingenuity. She was one of those clear strong natures, who always have a
definite aim in view, and who see at once the means best suited to the
end. Her first inquiry was what grain was best adapted to the soil of
her farm; and being informed that rye would yield best, "Then I shall
eat rye bread," was her answer. But when winter came, and the gleaming
snow spread its unbroken silence over hill and plain, was it not dreary
then? It would have been dreary indeed to one who entered upon this mode
of life from mere love of novelty, or a vain desire to do something
extraordinary. But the idea of extended usefulness, which had first
lured this remarkable girl into a path so unusual, sustained her through
all trials. She was too busy to be sad, and leaned too trustingly on her
Father's hand to be doubtful of her way. The neighboring Indians soon
loved her as a friend, for they found her always truthful, just, and
kind. From their teachings, she added much to her knowledge of simple
medicines. So efficient was her skill and so prompt her sympathy, that
for many miles round, if man, woman, or child were alarmingly ill, they
were sure to send for Elizabeth Haddon; and wherever she went, her
observing mind gathered some hint for the improvement of farm or dairy.
Her house and heart were both large; and as her residence was on the way
to the Quaker meeting-house in Newtown, it became a place of universal
resort to Friends from all parts of the country traveling that road, as
well as an asylum for benighted wanderers.

The winter was drawing to a close, when late one evening, the sound of
sleigh-bells was heard, and the crunching of snow beneath the hoofs of
horses, as they passed into the barn-yard gate. The arrival of travelers
was too common an occurrence to excite or disturb the well-ordered

Great logs were piled in the capacious chimney, and the flames blazed up
with a crackling warmth, when two strangers entered. In the younger,
Elizabeth instantly recognized John Estaugh, whose preaching had so
deeply impressed her at eleven years of age. This was almost like a
glimpse of home--her dear old English home! She stepped forward with
more than usual cordiality, saying:

"Thou art welcome, Friend Estaugh; the more so for being entirely

"And I am glad to see thee, Elizabeth," he replied with a friendly shake
of the hand. "It was not until after I landed in America, that I heard
the Lord had called thee hither before me; but I remember thy father
told me how often thou hadst played the settler in the woods, when thou
wast quite a little girl."

"I am but a child still," she replied, smiling.

"I trust thou art," he rejoined; "and as for these strong impressions in
childhood, I have heard of many cases where they seemed to be prophecies
sent of the Lord. When I saw thy father in London, I had even then an
indistinct idea that I might sometime be sent to America on a religious

"And hast thou forgotten, Friend John, the ear of Indian corn which my
father begged of thee for me? I can show it to thee now. Since then I
have seen this grain in perfect growth; and a goodly plant it is, I
assure thee. See," she continued, pointing to many bunches of ripe corn,
which hung in their braided husks against the walls of the ample
kitchen: "all that, and more, came from a single ear, no bigger than the
one thou didst give my father. May the seed sown by thy ministry be as
fruitful!" "Amen," replied both the guests.

The next morning, it was discovered that snow had fallen during the
night in heavy drifts, and the roads were impassable. Elizabeth,
according to her usual custom, sent out men, oxen and sledges, to open
pathways for several poor families, and for households whose inmates
were visited by illness. In this duty, John Estaugh and his friend
joined heartily and none of the laborers worked harder than they. When
he returned, glowing from this exercise, she could not but observe that
the excellent youth had a goodly countenance. It was not physical
beauty; for of that he had little. It was that cheerful, child-like,
out-beaming honesty of expression, which we not unfrequently see in
Germans, who, above all nations, look as if they carried a crystal heart
within their manly bosoms.

Two days after, when Elizabeth went to visit her patients, with a
sled-load of medicines and provisions, John asked permission to
accompany her. There, by the bedside of the aged and the suffering, she
saw the clear sincerity of his countenance warmed with rays of love,
while he spoke to them words of kindness and consolation; and there she
heard his pleasant voice modulate itself into deeper tenderness of
expression, when he took little children in his arms.

The next First day, which we call the Sabbath, the whole family attended
Newtown meeting; and there John Estaugh was gifted with an out-pouring
of the spirit in his ministry, which sank deep into the hearts of those
who listened to him. Elizabeth found it so marvellously applicable to
the trials and temptations of her own soul, that she almost deemed it
was spoken on purpose for her. She said nothing of this, but she
pondered upon it deeply. Thus did a few days of united duties make them
more thoroughly acquainted with each other, than they could have been by
years of fashionable intercourse.

The young preacher soon after bade farewell, to visit other meetings in
Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Elizabeth saw him no more until the May
following, when he stopped at her house to lodge, with numerous other
Friends, on their way to the Quarterly Meeting at Salem. In the morning,
quite a cavalcade started from her hospitable door, on horseback; for
wagons were then unknown in Jersey. John Estaugh, always kindly in his
impulses, busied himself with helping a lame and very ugly old woman,
and left his hostess to mount her horse as she could. Most young women
would have felt slighted; but in Elizabeth's noble soul the quiet deep
tide of feeling rippled with an inward joy. "He is always kindest to the
poor and the neglected," thought she; "verily he _is_ a good youth." She
was leaning over the side of her horse, to adjust the buckle of the
girth, when he came up on horseback, and inquired if anything was out of
order. She thanked him, with slight confusion of manner, and a voice
less calm than her usual utterance. He assisted her to mount, and they
trotted along leisurely behind the procession of guests, speaking of the
soil and climate of this new country, and how wonderfully the Lord had
here provided a home for his chosen people. Presently the girth began to
slip, and the saddle turned so much on one side, that Elizabeth was
obliged to dismount. It took some time to re-adjust it, and when they
again started, the company were out of sight. There was brighter color
than usual in the maiden's cheeks, and unwonted radiance in her mild
deep eyes. After a short silence, she said, in a voice slightly
tremulous, "Friend John, I have a subject of importance on my mind, and
one which nearly interests thee. I am strongly impressed that the Lord
has sent thee to me as a partner for life. I tell thee my impression
frankly, but not without calm and deep reflection; for matrimony is a
holy relation, and should be entered into with all sobriety. If thou
hast no light on the subject, wilt thou gather into the stillness, and
reverently listen to thy own inward revealings? Thou art to leave this
part of the country to-morrow, and not knowing when I should see thee
again, I felt moved to tell thee what lay upon my mind."

The young man was taken by surprise. Though accustomed to that
suppression of emotion which characterizes his religious sect, the color
went and came rapidly in his face, for a moment; but he soon became
calmer, and replied, "This thought is new to me, Elizabeth; and I have
no light thereon. Thy company has been right pleasant to me, and thy
countenance ever reminds me of William Penn's title page, 'Innocency
with her open face.' I have seen thy kindness to the poor, and the wise
management of thy household. I have observed, too, that thy
warm-heartedness is tempered by a most excellent discretion, and that
thy speech is ever sincere. Assuredly, such is the maiden I would ask of
the Lord, as a most precious gift; but I never thought of this connexion
with thee. I came to this country solely on a religious visit, and it
might distract my mind to entertain this subject at present. When I have
discharged the duties of my mission, we will speak further."

"It is best so," rejoined the maiden; "but there is one thing disturbs
my conscience. Thou hast spoken of my true speech; and yet, Friend John,
I have deceived thee a little, even now, while we conferred together on
a subject so serious. I know not from what weakness the temptation came;
but I will not hide it from thee. I allowed thee to suppose, just now,
that I was fastening the girth of my horse securely; but, in plain
truth, I was loosening the girth, John, that the saddle might slip, and
give me an excuse to fall behind our friends; for I thought thou wouldst
be kind enough to come and ask if I needed thy services."

They spoke no further concerning their union; but when he returned to
England, in July, he pressed her hand affectionately, as he said,
"Farewell, Elizabeth. If it be the Lord's will, I shall return to thee

In October, he returned to America, and they were soon married, at
Newtown meeting, according to the simple form of the Society of Friends.
Neither of them made any change of dress for the occasion, and there was
no wedding feast. Without the aid of priest or magistrate, they took
each other by the hand, and, in the presence of witnesses, calmly and
solemnly promised to be kind and faithful to each other. The wedded pair
quietly returned to their happy home, with none to intrude upon those
sacred hours of human life, when the heart most needs to be left alone
with its own deep emotions.

During the long period of their union, she three times crossed the
Atlantic, to visit her aged parents, and he occasionally left her for a
season, when called abroad to preach. These temporary separations were
felt as a cross, but the strong-hearted woman always cheerfully gave him
up to follow his own convictions of duty. In 1742, he parted from her,
to go on a religious visit to Tortola, in the West Indies. He died
there, in the sixty-seventh year of his age. She published a religious
tract of his, to which is prefixed a preface entitled "Elizabeth
Estaugh's testimony concerning her beloved husband, John Estaugh." In
this preface, she says, "Since it pleased Divine Providence so highly to
favor me, with being the near companion of this dear worthy, I must give
some small account of him. Few, if any, in a married state, ever lived
in sweeter harmony than we did. He was a pattern of moderation in all
things; not lifted up with any enjoyments, nor cast down at
disappointments; a man endowed with many good gifts, which rendered him
very agreeable to his friends, and much more to me, his wife, to whom
his memory is most dear and precious."

Elizabeth survived her excellent husband twenty years, useful and
honored to the last. The monthly Meeting of Haddonfield, in a published
testimonial, speak of her thus: "She was endowed with great natural
abilities, which, being sanctified by the spirit of Christ, were much
improved; whereby she became qualified to act in the affairs of the
church, and was a serviceable member, having been clerk to the women's
meeting nearly fifty years, greatly to their satisfaction. She was a
sincere sympathizer with the afflicted, of a benevolent disposition, and
in distributing to the poor, was desirous to do it in a way most
profitable and durable to them, and, if possible, not to let the right
hand know what the left did. Though in a state of affluence as to this
world's wealth, she was an example of plainness and moderation. Her
heart and house were open to her friends, whom to entertain seemed one
of her greatest pleasures. Prudently cheerful, and well knowing the
value of friendship, she was careful not to wound it herself, nor to
encourage others in whispering supposed failings or weaknesses. Her last
illness brought great bodily pain, which she bore with much calmness of
mind and sweetness of spirit. She departed this life as one falling
asleep, full of days, like unto a shock of corn, fully ripe."

The town of Haddonfield, in New Jersey, took its name from her; and the
tradition concerning her courtship is often repeated by some patriarch
among the Quakers.

Her medical skill is so well remembered, that the old nurses of New
Jersey still recommend Elizabeth Estaugh's salve as the "sovereignest
thing on earth."


  From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
  The place is dignified by the doer's deed.


Kate Moore is the daughter of Captain Moore, keeper of the Light House
on Fairweather Island, sixty miles north of the city of New York, and
about half way between the harbors of Black Rock and Bridgeport,
Connecticut. The island is about half a mile from shore and contains
five acres of land. On that little, secluded spot Captain Moore has
resided nearly a quarter of a century, and has reared a family of five
children, of whom Kate is the heroine.

Disasters frequently occur to vessels which are driven round Montauk
Point, and sometimes in the Sound, when they are homeward bound; and at
such times she is always on the alert. She has so thoroughly cultivated
the sense of hearing, that she can distinguish amid the howling storm,
the shrieks of the drowning mariners, and thus direct a boat, which she
has learned to manage most dexterously, in the darkest night, to the
spot where a fellow mortal is perishing Though well educated and
refined, she possesses none of the affected delicacy which characterizes
too many town-bred misses; but, adapting herself to the peculiar
exigences of her father's humble yet honorable calling, she is ever
ready to lend a helping hand, and shrinks from no danger, if duty points
that way. In the gloom and terror of the stormy night, amid perils at
all hours of the day, and all seasons of the year, she has launched her
barque on the threatening waves; and has assisted her aged and feeble
father in saving the lives of twenty-one persons during the last fifteen
years! Such conduct, like that of Grace Darling, to whom Kate Moore has
been justly compared, needs no comment; it stamps its moral at once and
indelibly upon the heart of every reader.


  Through sorrowing and suffering thou hast pass'd,
  To show us what a woman true may be.


Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, the wife of the Rev. Joseph Rowlandson, was taken
prisoner by the Indians at Lancaster, Massachusetts, on the tenth of
February, 1676, and remained in captivity till the third of the
following May. The details of her sufferings, as related by herself, are
too painful for many persons to read; but she bore them with such
Christian fortitude, that nothing short of a brief account of her
captivity would seem to be excusable in a work like this.

The day after the destruction of Lancaster, the Indians began their
march; and Mrs. Rowlandson carried her infant till her strength failed
and she fell. She was then furnished with a horse, without a saddle.
Attempting to ride, she again fell. Towards night it began to snow; and
gathering a few sticks, she made a fire. Sitting beside it on the snow,
she held her child in her arms through the long and dismal night. For
three or four days she had no sustenance but water; nor did her child
share any better for nine days. During this time it was constantly in
her arms or lap. At the end of that period, the frost of death crept
into its eyes, and she was forced to relinquish it to be disposed of by
the unfeeling sextons of the forest.

After its burial, Mrs. Rowlandson was sold by her Narraganset captor to
a Sagamore named Quanopin, by which transfer she found in her new
master's wife "a most uncomfortable mistress." Soon afterwards the
Indians went on an expedition to Medfield, and on their return one of
them gave her a Bible--her best friend and great support during her
sufferings and trials. She retained it during her captivity.

The party of Indians with whom she continued, remained for some time
near Petersham, in Worcester county. At length, hearing a report that
the pale faces were in pursuit of them, they hastily decamped and
continued their march till they crossed the Connecticut river, in the
neighborhood of Gill or Bernardston. There Mrs. Rowlandson came in
contact with the great chief, Philip, who treated her civilly and even
politely. Ere long the Indians re-crossed the Connecticut, and returned
into Worcester county. During this part of her pilgrimage, writes
President Dwight, whose concise narrative we have followed, "Mrs.
Rowlandson went through almost every suffering but death. She was
beaten, kicked, turned out of doors, refused food, insulted in the
grossest manner, and at times almost starved. Nothing but experience
can enable us to conceive what must be the hunger of a person, by whom
the discovery of six acorns, and two chestnuts, was regarded as a rich
prize. At times, in order to make her miserable, they announced to her
the death of her husband and her children. One of the savages, of whom
she enquired concerning her son, told her that his master had, at a time
which he specified, killed and roasted him; that himself had eaten a
piece of him, as big as his two fingers, and that it was delicious meat.
On various occasions they threatened to kill her. Occasionally, but for
short intervals only, she was permitted to see her children; and
suffered her own anguish over again in their miseries. She was also
obliged, while hardly able to walk, to carry a heavy burden over hills,
and through rivers, swamps, and marshes; and that in the most inclement
seasons. These evils were repeated daily; and, to crown them all, she
was daily saluted with the most barbarous and insolent accounts of the
burning and slaughter, the tortures and agonies, inflicted by them upon
her countrymen. It is to be remembered that Mrs. Rowlandson was tenderly
and delicately educated, and as ill fitted to encounter these distresses
as persons who have received such an education, now are in this and
other countries.

"There was, however, among the savages a marked difference of character.
Some of them, both men and women, treated her with kindness. None of
them exhibited so much insolence to her as her mistress. This woman
felt all the haughtiness of rank, as much as if she had been a European
or Asiatic princess; and spent almost as much time in powdering her
hair, painting her face, and adorning herself with ear-rings, bracelets,
and other ornaments, a part of their plunder from the English."

The captivity of Mrs. Rowlandson was terminated through the agency of
Mr. Hoar, of Concord, Massachusetts. Under a commission from the
Government he redeemed her for about eighty dollars, which sum was
contributed by a Mr. Usher and some female friends in Boston.


  To weakness strength succeeds, and power
  From frailty springs.

                                   PARK BENJAMIN.

  There's no impossibility to him
  Who stands prepared to conquer every hazard.

                                       MRS. HALE.

In the spring of 1779, while two or three neighboring families, had,
from fear, collected at the house of Mrs. Bozarth, in Green county,
Pennsylvania, the little company was one day attacked by Indians. The
children, who were playing without, first discovered the foe, and,
giving the alarm, had not time to get within doors before they were
overtaken, and began to fall beneath the tomahawk. The first man who
stepped to the door when the alarm was heard, was shot, and fell back;
and before the door could be closed, an Indian leaped over him into the
house. The other man in the house caught the savage and threw him on the
bed. He then called for a knife, but Mrs. Bozarth, being unable to find
one, seized an axe and instantly dispatched the bold assailant. Another
Indian now rushed in, and shot at and wounded the man before he was off
the bed. Mrs. Bozarth gave this second intruder several blows, when his
cries brought a third to the door. Him she killed as he entered. The
wounded savage was then dragged out; the door again closed and fastened;
and, through the assistance of the wounded man, Mrs. Bozarth was able to
keep out the rest of the murderous assailants until relieved by the
arrival of friends.


  Here and there some stern, high patriot stood.


The subject of the following anecdote was the mother of eleven sons.
Most of them were soldiers and some were officers in the war of the
Revolution. Her residence was in Mechlenburg county, near Steel creek,
North Carolina.

When Lord Cornwallis heard of the defeat of Ferguson at King's
Mountain,[52] fearing an attack of his rear at Camden, he collected his
forces and retreated towards Winnsboro. While on this march, his whole
army halted for the night on the plantation of Robert Wilson. Cornwallis
and his staff took possession of the house, and made an unstinted levy
on the hospitality of the good lady. By asking such questions as a
British lord would, under the circumstances, feel at liberty to
propound, the General learned, in the course of the evening, that the
husband of Mrs. Wilson, and some of her sons, were then his prisoners in
Camden jail. Her kindness and urbanity led him to think that perhaps
she was a friend to the Crown; and, after some preliminary remarks,
intended to prepare her mind for the leading consideration which he
wished to enforce upon it, he at length addressed her as follows:

  [52] October seventh, 1780.

"Madam, your husband and your son are my prisoners; the fortune of war
may soon place others of your sons--perhaps all your kinsmen, in my
power. Your sons are young, aspiring and brave. In a good cause,
fighting for a generous and powerful king, such as George III, they
might hope for rank, honor and wealth. If you could but induce your
husband and sons to leave the rebels, and take up arms for their lawful
sovereign, I would almost pledge myself that they shall have rank and
consideration in the British army. If you, madam, will pledge yourself
to induce them to do so, I will immediately order their discharge."

"I have seven sons," Mrs. Wilson replied, "who are now, or have been,
bearing arms--indeed my seventh son, Zaccheus, who is only fifteen years
old, I yesterday assisted to get ready to go and join his brothers in
Sumter's army. Now, sooner than see one of my family turn back from the
glorious enterprise, I would take these boys--pointing to three or four
small sons--and with them would myself enlist, under Sumter's standard,
and show my husband and sons how to fight, and, if necessary, to die for
their country!"

Colonel Tarleton was one of the listeners to this colloquy, and when
Mrs. Wilson had finished her reply, he said to Cornwallis: "Ah! General!
I think you've got into a hornet's nest! Never mind, when we get to
Camden, I'll take good care that old Robin Wilson never comes back
again!" We may add that Tarleton's threat was never executed. Mr. Wilson
and his worthy companion lived to old age, and died at Steel creek just
before the war of 1812.


  Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing good.


The following anecdote is obtained from a reliable source. Did the
spirit which pervaded the heart of its subject, thoroughly permeate the
churches, the great work of carrying the Gospel to every nation, would
soon be accomplished.

"In one of the eastern counties of New York lived a colored female, who
was born a slave, but she was made free by the act gradually abolishing
slavery in that state. She had no resources except such as she obtained
by her own labor. On one occasion she carried to her pastor _forty
dollars_: she told him that she wished him, with two dollars of this sum
to procure for her a seat in his church; eighteen dollars she desired to
be given to the American Board; and the remaining twenty dollars she
requested him to divide among other benevolent societies according to
his discretion."


  Honor being then above life, dishonor must
  Be worse than death; for fate can strike but one.
  Reproach doth reach whole families.

                                         CARTWRIGHT'S SIEGE.

At the celebration of our national Independence, in 1797, the orator of
the society of the Cincinnati of South Carolina, paid the following
tribute to the magnanimity of Mrs. Rebecca Edwards:--"The Spartan
mother, on delivering his shield to her son departing for the army,
nobly bade him 'return with it or on it.' The sentiment was highly
patriotic, but surely not superior to that which animated the bosom of
the distinguished female of our own state, who, when the British officer
presented the mandate which arrested her sons as objects of retaliation,
less sensible of private affection than attached to her honor and the
interest of her country, stifled the tender feelings of the mother, and
heroically bade them despise the threats of their enemies, and
steadfastly persist to support the glorious cause in which they had
engaged--that if the threatened sacrifice should follow, they would
carry a parent's blessing, and the good opinion of every virtuous
citizen along with them to the grave: but if from the frailty of human
nature--of the possibility of which she would not suffer an idea to
enter her mind--they were disposed to temporize, and exchange their
liberty for safety, they must forget her as a mother, nor subject her to
the misery of ever beholding them again."[53]

  [53] American Anecdotes, vol. 2, p. 11.


                  Trembling and fear
  Are to her unknown.

                           SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The maiden name of Mrs. Lewis Morris was Ann Elliott. She was born at
Maccabee, in 1762, and died in New York, in 1848. She was a firm and
fearless patriot, and when the city of Charleston, South Carolina, was
in possession of the red coats, she wore thirteen small plumes in her
bonnet. She had so fair a face, so graceful a form and so patriotic a
spirit, as to be called "the beautiful rebel." An English officer fell
in love with her and offered to join the Americans, if she would favor
his proposals. She ordered the friend who interceded for him to say to
him, "that to her former want of esteem, was added scorn for a man
capable of betraying his sovereign for selfish interest."

While she was engaged to Colonel Morris and he was on a visit one time
at Maccabee, the house was suddenly surrounded by Black Dragoons. They
were in pursuit of the Colonel, and it was impossible for him to escape
by flight. What to do he knew not, but, quick as thought, she ran to the
window, opened it, and, fearlessly putting her head out, in a composed
yet firm manner, demanded what was wanted. The reply was, "We want the
---- rebel." "Then go," said she, "and look for him in the American
army," adding "How dare you disturb a family under the protection of
both armies!" She was so cool, self-possessed, firm and resolute as to
triumph over the dragoons, who left without entering the house.


  Men sacrifice others--women themselves.

                            MRS. S. C. HALL.

Harriet Bradford Tiffany, afterwards the wife of the Rev. Charles S.
Stewart, was born near Stamford, Connecticut, on the fourth of June,
1798. She lost her father when she was a small child, and till 1815,
passed most of her time with an uncle, in Albany. At this date, an older
sister married and settled in Cooperstown, and consequently Harriet took
up her abode in that place. She became the subject of renewing grace in
the summer of 1819; was married on the third of June, 1822, and sailed
with her husband and nearly thirty other missionaries, all bound to the
same field, on the nineteenth of November following. This little, heroic
band, that, by the help of God, have since been mainly instrumental in
making the Sandwich islands blossom like a rose, arrived at Honolulu, in
Oahu, on the twenty-seventh of April, 1823.

Mrs. Stewart left a beautiful town in a thriving part of the Empire
State; tempting luxuries; a brilliant circle, and many endearing
friends; but she had embarked in a glorious enterprise for Christ's
sake, and, hence, she settled down in a little log hut, in the town of
Lahaiua, three days' sail from Oahu, contented and happy. On the first
day of January, 1824, she wrote as follows: "It is now fifteen months
since I bade adieu to the dear valley which contains much, very much,
that is most dear to me; but since the day I parted from it, my spirits
have been uniformly good. Sometimes, it is true, a cloud of tender
recollections passes over me, obscuring, for a moment, my mental vision,
and threatening a day of darkness; but it is seldom. And as the
returning sun, after a summer shower, spreads his beams over the
retiring gloom of the heavens, and stretches abroad the shining arch of
promise to cheer the face of nature, so, at such times, do the rays of
the Sun of Righteousness speedily illumine the hopes of my soul, and
fill my bosom with joy and peace."

A few months after the above date, writing to a friend, she says: "We
are most contented and most happy, and rejoice that God has seen fit to
honor and bless us by permitting us to be the bearers of his light and
truth to this dark corner of the earth. Could you feel the same gladness
that often fills our bosoms, in witnessing the happy influence of the
Gospel on the minds and hearts of many of these interesting creatures,
you would be satisfied, yes more than satisfied, that we should be _what
we are, and where we are, poor missionaries in the distant islands of
the sea_."

In these brief extracts from her letters, shines, in its serenest
lustre, the character of the Christian heroine:[54] and it would be an
easy task to compile a volume of letters written on the field of moral
conflict by American female missionaries, breathing a spirit equally as
unselfish, cheerful and brave. All pioneer women in this enterprise are
heroines, and if the conflicts and sublime victories of all claiming
American citizenship, are not herein recorded, it is because, in a work
of unambitious pretensions as it regards size, a few characters must
stand as representatives of a class.

  [54] For a full account of the life of Mrs. Stewart, we refer the reader
  to an interesting Memoir, by her husband.

So pernicious was the influence of a tropical climate that, in the
spring of 1825, the health of Mrs. Stewart began to fail; and at the end
of a year, she was forced to leave the country. She sailed, with her
husband, for London; and after tarrying three months in England, they
embarked for home. They reached the valley of the Otsego in September,
1826. For three or four years, it was the prayer of Mrs. Stewart that
she might be restored to health and permitted to return to the mission
station; but in January, 1830, she was laid on a bed of declension and
suffering, and in the following autumn, fully ripe, was gathered into
the heavenly garner.


  Ah! woman--in this world of ours,
  What gift can be compared to thee.

                          GEORGE P. MORRIS.

Mrs. Margaret Morris, of Burlington, New Jersey, kept a journal during
the Revolution, for the amusement, it is said, of a sister, the wife of
Dr. Charles Moore, of Philadelphia. A few copies were printed several
years ago, for private circulation, supplying friends with a mirror
which reflects the image of expanded benevolence and exalted piety.
Belonging to the Society of Friends, she was not partial to

  "The shot, the shout, the groan of war;"

yet her principles were patriotic, and she no doubt rejoiced over all
the victories and in the final and complete success of the "rebel" army.
She became a widow at an early age, and died at Burlington, in 1816,
aged seventy-nine years.

A single extract from her journal will illustrate the most prominent
feature of her character:

"June 14th, 1777. By a person from Bordentown, we hear twelve expresses
came in there to-day from camp. Some of the gondola-men and their wives
being sick, and no doctor in town to apply to, they were told Mrs.
Morris was a skillful woman, and kept medicines to give to the poor; and
notwithstanding their late attempts to shoot my poor boy, they ventured
to come to me, and in a very humble manner begged me to come and do
something for them. At first I thought they designed to put a trick on
me, get me aboard their gondola, and then pillage my house, as they had
done some others; but on asking where the sick folks were, I was told
they were lodged in the Governor's house. So I went to see them; there
were several, both men and women, very ill with fever; some said, the
camp or putrid fever. They were broken out in blotches; and on close
examination, it appeared to be the itch fever. I treated them according
to art, and they all got well. I thought I had received all my pay when
they thankfully acknowledged my kindness; but lo! in a short time
afterwards a very rough, ill-looking man came to the door and asked for
me. When I went to him he drew me aside, and asked if I had any friends
in Philadelphia. The question alarmed me, supposing there was some
mischief meditated against that poor city; however, I calmly said--'I
have an ancient father, some sisters, and other near friends there.'

"'Well,' said the man, 'do you wish to hear from them, or send any thing
by way of refreshment to them? If you do, I will take charge of it, and
bring you back any thing you may send for.'

"I was very much surprised, and thought, to be sure, he only wanted to
get provisions to take to the gondolas; but when he told me his wife was
one of those I had given medicine to, and this was the only thing he
could do to pay me for my kindness, my heart leaped with joy, and I set
about preparing something for my dear, absent friends. A quarter of
beef, some veal, fowls and flour, were soon put up; and about midnight
the man called and took them aboard his boat. He left them at Robert
Hopkins'--at the point--whence my beloved friends took them to town.

"Two nights afterwards, a loud knocking at our front door greatly
alarmed us, and opening the chamber window, we heard a man's voice,
saying, 'Come down softly and open the door, but bring no light.'

"There was something mysterious in such a call; but we concluded to go
down and set the candle in the kitchen.

"When we got to the front door, we asked, 'Who are you?'

"The man replied, 'A friend; open quickly.' So the door was opened; and
who should it be but our honest gondola-man, with a letter, a bushel of
salt, a jug of molasses, a bag of rice, some tea, coffee, and sugar, and
some cloth for a coat for my poor boys; all sent by my kind sisters!

"How did our hearts and eyes overflow with love to them, and thanks to
our Heavenly Father for such seasonable supplies! May we never forget
it! Being now so rich, we thought it our duty to hand out a little to
the poor around us, who were mourning for want of salt; so we divided
the bushel, and gave a pint to every poor person who came for it--having
abundance left for our own use. Indeed, it seemed to us as if our little
store was increased by distribution, like the bread broken by our
Saviour to the multitude."


  In every rank, or great or small,
  'Tis industry supports us all.


 Count life by virtues--these will last
 When life's lame-footed race is o'er.

                                 MRS. HALE.

In the year 1843, the Hon. Samuel Wilkeson, of Buffalo--since
deceased--communicated to the American Pioneer, a series of papers
entitled "Early Recollections of the West." They present a graphic, yet
painful picture of the perils, hardships and sufferings attendant on
back-woods life in the midst of the aboriginal foresters. His father's
family was one of twenty that removed from Carlisle and the adjacent
towns, to the western part of Pennsylvania, in the spring of 1784. He
pays the following tribute to the industry, perseverance and pious
efforts of the mothers of the band:

The labor of all the settlers was greatly interrupted by the Indian war.
Although the older settlers had some sheep, yet their increase was slow,
as the country abounded in wolves. It was therefore the work of time to
secure a supply of wool. Deerskin was a substitute for cloth for men and
boys, but not for women and girls, although they were sometimes
compelled to resort to it. The women spun, and generally wove all the
cloth for their families, and when the wife was feeble, and had a large
family, her utmost efforts could not enable her to provide them with
anything like comfortable clothing. The wonder is, and I shall never
cease to wonder, that they did not sink under their burthens. Their
patient endurance of these accumulated hardships did not arise from a
slavish servility, or insensibility to their rights and comforts. They
justly appreciated their situation, and nobly encountered the
difficulties which could not be avoided.

Possessing all the affections of the wife, the tenderness of the mother,
and the sympathies of the woman, their tears flowed freely for others'
griefs, while they bore their own with a fortitude which none but a
woman could exercise. The entire education of her children devolved on
the mother, and notwithstanding the difficulties to be encountered, she
did not allow them to grow up wholly without instruction; but amidst all
her numerous cares taught them to read, and instructed them in the
principles of Christianity. To accomplish this, under the circumstances,
was no easy task. The exciting influences which surrounded them, made
the boys restless under restraint. Familiarized as they were to
hardships from the cradle, and daily listening to stories of Indian
massacres and depredations, and to the heroic exploits of some
neighboring pioneer, who had taken an Indian scalp, or by some daring
effort saved his own, ignorant of the sports and toys with which
children in other circumstances are wont to be amused, no wonder they
desired to emulate the soldier, or engage in the scarcely less exciting
adventures of the hunter. Yet even many of these boys were subdued by
the faithfulness of the mother, who labored to bring them up in the fear
of God.


                  Our country yet remains:
  By that dread name, we wave the sword on high,
  And swear for her to live--with her to die!


One of the spiciest specimens of colloquial sparring, _vis-a-vis_, in
our Revolutionary annals, was between Colonel Tarleton and the wife of
Lieutenant Slocumb, of Wayne county, North Carolina.[55] The Attic wit
and Spartan boldness of the latter, exhibit original powers of mind,
strength of will, and a degree of self-possession truly grand and
ennobling. But the character of the heroine of "Pleasant Green," is most
luminous in her conduct at the battle of Moore's Creek, which occurred
on the twenty-seventh of February, 1776. She tells the story of her
adventures on that bloody occasion, as follows:

  [55] _Vide_ Women of the Revolution, vol. 1. pp. 306-7, etc.

"The men all left on Sunday morning. More than eighty went from this
house with my husband; I looked at them well, and I could see that every
man had mischief in him. I know a coward as soon as I set my eyes upon
him. The tories more than once tried to frighten me, but they always
showed coward at the bare insinuation that our troops were about.

"Well, they got off in high spirits, every man stepping high and light.
And I slept soundly and quietly that night, and worked hard all the next
day; but I kept thinking where they had got to--how far; where and how
many of the regulars and tories they would meet; and I could not keep
myself from the study. I went to bed at the usual time, but still
continued to study. As I lay--whether waking or sleeping I know not--I
had a dream; yet it was not all a dream. (She used the words,
unconsciously, of the poet who was not then in being.) I saw distinctly
a body wrapped in my husband's guard-cloak--bloody--dead; and others
dead and wounded on the ground about him. I saw them plainly and
distinctly. I uttered a cry, and sprang to my feet on the floor; and so
strong was the impression on my mind, that I rushed in the direction the
vision appeared, and came up against the side of the house. The fire in
the room gave little light, and I gazed in every direction to catch
another glimpse of the scene. I raised the light; every thing was still
and quiet. My child was sleeping, but my woman was awakened by my crying
out or jumping on the floor. If ever I felt fear it was at that moment.
Seated on the bed, I reflected a few moments--and said aloud: 'I must
go to him.' I told the woman I could not sleep, and would ride down the
road. She appeared in great alarm; but I merely told her to lock the
door after me, and look after the child. I went to the stable, saddled
my mare--as fleet and easy a nag as ever traveled; and in one minute we
were tearing down the road at full speed. The cool night seemed after a
mile or two's gallop to bring reflection with it; and I asked myself
where I was going, and for what purpose. Again and again, I was tempted
to turn back; but I was soon ten miles from home, and my mind became
stronger every mile I rode. I should find my husband dead or dying--was
as firmly my presentiment and conviction as any fact of my life. When
day broke I was some thirty miles from home. I knew the general route
our little army expected to take, and had followed them without
hesitation. About sunrise I came upon a group of women and children,
standing and sitting by the road-side, each one of them showing the same
anxiety of mind I felt. Stopping a few minutes I inquired if the battle
had been fought. They knew nothing, but were assembled on the road-side
to catch intelligence. They thought Caswell had taken the right of the
Wilmington road, and gone towards the north-west (cape Fear). Again was
I skimming over the ground through a country thinly settled, and very
poor and swampy; but neither my own spirits nor my beautiful nag's
failed in the least. We followed the well-marked trail of the troops.

"The sun must have been well up, say eight or nine o'clock, when I heard
a sound like thunder, which I knew must be cannon. It was the first time
I ever heard a cannon. I stopped still; when presently the cannon
thundered again. The battle was then fighting. What a fool! my husband
could not be dead last night, and the battle only fighting now! Still,
as I am so near, I will go on and see how they come out. So away we went
again, faster than ever; and I soon found, by the noise of the guns,
that I was near the fight. Again I stopped. I could hear muskets, I
could hear rifles, and I could hear shouting. I spoke to my mare and
dashed on in the direction of the firing and the shouts, now louder than
ever. The blind path I had been following brought me into the Wilmington
road leading to Moore's creek bridge, a few hundred yards below the
bridge. A few yards from the road, under a cluster of trees were lying
perhaps twenty men. They were the wounded. I knew the spot; the very
trees; and the position of the men I knew as if I had seen it a thousand
times. I had seen it all night! I saw all at once; but in an instant my
whole soul was centered in one spot; for there, wrapped in his bloody
guard-cloak, was my husband's body! How I passed the few yards from my
saddle to the place I never knew. I remember uncovering his head and
seeing a face clothed with gore from a dreadful wound across the temple.
I put my hand on the bloody face; 'twas warm; and an _unknown voice_
begged for water. A small camp-kettle was lying near, and a stream of
water was close by. I brought it; poured some in his mouth; washed his
face; and behold--it was Frank Cogdell. He soon revived and could speak.
I was washing the wound in his head. Said he 'It is not that; it is that
hole in my leg that is killing me.' A puddle of blood was standing on
the ground about his feet. I took his knife, cut away his trowsers and
stockings, and found the blood came from a shot hole through and through
the fleshy part of the leg. I looked about and could see nothing that
looked as if it would do for dressing wounds but some heart-leaves. I
gathered a handful and bound them tight to the holes; and the bleeding
stopped. I then went to the others; and--Doctor! I dressed the wounds of
many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after that day! I had not
inquired for my husband; but while I was busy Caswell came up. He
appeared very much surprised to see me; and was with his hat in hand
about to pay some compliment: but I interrupted him by asking--'Where is
my husband?'

"'Where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. But pray,' said
he, 'how came you here?'

"'Oh, I thought,' replied I, 'you would need nurses as well as soldiers.
See! I have already dressed many of these good fellows; and here is
one'--going to Frank and lifting him up with my arm under his head so
that he could drink some more water--'would have died before any of you
men could have helped him.'

"'I believe you,' said Frank. Just then I looked up, and my husband, as
bloody as a butcher, and as muddy as a ditcher,[56] stood before me.

  [56] It was his company that forded the creek, and, penetrating the
  swamp, made the furious charge on the British left and rear which
  decided the fate of the day.--[Mrs. Ellet.

"'Why, Mary!' he exclaimed, 'What are you doing there? Hugging Frank
Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?'

"'I don't care,' I cried. 'Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier, and
a true friend to Congress.'

"'True, true! every word of it!' said Caswell. 'You are right, madam,'
with the lowest possible bow.

"I would not tell my husband what brought me there. I was so happy; and
so were all! It was a glorious victory; I came just at the height of the
enjoyment. I knew my husband was surprised, but I could see he was not
displeased with me. It was night again before our excitement had at all
subsided. Many prisoners were brought in, and among them some very
obnoxious; but the worst of the tories were not taken prisoners. They
were, for the most part, left in the woods and swamps wherever they were
overtaken. I begged for some of the poor prisoners, and Caswell readily
told me none should be hurt but such as had been guilty of murder and
house-burning. In the middle of the night I again mounted my mare and
started for home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next
morning, and they would send a party with me; but no! I wanted to see
my child, and I told them they could send no party who could keep up
with me. What a happy ride I had back! and with what joy did I embrace
my child as he ran to meet me!"[57]

  [57] Mrs. Slocumb was a dignified and generous matron, a kind and
  liberal neighbor, and a Christian of indomitable fortitude and
  inexhaustible patience. After four or five years' extreme bodily
  suffering, resulting from a complication of diseases, she died, on the
  sixth of March, 1836, aged seventy-six years.


  Love, lend me wings to make this purpose swift,
  As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift.


During the struggle for Independence, Captain Richardson, of Sumter
district, South Carolina, was obliged to conceal himself for a while in
the thickets of the Santee swamp. One day he ventured to visit his
family--a perilous movement, for the British had offered rewards for his
apprehension, and patrolling parties were almost constantly in search of
him.--Before his visit was ended, a small band of soldiers presented
themselves in front of the house. Just as they were entering, with a
great deal of composure and presence of mind, Mrs. Richardson appeared
at the door, and found so much to do there at the moment, as to find it
inconvenient to make room for the uninvited guests to enter. She was so
calm, and appeared so unconcerned, that they did not mistrust the cause
of her wonderful diligence, till her husband had rushed out of the back
door and safely reached the neighboring swamp.


  Patience and resignation are the pillars
  Of human peace on earth.


The panegyric of Decker on patience is beautiful:

  Patience, my lord! why 'tis the soul of peace:
  Of all the virtues 'tis the nearest kin to heaven;
  It makes men look like gods.

Not every Christian sufferer wears this garment in its celestial
whiteness, as did the God-man, whom the same writer calls

                    "the best of men
  That e'er wore earth about him."

One of the most patient beings in modern times was Miss Sarah Parbeck,
of Salem, Massachusetts. A lady who visited her in 1845, gives the
following account of the interview:

The door was opened by a very old lady, wrinkled and bowed down with
age, who invited us to enter. The room was so dark, that, before my eyes
were accommodated to the change, I could only see a figure dressed in
white, sitting upon the bed and rocking to and fro. This motion was
attended by a sound like the click of wooden machinery, which arose, as
I afterwards discovered, from the bones, as they worked in their
loosened sockets. As we approached, she extended her hand to my
companion, and said, in a painful but affectionate voice, "Eliza, I am
very glad to see thee;" and then asked my name and place of residence.
She had just given me her hand, when a spasm seized her, and it was
twitched suddenly from my grasp. It flew some four or five times with
the greatest violence against her face, and then, with a sound, which I
can only compare to that made by a child who has been sobbing a long
time, in catching its breath, she threw up both her arms, and with a
deep guttural groan was flung back upon her pillow, with a force
inconceivable to one who has not witnessed it. The instant she touched
the bed, she uttered that piercing shriek again, and sprung back to her
former position, rocking to and fro, with those quick, heart-rending
groans which I had heard while standing at the door. It was several
minutes before she could speak, and then there was none to answer her.
Both my companion and myself were choked with tears. Her poor mother
went to the other side of the bed, and smoothed the coverlid, and
re-arranged the pillows, looking sadly upon her poor child, writhing in
torture which she could not alleviate. I became faint, and trembled with
sudden weakness: a cold perspiration stood upon my face. The objects in
the room began to swim about me, and I was obliged to take hold of the
bedside for support. I have been in our largest hospitals, and have
spent hours in going from room to room with the attending physician. I
have witnessed there almost every form of human suffering, but I had
never beheld any thing to be compared to that now before me. She
afterwards told me, as if in apology for her screams, that when she was
hurled back upon her pillow, both shoulders were dislocated, and as they
sprung back into their sockets, the pain was far beyond endurance, and
extorted from her these shrieks.

Her sentences were broken, uttered with much difficulty, and frequently
interrupted by the terrible spasm I have described above. Yet this was
her "quiet" state; this the time when she suffered _least_. Day after
day, night after night, _fourteen weary years_ have dragged themselves
along, whilst her poor body has been thus racked. No relief; no hope of
relief, except that which death shall give. When I asked her if her
affliction did not at times seem greater than she could bear, "O!
never," she replied. "I cannot thank God enough for having laid his
heavy hand upon me. I was a thoughtless sinner, and had he not, in his
mercy, afflicted me, I should probably have lost my immortal soul. I see
only his kindness and love. The sweet communion I have with my Saviour
more than compensates me for all I suffer. I am permitted to feel, in a
measure, in my poor body, what he suffered to save me, and my soul can
never grow weary in his praise." This last sentence, I must say, gave me
an argument which put doubts of the verity and power of religion to
flight more effectually than all the evidences which the wisdom of man
has arrayed against the skeptic; and I could not but exclaim, "If this
be delusion let me be deluded!"

She spoke in the most tender terms of her Saviour's love. Her
conversation was in heaven, from whence also she looked for her Saviour,
knowing that he should change her body of humiliation, and fashion it
like unto his glorious body. I shall never forget the tones and language
in which she entreated my sobbing companion to give that Saviour her
heart. As she recovered from a spasm, I said to her, "do you not often
desire to depart, and be with the Saviour you love so fervently?" She
had hardly recovered her exhausted breath, but replied with great
decision, "By the grace of God, _I have never had that wish_. Though
death will be a welcome gift when my Father sees fit to bestow it upon
me, yet, thanks to his supporting grace, I can wait his time without
impatience. He sees that there is much dross to refine away, and why
should I wish against his will?"

I remained by her side for more than an hour; such, however, were the
attractions of her discourse, that I was unconscious of the time. I know
not when I have been so drawn towards a fellow Christian, and never had
I been led to such delightful contemplations of our Saviour's
character--his faithfulness and love. I remarked to her, as I turned to
go away, "God has made you a powerful preacher, here upon your bed of
pain." "O," she replied, "if he will make me the instrument of saving
but a single soul, I am willing to live and suffer here until my hair is
gray with age." I noticed some bottles standing upon a small table, and
asked her if she found any relief from opiates. "Through God's
kindness," she answered, "I probably owe the preservation of my life
thus far to an extract made from blackdrop." "Does it enable you to
sleep?" "O no," she replied, "I have not known sleep for a very long
time." "What!" I cried, "do you never rest?" A severe spasm here seized
her, and it was some time before she could answer me; she had been
attacked in this way some twelve or fifteen times whilst conversing with
us, and frequently in the midst of a reply. When she recovered, she said
the physicians thought she obtained rest in her "long spasm," which
lasted for more than an hour. "During that time," she continued, "I am
dead to every thing but a sense of the most extreme anguish. I see and
hear nothing; I only feel as though I was being crushed in pieces by
some immense weight." This was her rest! the rack! Yet, through all this
suffering, the smiles of God penetrated to her heart. She sees him just,
and acknowledges his love.


  ----The painted folds thus fly,
  And lift their emblems, printed high
  On morning mist and sunset sky.


  She showed that her soft sex contains strong mind.

                                         SIR W. DAVENANT.

Susannah Smith, afterwards the wife of Colonel Barnard Elliott, was a
native of South Carolina. Ramsay, in his history of that state, and
other authors, give a glowing account of her presentation of a pair of
colors to the second South Carolina regiment of infantry, commanded by
Col. Moultrie. The ceremony took place on the twenty-eighth of June,
'76, two or three days after the attack on Fort Moultrie, Sullivan's
island. The colors, which were embroidered by her own hand, were
presented in these words: "Your gallant behavior in defence of liberty
and your country, entitles you to the highest honors: accept these two
standards as a reward justly due to your regiment; and I make not the
least doubt, under Heaven's protection, you will stand by them as long
as they can wave in the air of liberty."

Mrs. Elliott had a plantation called "The Hut," and while there she once
had three American gentlemen as guests. These she was obliged to hurry
into a closet one day, on the sudden approach of the enemy; and, opening
a secret door, she showed them a narrow apartment back of the chimney,
which she had contrived expressly for a hiding place. Two of the guests
entered, and were saved, while the third, attempting to flee on
horse-back, was overtaken and slain.

After the British had thoroughly, though ineffectually, searched the
house, and failed, by many threats, to persuade the mistress to disclose
the hiding place of the others, they demanded her silver. Pointing to
some mounds of earth near by, as they made the demand, they asked if the
plate was not buried there.[58] She told them, in reply, that those
mounds were the graves of British soldiers who had died under her roof.
The officers did not believe her, and made two of the soldiers dig till
they came to one of the coffins, which was opened and which verified her
assertion. The enemy then departed, when the two guests came forth,
filled with gratitude to their kind and ingenious hostess for the free
use of this singular apartment.

  [58] The silver was buried in a trunk, and remained in a marshy bed till
  the close of the war. When disinterred, it had turned black.


  "The spark of noble courage now awake,
  And strive your excellent self to excel."

The wife of Charles Elliott, of Charleston, South Carolina, was one of
those dames of Seventy-six who "appeared to concentrate every thought
and every hour of existence to the interests of America." She cheered
the prisoner, befriended the unjustly persecuted, comforted the sick,
fed the hungry, and was humane alike to enemies and friends. Major
Garden has paid her the following compliment: "I do not know an officer
who did not owe to her some essential increase of comfort."

A British officer, whose cruel and persecuting disposition was well
known to Mrs. Elliott, was walking with her in a flower garden one day,
when, pointing to the chamomile he asked, "What is this, madam?" She at
once replied, "The rebel flower." "And why," asked he, "is it called the
rebel flower?" "Because," answered she, "it always flourishes most when
trampled upon."

At another time, while an officer of the royal army was in her house at
Charleston, a French officer, belonging to Pulaski's legion, passed;
and pointing to him, he vociferated, "There, Mrs. Elliott, is one of
your illustrious allies. What a pity the hero is minus his _sword_." The
spirit of the woman was roused, and she replied, "Had two thousand such
men been here to aid in the defence of our city, I should not at this
moment, sir, have been subjected to the insolence of your observation."

When her father, the brave and zealous patriot, Thomas Ferguson, was put
on board a transport ship at Charleston, preparatory to exile, she
hastened from the country, where she chanced to be, and begged
permission to receive his parting blessing. Her request being granted,
she went on board the ship. Just as she entered the cabin, she was
overcome with grief, and fainted. When recovered, she addressed her
father as follows: "Let not oppression shake your fortitude, nor the
hope of gentler treatment cause you for a moment to swerve from strict
duty. Better times are in store for us: the bravery of the Americans,
and the friendly aid of France, will achieve the deliverance of our
country from oppression. We shall meet again, my father, and meet with

  [59] A similar spirit was exhibited by the wife of Isaac Holmes, one of
  the number who were sent into exile at St. Augustine. Just as the guard
  were separating him from his family, she said to him, "Waver not in your
  principles, but be true to your country. Have no fears for your family;
  God is good, and will provide for them."


  What bosom beats not in its country's cause?


While the Legislature of Virginia was in session at Charlottesville,
Colonel Tarleton, with his famous band of cavalry, made a secret march
to that place, in order to capture the Governor and some public stores
there collected. Several of the Assembly-men were at the house of
Colonel John Walker, a dozen miles distant, and directly on Tarleton's
route. Colonel Walker was absent on duty in the lower part of the state.
Tarleton came suddenly up to the door, and succeeded in making one or
two prisoners, the other members fleeing to town. He then ordered
breakfast for himself and his whole corps, which the shrewd lady of the
house prepared in the slowest manner possible. This she did in order
that the members who had fled to the capital, might attend to the
removal or concealment of the stores, in the preservation of which she
was deeply interested. Her stratagem succeeded; and, after tarrying a
day or two at Charlottesville, Tarleton went empty away.


  Spread out earth's holiest records here.


"About the first of September, 1833, a deep and solemn interest upon the
subject of religion, began to be visible in the Presbyterian church and
congregation of Washingtonville, New York, and particularly in the
Sabbath school. One teacher, feeling deeply the responsibility resting
upon her, and the worth of immortal souls, before the school was
dismissed on the Lord's day, affectionately requested her class,
consisting of little girls about twelve or thirteen years of age, to
remain after the rest of the school had retired. She then began, with an
aching heart and with flowing tears, to reason and plead with them upon
the subject of personal religion. They were deeply affected, and 'wept
bitterly' in view of their lost condition. They then all knelt together
before the Lord, and the teacher prayed for their salvation; and
immediately the scholar next to her commenced praying for herself, and
then the next, and so on, until the whole class, with ardent
supplications, begged for the forgiveness of their sins, and the
salvation of their souls. It would take long to tell the history of this
class, and relate particular instances of conversions, and the happy
changes which took place in the families to which they belonged, and
show the family altars which were established. These scholars, with
their teacher and their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, were
ere long seen commemorating a Saviour's dying love together. The revival
extended itself to other towns, and the great day can alone unfold the
astonishing results."


  What I will, I will, and there's an end.


Immediately after the victory of the British at Guilford, order was
given for the illumination of Charleston, South Carolina. This order,
Major Garden informs us,[60] the wife of Thomas Heyward of that city
refused to obey; and when an officer asked her the reason of her
disobedience, she replied, "Is it possible for me, sir, to feel a spark
of joy? Can I celebrate the victory of your army while my husband
remains a prisoner at St. Augustine?" Enraged at her obstinacy, he told
her she _should_ illuminate. "Not a single light shall be placed, with
my consent, on any occasion, in any window in the house," was her
fearless reply. He then threatened to destroy her house before midnight.
"You have power to destroy, sir," she said, "and seem well disposed to
use it, but over my opinions you possess no control. I disregard your
menaces, and resolutely declare, _I will not illuminate_!" As good as
her word, she _did_ not, nor was her house destroyed.

  [60] Revolutionary Anecdotes, First Series

Orders were given, at another time, for an illumination on the
anniversary of the battle and surrender of Charleston,[61] and Mrs.
Heyward again refused to obey. The mob was so indignant as to pelt her
house with brickbats; and while engaged in the mean act, a feeble and
emaciated sister of Mrs. Heyward--Mrs. George A. Hall--expired! When the
town major heard of this painful circumstance, he tried to apologize to
Mrs. Heyward, expressing regret for the indignities and damages, and
offering to repair the building. She received his personal courtesies,
but refused his proffered aid in making repairs, hinting, at the same
time, that it was hardly possible for the authorities, in that way, to
remedy insults the offering of which their baseness had probably
prompted and and which they could and _should_ have prevented.

  [61] May twelfth, 1781.


  We are born to do benefits.


When the news was received in Illinois, a few years ago, that, owing to
a deficiency of funds, the Ceylon missionaries had been obliged to
dismiss thousands of pupils from their schools, and that twenty-five
dollars would revive any one of them, a minister of that state laid the
subject before his small and poor church, and between pastor and people
twenty-five dollars were promptly raised. Going home and communicating
the intelligence to his wife, the minister learned that she had been
weighing the subject, and was anxious, in some way, to raise enough
herself alone to resuscitate a school. Her husband told her she could do
it by dispensing with a tomb stone which had been ordered from New York
for a child lately deceased, and which would cost twenty-five dollars.
She promptly consented to have the order countermanded, saying that
"living children demanded her money more than the one that was dead." By
suffering the love of Christ to triumph over maternal feeling, she
re-opened a mission school, and the day of judgment will reveal the
great amount of good thereby accomplished.


                          It is held
  That valor is the chiefest virtue;
  Most dignifies the haver: if it be,
  The man I speak of cannot in the world
  Be singly counterpoised.


Milton A. Haynes, Esq., of Tennessee, furnished for Mrs. Ellet's Women
of the Revolution a lengthy and very interesting sketch of Sarah
Buchanan, of East Tennessee. The following anecdotes, extracted
therefrom, exhibit the heroism of her character:

On one occasion, Sarah and a kinswoman named Susan Everett were
returning home from a visit a mile or two distant, careless of danger,
or not thinking of its presence. It was late in the evening, and they
were riding along a path through the open woods, Miss Everett in
advance. Suddenly she stopped her horse, exclaiming, "Look, Sally,
yonder are the red skins!" Not more than a hundred yards ahead was a
party of Indians armed with rifles, directly in their path. There was no
time for counsel, and retreat was impossible, as the Indians might
easily intercept them before they could gain a fort in their rear. To
reach their own block-house, four or five hundred yards distant, was
their only hope of safety. Quick as thought, Sarah whispered to her
companion to follow and do as she did, and then instantly assuming the
position of a man on horseback, in which she was imitated by her
relative, she urged her horse into a headlong gallop. Waving their
bonnets in the air, and yelling like madmen, they came furiously down
upon the savages, who had not seen them, crying out as they came--"Clear
the track, you ---- red skins!" The part was so well acted, that the
Indians took them for the head of a body of troopers, who were making a
deadly charge upon them, and dodging out of the path, fled for very
life--and so did Sally and Susan! Before the savages had recovered from
their fright, the two girls were safe within the gates of the fort,
trembling like frightened fawns at the narrow escape which they had

On another occasion, when her husband and all the men of the fort were
absent, two celebrated horse-thieves, who had taken refuge with the
Indians, came and demanded of Mrs. Buchanan two of the Major's fine
horses. Knowing their lawless character, she pretended acquiescence, and
went with them to the stable, but on arriving at the door she suddenly
drew a large hunting knife from under her apron, and assuming an
attitude of defiance, declared that if either of them dared to enter the
stable, she would instantly cut him down. Struck by her intrepid
bearing, they fell back, and although they tried to overcome her
resolution by threats and bravado, she maintained her ground, and the
marauders were compelled to retire without the horses.

On Sunday night,[62] about the hour of midnight, while the moon was
shining brilliantly, the Indian army under Watts and the Shawnee,
advancing in silence, surrounded Buchanan's station. In order to effect
an entrance into the fort by a _coup de main_, they sent runners to
frighten and drive in the horses and cattle. This was done, and the
animals came dashing furiously towards the fort; but the garrison,
wrapped in slumber, heeded them not. The watchman, John McCrory, at this
instant discovering the savages advancing within fifty yards of the
gates, fired upon them. In an instant the mingled yells of the savage
columns, the crack of their rifles, and the clatter of their hatchets,
as they attempted to cut down the gate, told the little squad of
nineteen men and seven women that the fearful war-cloud, which had been
rising so long, was about to burst upon their devoted heads!

  [62] In the autumn of 1792, while the war with the Creeks and Cherokees
  was raging in the Cumberland valley.

Aroused suddenly from deep slumber by the terrible war-whoop, every man
and woman felt the horror of their situation. The first impulse with
some was to surrender, and it is related of one woman that she instantly
gathered her five children and attempted to go with them to the gate to
yield themselves to the Indians. Mrs. Buchanan seized her by the
shoulder, and asked her where she was going.

"To surrender myself and children to the Indians--if I don't they'll
kill us, any how," exclaimed the terrified woman. "Come back," said Mrs.
Buchanan, "and let us all fight and die together." An old man, who waked
up as it were in a dream, seemed paralyzed, and exclaimed, in a
plaintive voice--"Oh, we shall all be murdered!"

"Get up then and go to fighting!" exclaimed Mrs. Buchanan; "I'd be
ashamed to sit crouched up there when any one else is fighting. Better
die nobly than live shamefully!"

In the mean time Major Buchanan had arranged his men in the block-houses
so as to rake the Indians by a flank fire, and was pouring a galling
fire into the head of the assaulting column. Yet, nothing dismayed, the
daring foe crowded against the gates, their blows falling faster and
heavier, while now and then they attempted to scale the pickets. At
length, unable to do this or to force open the well-barred and ponderous
gate, the bold warriors advanced to the block-houses, and standing
before them, pointed their guns in at the port holes; both sides
sometimes at the same instant firing through the same opening. It was
the policy of Major Buchanan to impress upon them the idea that the fort
contained a large garrison. To do this it was necessary for his men to
fire their guns often, and occasionally in volleys. At this crisis the
whisper went round--"All is lost. Our bullets are out!" But there were
guardian angels whom these brave men knew not of. Scarcely had the words
been spoken, when Mrs. Buchanan passed around with an apronful of
bullets, which she and Nancy Mulherrin, the Major's sister, had moulded,
during the fight, out of her plates and spoons. At the same time she
gave to each of the tired soldiers some brandy which she carried in a
pewter basin. During the contest they had thus moulded three hundred
bullets. Not without their fun were these hardy men in this hour of
peril. In order to keep up a show of good spirits, they frequently cried
out to the Indians, "Shoot bullets, you squaws! Why don't you put powder
in your guns?" This was understood, for Watts and many others spoke very
good English, and they replied by daring them to come out and fight like
men. In the midst of these banterings, Mrs. Buchanan discovered a large
blunderbuss which had been standing in a corner during the fight and had
not been discharged, and gave it to an Irishman named O'Connor to fire
off. In telling the story afterwards the Irish man said: An' she gave me
the wide-mouthed fusee and bade me to shoot that at the blasted
creeters, and Jimmy O'Connor he took the fusee, and he pulled the
trigger when the rest fired, for three or four times, and loaded her
again every time, and so ye see, yer honor, when I pulled the trigger
again, the fusee went off, it did, and Jimmy O'Connor went under the
bed. This unequal contest lasted for four long hours, and when the first
blush of morning began to appear in the east, most of the chiefs were
killed or wounded. The boastful Shawnee was transfixed in death, leaning
against the gate which he had so valorously assaulted; the White Owl's
son and Unacate, or the White-man-killer, were mortally wounded, and
John Watts was borne off on a litter, shot through both legs.

During this protracted fight Mrs. Buchanan aided the defenders by words
and deeds, as if life or death depended upon the efforts which she was
then making. She knew, and all knew, that if the assault could be
repelled for four hours, relief would come from the neighboring posts.
Foiled, discouraged, their leaders disabled, this formidable army of
savage warriors precipitately retreated towards their country, bearing
off most of their wounded, yet leaving many dead upon the field. This
was the first formidable invasion of Cumberland valley, and its tide was
rolled back as much by the presence of mind and heroic firmness of Sarah
Buchanan and Nancy Mulherrin, as by the rifles of their husbands and
friends. The fame of this gallant defence went abroad, and the young
wife of Major Buchanan was celebrated as the greatest heroine of the
West. From 1780 to 1796, there was not a year in which her family had
not been exposed to peril, in which, of course, she was a partaker.[63]

  [63] This heroic woman died at Buchanan's Station, on the twenty-third
  of November, 1831. She sleeps on the site of the old fort that witnessed
  her bravery; and Carcas, queen of Carcassone, who defended that city
  with such courage and resolution, when it was besieged by Charlemagne,
  that the Emperor permitted her to retain the sovereignty of the place,
  has scarcely higher claims to historical commemoration.



  Greatness of mind, and nobleness, their seat
  In her build loveliest.


"In the beginning of June, 1781, the British garrison at Augusta,
Georgia, capitulated to the American forces, under command of General
Pickens and Colonel Lee, of the partizan legion. Colonel Grierson, who
was obnoxious to the Americans on account of his barbarities, was shot
down by an unknown hand, after he was a prisoner. A reward of one
hundred guineas was offered to any person who would point out the
offender, but in vain. Colonel Brown, the British commander, expecting
the same fate, conscious that he deserved it, from his unrelenting and
vindictive disposition towards the Americans, was furnished with a
guard, although he had hanged thirteen American prisoners, and had given
others into the hands of the Indians to be tortured. On his way to
Savannah, he passed through the settlements where he had burned a number
of houses, and hung some of the relatives of the inhabitants. At
Silverbluff, Mrs. M'Kay obtained leave of the American officer, who
commanded his safeguard, to speak to him; when she thus addressed
him:--'Colonel Brown, in the late day of your prosperity, I visited your
camp, and on my knees supplicated for the life of my only son, but you
were deaf to my entreaties; you hanged him, though a beardless youth,
before my face. These eyes have seen him scalped by the savages under
your immediate command, and for no better reason than that his name was
M'Kay. As you are now a prisoner to the leaders of my country, for the
present I lay aside all thoughts of revenge, but when you resume your
sword, I will go five hundred miles to demand satisfaction at the point
of it, for the murder of my son!'"

  [Illustration: THE GENEROUS DENTIST.]


  Fair was her face, and spotless was her mind,
  Where filial love with virgin sweetness joined.


Xantippe, a Roman lady, who nursed her father, the aged Cimonus, while
he was a prisoner, and thereby saved his life, rendered herself immortal
by this manifestation of filial affection. But the "Roman Charity" is
not comparable to the following extraordinary deed of filial sacrifice.

The winter of 1783 was unusually severe, and the sufferings of the poor
in the city of New York were very great. One family, consisting of the
husband, wife and one daughter, were, on one occasion, reduced to the
last stick of wood, and were wholly destitute of provisions. The
daughter, who had thus far supported her aged and infirm parents by her
industry, was out of work, and knew not what to do. At this juncture of
affairs, she recollected that a dentist had advertised for sound
fore-teeth, and offered three guineas a piece for all he was himself
permitted to extract. In the midst of her grief, the generous girl
suddenly brightened up, and hastened to the dentist's office. She
made known the condition of her parents, and offered to dispose of all
her fore-teeth on his terms. The dentist, instead of extracting a tooth,
with tears in his eyes, placed in her hands ten guineas, and sent her,
rejoicing, to the relief of her parents.


          No thought of flight,
  None of retreat, no unbecoming deed
  That argued fear.


We have elsewhere in this work spoken of the perils necessary to be
encountered by Christian missionaries, and particularly those who
connect themselves with stations in Africa. The history of the Methodist
Episcopal mission in that quarter of the globe, presents a noble, if not
a long, list of soldiers who early fell there while contending with
Error. They sank upon the battle field, with their armor on and covered
with glory. They fell not before the hosts of paganism; they were
conquered by the climate. Most of those who have not died on the field,
have been obliged to shortly flee to their native land for the
restoration of health. Here and there one has withstood the adverse
nature of the climate, toiled for years, and done a noble work, which
has caused rejoicing in Heaven and honored the name of Christ on earth.

Few persons, whose names are connected with the history of modern
missions, have displayed a more devoted, self-sacrificing spirit, or
greater moral courage, than Miss Sophronia Farrington. Prior to the
autumn of 1834, of six missionaries who had entered the field in Africa
under the patronage of American Methodists, three[64] were in their
graves, and two[65] had returned to the United States for health. Miss
Farrington stood alone, and the question arose, what she should do. The
officers of the Missionary Society were willing she should return home,
and her friends were urging it upon her. With her co-laborers all dead
or fled, she seemed herself to be left to the alternative either to flee
or fall. Should she choose the former course, the mission would be
wholly, and, for ought she knew, for ever, abandoned. What then should
she do? Like a hero, to use her own words, she had "offered her soul
upon the altar of her God, for the salvation of that long benighted
continent," and with courage that shames the facer of the cannon's
mouth, she resolved to remain and toil alone, beside the graves of her
fallen companions till more help should come or the Divine Husbandman
close the labors of the lone vine-dresser. More help arrived in a few
months, and, according to the annual report of 1836, the mission, of
whose history she formed at one time the connecting link, "continued to
loom up in bright perspective, and promise a rich reward for all the
labors and sufferings of the faithful missionaries."

  [64] Rev. M. B. Cox and Rev. O. S. Wright and wife.

  [65] Rev. Mr. Spaulding and lady.


  'Tis thine on every heart to 'grave thy praise,
  A monument which Worth alone can raise.


Theodosia, the only daughter of Aaron Burr, was a woman of superior
mental accomplishments, and very strong affections. She was married to
Joseph Alston, Esq., afterwards Governor of South Carolina, in 1801. She
was then in her eighteenth year. That she was an excellent wife may be
gathered, not merely from the story of her life, but from the testimony
of her husband. Writing to her father in 1813--soon after her death--he
says, "The man who has been deemed worthy of the heart of Theodosia
Burr, and has felt what it was to be blest with such a woman's, will
never forget his elevation."[66]

  [66] Memoirs of Aaron Burr, by Matthew L. Davis, vol. 2, p. 432.

In regard to her attachment to her father, a writer, quoted in the
appendix to Safford's Life of Blennerhassett, remarks as follows: "Her
love for her father partook of the purity of a better world; holy, deep,
unchanging; it reminds us of the affection which a celestial spirit
might be supposed to entertain for a parent cast down from heaven, for
sharing in the sin of the 'Son of the Morning.' No sooner did she hear
of the arrest of her father, than she fled to his side.[67] There is
nothing in human history more touching than the hurried letters, blotted
with tears, in which she announced her daily progress to Richmond; for
she was too weak to travel with the rapidity of the mail."

  [67] He was imprisoned in Richmond, Virginia.--AUTHOR.

Had her health permitted, and occasion presented itself, she would have
matched in heroism any act in the life of Margaret Roper or Elizabeth

  [68] Mrs. Roper accompanied her father, Sir Thomas More, to prison, and
  after he was executed and his head had lain fourteen days on London
  Bridge, she purchased it, and thus saved it from being thrown into the
  Thames. For this intrepidity, by the king's orders she was cast into
  prison--though she was soon permitted to escape.

  Mademoiselle Cazotte was the daughter of an aged Frenchman, who, on one
  occasion, during the Revolution in his country, would have lost his life
  but for her courage. He was a "counter-revolutionist," and after an
  imprisonment, during which his daughter chose to be immured with him, on
  the second day of September, he was about to be slain. An axe was raised
  over his head, when Elizabeth threw herself upon him, and exclaimed,
  "Strike, barbarians; you cannot reach my father but through my heart."
  She did other heroic deeds.

The trial of her father for treason, and his virtual banishment, not
only depressed her spirits, but fearfully racked her already feeble
constitution, yet his disgrace abated not a tittle the ardor of her
affection; and when he returned from Europe, though in feeble health,
she resolved to visit him in the city of New York. She was then in South
Carolina. Embarking in the privateer Patriot, on the thirteenth of
January, 1813, she was never heard of afterwards. The schooner may have
fallen into the hands of pirates; but, as a heavy gale was experienced
for several days soon after leaving Georgetown, the probability is that
the craft foundered. Thus closed a life to which the panegyrical
exclamation of Milton happily applies:

  O glorious trial of exceeding love
  Illustrious evidence, example high.


  Be not dismayed--fear nurses up a danger,
  And resolution kills it in the birth.


During the war between the Indians and Kentuckians, while the owner of a
plantation in a thinly settled part of the state, was at work with his
slaves in the field, a sable sentinel, who was posted near the house,
saw a party of savages approaching. One of them was more fleet than he,
and reaching the house at the same moment, they rushed within doors
together. The planter's wife instantly closed the door and the negro and
Indian grappled. The former was the stronger of the two, though the
latter was the more expert. After a hard struggle, the negro threw the
Indian, and held him fast until the woman beheaded him with a broad-axe.
The negro then seized the guns, and began to fire at the other Indians
through the loop-holes. The guns were loaded by the woman as fast as
discharged. Their frequent report soon brought the laborers from the
field, and the surviving Indians were driven away.


                                  Be fire with fire;
  Threaten the threatener, and out face the brow
  Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
  That borrow their behavior from the great,
  Grow great by your example.


The following anecdotes of Mrs. Richard Shubrick may be found in the
First Series of Major Garden's Revolutionary Anecdotes. "There was," he
writes, "an appearance of personal debility about her that rendered her
peculiarly interesting: it seemed to solicit the interest of every
heart, and the man would have felt himself degraded who would not have
put his life at hazard to serve her. Yet, when firmness of character was
requisite, when fortitude was called for to repel the encroachments of
aggression, there was not a more intrepid being in existence.

"An American soldier, flying from a party of the enemy, sought her
protection, and was promised it. The British, pressing close upon him,
insisted that he should be delivered up, threatening immediate and
universal destruction in case of refusal. The ladies, her friends and
companions, who were in the house with her, shrunk from the contest,
and were silent; but, undaunted by their threats, this intrepid lady
placed herself before the chamber into which the unfortunate fugitive
had been conducted, and resolutely said, 'To men of honor the chamber of
a lady should be as sacred as the sanctuary! I will defend the passage
to it though I perish. You may succeed, and enter it, but it shall be
over my corpse.' 'By God,' said the officer, 'if muskets were only
placed in the hands of a few such women, our only safety would be found
in retreat. Your intrepidity, madam, gives you security; from me you
shall meet no further annoyance.'

"At Brabant, the seat of the respectable and patriotic Bishop Smith, a
sergeant of Tarleton's dragoons, eager for the acquisition of plunder,
followed the overseer, a man advanced in years, into the apartment where
the ladies of the family were assembled, and on his refusing to discover
the spot in which the plate was concealed, struck him with violence,
inflicting a severe sabre wound across the shoulders. Aroused by the
infamy of the act, Mrs. Shubrick, starting from her seat, and placing
herself betwixt the ruffian and his victim, resolutely said, 'Place
yourself behind me, Murdoch; the interposition of my body shall give you
protection, or I will die:' then, addressing herself to the sergeant,
exclaimed, 'O what a degradation of manhood--what departure from that
gallantry which was once the characteristic of British soldiers. Human
nature is degraded by your barbarity;--but should you persist, then
strike at _me_, for till I die, no further injury shall be done to
_him_.' The sergeant, unable to resist such commanding eloquence,

  [69] "The hope, however, of attaining the object in view, very speedily
  subjected the unfortunate Murdoch to new persecution. He was tied up
  under the very tree where the plate was buried, and threatened with
  immediate execution unless he would make the discovery required. But
  although well acquainted with the unrelenting severity of his enemy, and
  earnestly solicited by his wife, to save his life by a speedy confession
  of the place of deposit, he persisted resolutely, that a sacred trust
  was not to be betrayed, and actually succeeded in preserving it."


  I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
  To answer twenty thousand such as you.


While General Leslie was staying with the British troops at Halifax,
North Carolina, Colonel Tarleton and other officers held their quarters
at the house of Colonel Ashe, whose wife was a firm friend of liberty.
Her beau ideal of the hero was Colonel William Washington; and, knowing
this fact, the sarcastic Tarleton took great delight in speaking
diminutively of this officer in her presence. In his jesting way, he
remarked to her one time, that he should like to have an opportunity of
seeing her friend, Colonel Washington, whom he had understood to be a
very small man. Mrs. Ashe promptly replied, "If you had looked behind
you, Colonel Tarleton, at the battle of the Cowpens, you would have had
that pleasure."[70]

  [70] It is said that this taunt was so keenly felt that Tarleton laid
  his hand on the hilt of his sword. General Leslie entered the room at
  the moment, and seeing the agitation of Mrs. Ashe, and learning its
  cause, said to her, "Say what you please, Mrs. Ashe; Colonel Tarleton
  knows better than to insult a lady in my presence."


  There's in you all that we believe of heaven.


"The amazing influence of one Christian, who shows in her life the
spirit of Christ, is illustrated in a striking manner, in the life of a
lady who died not long since, in one of the principal cities of the
United States. I am not permitted to give her name, nor all the
particulars of her life. But what I relate may be relied upon, not only
as facts, but as far below the whole truth. She had been for a long time
afflicted with a drunken husband. At length the sheriff came, and swept
off all her property, not excepting her household furniture, to
discharge his grog bills. At this distressing crisis, she retired to an
upper room, laid her babe upon the bare floor, kneeled down over it, and
offered up the following petition: "O Lord, if thou wilt _in any way_
remove from me this affliction, I will serve thee _upon bread and
water_, all the days of my life." The Lord took her at her word. Her
besotted husband immediately disappeared, and was never heard of again
till after her death. The church would now have maintained her, but she
would not consent to become a charge to others. Although in feeble
health, and afflicted with the sick headache, she opened a small school,
from which she obtained a bare subsistence; though it was often no more
than what was contained in the condition of her prayer--literally bread
and water. She was a lady of pleasing address, and of a mild and gentle
disposition. "In her lips was the law of kindness." Yet she possessed an
energy of character and a spirit of perseverance, which the power of
faith alone can impart. When she undertook any Christian enterprise, she
was discouraged by no obstacles, and appalled by no difficulties. She
resided in the most wicked and abandoned part of the city, which
afforded a great field of labor. Her benevolent heart was pained at
seeing the grog shops open upon the holy Sabbath. She undertook the
difficult and almost hopeless task of closing these sinks of moral
pollution upon the Lord's day, and succeeded. This was accomplished by
the mild influence of persuasion, flowing from the lips of kindness, and
clothed with that power which always accompanies the true spirit of the
gospel. But she was not satisfied with seeing the front doors and
windows of these houses closed. She would, therefore, upon the morning
of the Sabbath, pass round, and enter these shops through the dwellings
occupied by the families of the keepers, where she often found them
engaged secretly in this wickedness. She would then remonstrate with
them, until she persuaded them to abandon it, and attend public worship.
In this manner, she abolished, almost entirety, the sale of liquors
upon the Sabbath, in the worst part of the city.

"She also looked after the poor, that the Gospel might be preached to
them. She carried with her the number of those pews in the church which
were unoccupied. And upon Sabbath mornings, she made it her business to
go out in the streets and lanes of the city, and persuade the poor to
come in and fill up these vacant seats. By her perseverance and energy,
she would remove every objection, until she had brought them to the
house of God. She was incessant and untiring in every effort for doing
good. She would establish a Sabbath school, and superintend it until she
saw it flourishing, and then deliver it into the hands of some suitable
person, and go and establish another. She collected together a Bible
class of apprentices, which she taught herself. Her pastor one day
visited it, and found half of them in tears, under deep conviction. She
was faithful to the church and to impenitent sinners. It was her
habitual practice to reprove sin, and to warn sinners wherever she found
them. At the time of her death, she had under her care a number of pious
young men preparing for the ministry. These she had looked after, and
brought out of obscurity. As soon as their piety had been sufficiently
proved, she would bring them to the notice of her Christian friends. She
persuaded pious teachers to give them gratuitous instruction, and pious
booksellers to supply them with books. In the same way, she procured
their board in the families of wealthy Christians; and she formed
little societies of ladies, to supply them with clothing. There was
probably no person in the city whose death would have occasioned the
shedding of more tears, or called forth more sincere and heartfelt

  [71] Practical Directory for Young Christian Females.


                                  Though renown
  Plant laurels on the warrior's grave, and wreathe
  With bays the slumbering bard--the mother's urn
  Shall claim more dear memorials: gratitude
  Shall there abide; affection, reverence, there
  Shall oft revolve the precepts which now speak
  With emphasis divine.

                                             MRS. WEST.

The mother of Timothy Dwight was a daughter of Jonathan Edwards, and
seems to have inherited a large share of her father's talents and
spiritual graces. Her powers of mind were unusually strong; her
knowledge was extensive and varied, and her piety highly fervid. She
married at an early age; became a mother when eighteen; had a large
family; and, though never negligent of domestic duties, she daily and
assiduously devoted herself to the education of her children. She began
to instruct Timothy, it is said, "as soon as he was able to speak; and
such was his eagerness, as well as his capacity for improvement, that he
learned the alphabet at a single lesson; and before he was four years
old, was able to read the Bible with ease and correctness.... She taught
him from the very dawn of his reason to fear God and to keep his
commandments; to be conscientiously just, kind, affectionate,
charitable, and forgiving; to preserve, on all occasions, and under all
circumstances, the most sacred regard for truth; and to relieve the
distresses and supply the wants of the poor and unfortunate. She aimed,
at a very early period, to enlighten his conscience, to make him afraid
of sin, and to teach him to hope for pardon only through Christ. The
impressions thus made upon his mind in infancy, were never effaced. A
great proportion of the instruction which he received before he arrived
at the age of six years, was at home with his mother. His school room
was the nursery. Here he had his regular hours for study, as in a
school; and twice every day she heard him repeat his lesson. Here, in
addition to his stated task, he watched the cradle of his younger
brother. When his lesson was recited, he was permitted to read such
books as he chose, until the limited period was expired. During these
intervals, he often read over the historical parts of the Bible, and
gave an account of them to his mother. So deep and distinct was the
impression which these narrations made upon his mind, that their
minutest incidents were indelibly fixed upon his memory. His relish for
reading was thus early formed, and was strengthened by the conversation
and example of his mother. His early knowledge of the Bible led to that
ready, accurate, and extensive acquaintance with Scripture, which is so
evident in his sermons and other writings."[72]

  [72] Mothers of the Wise and Good, p. 142

It is easy to see, in this picture, who it was that laid the foundation
of that character which sanctified genius, and caused it to shine with
transcendent lustre, for more than twenty years, at the head of Yale
college. The mother of President Dwight was well repaid, even in this
life, for the pains she took to rear this son for the glory of God; for,
while he never disobeyed a command of hers or omitted a filial duty, he
was kind and generous to her in her old age, and smoothed her path to a
Christian's grave. But her true and great reward for her maternal
faithfulness, is in another world, whither she went to receive it about
the year 1807.


  Lift the heart and bend the knee.

                              MRS. HEMANS.

The superior influence of the mother in forming the character of the
child, is generally conceded. Biographical literature abounds with
illustrations of this fact, and renders it incontrovertible. As
examples, in Great Britain, we are often, with propriety, pointed to the
mothers of Isaac and John Newton, Doddridge, the Wesleys, Richard Cecil,
Legh Richmond and many others; but it is needless for any people to
search in foreign lands for such examples.

In the notices of the mothers of Washington, Jackson, Randolph, Dwight
and some others, on preceding pages of this volume, the truth of the
same proposition is endeavored to be substantiated: and, as facts most
forcibly illustrate argument, and wholesome hints are often easiest
given by example, we will add two or three more anecdotes having a
bearing on this point.

The mother of Jonathan Edwards, it is well known, began to pray for him
as soon as he was born; and probably no mother ever strove harder than
she to rear a child "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." The
result of her efforts is known to the world.

The late Professor Knowles, of the Newton theological institution,
received much pious instruction from his mother in his infant years;
and, as he lost his father at the age of twelve, at that period she
assumed wholly the guidance of his steps and his studies. She early
discovered his love of books and his promising talents; and while she
admonished him, and led him to the Saviour, she also sympathized with
him in his literary taste and encouraged him in his scientific pursuits.
The zealous minister, the learned biblical instructor, the polished
writer and biographer of the first Mrs. Judson, owed very much to the
moral training and the literary encouragement of his faithful mother.

Nearly half a century ago, the mother of the celebrated Beecher family,
made the following record: "This morning I rose very early to pray for
my children; and especially that my sons may be ministers and
missionaries of Jesus Christ." The "fervent" prayers of the good woman
were "effectual:" her five sons became "ministers and missionaries of
Jesus Christ," and all her children--eight in number--are connected with
the "household of God"--several on earth and one,[73] at least, in

  [73] The late George Beecher.


  The camel labors with the heaviest load,
  And the wolf dies in silence; not bestowed
  In vain should such examples be; if they,
  Things of ignoble or of savage mood,
  Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay,
  May temper it to bear--it is but for a day.


Mrs. Scott, a resident of Washington county, Virginia, was taken captive
by Indians on the night of the twenty-ninth of June, 1785. Her husband
and all her children were slain; and before morning she was forced to
commence her march through the wilderness.

On the eleventh day of her captivity, while in charge of four Indians,
provision becoming scarce, a halt was made, and three of the number went
on a hunting excursion. Being left in the care of an old man, she made
him believe she was reconciled to her condition, and thus threw him off
his guard. Anxious to escape, and having matured her plans, she asked
him, in the most disinterested manner possible, to let her go to a small
stream, near by, and wash her apron, which was besmeared with the blood
of one of her children. He gave her leave, and while he was busy in
"graining a deer-skin," she started off. Arriving at the stream, without
a moment's hesitation, she pushed on in the direction of a mountain.
Traveling till late at night, she came into a valley where she hoped to
find the track along which she had been taken by her captors, and
thereby be able to retrace her steps. Hurrying across the valley to the
margin of a river, which she supposed must be the eastern branch of the
Kentucky, she discovered in the sand the tracks of two men who had
followed the stream upwards and returned. Thinking them to be the prints
of pursuers, and that they had returned from the search, she took
courage, thanked God, and was prepared to continue her flight.

On the third day she came very near falling into the hands of savages, a
company whom she supposed had been sent to Clinch river on a pilfering
excursion. Hearing their approach before they came in sight, she
concealed herself, and they passed without noticing her. She now became
greatly alarmed, and was so bewildered as to lose her way and to wander
at random for several days.

At length, coming to a stream that seemed to flow from the east, she
concluded it must be Sandy river; and resolving to trace it to its
source, which was near a settlement where she was acquainted, she pushed
on for several days, till she came into mountainous regions and to
craggy steeps. There, in the vicinity of a "prodigious waterfall," she
was forced to leap from a precipice, upon some rocks, and was so stunned
as to be obliged to make a short delay in her journey.

Soon after passing through the mountain,[74] she was bitten by a snake
which she supposed was venomous. She killed it, and expected her turn to
die would come next; but the only injury she received was some pain and
the slight swelling of one foot. A writer, whose narration we follow and
whose facts are more reliable than his philosophy, thinks that, being
"reduced to a mere skeleton, with fatigue, hunger and grief," she was
probably, on that account, "saved from the effects of the poisonous

  [74] Laurel mountain.

Leaving the river, Mrs. Scott came to a forked valley, and watching the
flight of birds, took the branch they did, and in two days came in sight
of New Garden, the settlement on Clinch river, before referred to. Thus,
after wandering in the wilderness for six long weeks, almost destitute
of clothing, without a weapon of defence or instrument for obtaining
provision; exposed to wild beasts and merciless savages; subsisting a
full month on the juice of young cane stalks, sassafras leaves and
similar food; looking to God in prayer for guidance by day, and for
protection by night; shielded from serious harm, and led by an unseen
Hand, on the eleventh of August, the wanderings of the widowed and
childless captive were brought to a close.


  "Courage, prove thy chance once more."

While Colonel Tarleton was marching through North Carolina, near the
close of the Revolution, he passed two nights in Halifax county. From
malice or because of a scarcity of provision, he caused his troops to
catch all the horses, cattle, hogs, fowls, etc., that could be found,
most of which were destroyed. The inhabitants generally fled and
concealed themselves in the neighboring swamps and thickets. One young
lady, however, in the upper part of the county, where they spent the
second night, refused to retire. Remaining on the premises alone, when
the marauders came for the horses and cattle thereon, Miss Bishop[75]
ordered them off; but they did not obey. Among the animals they drove to
camp, was a favorite pony of hers, which she resolved to recover. When
night come on, she went unarmed to the camp, about a mile distant, and
boldly made known her errand to Tarleton. "Your roguish men in red
coats," she said to him, "came to my father's house about sundown and
stole my pony, and I have walked here alone and unprotected, to claim
and demand him; and, sir, I must and I will have him. I fear not your
men. They are base and unprincipled enough to dare to offer insult to an
unprotected female; but their cowardly hearts will prevent them from
doing her any bodily injury." While thus speaking, her eye happened to
fall on her favorite animal, upon which the camp fire flung its light,
and she added, "There, sir, is my horse. I shall mount him and ride
peacefully home; and if you have any gentlemanly feeling within you, of
which your men are totally destitute, or, if you have any regard for
their safety, you will see, sir, that I am not interrupted. But, before
I go, I wish to say to you that he who can, and will not, prevent this
base and cowardly stealing from henroosts, stables and barn-yards, is no
better, in my estimation, than the mean, good-for-nothing, guilty
wretches who do the dirty work with their own hands! Good night, sir."

  [75] Afterwards Mrs. Powell. She died in 1840.

Tarleton took the hint; ordered his soldiers not to molest her; and she
was suffered to take the pony and gallop peacefully home.


                          ----The office
  Becomes a woman best; I'll take it upon me.


The subject of this brief notice was a sister of General Isaac Worrell.
She died two or three years since, in Philadelphia. The following
tribute to her patriotism and humanity, was paid by a New Jersey
newspaper, in July, 1849:

"The deceased was one of those devoted women who aided to relieve the
horrible sufferings of Washington's army at Valley Forge--cooking and
carrying provisions to them alone, through the depth of winter, even
passing through the outposts of the British army in the disguise of a
market woman. And when Washington was compelled to retreat before a
superior force, she concealed her brother, General Worrell,--when the
British set a price on his head--in a cider hogshead in the cellar for
three days, and fed him through the bunghole; the house being ransacked
four different times by the troops in search of him, without success.
She was over ninety years of age at the time of her death."


                  ----Our lives
  In acts exemplary, not only win
  Ourselves good names, but do to others give
  Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live.


Elizabeth Chipman was born in Essex county, Massachusetts, in May, 1756.
She was the daughter of a talented and eminent lawyer of Marblehead, and
inherited a highly respectable share of his mental endowments. Her
intellectual faculties and moral feelings were early and highly
developed; and when, in 1782, she was married to William Gray, the
celebrated millionaire, of Salem, in her native county, she was
prepared, in all respects, to command the highest influence in society.
But, although the wife of the richest man in Massachusetts and probably
in New England, she never rose above her duties as a housekeeper, a
mother and a Christian. She managed her domestic affairs personally and
economically; and inculcated in the minds of her six children, by
example as well as precept, the best habits and the noblest principles.
"She divided her time between reading, household affairs, and duties to
society, in such a manner as never for a moment to be in a hurry."[76]
She was as well known by the poor as the rich: her virtues irradiated
every sphere. She was anxious to exalt as much as possible the Christian
profession; hence she rode in a plain carriage, and avoided all
unnecessary display, "that no evil precedents of expense could arise
from her example."

  [76] Knapp's Female Biography, p. 235.

The latter years of this excellent woman were passed in Boston, whither
the family had removed, and where she died on the twenty-fourth of
September, 1823. In her benevolent acts and cheerful life, is
beautifully exemplified the truth of the poet's assertion:

  On piety humanity is built,
  And on humanity, much happiness.


  Earthly power doth then show likest gods,
  When mercy seasons justice.


Susan Mansfield was the daughter of the Rev. Achilles Mansfield, of
Killingworth, Connecticut, and was born on the twenty-seventh of
January, 1791. At the age of eighteen or nineteen, she was married to
Joshua Huntington, pastor of the Old South church, Boston. She died in
1823. Her memoirs, written by her husband's pastoral successor, B. B.
Wisner, was, at one time, a very popular work. It passed through five
editions in Scotland, in a very few years.

Her husband preceded her to the grave four years. While a widow, she was
robbed of several articles of jewelry by a young woman; and the articles
were recovered, and the thief arrested and tried. During the
examination, Mrs. Huntington was called into court to identify the
property; and having done this, she was asked their value. Knowing that
the degree of punishment depended somewhat on the apprisal of the
property, and pitying the poor girl, she hinted that she never used
much jewelry, and was not a good judge of its value. A person was then
called upon to prize the several articles; and she told him to bear in
mind that they had been used for many years, were consequently damaged,
and out of fashion. In this way she secured a low and, to herself, a
satisfactory valuation. She then addressed the judge, stating that she
had herself taken the jewelry from a trunk; had carelessly left it
exposed on a table; had thus thrown temptation in the way of the girl,
and suggested that her own heedlessness might possibly have been the
cause of the offence. She did not, she assured the judge, wish to
interfere with his duties, or wrongly bias his decisions, but she would,
nevertheless, esteem it a favor, if the punishment inflicted on the
unfortunate transgressor, could be the lightest that would not dishonor
the law. Hoping the ignorant girl would repent and reform, she left the
stand with tears in her eyes, which greatly affected the judge. In his
sentence he reminded the culprit, that the person whom she had most
offended, was the first to plead for a mitigation of her punishment, and
had saved her from the extreme rigors of a broken law.


  ----All were welcome and feasted.


In the summer of 1777, while Washington was encamped near Brandywine, a
large party of foragers came into the neighborhood, and the General gave
orders to a company of his troops, to go in pursuit of them early the
next morning, and, if possible, cut off their retreat. As an engagement
might ensue, he also gave orders that the women should leave the camp.
Receiving intelligence of the latter order, and unwilling to be included
in it, the wife of Colonel Clement Biddle, an intimate associate of Mrs.
Washington in the camp, went to the General and told him that the
officers, who had gone on the expedition, would be likely to return
hungry, and she would consider it a favor to be allowed to remain and
prepare some refreshment for them. Washington complied with her request,
and her servant was immediately posted off in search of provision.

Receiving information that a band of "rebels" was in pursuit of them,
the foragers took a quick step out of the neighborhood. The pursuers
returned at a late dinner hour exceedingly fatigued and ripe for
attacking the "good things" prepared by Mrs. Biddle. Notified of her
generosity, the officers forthwith repaired to her quarters, each
saying, on his entrance, "Madam, we hear that you feed the army to-day."
It is said that at least a hundred officers enjoyed her hospitalities on
that occasion.

  They ate like Famine, fast and well,
    Piling their plates with turkeys slain;
  They conquered--bones alone could tell
    Of fowls late bled at every vein.


        ----When your head did but ache,
  I knit my handkerchief about your brows,

       *       *       *       *       *

  And with my hand at midnight held your head;
  And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
  Still and anon cheered up the heavy time.


When the yellow fever broke out in Philadelphia, several years ago, it
was extremely difficult to obtain help at the hospital; application was
consequently made to the female convicts in the prison. Braving the
danger of becoming nurses for the sick under such circumstances, as many
as were needed readily profered their aid, and remained as long as
desired. There was a scarcity of bedsteads, and these females were asked
for theirs. Willing to sacrifice the meagre comforts of a convict for
the sake of alleviating the condition of the sick and the dying, they
not only gave up their bedsteads, but bedding also. Such humane conduct,
coming from whom it may, is deserving of praise and worthy of record.


  ----If a soul thou wouldst redeem,
    And lead a lost one back to God;
  Wouldst thou a guardian angel seem
    To one who long in guilt hath trod;
  Go kindly to him--take his hand,
    With gentlest words, within thine own,
  And by his side a brother stand,
    Till all the demon thou dethrone.

                            MRS. C. M. SAWYER.

The subject of this notice was a native of Fredericksburg, Virginia. She
was born in 1773. Her maiden name was Barrett. She was married to
William Allen, a merchant of Baltimore, at the age of sixteen; resided
in that city for several years, and became the mother of seven children.
All but one of them died in infancy. Her husband was lost at sea, in
1808, when her only surviving child was about eighteen months old.

Soon after becoming a widow she removed to the city of New York. There,
in 1814, she was united in marriage with William Prior, a benevolent and
public-spirited member of the Society of Friends. She was herself at
that time in communion with the Baptists, she having united with them
before the death of her first husband. In 1819 she joined the
Methodists, with whom she remained in church-fellowship the residue of
her life.

When the New York Orphan Asylum was instituted, she was appointed one of
the managers and was, thenceforward, incessantly engaged in benevolent
operations. We first find her in the more conspicuous "walks of
usefulness," in the severe winter of 1818 and '19. There being, at that
time, no public fund for meeting the wants of the poor, she made
arrangements with her nearest neighbor--herself a kind-hearted, humane
woman--to prepare soup three times a week for the destitute in the ninth
ward. She had previously visited that part of the city and made herself
acquainted with many suffering individuals. All who applied for soup, if
not known, she accompanied to their homes, and presented them with
tickets entitling them to further supplies, if found to be true objects
of charity. Many, it is thought, were saved from starvation by her
humane exertions. "These, and similar deeds of mercy, tended to enlarge
her heart: while she watered others, she was watered also herself, and
felt continually the truth of the assertion, 'It is more blessed to give
than to receive.'"[77]

  [77] Walks of Usefulness; or, Reminiscences of Margaret Prior, p. 17.

Notwithstanding her arduous, public duties, Mrs. Prior managed her
household affairs with care, neatness and regularity. It has been
appropriately said of her that she had "a place for every thing and
every thing in its place." The time that some spend in fashionable and
heartless calls, she devoted to industry and humanity. By rising early,
working late, observing the strictest rules of economy, and subjecting
herself, at times, to self-denial, she was able to visit the suffering,
and to make daily appropriations from her own table for their relief.

Numerous instances of her self-denial have been related, and one of them
we will repeat. She usually obtained assistance to do her washing, and
limited herself to a dollar a week to meet that expense. Sometimes the
amount she wished to devote to some particular object fell short, and in
such instances she would do the washing herself, and thereby save the
dollar. She felt, in such cases, as has been remarked, that "the
personal effort was made a blessing to herself of greater value than the
sum saved."

In the year 1822, Mrs. Prior visited the families on Bowery hill, where
she had resided the three previous years; thoroughly acquainted herself
with their moral condition and necessities; established a school for
poor children; commenced her long-continued weekly visits for
conversation and prayer with the pupils, and secured the sympathies and
pecuniary assistance of several Christians to aid in supporting the
school from year to year. She herself contributed one hundred dollars
annually for its maintenance.

On the fourteenth of September, 1829, this good woman again became a
widow. Previous to this date she had lost her seventh child, and an
adopted one. She had also taken a second motherless child into her
family. About the year her second husband died, Bowery hill was dug
away, and she changed her residence.

When, in the early part of 1833, the Moral Reform society was organized,
she became a prominent member of its board of managers, and, four years
afterwards, commenced, under its patronage, her memorable labors as a
city missionary. These she continued till 1842, in which year, on the
seventh of April, her earthly work was finished.

Two or three incidents connected with her labors as a missionary, will
show, in part, at least, the character of her work and the philanthropic
spirit by which she was ever actuated.

As she was once passing through the streets, she was accosted by a lady
who inquired her name, and wished to know if she did not belong to the
society which had opened a register of direction for the accommodation
of respectable females. Ascertaining that she was not mistaken in the
person, the stranger told Mrs. Prior that two female acquaintances of
hers were out of work, had become reduced to want, and were so wretched
as to threaten to drown themselves, unless they soon found a situation.
They had been working for houses connected with the southern trade which
had failed, and thus thrown them out of employment. Learning their
residence, Mrs. Prior visited them immediately; told them of the
enormity of the crime they had threatened to commit; that she would try
to secure work for them, and that it was their duty to seek the grace of
God to sustain them in such trying seasons. The next day she found
situations for them in pious families, and thus, while she probably
saved them from committing suicide, she was, perhaps, the instrument, in
the hands of God, of saving them from infamy and eternal ruin.

Passing through the suburbs of the city one day, her attention was
arrested by the chime of youthful voices. Seeing that the music
proceeded from some little beggar-girls, who were sitting in the sun
beside the fence and singing a Sabbath school hymn, she inquired of them
what they were doing, when the following dialogue occurred: "We were
cold, ma'am, and are getting warm in the sun." "Where do you live?" "In
Twentieth street, ma'am." "Why have you come so far away from your
homes?" "To get some food and some things to make a fire." "Why were you
singing?" "To praise God: we go to the Sunday school, and our teacher
says if we are good children God will never let us want." Pleased with
the modest and artless answers to her questions, the good woman took
them across the street, procured each of them a loaf of bread, gave them
some pious counsel, and left them with smiles on their faces and
gratitude in their hearts.

Mrs. Prior frequently visited the city prison, and on occasion[78] went
to Sing Sing. She made a record of her visit to the latter place, from
which we make an extract: "In visiting the female convicts at their
cells on Sabbath morning, after Sabbath school, which, under the
customary regulations, we were permitted to do, we found nearly all
employed in reading their Bibles. We conversed with them respecting the
welfare of their souls, and as we knelt with them at the throne of
grace, they on one side of the grated door and we on the other, we felt
that He who healed a Mary Magdalene, is still the same compassionate
Saviour, and our faith, we trust, apprehended him as the atoning
sacrifice, who bore our sins in his own body on the tree, and opened a
way for the salvation of even the chief of sinners."

  [78] June, 1840.

Being on an errand of mercy in G---- street one day, she stepped into a
house of infamy to leave a certain tract. As soon as she had entered and
made known her mission, the door was closed and locked by one of the
female inmates, who told her that she was their prisoner. "For a
moment," writes Mrs. Prior, in her journal, "my heart was tremulous; I
said nothing till the risings of fear were quelled, and then replied
pleasantly, 'Well, if I'm a prisoner, I shall pray here, and would sing
praises to God if I were not so hoarse. Yes, bless the Lord! his
presence can make me happy here or any where, and you can have no power
to harm me unless he gives it. This is a dreadful place, to be sure, but
it is not so bad as hell; for there, there is no hope. The smoke of
their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever! What a mercy that we are
not all there! what compassion in the blessed Jesus that he spares us,
when our sins are every day so great.' I talked to them in this manner
till they were glad to open the door as a signal for my release."

Such were the doings, such was the character, of Margaret Prior. We see
her organizing week-day and Sabbath schools, industrial associations and
temperance societies; establishing soup houses and orphan asylums;
visiting the sick, the poor, the idle, the culprit, the outcast;
pointing the dying to a risen Saviour, leading the destitute by the hand
to the place of relief, the idle to houses of industry, and warning the
outlaw and the corrupt of the certain and terrible doom that would
attend persistency in their downward course. With the sweetness,
gentleness, simplicity, and delicacy, so becoming in woman under all
circumstances, were blended in her character, energy that was
unconquerable, courage that danger could not blench, and firmness that
human power could not bend. The contemplation of such a character is
superficial, if it does not prompt benevolent feelings, re-affirm
virtuous resolutions, and revive and strengthen drooping piety.


  We are to relieve the distressed, to put the wanderer in the way,
  and divide our bread with the hungry.--SENECA.

The Rev. Thomas Andros, of Berkley, Massachusetts, was a firm patriot
and a keen sufferer in the strife for freedom. He was captured whilst on
board a privateer, and transferred to the Jersey prison ship. In the
autumn of 1781, he escaped; and, skulking through the east end of Long
Island, received at the hands of females such marks of pity and kindness
as were thought worthy of noting in his journal. The following are

"I came to a respectable dwelling-house and entered it. Among the
inmates were a decent woman and a tailor. To the woman I expressed my
want of something to nourish my feeble frame, telling her if she would
give me a morsel, it would be a mere act of charity. She made no
objection, asked no questions, but promptly furnished me with the dish
of light food I desired. Expressing my obligations to her, I rose to
depart. But going round through another room, she met me in the front
entry, placed a hat on my head, put an apple pie in my hand, and said,
'you will want this before you get through the woods.' I opened my mouth
to give vent to the grateful feelings with which my heart was filled.
But she would not tarry to hear a word, and instantly vanished. The
mystery of her conduct I suppose was this: she was satisfied that I had
escaped from prison, and if she granted me any succor, knowing me to be
such, it might cost her family the confiscation of their estate. She did
not therefore wish to ask me any questions or hear me explain who I was
in the hearing of the tailor, who might turn informer. This mark of
kindness was more than I could well bear, and as I went on the tears
flowed copiously! The recollection of her humanity and pity revives in
my breast even now the same feeling of gratitude.

"Some time after, in Suffolk county, being repulsed from one dwelling, I
entered another, and informed the mistress of the house of my wants. By
the cheerfulness and good-nature depicted in her countenance and first
movements, I knew my suit was granted, and I had nothing more to say
than to apprise her I was penniless. In a few moments she placed on the
table a bowl of bread and milk, a dried bluefish roasted, and a mug of
cider, and said, 'sit down and eat.'

"It was now growing dark, so I went but a short distance further,
entered a house, and begged the privilege of lodging by the fire. My
request was granted. There was no one in the house but the man and his
wife. They appeared to be cordial friends to each other--it was indeed
one of the few happy matches. Before it became late in the evening the
man took his Bible and read a chapter. He then arose and offered up his
grateful acknowledgments and supplications to God through the Mediator.
I now began to think I had got into a safe and hospitable retreat. They
had before made many inquiries such as indicated that they felt tenderly
and took an interest in my welfare. I now confessed my situation to
them. All was silence. It took some time to recover themselves from a
flood of tears. At last the kind woman said, 'Let us go and bake his
clothes.' No sooner said than the man seized a brand of fire and threw
it into the oven. The woman provided a clean suit of clothes to supply
the place of mine till they had purified them by fire. The work done, a
clean bed was laid down on which I was to rest, and rest I did as in a
new world; for I had got rid of a swarm of cannibals who were eating me
up alive! In the morning I took my leave of this dear family with a
gratitude that for fifty years has suffered no abatement."[79]

  [79] Mr. Andros thus describes the old Jersey: "Her dark and filthy
  exterior corresponded with the death and despair reigning within. It is
  supposed that eleven thousand American seamen perished in her. None came
  to relieve their woes. Once or twice, by order of a stranger on the
  quarter-deck, a bag of apples was hurled promiscuously into the midst of
  hundreds of prisoners, crowded as thick as they could stand--and life
  and limbs were endangered in the struggle. The prisoners were secured
  between the decks by iron gratings; and when the ship was to be cleared
  of water, an armed guard forced them up to the winches, amid a roar of
  execrations and reproaches--the dim light adding to the horrors of the
  scene. Thousands died whose names have never been known; perishing when
  no eye could witness their fortitude, nor praise their devotion to their


  Unrivalled as thy merit, be thy fame.


Few women of modern times have more charmingly exhibited "the beauties
of holiness" than Martha Laurens Ramsay, the wife of the historian of
South Carolina. In his interesting series of lectures on the Christian
graces, the Rev. Dr. Williams very happily refers to her habit of
prayer, to illustrate the spirit of brotherly kindness as shown in the
mutual intercession of brethren in the same church. "It is animating,"
he writes, "and yet, as contrasted with our present remissness,
humiliating, to read how Baxter and his people held days of fasting and
prayer for each other; or to turn to the pages which describe a
Christian matron of the South, the wife of Ramsay and the daughter of
Henry Laurens, President of the Continental Congress, praying over a
list of her fellow-members, name by name, and remembering, to the best
of her knowledge, the cares and wants of each before the throne of

  [80] Religious Progress, pp. 200-1.

Prior to her marriage, and whilst residing in France with her father,
she received from him the handsome present of five hundred guineas.
Appropriating a very small portion of this sum to her own use, with the
bulk she purchased one hundred French Testaments--all to be found in the
market--and distributed them amongst the destitute in Vigan and its
vicinity, and organized a school there for the instruction of youth,
constituting a fund sufficient to oblite rate its annual charges.

Mrs. Ramsay was remarkably economical of time, rising early and devoting
every hour to some useful service; and of money, never indulging herself
in any needless expenditure. This principle of economy was observed even
at her funeral. She directed that it should be at her own private house;
and that her coffin should be plain and without a plate. She died on the
tenth of June, 1811.


  --Courage mounteth with occasion.


In August, 1781, when the abduction of General Schuyler from his house
in the suburbs of Albany, was projected, and John Waltermeyer, the bold
partizan of Joseph Bettys, led a motley and blood-thirsty band--tories,
Canadians and Indians--in the daring undertaking, a daughter of the
General acted so courageous and wise a part as to justify us in giving
on outline sketch of the unsuccessful enterprise.

As the family sat in an open door, in the evening of a very sultry day,
receiving information that a stranger was waiting at the back gate to
see him, General Schuyler mistrusted, at once, that something was wrong;
and, instead of repairing to the gate, he instantly closed and fastened
the doors, and ran to his bed chamber for his arms. He then hurried his
family into the third story, where he immediately discharged a pistol to
arouse the careless guards, and afterwards others, to alarm, if
possible, the inhabitants of the city. In hurrying up stairs, his wife
overlooked her infant, which was asleep in the cradle; and she was about
to descend, when the General warned her of the danger, and held her
back. Seeing her mother's agony, a daughter named Margaret, rushed down
stairs into the nursery, caught the child, and was about ascending, when
a tomahawk flew past her, simply grazing her dress and slightly injuring
it. Hurrying up a private stairway, she was met by Waltermeyer, who
roughly exclaimed, "Wench! where is your master?" With remarkable
presence of mind, she answered, "Gone to alarm the town." Fearing that
such might be the case, Waltermeyer called his pilfering men, who were
bagging plate in the dining hall, and began a consultation. Meanwhile
the General was also thinking, and devising a stratagem by which to
frighten away the kidnappers. He soon threw up a window, and, in the
voice of an experienced commander, cried out, "Come on, my brave
fellows; surround the house and secure the villains who are plundering."
As he anticipated, the gang, hearing these words, snapped the thread of
their consultation, and tested the nimbleness of their feet. The reports
of the General's arms had alarmed the people of the city, and they came
to the rescue just in season to be unneeded.


                      ----True religion
  Is always mild, propitious and humble,
  Plays not the tyrant, plants no faith in blood;
  Nor bears destruction on her chariot wheels;
  But stoops to polish, succor, and redress,
  And builds her grandeur on the public good.

                                   MILLER'S MAHOMET.

Among the early converts to Christianity in the Cherokee tribe, were a
few women, who formed themselves into a society for propagating the
Gospel. They felt its expanding power, and, though poor, were anxious to
do something for those who were not sharing in the same blessing. The
proceeds of their first year's efforts, were about ten dollars; and
while deliberating on the manner of its appropriation, one of the
members suggested that it be devoted to the promotion of religion among
the Osages, giving as a reason that they were the greatest enemies of
the Cherokees, and that the Bible teaches Christians to do good to


  ----I should some kindness show them.


Among the early settlements of New Hampshire, were several on the
Piscataqua river, in the neighborhood of the present town of Dover. For
awhile the aborigines and whites were on amicable terms, and the former
not unfrequently paid the latter a friendly visit. On one of those
occasions, a pappoos was suddenly seized with illness, and its mother
was obliged to remain several days. She found shelter and accommodations
with a widow, who received her cordially, and nursed the feeble infant
as her own. Such kindness would not be forgotten, even by savages; and
when, after the lapse of years, the bow was bent and the hatchet raised
against the settlement where the widow resided, the Indians placed a
strong guard around her house; and, though the butchery was terrible,
she and her family were unharmed.


                      ----When meet now
  Such pairs, in love and honor joined?


Governor Winthrop, the father of the Massachusetts' colony, married
Margaret, the daughter of Sir John Tindal, in April, 1618. She was his
third wife, and a woman of rare qualities both of mind and heart.
Previous to their emigration to New England, it was not an uncommon
occurrence for them to be separated, and their correspondence on such
occasions savors of the purest affection. Who does not see the image of
a devoted wife and an exalted spirit in the following letter, written
about the year 1627:

"MY MOST SWEET HUSBAND,--How dearly welcome thy kind letter was to me, I
am not able to express. The sweetness of it did much refresh me. What
can be more pleasing to a wife, than to hear of the welfare of her best
beloved, and how he is pleased with her poor endeavors! I blush to hear
myself commended, knowing my own wants. But it is your love that
conceives the best, and makes all things seem better than they are. I
wish that I may be always pleasing to thee, and that those comforts we
have in each other may be daily increased, as far as they may be
pleasing to God. I will use that speech to thee, that Abigail did to
David: 'I will be a servant to wash the feet of my lord.' I will do any
service wherein I may please my good husband. I confess I cannot do
enough for thee; but thou art pleased to accept the will for the deed,
and rest contented.

"I have many reasons to make me love thee, whereof I will name two:
first, because thou lovest God; and secondly, because thou lovest me. If
these two were wanting, all the rest would be eclipsed. But I must leave
this discourse, and go about my household affairs. I am a bad housewife
to be so long from them; but I must needs borrow a little time to talk
with thee, my sweet heart. I hope thy business draws to an end. It will
be but two or three weeks before I see thee, though they be long ones.
God will bring us together in his good time; for which I shall pray.

Farewell, my good husband; the Lord keep thee.

                                     Your obedient wife,

                                             MARGARET WINTHROP."

Below is another letter from the pen of this good woman, written after
her husband had decided to come to Massachusetts, and just before his

"MY MOST DEAR HUSBAND,--I should not now omit any opportunity of writing
to thee, considering I shall not long have thee to write unto. But, by
reason of my unfitness at this time, I must entreat thee to accept of a
few lines from me, and not impute it to any want of love, or neglect of
duty to thee, to whom I owe more than I ever shall be able to express.

"My request now shall be to the Lord to prosper thee in thy voyage, and
enable thee and fit thee for it, and give all graces and gifts for such
employments as he shall call thee to. I trust God will once more bring
us together before you go, that we may see each other with gladness, and
take a solemn leave, till we, through the goodness of our God, shall
meet in New England, which will be a joyful day to us. With my best
wishes to God for thy health and welfare, I take my leave and rest, thy
faithful, obedient wife,

                                                MARGARET WINTHROP."[81]

  [81] The following extract from a letter written by the Governor in
  March, 1629, shows that he was not unconscious of the excellence of the
  gift he possessed in his "yokefellow." Addressing her as "MINE OWN DEAR
  HEART," he proceeds:

  "I must confess thou hast overcome me with thy exceeding great love, and
  those abundant expressions of it in thy sweet letters, which savor of
  more than an ordinary spirit of love and piety. Blessed be the Lord our
  God, that gives strength and comfort to thee to undergo this great
  trial, which, I must confess, would be too heavy for thee, if the Lord
  did not put under his hand in so gracious a measure. Let this experience
  of his faithfulness to thee in this first trial, be a ground to
  establish thy heart to believe and expect his help in all that may
  follow. It grieveth me much, that I want time and freedom of mind to
  discourse with thee, my faithful yokefellow, in those things which thy
  sweet letters offer me so plentiful occasion for. I beseech the Lord, I
  may have liberty to supply it, ere I depart; for I cannot thus leave

Governor Winthrop landed on these shores in June, 1630, and his wife
followed him in about a year. She lived till June, 1647, and was perhaps
as useful in her more private, as her husband in his public and highly
honorable, sphere. "A woman of singular virtue, prudence, modesty and
piety;" though dignified, she was condescending; and knowing her place,
she kept, and filled, and honored it. With undimmed and steady lustre,
she shone for sixteen years amid the shadows of night that overhung and
threatened the infant colony.


  ----Screw your courage up to the sticking place,
  And we'll not fail.


The first settler in Hollis, New Hampshire, was Captain Peter Powers. He
removed thither in 1731. His nearest neighbor, for a time, was ten miles
distant; and in order to exchange courtesies it was necessary for the
families to cross the Nashua river. It had but one convenient and safe
fording place in that vicinity, and that one only when the river was

Having occasion, on a pleasant August morning, to visit her neighbor,
Mrs. Powers mounted a Narraganset, hastened away, and reached the place
of destination long before noon. Early in the after part of the day a
fearful thunderstorm came up, and continued for several hours. Just at
sunset the clouds began to break away, and Mrs. Powers immediately
started on her return. She did not reach the river until some time after
dark; and coming to the ford, she found the bank full and the water--as
a narrator of the incident has it--"pressing on it with great
rapidity." Added to this alarming circumstance, the wind had shifted and
rolled the clouds up the sky again, so that the rain was descending in
torrents, and drowning the threatening voice of the waves. Trusting to
the experienced animal to keep the ford, and giving a slack rein,
without realizing the danger, the courageous woman plunged into the
black stream. The steed almost instantly lost its foothold, and "rolling
in the waves at a full swim," made for the opposite shore. Missing the
ford, and striking a forefoot on a rock in the bed of the stream, the
animal was raised momentarily half way out of the water. Then plunging
forward, it sank so deep that Mrs. Powers was raised from the pommel;
but seizing the horse's mane as it rose, she held her grasp till they
were safely on shore. The faithful animal soon found the right track,
and in a brief hour Mrs. Powers was under the shelter of her cabin.


  More can I bear than you dare execute.


"Not a great way from Steel's and Taylor's forts was a settlement
consisting of a few families, among which were those of William McKenny
and his brother James. These lived near Fishing creek. In the summer of
1761, sixteen Indians, with some squaws of the Cherokee tribe, took up
their abode for several weeks near what is called Simpson's shoals, for
the purpose of hunting and fishing during the hot months. In August, the
two McKennys being absent on a journey to Camden, William's wife,
Barbara, was left alone with several young children. One day she saw the
Indian women running towards her house in great haste, followed by the
men. She had no time to offer resistance; the squaws seized her and the
children, pulled them into the house, and shoved them behind the door,
where they immediately placed themselves on guard, pushing back the
Indians as fast as they tried to force their way in, and uttering the
most fearful outcries. Mrs. McKenny concluded it was their intention to
kill her, and expected her fate every moment. The assistance rendered by
the squaws, whether given out of compassion for a lonely mother, or in
return for kindness shown them,--proved effectual for her protection
until the arrival of one of the chiefs, who drew his long knife and
drove off the savages. The mother, apprehending another attack, went to
some of her neighbors and entreated them to come and stay with her.
Robert Brown and Joanna his wife, Sarah Ferguson, her daughter Sarah and
two sons, and a young man named Michael Melbury, came, in compliance
with her request, and took up their quarters in the house. The next
morning Mrs. McKenny ventured out alone to milk her cows. It had been
her practice heretofore to take some of the children with her, and she
could not explain why she went alone this time, though she was not free
from apprehension; it seemed to be so by a special ordering of
Providence. While she was milking, the Indians crept towards her on
their hands and knees; she heard not their approach, nor knew any thing
till they seized her. Sensible at once of all the horror of her
situation, she made no effort to escape, but promised to go quietly with
them. They then set off towards the house, holding her fast by the arm.
She had the presence of mind to walk as far off as possible from the
Indian who held her, expecting Melbury to fire as they approached her
dwelling. As they came up, he fired, wounding the one who held Mrs.
McKenny; she broke from his hold and ran, and another Indian pursued
and seized her. At this moment she was just at her own door, which John
Ferguson imprudently opening that she might enter, the Indians without
shot him dead as he presented himself. His mother ran to him and
received another shot in her thigh, of which she died in a few days.
Melbury, who saw that all their lives depended on prompt action, dragged
them from the door, fastened it, and repairing to the loft, prepared for
a vigorous defence. There were in all five guns; Sarah Ferguson loaded
for him, while he kept up a continual fire, aiming at the Indians
wherever one could be seen. Determined to effect their object of forcing
an entrance, some of the savages came very near the house, keeping under
cover of an outhouse in which Brown and his wife had taken refuge, not
being able, on the alarm, to get into the house. They had crept into a
corner and were crouched there close to the boarding. One of the
Indians, coming up, leaned against the outside, separated from them only
by a few boards, the crevices between which probably enabled them to see
him. Mrs. Brown proposed to take a sword that lay by them and run the
savage through the body, but her husband refused; he expected death, he
said, every moment, and did not wish to go out of the world having his
hands crimsoned with the blood of any fellow creature. 'Let me die in
peace,' were his words, 'with all the world.' Joanna, though in the same
peril, could not respond to the charitable feeling. 'If I am to die,'
she said, 'I should like first to send some of the redskins on the
journey. But we are not so sure we have to die; don't you hear the crack
of Melbury's rifle? He holds the house. I warrant you that redskin
looked awfully scared as he leaned against the corner here. We could
have done it in a moment.'

"Mrs. McKenny, meanwhile, having failed to get into her house, had been
again seized by the Indians, and, desperately regardless of her own
safety, was doing all in her power to help her besieged friends. She
would knock the priming out of the guns carried by the savages, and when
they presented them to fire, would throw them up, so that the discharge
might prove harmless. She was often heard to say, afterwards, that all
fear had left her, and she thought only of those within the building,
for she expected for herself neither deliverance nor mercy. Melbury
continued to fire whenever one of the enemy appeared; they kept
themselves, however, concealed, for the most part, behind trees or the
outhouse. Several were wounded by his cool and well-directed shots, and
at length, tired of the contest, the Indians retreated, carrying Mrs.
McKenny with them. She now resisted with all her strength, preferring
instant death to the more terrible fate of a captive in the hands of the
fierce Cherokees. Her refusal to go forward irritated her captors, and
when they had dragged her about half a mile, near a rock upon the
plantation now occupied by John Culp, she received a second blow with
the tomahawk which stretched her insensible upon the ground. When after
some time consciousness returned, she found herself lying upon the rock,
to which she had been dragged from the spot where she fell. She was
stripped naked, and her scalp had been taken off. By degrees the
knowledge of her condition, and the desire of obtaining help came upon
her. She lifted up her head, and looking around, saw the wretches who
had so cruelly mangled her, pulling ears of corn from a field near, to
roast for their meal. She laid her head quickly down again, well knowing
that if they saw her alive, they would not be slack in coming to finish
the work of death. Thus she lay motionless till all was silent, and she
found they were gone; then, with great pain and difficulty, she dragged
herself back to the house. It may be imagined with what feelings the
unfortunate woman was received by her friends and children, and how she
met the bereaved mother, wounded unto death, who had suffered for her
attempt to save others. One of the blows received by Mrs. McKenny had
made a deep wound in her back; the others were upon her head....

"The wounds in Mrs. McKenny's head never healed entirely; but continued
to break out occasionally, so that the blood flowing from them stained
the bed at night, and sometimes fragments of bone came off;
nevertheless, she lived many years afterwards and bore several children.
She was at the time with child, and in about three months gave birth to
a daughter--Hannah, afterwards married to John Stedman--and living in
Tennessee in 1827. This child was plainly marked with a tomahawk and
drops of blood, as if running down the side of her face. The families of
McKenny and McFadden, residing on Fishing creek, are descended from this
Barbara McKenny; but most of her descendants have emigrated to the West.
The above mentioned occurrence is narrated in a manuscript in the
hand-writing of her grandson, Robert McFadden."[82]

  [82] Women of the Revolution, vol. 3.


                              Strong affection
  Contends with all things, and o'ercometh all things.

                                               JOANNA BAILLIE.

"One of the small islands in Boston bay was inhabited by a single poor
family. The father was taken suddenly ill. There was no physician. The
wife, on whom every labor for the household devolved, was sleepless in
care and tenderness by the bedside of her suffering husband. Every
remedy in her power to procure was administered, but the disease was
acute, and he died.

"Seven young children mourned around the lifeless corpse. They were the
sole beings upon that desolate spot. Did the mother indulge the grief of
her spirit, and sit down in despair? No: she entered upon the arduous
and sacred duties of her station. She felt that there was no hand to
assist her in burying her dead. Providing, as far as possible, for the
comfort of her little ones, she put her babe into the arms of the
oldest, and charged the two next in age to watch the corpse of their
father. She unmoored her husband's fishing boat, which, but two days
before, he had guided over the seas, to obtain food for his family. She
dared not yield to those tender recollections, which might have unnerved
her arm. The nearest island was at the distance of three miles. Strong
winds lashed the waters to foam. Over the loud billows, that wearied and
sorrowful woman rowed, and was preserved. She reached the next island,
and obtained the necessary aid. With such energy did her duty to her
desolate babes inspire her, that the voyage which depended on her
individual effort, was performed in a shorter time than the returning
one, when the oars were managed by two men, who went to assist in the
last offices to the dead."


  A fault doth never with remorse
    Our minds so deeply move,
  As when another's guiltless life
    Our error doth reprove.


Sarah Childress Polk is the daughter of an enterprising and wealthy
merchant of Rutherford county, Tennessee. She was married on the first
of January, 1824.

Fitted to dignify and adorn any station appropriate for woman, while
presiding at the White house she was universally esteemed, and retired
as honorably as any woman since the days of Washington. She is
intelligent, refined, unaffected, affable, courteous, hospitable, and,
above all, pious, and exemplary as a Christian. She has been for years
in communion with the Presbyterians; and while at the Capital, and the
eyes of the whole nation were upon her, she forbade, in the President's
mansion, any amusement not in keeping with the Christian profession. In
this respect, it may be said of her, in the language of Shakspeare,

  Thou art not for the fashion of these times.

The following poetical tribute, from the pen and heart of Mrs. Stephens,
is well merited:

  LADY! had I the wealth of earth
    To offer freely at thy shrine,
  Bright gold, and buds of dewy birth,
    Or gems from out the teeming mine,
  A thousand things most beautiful,
    All sparkling, precious, rich, and rare,
  These hands would render up to thee--
    Thou noble lady, good and fair!

  For, as I write, sweet thoughts arise
    Of times when all thy kindness lent
  A thousand hues of Paradise
    To the fleet moments as they went;
  Then all thy thoughts were winged with light,
    And every smile was calm and sweet,
  And thy low tones and gentle words
    Made the warm heart's blood thrill and beat.

  There, standing in our nation's home,
    My memory ever pictures thee
  As some bright dame of ancient Rome,
    Modest, yet all a queen should be.
  I love to keep thee in my mind,
    Thus mated with the pure of old,
  When love with lofty deeds combined,
    Made women great and warriors bold.

  When first I saw thee standing there,
    And felt the pressure of thy hand,
  I scarcely thought if thou wert fair,
    Or of the highest in the land;
  I knew thee gentle, pure as great;
    All that was lovely, meek and good;
  And so I half forgot thy state
    In love of thy bright womanhood.

  And many a sweet sensation came
    That lingers in my bosom yet,
  Like that celestial, holy flame
    That vestals tremble to forget
  And on the earth, or in the sky,
    There's not a thought more true and free
  Than that which beats within my heart,
    In pleasant memory of thee.

  Lady, I gladly would have brought
    Some gem that on thy heart may live;
  But this poor wreath of woven thought
    Is all the wealth I have to give.
  All wet with heart-dew, fresh with love,
    I lay the garland at thy feet,
  Praying the angel forms above
    To weave thee one more pure and sweet.


  In humblest vales the patriot heart may glow.

                                          J. T. FIELDS.

At the time Colonel Watson, the commander of a corps of regulars and
tories, was making inroads upon the Pedee, he pitched his tent one night
near the house of a widow named Jenkins, and took up his own quarters
under her roof. Learning, in the course of the evening, that she had
three sons fighting under General Marion, he commenced the following
conversation with her:

"So, madam, they tell me you have several sons in General Marion's camp;
I hope it is not true."

She said it was very true, and was only sorry that it was not a thousand
times truer.

"A thousand times truer, madam!" replied he, with great surprise, "pray
what can be your meaning in that?"

"Why, sir, I am only sorry that in place of three, I have not three
thousand sons with General Marion."

"Aye, indeed! well then, madam, begging your pardon, you had better send
for them immediately to come in and join his majesty's troops under my
command: for as they are rebels now in arms against their king, should
they be taken, they will be hung as sure as ever they were born."

"Why, sir, you are very considerate of my sons; for which, at any rate,
I thank you. But, as you have begged my pardon for giving me this
advice, I must beg yours for not taking it. My sons, sir, are of age,
and must and will act for themselves. And as to their being in a state
of rebellion against their king, I must take the liberty, sir, to deny

"What, madam! not in rebellion against their king? Shooting at and
killing his majesty's subjects like wolves! don't you call that
rebellion against their king, madam?"

"No, sir, they are only doing their duty, as God and nature commanded
them, sir."

"The d----l they are, madam!"

"Yes, sir, and what you and every man in England would glory to do
against the king, were he to dare to tax you contrary to your own
consent and the constitution of the realm. 'Tis the king, sir, who is in
rebellion against my sons, and not they against him. And could right
prevail against might, he would as certainly lose his head as ever king
Charles the First did."[83]

  [83] Weems' Marion, pp. 182-3.


  Labor in the path of duty
  Beam'd up like a thing of beauty.

                              C. P. CRANCH.

"A very profane and profligate sailor, who belonged to a vessel lying in
the port of New York, went out one day from his ship into the streets,
bent on folly and wickedness. He met a pious little girl, whose feelings
he tried to wound by using vile and sinful language. The little girl
looked him earnestly in the face, warned him of his danger, and, with a
solemn tone, told him to remember that he must meet her shortly at the
bar of God. This unexpected reproof greatly affected him. To use his own
language, 'it was like a broadside, raking him fore and aft, and
sweeping by the board every sail and spar prepared for a wicked cruise.'
Abashed and confounded, he returned to his ship. He could not banish
from his mind the reproof of this little girl. Her look was present to
his mind; her solemn declaration, 'You must meet me at the bar of God,'
deeply affected his heart. The more he reflected upon it, the more
uncomfortable he felt. In a few days his hard heart was subdued, and he
submitted to the Saviour."


  Blest that abode where want and pain repair,
  And every stranger finds a ready chair.


In his Three Years in California, the Rev. Walter Colton speaks as
follows of the native women:

Their hospitality knows no bounds; they are always glad to see you, come
when you may; take a pleasure in entertaining you while you remain; and
only regret that your business calls you away. If you are sick, there is
nothing which sympathy and care can devise or perform, which is not done
for you. No sister ever hung over the throbbing brain or fluttering
pulse of a brother with more tenderness and fidelity. This is as true of
the lady whose hand has only figured her embroidery or swept her guitar,
as of the cottage-girl wringing from her laundry the foam of the
mountain stream; and all this from the _heart_! If I must be cast, in
sickness or destitution, on the care of a stranger, let it be in
California; but let it be before avarice has hardened the heart and made
a god of gold.


  Where'er the path of duty led,
  With an unquestioning faith she trod.

                                   T. W. RENNE.

Among the many names endeared to the friends of missions, is that of
Sarah L. Smith, a native of Norwich, Connecticut. Her maiden name was
Huntington. She was born in 1802; made a profession of religion in
youth; became the wife of the Rev. Eli Smith in July, 1833; embarked
with him for Palestine the September following; and died at Boojah, near
Smyrna, the last day of September, 1836.

Her work as a foreign missionary was quickly finished. She labored
longer as a home missionary among the Moheagans, who live in the
neighborhood of Norwich, and there displayed most conspicuously the
moral heroism of her nature. In conjunction with Sarah Breed, she
commenced her philanthropic operations in the year 1827. "The first
object that drew them from the sphere of their own church, was the
project of opening a Sabbath school for the poor Indian children of
Moheagan. Satisfied that this was a work which Heaven would approve,
they marked out their plans, and pursued them with untiring energy.
Boldly they went forth, and, guided by the rising smoke or sounding axe,
visited the Moheagans from field to field, and from hut to hut, till
they had thoroughly informed themselves of their numbers, condition, and
prospects. The opposition they encountered, the ridicule and opprobrium
showered upon them from some quarters, the sullenness of the natives,
the bluster of the white tenants, the brush wood and dry branches thrown
across their pathway, could not discourage them. They saw no 'lions in
the way,' while mercy, with pleading looks, beckoned them forward."

The Moheagans then numbered a little more than one hundred, only one of
whom was a professor of religion. She was ninety-seven years of age. In
her hut the first prayer meeting and the first Sabbath school gathered
by these young ladies, were held.

Miss Breed soon removed from that part of the country, and Miss
Huntington continued her labors for awhile alone. She was at that time
very active in securing the formation of a society and the circulation
of a subscription, having for their object the erection of a chapel. She
found, ere long, a faithful co-worker in Miss Elizabeth Raymond. They
taught a school in conjunction, and aside from their duties as teachers,
were, at times, "advisers, counsellors, lawgivers, milliners,
mantuamakers, tailoresses and almoners."[84]

  [84] Missionary Offering, p. 86. We are indebted to the same source for
  most of the particulars embraced in this article.

"The school was kept in a house on Fort Hill, leased to a respectable
farmer in whose family the young teachers boarded by alternate weeks,
each going to the scene of labor every other Sabbath morning and
remaining till the evening of the succeeding Sabbath, so that both were
present in the Sabbath school, which was twice as large as the other. A
single incident will serve to show the dauntless resolution which Miss
Huntington carried into her pursuits. Just at the expiration of one of
her terms of service during the winter, a heavy and tempestuous fall of
snow blocked up the roads with such high drifts, that a friend who had
been accustomed to go for her and convey her home in bad weather, and
had started for this purpose in his sleigh, turned back, discouraged. No
path had been broken, and the undertaking was so hazardous that he
conceived no female would venture forth at such a time. He therefore
called at her father's house to say that he should delay going for her
till the morrow. What was his surprise to be met at the door by the
young lady herself, who had reached home just before, having walked the
whole distance on the hard crust of snow, _alone_, and some of the way
over banks of snow that entirely obliterated the walls and fences by the

While at Moheagan, Miss Huntington corresponded with the Hon. Lewis
Cass, then Secretary of War, and secured his influence and the aid of
that department. In 1832, a grant of nine hundred dollars was made from
the fund devoted to the Indian department, five hundred being
appropriated towards the erection of missionary buildings and four for
the support of a teacher. Before leaving the Moheagan, for a wider
field, this devoted and heroic missionary had the happiness of seeing a
chapel, parsonage and school house, standing on "the sequestered
land"[85] of her forest friends, and had thus partially repaid the debt
of social and moral obligation to a tribe who fed the first and
famishing settlers in Connecticut, and strove to protect them against
the tomahawk of inimical tribes, and whose whoop was friendly to freedom
when British aggressors were overriding American rights.

  [85] That was its original name. It is a reserved tract; contains
  between two and three thousand acres, and a considerable part is now
  occupied by white tenants. Its situation is on the Thames, between New
  London and Norwich.


  Brave spirits are a balsam to themselves.


During the invasion of the Mohawk valley by Sir John Johnson, Samson
Sammons, of Johnstown, and his three sons, were taken captive early one
morning in May. The females were not made prisoners. While a soldier was
standing sentinel over the youngest son, named Thomas, who was about
eighteen, the latter, who was not more than half dressed, said he was
not going to Canada in such a plight; that he should need his shoes
especially; and asked permission to go to his chamber and get his
clothes. The favor was not granted; but Thomas, resolving to have his
shoes, stepped towards the door, when the barbarous soldier pointed a
bayonet at his back, and made a plunge. At that moment a sister, who had
watched every movement with breathless anxiety, sprang forward, seized
the gun, threw herself across its barrel, bore it to the ground, and
thus saved her brother's life. After a brief struggle, the soldier
disengaged his weapon, but before he had time to make another plunge,
an officer rushed forward and asked what was the trouble. The heroic
girl stated the case, when the soldier was severely rebuked, and her
brother permitted to obtain his shoes and all the raiment he

  [86] It may be interesting to the reader to know that Thomas Sammons did
  not go to Canada. He was released in the afternoon of the same day, with
  some other persons who had been taken prisoners during the forenoon.
  Feigning extreme lameness in one foot, he attracted the attention and
  excited the sympathy of the widow of a British officer: she had resided
  in the neighborhood, knew many of the captives, and as some were her
  personal friends, she asked Sir John to permit their release. He did so;
  and on going into the field to select them, writes Colonel Stone, "she
  adroitly smuggled young Sammons into the group, and led him away in


  They love their land because it is their own.


At the darkest period of the Revolution, New Jersey was, for a short
time, full of British soldiers, and Lord Cornwallis was stationed at
Bordentown.[87] He visited Mrs. Borden one day, at her elegant mansion,
and made an effort to intimidate her. He told her that if she would
persuade her husband and son, who were then in the American army, to
join his forces, none of her property should be destroyed; but if she
refused to make such exertions, he would burn her house, and lay waste
her whole estate. Unintimidated and patriotic, she made the following
bold reply, which caused the execution of the threat: "The sight of my
house in flames would be a treat to me, for I have seen enough to know
that you never injure what you have power to keep and enjoy. The
application of a torch to my dwelling I should regard as the signal for
your departure." And such it was.

  [87] Major Garden.


  Where cannon boomed, where bayonets clashed,
  There was thy fiery way.

                                       SARA J. CLARKE.

An act similar to that recorded of Mrs. Pitcher at the battle of
Monmouth, was performed by Mrs. Margaret Corbin at the attack on Fort
Washington. Her husband belonged to the artillery; and, standing by his
side and seeing him fall, she unhesitatingly took his place and
heroically performed his duties. Her services were appreciated by the
officers of the army, and honorably noticed by Congress. This body
passed the following resolution in July, 1779:

"Resolved,--That Margaret Corbin, wounded and disabled at the battle of
Fort Washington, while she heroically filled the post of her husband,
who was killed by her side serving a piece of artillery, do receive
during her natural life, or continuance of said disability, one-half the
monthly pay drawn by a soldier in service of these States; and that she
now receive out of public stores, one suit of clothes or value thereof
in money."


                          ----The truly brave,
  When they behold the brave oppressed with odds,
  Are touched with a desire to shield or save.


Soon after the commencement of the Revolutionary war, the family of Dr.
Channing,[88] being in England, removed to France, and shortly
afterwards sailed for the United States. The vessel, said to be stout
and well-armed, was attacked on the voyage by a privateer, and a fierce
engagement ensued. During its continuance, Mrs. Channing stood on the
deck, exhorting the crew not to give up, encouraging them with words of
cheer, handing them cartridges, and aiding such of them as were disabled
by wounds. When, at length, the colors of the vessel were struck, she
seized her husband's pistols and side arms, and flung them into the sea,
declaring that she would prefer death to the witnessing of their
surrender into the hands of the foe.

  [88] This anecdote, which is recorded in several works, cannot refer to
  the late William Ellery Channing, as he was not born at the commencement
  of the Revolution.


  Have chivalry's bold days
  A deed of wilder bravery
  In all their stirring lays?

                     SARA J. CLARKE

An incident which occurred at one of the forts in the Mohawk valley,
might have been mentioned in connection with the heroism of Schoharie
women. It is briefly related by the author of Border Wars of the
American Revolution. "An interesting young woman," he writes, "whose
name yet lives in story among her own mountains, perceiving, as she
thought, symptoms of fear in a soldier who had been ordered to a well
without the works, and within range of the enemy's fire, for water,
snatched the bucket from his hands, and ran forth for it herself.
Without changing color, or giving the slightest evidence of fear, she
drew and brought back bucket after bucket to the thirsty soldiers, and
providentially escaped without injury."


  I dare do all that may become a man.
  Who dares do more, is none.


For three-fourths of a century, there has been a wealthy settlement of
Germans four or five miles north of the village of Herkimer, in the
upper part of the Mohawk valley, called Shell's Bush. Among the early
settlers, was John Christian Shell, who had a family of six brave sons
and a no less brave wife. When, on the sixth of August, 1781, a Scotch
refugee named Donald McDonald, at the head of sixty-six tories and
Indians, attacked that settlement, Mrs. Shell acted the part of an
heroic dame. The house was built for border emergencies, and when the
enemy approached, the husband and older boys[89] fled from the fields,
entered their castle, and strongly barricaded the doors. From two
o'clock in the afternoon until twilight, the besieged kept up an almost
incessant firing, Mrs. Shell loading the guns for her husband and older
sons to discharge. During the siege, McDonald attempted to force the
door with a crow bar, and was shot in the leg, seized by Shell and drawn
within doors. Exasperated at this bold feat, the enemy soon attempted to
carry the fortress by assault, five of them leaping upon the walls and
thrusting their guns through the loopholes. At that moment the cool and
courageous woman seized an axe, smote the barrels and bent and spoiled
them. Her husband then resorted to stratagem to drive the besiegers
away: running up stairs and calling to Mrs. Shell in a very loud voice,
he said that Captain Small was approaching with help from Fort Dayton.
Then raising his voice to its highest pitch, he exclaimed, "Captain
Small, march your company round upon this side of the house. Captain
Getman, you had better wheel your men off to the left, and come up upon
that side."[90] Fearing the phantom troops whom Mr. Shell's imagination
had conjured, the enemy shouldered their guns--crooked barreled and
all--and quickly buried themselves in the dense forest.

  [89] The two youngest boys, who were twins and about eight years old,
  were captured; and when the enemy fled, they were carried away as

  [90] Border Wars of the American Revolution, vol. 2, p. 153.


  Humble toil and heavenward duty.

                            MRS. HALE.

"A pious widow, who resided among ignorant and vicious neighbors in the
suburbs of B----, Massachusetts, determined to do what she could for
their spiritual benefit; and so she opened her little front room for
weekly prayer meetings, and engaged some pious Methodists to aid in
conducting them. Much of the seed thus scattered on a seemingly arid
soil, produced fruit. One instance deserves special notice.

"Among others who attended, was a young sailor of intelligent and
prepossessing countenance. A slight acquaintance with him discovered him
to be very ignorant of even the rudiments of education; but, at the same
time, he had such manifestly superior abilities, that the widow became
much interested in his spiritual welfare, and could not but hope that
God would in some way provide for his further instruction, convert him
and render him useful. But in the midst of her anticipations, he was
suddenly summoned away to sea. He had been out but a short time when the
vessel was seized by a British privateer and carried into Halifax,
where the crew suffered by a long and wretched imprisonment.

"A year had passed away, during which the good woman had heard nothing
of the young sailor. Still she remembered and prayed for him with the
solicitude of a mother. About this time, she received a letter from her
relations, who resided in Halifax, on business which required her to go
to that town. While there, her habitual disposition to be useful, led
her with a few friends to visit the prison with Bibles and tracts. In
one apartment were the American prisoners. As she approached the grated
door, a voice shouted her name, calling her mother, and a youth appeared
and leaped for joy at the grate. It was the lost sailor boy! They wept
and conversed like mother and son, and when she left she gave him a
Bible--his future guide and comfort. During her stay at Halifax, she
constantly visited the prison, supplying the youth with tracts,
religious books, and clothing, and endeavoring by her conversation to
secure the religious impression made on his mind at the prayer meetings
in B----. After many months she removed to a distant part of the
provinces; and for years she heard nothing more of the young sailor.

"We pass over a period of many years, and introduce the reader to Father
T----, the distinguished mariners' preacher in the city of B----. In a
spacious and substantial chapel, crowded about by the worst habitations
in the city, this distinguished man delivered every Sabbath, discourses
as extraordinary, perhaps, as are to be found in the Christian world.
In the centre column of seats, guarded sacredly against all other
intrusion, sat a dense mass of mariners--a strange medley of white,
black, and olive; Protestant, Catholic, and Pagan. On the other seats in
the galleries, the aisles, the altar, and on the pulpit stairs, were
crowded, week after week, and year after year--the families of sailors,
and the poor who had no other temple--the elite of the city--the learned
professor--the student--the popular writer--the actor--groups of
clergymen, and the votaries of gayety and fashion, listening with
throbbing hearts and wet eyes, to a man whose only school had been the
forecastle, and whose only endowments were those of grace and nature.

"In the year 183--, an aged English local preacher moved into the city
of B---- from the British provinces.

"The old local preacher was mingling in a public throng one day with a
friend, when they met 'Father T----.' A few words of introduction led to
a free conversation, in which the former residence of his wife in the
city was mentioned, and allusion was made to her prayer meeting--her
former name was asked by 'Father T----;' he seemed seized by an
impulse--inquired their residence, hastened away, and in a short time
arrived in a carriage, with all his family, at the home of the aged
pair. There a scene ensued which must be left to the imagination of the
reader. 'Father T----' was the sailor boy of the prayer meeting and the
prison. The old lady was the widow who had first cared for his soul."


  This is my own, my native land.


  True wit is nature to advantage dressed.


Mrs. Eliza Wilkinson resided during the Revolution on Yonge's island,
thirty miles south of Charleston, South Carolina. She was a cheerful,
witty and accomplished young widow, and a keen sufferer on account of
her whig principles. Her letters, arranged by Mrs. Gilman, and published
several years ago, afford a panoramic view of many dark scenes at the
gloomiest period of American history, and beautifully daguerreotype her
own pure and patriotic heart. A single extract will show her character.
She visited the city of Charleston soon after its surrender, and
witnessed the departure of her exiled friends. Referring to matters
about that period, she writes:

"Once I was asked by a British officer to play the guitar.

"'I cannot play; I am very dull.'

"'How long do you intend to continue so, Mrs. Wilkinson?'

"'Until my countrymen return, sir!'

"'Return as what, madam?--prisoners or subjects?'

"'As conquerors, sir.'

"He affected a laugh. 'You will never see that, madam!'

"'I live in hopes, sir, of seeing the thirteen stripes hoisted once more
on the bastions of this garrison.'

"'Do not hope so; but come, give us a tune on the guitar.'

"'I can play nothing but rebel songs.'

"'Well, let us have one of them.'

"'Not to-day--I cannot play--I will not play; besides, I suppose I
should be put into the Provost for such a heinous crime.'

"I have often wondered since, I was not packed off, too; for I was very
saucy, and never disguised my sentiments.

"One day Kitty and I were going to take a walk on the Bay, to get
something we wanted. Just as we had got our hats on, up ran one of the
Billets into the dining-room, where we were.

"'Your servant, ladies.'

"'Your servant, sir.'

"'Going out, ladies?'

"'Only to take a little walk.'

"He immediately turned about and ran down stairs. I guessed for what....
He offered me his hand, or rather arm, to lean upon.

"'Excuse me, sir,' said I; 'I will support myself if you please.'

"'No, madam, the pavements are very uneven; you may get a fall; do
accept my arm.'

"'Pardon me, I cannot.'

"'Come, you do not know what your condescension may do. I will turn

"'Will you?' said I, laughingly--'Turn rebel first, and then offer your

"We stopped in another store, where were several British officers. After
asking for the articles I wanted, I saw a broad roll of ribbon, which
appeared to be of black and white stripes.

"'Go,' said I to the officer who was with us, 'and reckon the stripes of
that ribbon; see if they are _thirteen_!' (with an emphasis I spoke the
word)--and he went, too!

"'Yes, they are thirteen, upon my word, madam.'

"'Do hand it me.' He did so; I took it, and found that it was narrow
black ribbon, carefully wound round a broad white. I returned it to its
place on the shelf.

"'Madam,' said the merchant, 'you can buy the black and white too, and
tack them in stripes.'

"By no means, sir; I would not have them _slightly tacked_, but _firmly
united_.' The above mentioned officers sat on the counter kicking their
heels. How they gaped at me when I said this! But the merchant laughed


  ----He stopped the fliers.

                  SHAKSPEARE'S CORIOLANUS.

Many years ago, while a stage was passing through Temple, New Hampshire,
the driver's seat gave way, and himself and a gentleman seated with him,
were precipitated to the ground. The latter was killed. The horses took
fright at the noise, and ran a mile or more at full speed. Meanwhile,
Miss Abigail Brown, the only inside passenger and now the sole occupant
of the stage, endeavored, by speaking soothingly, to stop the horses. At
length they came to a high hill, when their speed began to slacken, and
Miss Brown, having previously opened the door and taken a convenient
position to alight, sprang out. Not content to save her own life, but
bent on acting the part of a heroine, she rushed forward, seized the
leaders, turned them out of the road, and held them fast till persons
whom she had passed and who had tried to stop the flying steeds, came to
her relief. Had this feat, trifling as it may seem, been performed by
the wife of some Roman dignitary, she would have been apotheosized and
her biography inserted in Lempriere's Classical Dictionary.


  They who forgive most shall be most forgiven.--BAILEY.

"A worthy old colored woman in the city of New York, was one day walking
along the street, on some errand to a neighboring store, with her
tobacco pipe in her mouth, quietly smoking. A jovial sailor, rendered a
little mischievous by liquor, came sawing down the street, and when
opposite our good Phillis, saucily crowded her aside, and with a pass of
his hand knocked her pipe out of her mouth. He then halted to hear her
fret at his trick, and enjoy a laugh at her expense. But what was his
astonishment, when she meekly picked up the pieces of her broken pipe,
without the least resentment in her manner, and giving him a dignified
look of mingled sorrow, kindness and pity, said, 'God forgive you, my
son, as I do.' It touched a tender cord in the heart of the rude tar. He
felt ashamed, condemned and repentant. The tear started in his eye; he
must make reparation. He heartily confessed his error, and thrusting
both hands into his two full pockets of '_change_,' forced the contents
upon her, exclaiming, 'God bless you, kind mother, I'll never do so


                    ----Oh the tender ties,
  Close twisted with the fibres of the heart.


The night before the surprise of Georgetown, Adjutant Crookshanks, one
of the enemy's officers, together with some of his commissioned
comrades, slept at a public house. The next morning it was surrounded,
and the Adjutant would have lost his life, but for the interposition of
the landlord's daughter, to whom he was affianced. Awakened and, at
first, alarmed by the firing without and the bustle at the door, and
hearing her lover's voice, she sprung out of bed and rushed, half
dressed, into the piazza. At that moment the swords of her countrymen
were raised over his head, and she threw her arms around his neck,
exclaiming, "O save! save Major Crookshanks!" Though made a prisoner, he
was forthwith paroled, and left, for the time, with the brave and
true-hearted maiden.


  Genius, the Pythian of the Beautiful,
  Leaves its large truths a riddle to the dull.


"At the commencement of the Revolution, Mrs. Wright, a native of
Pennsylvania, a distinguished modeler of likenesses and figures of wax,
was exhibiting specimens of her skill in London. The king of Great
Britain, pleased with her talents, gave her liberal encouragement, and,
finding her a great politician, and an enthusiastic republican, would
often enter into discussion relative to passing occurrences, and
endeavored to refute her opinion with regard to the probable issue of
the war. The frankness with which she delivered her sentiments, seemed
rather to please than to offend him; which was a fortunate circumstance,
for, when he asked an opinion, she gave it without constraint, or the
least regard to consequences. I remember to have heard her say, that on
one occasion, the monarch, irritated by some disaster to his troops,
where he had prognosticated a triumph, exclaimed with warmth: 'I wish,
Mrs. Wright, you would tell me how it will be possible to check the
silly infatuation of your countrymen, restore them to reason, and
render them good and obedient subjects.'--'I consider their submission
to your majesty's government is now altogether out of the question,'
replied Mrs. Wright: 'friends you may make them, but never subjects; for
America, before a king can reign there, must become a wilderness,
without any other inhabitants than the beasts of the forest. The
opponents of the decrees of your parliament, rather than submit, would
perish to a man; but if the restoration of peace be seriously the object
of your wishes, I am confident that it needs but the striking off of
_three heads_ to produce it.'--'O, Lord North's and Lord George
Germaine's, beyond all question; and where is the third head?' 'O, sir,
politeness forbids me to name _him_. Your majesty could never wish me to
forget myself, and be guilty of an incivility.'

"In her exhibition room, one group of figures particularly attracted
attention; and by all who knew her sentiments, was believed to be a
pointed hint at the results which might follow the wild ambition of the
monarch. The busts of the king and queen of Great Britain, were placed
on a table, apparently intently gazing on a head, which a figure, an
excellent representation of herself, was modeling in its lap. It was the
head of the unfortunate Charles the First."


  Beware the bowl! though rich and bright
  Its rubies flash upon the sight,
  An adder coils its depths beneath,
  Whose lure is woe, whose sting is death.


In the years 1801 and 1802, great efforts were made by the chiefs of the
Mohawk Indians to prevent the sale of spirituous liquors among their
people. In this humane movement the women of the tribe readily joined;
and having assembled in council, on the twenty-second of May, 1802, they
addressed the chiefs, whom they had summoned, as follows:

"UNCLES,--Some time ago the women of this place spoke to you, but you
did not then answer them, as you considered their meeting not
sufficient. Now, a considerable number of those from below having met
and consulted together, join in sentiment, and lament, as it were with
tears in our eyes, the many misfortunes caused by the use of spirituous
liquors. We therefore mutually request that you will use your endeavors
to have it removed from our neighborhood, that there may be none sold
nigher to us than the mountain. We flatter ourselves that this is in
your power, and that you will have compassion on our uneasiness, and
exert yourselves to have it done." STRINGS OF WAMPUM.

This appeal had a good effect on the chiefs; and received suitable
attention, drawing from them the following reply. It was delivered by
Captain Brant:

"NIECES,--We are fully convinced of the justice of your request;
drinking has caused the many misfortunes in this place, and has been,
besides, a great cause of the divisions, by the effect it has upon the
people's speech. We assure you, therefore, that we will use our
endeavours to effect what you desire. However, it depends in a great
measure upon government, as the distance you propose is within their
line. We cannot, therefore, absolutely promise that our request will be
complied with."



  She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.


Deborah Samson, the daughter of very poor parents, of Plymouth county,
Massachusetts, began, when about twenty years of age, to feel the
patriotic zeal which had prompted the sterner sex in her neighborhood to
take up arms in their country's defence. She accordingly assumed male
attire, and enlisted in the Revolutionary army. We agree with Mrs. Ellet
that, while this course cannot be commended, her exemplary conduct,
after taking the first step, goes far to plead her excuse, and is worthy
of record. Her method of obtaining men's garments, and her military
career, are thus narrated by the author just mentioned:

By keeping the district school for a summer term, she had amassed the
sum of twelve dollars. She purchased a quantity of coarse fustian, and,
working at intervals when she could be secure from observation, made up
a suit of men's clothing; each article, as it was finished, being hid
in a stack of hay. Having completed her preparations, she announced her
intention of going where she could obtain better wages for her labor.
Her new clothes and such articles as she wished to take with her, were
tied in a bundle. The lonely girl departed; but went not far, probably
only to the shelter of the nearest wood, before putting on the disguise
she was so eager to assume. Although not beautiful, her features were
animated and pleasing, and her figure, tall for a woman, was finely
proportioned. As a man, she might have been called handsome; her general
appearance was extremely prepossessing, and her manner calculated to
inspire confidence.

She now pursued her way to the American army, where she presented
herself, in October, 1778, as a young man anxious to join his efforts to
those of his countrymen, in their endeavors to oppose the common enemy.
Her acquaintances, meanwhile, supposed her engaged in service at a
distance. Rumors of her elopement with a British soldier, and even of
her death, were afterwards current in the neighborhood where she had
resided; but none were sufficiently interested to make such search for
her as might have led to a discovery.

Distrusting her own constancy, and resolute to continue in the service,
notwithstanding any change of her inclination, she enlisted for the
whole term of the war. She was received and enrolled in the army by the
name of Robert Shirtliffe. She was one of the first volunteers in the
company of Captain Nathan Thayer of Medway, Massachusetts; and as the
young recruit appeared to have no home or connections, the Captain gave
her a home in his family until his company should be full, when they
were to join the main army.

We now find her performing the duties and enduring the fatigues of
military life. During the seven weeks she passed in the family of
Captain Thayer, she had time both for experience and reflection; but, in
after years, her constant declaration was that she never, for one
moment, repented or regretted the step she had taken. Accustomed to
labor from childhood, upon the farm and in out-door employment, she had
acquired unusual vigor of constitution; her frame was robust, and of
masculine strength; and having thus gained a degree of hardihood, she
was enabled to acquire great expertness and precision in the manual
exercise, and to undergo what a female delicately nurtured would have
found it impossible to endure. Soon after they had joined the company,
the recruits were supplied with uniforms by a kind of lottery. That
drawn by Robert did not fit; but, taking needle and scissors, he soon
altered it to suit him. To Mrs. Thayer's expression of surprise, at
finding a young man so expert in using the implements of feminine
industry, the answer was--that his mother having no girl, he had been
often obliged to practice the seamstress's art.

While in the house of Captain Thayer, a young girl visiting his wife,
was much in the society of Deborah, or, as she was then called, Robert.
Coquettish by nature, and perhaps priding herself on the conquest of
the "blooming soldier," she suffered her growing partiality to be
perceived. Robert, on his part, felt a curiosity to learn by new
experience how soon a maiden's fancy might be won; and had no scruples
in paying attentions to one so volatile and fond of flirtation, with
whom it was not likely the impression would be lasting. This little
piece of romance gave some uneasiness to the worthy Mrs. Thayer, who
could not help observing that the liking of her fair visitor for Robert
was not fully reciprocated. She took an opportunity of remonstrating
with the young soldier, and showed what unhappiness might be the
consequence of such folly, and how unworthy it was of a brave man to
trifle with a girl's feelings. The caution was taken in good part, and
it is not known that the "love passage" was continued, though Robert
received at parting some tokens of remembrance, which were treasured as
relics in after years.

For three years our heroine appeared in the character of a soldier,
being part of the time employed as a waiter in the family of Colonel
Patterson. During this time, and in both situations, her exemplary
conduct, and the fidelity with which her duties were performed, gained
the approbation and confidence of the officers. She was a volunteer in
several hazardous enterprizes, and was twice wounded, the first time by
a sword cut on the left side of the head. Many were the adventures she
passed through; as she herself would often say, volumes might be filled
with them. Sometimes placed, unavoidably, in circumstances in which she
feared detection, she nevertheless escaped without the least suspicion
being awakened among her comrades. The soldiers were in the habit of
calling her "Molly," in playful allusion to her want of a beard; but not
one of them ever dreamed that the gallant youth fighting by their side,
was in reality a female.

About four months after her first wound she received another severe one,
being shot through the shoulder. Her first emotion when the ball
entered, she described to be a sickening terror at the probability that
her sex would be discovered. She felt that death on the battle-field
were preferable to the shame that would overwhelm her, and ardently
prayed that the wound might close her earthly campaign. But, strange as
it may seem, she escaped this time also unsuspected; and soon recovering
her strength, was able again to take her place at the post of duty, and
in the deadly conflict. Her immunity was not, however, destined long to
continue--she was seized with a brain fever, then prevalent among the
soldiers. For the few days that reason struggled against the disease,
her sufferings were indescribable; and most terrible of all was the
dread lest consciousness should desert her, and the secret she had
guarded so carefully be revealed to those around her. She was carried to
the hospital, and there could only ascribe her escape to the number of
patients, and the negligent manner in which they were attended. Her case
was considered a hopeless one, and she perhaps received less attention
on this account. One day the physician of the hospital, inquiring--"How
is Robert?" received from the nurse in attendance the answer--"Poor Bob
is gone." The doctor went to the bed, and taking the hand of the youth
supposed dead, found that the pulse was still feebly beating; attempting
to place his hand on the heart, he perceived that a bandage was fastened
tightly around the breast. This was removed, and to his utter
astonishment he discovered a female patient where he had least expected

This gentleman was Dr. Binney, of Philadelphia. With a prudence,
delicacy and generosity, ever afterwards warmly appreciated by the
unfortunate sufferer, he said not a word of his discovery, but paid her
every attention, and provided every comfort her perilous condition
required. As soon as she could be removed with safety, he had her taken
to his own house, where she could receive better care. His family
wondered not a little at the unusual interest manifested for the poor
invalid soldier.

Here occurred another of those romances in real life, which in
strangeness surpass fiction. The doctor had a young and lovely niece, an
heiress to considerable property, whose compassionate feelings led her
to join her uncle in bestowing kindness on the friendless youth. Many
censured the uncle's imprudence in permitting them to be so much in each
other's society, and to take drives so frequently together. The doctor
laughed to himself at the warnings and hints he received, and thought
how foolish the censorious would feel when the truth should come out.
His knowledge, meanwhile, was buried in his own bosom, nor shared even
with the members of his family. The niece was allowed to be as much with
the invalid as suited her pleasure. Her gentle heart was touched by the
misfortunes she had contributed to alleviate; the pale and melancholy
soldier, for whose fate no one seemed to care, who had no possession in
the world save his sword, who had suffered so much in the cause of
liberty, became dear to her. She saw his gratitude for the benefits and
kindness received, yet knew by intuition that he would never dare aspire
to the hand of one so gifted by fortune. In the confiding abandonment of
woman's love, the fair girl made known her attachment, and offered to
provide for the education of its object before marriage. Deborah often
declared that the moment in which she learned that she had unwittingly
gained the love of a being so guileless, was fraught with the keenest
anguish she ever experienced. In return for the hospitality and tender
care that had been lavished upon her, she had inflicted pain upon one
she would have died to shield. Her former entanglement had caused no
uneasiness, but this was a heart of a different mould; no way of amends
seemed open, except confession of her real character, and to that,
though impelled by remorse and self-reproach, she could not bring
herself. She merely said to the generous girl, that they would meet
again; and, though ardently desiring the possession of an education,
that she could not avail herself of the noble offer. Before her
departure, the young lady pressed on her acceptance several articles of
needful clothing, such as in those times many of the soldiers received
from fair hands. All these were afterwards lost by the upsetting of a
boat, except the shirt and vest Robert had on at the time, which are
still preserved as relics in the family.

Her health being now nearly restored, the physician had a long
conference with the commanding officer of the company in which Robert
had served, and this was followed by an order to the youth to carry a
letter to General Washington.

Her worst fears were now confirmed. From the time of her removal into
the doctor's family, she had cherished a misgiving which sometimes
amounted almost to a certainty, that he had discovered her deception. In
conversation with him she anxiously watched his countenance, but not a
word or look indicated suspicion, and she had again flattered herself
that she was safe from detection. When the order came for her to deliver
a letter into the hands of the Commander-in-chief, she could no longer
deceive herself.

There remained no course but simple obedience. When she presented
herself for admission at the head-quarters of Washington, she trembled
as she had never done before the enemy's fire. Her heart sunk within
her: she strove in vain to collect and compose herself, and, overpowered
with dread and uncertainty, was ushered into the presence of the Chief.
He noticed her extreme agitation, and, supposing it to proceed from
diffidence, kindly endeavored to re-assure her. He then bade her retire
with an attendant, who was directed to offer her some refreshment, while
he read the communication of which she had been the bearer.

Within a short time she was again summoned into the presence of
Washington. He said not a word, but handed her in silence a discharge
from the service, putting into her hand at the same time a note
containing a few brief words of advice, and a sum of money sufficient to
bear her expenses to some place where she might find a home. The
delicacy and forbearance thus observed affected her sensibly. "How
thankful," she has often said, "was I to that great and good man who so
kindly spared my feelings! He saw me ready to sink with shame; one word
from him at that moment would have crushed me to the earth. But he spoke
no word--and I blessed him for it."

After the termination of the war, she married Benjamin Gannett, of
Sharon. When Washington was President, she received a letter inviting
Robert Shirtliffe, or rather Mrs. Gannett, to visit the seat of
government. Congress was then in session, and during her stay at the
capital, a bill was passed granting her a pension in addition to certain
lands, which she was to receive as an acknowledgment for her services to
the country in a military capacity. She was invited to the houses of
several of the officers, and to parties given in the city; attentions
which manifested the high estimation in which she was there held.


  Stranger, whoe'er thou art, securely rest
  Affianced in my faith, a friendly guest.


At the close of the last war, John and Elizabeth Brant, children of the
celebrated warrior, took possession of their father's mansion at the
head of lake Ontario, and dispensed his "ancient hospitalities." While
making the tour of Canada West with two of his daughters, in 1819, James
Buchanan, Esq., British consul for the port of New York, visited the
"Brant House," and afterwards published the following interesting
account in a small volume of Indian sketches:

"After stopping more than a week under the truly hospitable roof of the
Honorable Colonel Clarke, at the Falls of Niagara, I determined to
proceed by land, round lake Ontario, to York; and Mrs. Clarke offered to
give my daughters a letter of introduction to a Miss Brant, advising us
to arrange our time so as to sleep and stop a day or two in the house of
that lady, as she was certain we should be much pleased with her and her
brother. Our friend did not intimate, still less did we suspect, that
the introduction was to an Indian prince and princess. Had we been in
the least aware of this, our previous arrangements would all have given
way, as there was nothing I was more anxious to obtain than an
opportunity such as this was so well calculated to afford, of seeing in
what degree the Indian character would be modified by a conformity to
the habits and comforts of civilized life.

"Proceeding on our journey, we stopped at an inn, romantically situated,
where I determined to remain all night. Among other things, I inquired
of the landlord if he knew the distance to Miss Brant's house, and from
him I learned that it was about twenty miles farther. He added, that
young Mr. Brant had passed that way in the forenoon, and would, no
doubt, be returning in the evening, and that, if I wished it, he would
be on the lookout for him. This I desired the landlord to do, as it
would enable me to intimate our introduction to his sister, and
intention of waiting on her the next morning.

"At dusk Mr. Brant returned, and, being introduced into our room, we
were unable to distinguish his complexion, and conversed with him,
believing him to be a young Canadian gentleman. We did not, however,
fail to observe a certain degree of hesitation and reserve in the manner
of his speech. He certainly expressed a wish that we would do his sister
and himself the favor of spending a few days with them, in order to
refresh ourselves and our horses: but we thought his style more laconic
than hospitable. Before candles were brought in our new friend departed,
leaving us still in error as to his nation.

"By four o'clock in the morning we resumed our journey. On arriving at
the magnificent shores of lake Ontario, the driver of our carriage
pointed out, at the distance of five miles, the house of Miss Brant,
which had a very noble and commanding aspect; and we anticipated much
pleasure in our visit. Young Mr. Brant, it appeared, unaware that with
our carriage we could have reached his house so soon, had not arrived
before us; so that our approach was not announced, and we drove up to
the door under the full persuasion that the family would be apprised of
our coming. The outer door, leading to a spacious hall, was open. We
entered and remained a few minutes, when, seeing no person about, we
proceeded into the parlor, which, like the hall, was for the moment
unoccupied. We therefore had an opportunity of looking about us at our
leisure. It was a room well furnished, with a carpet, pier and chimney
glasses, mahogany tables, fashionable chairs, a guitar, a neat hanging
bookcase, in which, among other volumes, we perceived a Church of
England Prayer Book, translated into the Mohawk tongue. Having sent our
note of introduction in by the coachman, and still no person waiting on
us, we began to suspect (more especially in the hungry state we were in)
that some delay or difficulty about breakfast stood in the way of the
young lady's appearance. I can assure my readers that a keen morning's
ride on the shores of an American lake is an exercise of all others
calculated to make the appetite clamorous, if not insolent. We had
already penetrated into the parlor, and were beginning to meditate a
farther exploration in search of the pantry, when, to our unspeakable
astonishment, in walked a charming, noble-looking Indian girl, dressed
partly in the native and partly in the English costume. Her hair was
confined on the head in a silk net, but the lower tresses, escaping from
thence, flowed down on her shoulders. Under a tunic or morning dress of
black silk was a petticoat of the same material and color, which reached
very little below the knee. Her silk stockings and kid shoes were, like
the rest of her dress, black. The grace and dignity of her movement, the
style of her dress and manner, so new, so unexpected, filled us all with
astonishment. With great ease, yet by no means in that commonplace mode
so generally prevalent on such occasions, she inquired how we found the
roads, accommodations, etc. No flutter was at all apparent on account of
the delay in getting breakfast; no fidgeting and fuss-making, no running
in and out, no idle expressions of regret, such as 'Oh! dear me! had I
known of your coming, you would not have been kept in this way!' but,
with perfect ease she maintained conversation, until a squaw, wearing a
man's hat, brought in a tray with preparations for breakfast. A
table-cloth of fine white damask being laid, we were regaled with tea,
coffee, hot rolls, butter in water and ice-coolers, eggs, smoked beef,
ham, broiled chickens, etc., all served in a truly neat and comfortable
style. The delay, we afterwards discovered, arose from the desire of our
hostess to supply us with hot rolls, which were actually baked while we
were waiting. I have been thus minute in my description of these
comforts, as they were so little to be expected in the house of an

"After breakfast Miss Brant took my daughters out to walk, and look at
the picturesque scenery of the country. She and her brother had
previously expressed a hope that we would stay all day; but, though I
wished of all things to do so, and had determined, in the event of their
pressing their invitation, to accept it, yet I declined the proposal at
first, and thus forfeited a pleasure which we all of us longed in our
hearts to enjoy; for, as I afterward learned, it is not the custom of
any uncorrupted Indian to repeat a request if once rejected. They
believe that those to whom they offer any mark of friendship, and who
give a reason for refusing it, do so in perfect sincerity, and that it
would be rudeness to require them to alter their determination or break
their word. And as the Indian never makes a show of civility but when
prompted by a genuine feeling, so he thinks others are actuated by a
similar candor. I really feel ashamed when I consider how severe a
rebuke this carries with it to us who boast of civilization, but who are
so much carried away by the general insincerity of expression pervading
all ranks, that few, indeed, are to be found who speak just what they
wish or know. This duplicity is the effect of what is termed a high
state of refinement. We are taught so to conduct our language that
others cannot discover our real views or intentions. The Indians are not
only free from this deceitfulness, but surpass us in another instance of
good breeding and decorum, namely, of never interrupting those who
converse with them until they have done speaking; and then they reply in
the hope of not being themselves interrupted. This was perfectly
exemplified by Miss Brant and her brother; and I hope the lesson my
daughters were so forcibly taught by the natural politeness of their
hostess will never be forgotten by them, and that I also may profit by
the example."

Elizabeth was the youngest daughter of Joseph Brant. She was married to
William Johnson Kerr, a gentleman who bore a commission in the last war,
and fought against the Americans on the Niagara frontier. He is a
grandson of Sir William Johnson. The author of American Border Wars,
wrote in 1843, as follows: "Mrs. Kerr, as the reader must infer from
what has been previously said respecting her, was educated with great
care, as well in regard to her mental culture as her personal
accomplishments. With her husband and little family, she now occupies
the old mansion of her father, at the head of lake Ontario; a noble
situation, as the author can certify from personal observation."


  The worthy acts of women to repeat.

                       MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES.

Immediately after the dreadful massacre of Virginia colonists, on the
twenty-second of March, 1622, Governor Wyat issued an order for the
remainder of the people to "draw together" into a "narrow compass;"[91]
and most of the eighty plantations were forthwith abandoned. Among the
persons who remained at their homes, was Mrs. Proctor, whom Dr. Belknap
calls "a gentlewoman of an heroic spirit."[92] She defended her
plantation against the Indians a full month, and would not have
abandoned it even then, had not the officers of the colony obliged her
to do so.

  [91] Belknap.

  [92] American Biography, vol. 2, p. 182.

One of the best women of her times was Experience West, wife of the Rev.
Dr. West, who was pastor of a church in New Bedford, Massachusetts, for
nearly half a century. Her life abounded in praiseworthy, though
unrecorded, deeds. The Doctor was aware of the worth of his
"help-meet," and had a punning way of praising her which must have
sounded odd in a Puritan divine a hundred years ago. She was unusually
tall, and he sometimes remarked to intimate friends, that he had found,
by _long Experience_, that it is good to be married.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Rev. Dr. Mather Byles, of Boston, a tory of considerable notoriety,
paid unsuccessful addresses to a young lady who subsequently gave her
hand to a gentleman of the name of Quincy. Meeting her one day, the
Doctor remarked: "So, madam, it appears that you prefer a Quincy to
Byles." "Yes," she replied, "for if there had been any thing worse than
_biles_, God would have afflicted Job with them."[93]

[93] A Sabine's American Loyalist. The loyal divine was himself a wicked
punster. "Near his house, in wet weather, was a very bad slough. It
happened that two of the selectmen who had the care of the streets,
driving in a chaise, stuck fast in this hole, and were obliged to get
out in the mud to extricate their vehicle. Doctor Byles came out, and
making them a respectful bow, said; 'Gentlemen, I have often complained
to you of this nuisance without any attention being paid to it, and I am
very glad to see you stirring in the matter now.' On the celebrated dark
day in 1780, a lady who lived near the Doctor, sent her young son with
her compliments, to know if he could account for the uncommon
appearance. His answer was: 'My dear, you will give my compliments to
your mamma, and tell her that I am as much in the dark as she is.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

A married Shawnee woman was once asked by a man who met her in the
woods, to look upon and love him: "Oulman, my husband, who is forever
before my eyes, hinders me from seeing you or any other person."

       *       *       *       *       *

While the husband of Mrs. Dissosway, of Staten island, was in the hands
of the British, her brother Nathaniel Randolph, a Captain in the
American army, repeatedly and greatly annoyed the tories; and they were
anxious to be freed from his incursions. Accordingly, one of their
colonels promised Mrs. Dissosway to procure her husband's release, if
she would prevail upon her brother to leave the army. She scornfully
replied: "And if I could act so dastardly a part, think you that General
Washington has but one Captain Randolph in his army?"

       *       *       *       *       *

When, by permission of the British authorities, the wife of Daniel Hall
was once going to John's island, near Charleston, to see her mother, one
of the king's officers stopped her and ordered her to surrender the key
of her trunk. On her asking him what he wished to look for, he replied,
"For treason, madam." "Then," said she, "you may be saved the trouble of
search, for you may find enough of it at my tongue's end."[94]

  [94] Major Garden.

       *       *       *       *       *

When a party of Revolutionary patriots left Pleasant River settlement,
in Maine, on an expedition, one of the number forgot his powder horn,
and his wife, knowing he would greatly need it, ran twenty miles through
the woods before she overtook him.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the village of Buffalo was burnt during the last war, only one
dwelling-house was suffered to stand. Its owner, Mrs. St. John, was a
woman of wonderful courage and self-possession; and when the Indians
came to fire it, and destroy its inmates, she ordered them away in such
a dignified, resolute and commanding, yet conciliatory, manner, that
they seemed to be awed in her presence, and were kept at bay until some
British officers rode up and ordered them to desist from the work of
destruction. Saved by her presence of mind and heroic bravery, she who
saw her neighbors butchered at their doors and the young village laid in
ashes, lived to see a new village spring up, phoenix-like, and expand
into a city of thirty-five thousand inhabitants.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Beckham, who resided in the neighborhood of Pacolet river, South
Carolina, was a true friend of freedom, and a great sufferer on that
account. Tarleton, after sharing in her hospitality, pillaged her house,
and then ordered its destruction. Her eloquent remonstrance, however,
caused him to recall the order. Concealing a guinea in her braided hair,
she once went eighty miles to Granby, purchased a bag of salt, and
safely returned with it on the saddle under her.[95]

  [95] Vide Women of the Revolution, vol. I, p. 296.

       *       *       *       *       *

The house of Captain Charles Sims, who resided on Tyger river, South
Carolina, was often plundered by tories; and on one of these occasions,
when his wife was alone and all the robbers had departed but one, she
ordered _him_ away, and he disobeying, she broke his arm with a stick,
and drove him from the house.

Several years ago, a family, residing on the Colorado, in Texas, were
attacked by a party of Camanche Indians, who first fell upon two workmen
in the fields and slew them. Seeing one of them fall, the proprietor of
the establishment, who was standing near his house, caught two guns and
ran towards the field. A daughter hastily put on her brother's hat and
surtout, and followed her father. She soon overtook him, and persuaded
him to return to the house. She bravely assisted in guarding it until
the Indians, tired of the assault, departed.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the year 1777, when General Burgoyne entered the valley of the
Hudson, the wife of General Schuyler hastened to Saratoga, her husband's
country seat, to secure her furniture. "Her carriage," writes the
biographer of Brant, "was attended by only a single armed man on
horseback. When within two miles of her house, she encountered a crowd
of panic-stricken people, who recited to her the tragic fate of Miss
M'Crea,[96] and, representing to her the danger of proceeding farther in
the face of the enemy, urged her to return. She had yet to pass through
a dense forest within which even then some of the savage troops might
be lurking for prey. But to these prudential counsels she would not
listen. 'The General's wife,' said she, 'must not be afraid!' and,
pushing forward, she accomplished her purpose."

  [96] The circumstances in regard to the murder of Jane M'Crea, have been
  variously stated. The following version of the cruel story is probably
  correct: "Miss M'Crea belonged to a family of loyalists, and had engaged
  her hand in marriage to a young refugee named David Jones, a subordinate
  officer in the British service, who was advancing with Burgoyne. Anxious
  to possess himself of his bride, he dispatched a small party of Indians
  to bring her to the British camp. Her family and friends were strongly
  opposed to her going with such an escort; but her affection overcame her
  prudence, and she determined upon the hazardous adventure. She set
  forward with her dusky attendants on horseback. The family resided at
  the village of Fort Edward, whence they had not proceeded half a mile
  before her conductors stopped to drink at a spring. Meantime, the
  impatient lover, who deserved not her embrace for confiding her
  protection to such hands, instead of going himself, had dispatched a
  second party of Indians upon the same errand. The Indians met at the
  spring; and before the march was resumed, they were attacked by a party
  of the Provincials. At the close of the skirmish, the body of Miss
  M'Crea was found among the slain, tomahawked, scalped, and tied to a
  pine-tree, yet standing by the side of the spring, as a monument of the
  bloody transaction. The ascertained cause of the murder was this: The
  promised reward for bringing her in safety to her betrothed was a barrel
  of rum. The chiefs of the two parties sent for her by Mr. Jones
  quarreled respecting the anticipated compensation. Each claimed it; and,
  in a moment of passion, to end the controversy, one of them struck her
  down with his hatchet."

       *       *       *       *       *

While Thomas Crittenden, the first Governor of Vermont, was discharging
the functions of an executive, he was waited upon one day, in an
official capacity, by several gentlemen from Albany. The visitors were
of the higher class, and accompanied by their aristocratic wives. At
noon the hostess summoned the workmen from the fields, and seated them
at the table with her fashionable visitors. When the females had retired
from the dinner table to an apartment by themselves, one of the visitors
said to the lady of the house, "You do not usually have your hired
laborers sit down at the first table do you?" "Why yes, madam," Mrs.
Crittenden replied, "we have thus far done so, but are now thinking of
making a different arrangement. The Governor and myself have been
talking the matter over a little, lately, and come to the conclusion
that the men, who do nearly all the hard work, ought to have the first
table,--and that he and I, who do so little, should be content with the
second. But, in compliment to you, I thought I would have you sit down
with them, to-day, at the first table."[97]

  [97] We find the substance of this anecdote in a copy of the Green
  Mountain Freeman published in March, 1851. The paper is edited by Daniel
  P. Thompson, Esq., who prefaces the article with the remark that the
  anecdote was related to him "by the late Mrs. Timothy Hubbard, of
  Montpelier, who, while a girl, was intimate with the Governor's family,
  and knowing to the amusing incident at the time of its occurrence."

       *       *       *       *       *

At the Fair held in Castle Garden, in the autumn of 1850, was exhibited
a large Gothic arm-chair, backed and cushioned with beautifully wrought
needle work in worsted. The needle work was from the hands of Mrs.
Millard Fillmore. It was setting a noble example for the wife of a
President to present her handiwork at an industrial exhibition; and, if
the decision of the three Roman banqueters in regard to their wives, was
correct--they preferring the one who was found with her maidens
preparing loom-work,--Mrs. Fillmore must be ranked among the best of

       *       *       *       *       *

During the last war, Major Kennedy of South Carolina, wished to raise
recruits for his troop of horse; and accordingly went to Mrs. Jane
White, who had several hardy sons, and made known his wants. She was a
true patriot, like her husband, who was an active "liberty man" in the
war of '76: hence she was ready and anxious to further the Major's
plans. Her sons being at work in the field, excepting the youngest, she
called the lad, and ordered him, in her broad Scotch-Irish dialect, to
"rin awa' ta the fiel' an' tell his brithers ta cum in an' gang an'
fight for their counthry, like their father afore them."[98]

 [98] Mrs. Ellet.

       *       *       *       *       *

Among the fine sentiments quaintly uttered by the old dramatic poet,
Webster, are these:

  The chiefest action of a man of spirit
  Is, never to be out of action; we should think
  The soul was never to be put into the body,
  Which has so many rare and curious pieces
  Of mathematical motion, to stand still.
  Virtue is ever sowing of her seeds.

One of the models in activity and virtue, and one who doubtless secured
thereby the prize of healthy and extreme old age, was Mrs. Lydia Gustin,
a native of Lyme, Connecticut. She had five children, all of whom were
at home to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of her birth day. She
died in New Hampshire, on the twentieth of July, 1847, in the hundred
and second year of her age. A part of the labor performed during her
hundredth year, was the knitting of twenty-four pairs of stockings.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Elizabeth Ferguson, who resided near Philadelphia, was one of the
number who assisted the American prisoners taken at the battle of
Germantown. She spun linen and sent it into the city, with orders that
it be made into shirts. She was noted for humanity and benevolence.
Learning, one time, while visiting her friends in Philadelphia, that a
reduced merchant had been imprisoned for debt, and was suffering from
destitution, she sent him a bed and other articles of comfort, and,
though far from wealthy, put twenty dollars in money into his hands. She
refused to give him her name, but was at length identified by a
description of her person.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the battle of the Cowpens, Colonel Washington wounded Colonel
Tarleton; and when the latter afterwards, in conversation with Mrs.
Wiley Jones, observed to her: "You appear to think very highly of
Colonel Washington; and yet I have been told that he is so ignorant a
fellow that he can hardly write his own name;" she replied, "It may be
the case, but no man better than yourself, Colonel, can testify that he
knows how to make his mark."


  To the blind, the deaf, the lame,
    To the ignorant and vile,
  Stranger, captive, slave he came,
    With a welcome and a smile.
  Help to all he did dispense,
    Gold, instruction, raiment, food;
  Like the gifts of Providence,
    To the evil and the good.


It requires the enlightening and expanding influence of Christianity to
show the full extent of fraternal obligation, and to make one _feel_ the
wants of his brother's threefold nature. We must, therefore, look for
large hearts, whose antennæ stretch through the domain of man's mental
and moral, as well as his physical necessities, among a Christian
people: there such hearts abound, and the strongest are among the female
sex. Nor is this strange: the feelings of woman are more delicate, her
constitution is less hardy, than man's. Physically more frail, she feels
more sensibly the need of a helper and protector; and, being the greater
sufferer, she thinks more of the sufferings of others, and consequently
more fully develops the sisterly and sympathetic feelings of her

It is not, therefore, surprising, that in all the humanitary movements
of the age, American women are interested; but it _is_ surprising to see
with what masculine energy, heroic courage and sublime zeal they often
prosecute their philanthropic labors. They lead in the distribution of
the poor fund; are untiring in their efforts to sustain Sabbath schools
in by-places; form and nobly sustain temperance organizations among
themselves; establish and conduct infant schools on their own
responsibility; manage orphan asylums; pray, and plead, and labor for
the comfort of the insane, and for the education of the deaf, dumb and
blind; and, with the religious tract in one hand and the Bible in the
other, plunge into the darkest dens of vice, and, nerved by divine
power, sow the good seed of truth in the most corrupt soil, with courage
that seems to palsy the giant arm of Infamy.

Heroines in the philanthropic movements which so beautify the present
age, are found in most of the villages and in every city in the land.
Isabella Graham, Sarah Hoffman, Margaret Prior, and others whose names
are recorded in this work, are representatives of a class whose number
is annually increasing and whose philanthropic exertions are manifest
wherever human suffering abounds or the current of moral turpitude is
strong and appalling. With the delicacy and fragility inherent in their
sex, they possess the bravery and perseverance of the ambitious leader
in the military campaign, and shrink from no task, however formidable or

They visit the abode of sickness, and the pillow is softened and the
pain allayed; they enter the hut of penury, and the cry for bread is
hushed, they pour the tide of united and sanctified effort through the
Augean stables of iniquity, and the cleansing process is astonishing.
Such is the work of philanthropic women; they are the "salt" of the

A lady is now living in the city of Buffalo, whose benevolent exertions,
in her restricted sphere, would compare favorably with those of the
celebrated Quakeress whose mission at Newgate justified, for once, at
least, the use of angel as an adjective qualifying woman. The person to
whom we refer--who would blush to see her name in print--is foremost in
all the humane and charitable operations of the day, and has, for years,
been in the habit of visiting the jail regularly and usually alone on
the Sabbath, to instruct its inmates from the word of God and to lecture
before them on all that pertains to human duty. She is married, and has
a family--her children being adopted orphans,--hence her opportunities
for public usefulness are measurably limited: but her life-long actions
seem to say,

                                   "Give me leave
  To speak my mind, and I will through and through
  Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
  If they will patiently receive my medicine."

Aside from our female missionaries, whose heroism is elsewhere partially
illustrated in this work, the finest example of a living American
philanthropist is Miss D. L. Dix, of Massachusetts. Her extreme
modesty, learned through her New England friends, with whom we have
corresponded, withholds all facts touching her early and private
history, and leaves us a paucity of materials out of which to frame even
an outline of her public career.

We first hear of her as a teacher in the city of Boston, in which
vocation she was faithful and honored. At the same time, she was
connected, as instructor, with a Sabbath school--belonging we believe,
to Dr. Channing's society--and while searching in by-places for poor
children to enlarge her class, she necessarily came in contact with many
destitute persons, and saw much suffering. Ere long she became
interested more especially in the condition and wants of poor seamen,
and endeavored to enlist the sympathies of others in their behalf. As
opportunities presented themselves, she visited the hospital and other
benevolent institutions in and near Boston, together with the State
Prison. Anon we find her in the possession of a small legacy left by her
deceased grand-mother; and, having resigned the office of teacher, she
is traveling through the state. Having visited all the counties and most
if not all the towns in Massachusetts, hunting up the insane and
acquainting herself with their condition, visiting the inmates of the
poor-houses and jails, and learning the state of things among all the
unfortunate and suffering, she went to the Legislature, made a report,
and petitioned for reforms where she thought they were needed.

Having thoroughly canvassed one state, feeling her benevolent heart
expand, she entered another, and went through the same routine of
labors--visiting, reporting, pleading for reforms. She has traveled
through all the states but three or four, and has extended her humane
mission to Canada.

She overlooks no almshouse; never fails of seeing and learning the
history of an insane person; goes through every jail and prison; and
usually, if not invariably, has a private interview with each inmate,
imparting such counsel as wisdom and Christian sympathy dictate. She has
lately petitioned Congress--as yet unsuccessfully--for a large
appropriation of the public lands for the benefit of the insane.

Her petitions are usually presented in a very quiet and modest manner.
In her travels, she acquaints herself with the leading minds, and among
them the state and national legislators; and when the law-making bodies
are in session, she obtains an interview with members in the retirement
of the parlor or the small social gathering; communicates the facts she
has collected; and secures their coöperation in her plans and their aid
in effecting her purposes.

She who began the work of reform as a teacher in a Sabbath school, has
advanced, step by step, until her capacious heart has embraced the
Union, throughout which the benign influence of her philanthropic labors
is sensibly felt. Some one has truthfully remarked that "the blessings
of thousands, ready to perish, have come down upon her head," and that
the institutions which she has caused to be erected or modified in the
several states "are monuments more honorable, if not more enduring than
the pyramids."

While Miss Dix has brought about important reforms, she has accomplished
her labors by great hardship and the most rigid economy. She had not a
princely fortune, like Mrs. Fry, to expend in benevolent causes; she
could not ride from place to place in her own private and splendid
carriage, saying to this servant, do this, and to another, do that; she
has been obliged to travel by public, haphazard conveyances--often in
most uncomfortable vehicles in the most uncomfortable weather. A part of
her early labors in the state of New York were performed in the winter,
and when in the north-eastern and coldest part, she was under the
necessity, on one occasion, of traveling all night in the severest part
of the season in an open carriage. To show her economy, which has been
hinted at, it is necessary merely to say that she purchases the
materials for most of her garments in the places which she visits, and
makes them up with her own hands, while traveling on steamboats, waiting
for stages at public houses, and such odd intervals of leisure.[99]

  [99] For the two last mentioned facts, and some others in regard to Miss
  Dix, we are indebted to the Rev. G. W. Hosmer, pastor of the Unitarian
  church, Buffalo.

The character of Miss Dix is both pleasant and profitable to
contemplate. Every thing connected with her public career is noble and
worthy to be imitated. Would that the world were full of such
characters: they are needed. Although she has done a great work, much is
yet to do. Our country is wide, and enlarging almost every year; the
field of benevolence is white to harvest, and where are the reapers,
who, like Miss Dix, will make their "lives sublime?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's note:

Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer errors
have been changed and are listed here. All other inconsistencies are as
in the original including unmatched quotation marks.

p. viii: "Scoharie" changed to "Schoharie".

p. ix: "Spaulding" changed to "Spalding".

p. x: "McKenney" changed to "McKenny".

p. xxii: "updraiding" changed to "upbraiding".

p. 54: "inconveniencies" changes to "inconveniences".

p. 59: "generaly" changed to "generally".

p. 62: "horid" changed to "horrid".

p. 77: "succesfully" changed to "successfully".

p. 161: "Mrs. Mary Dixon" changed to "Mrs. Mary Nixon".

p. 163: "appartments" changed to "apartments".

p. Footnote 165: "seventeeen" changed to "seventeen".

p. 179: "silence by exclaming" changed to "silence by exclaiming".

p. 194: "delivered Green's verbal" changed to "delivered Greene's

p. 216: "industrions" changed to "industrious".

p. 251: "Westminister" changed to "Westminster".

p. 261: "rebuked then" changed to "rebuked them".

p. 293: "see the again" changed to "see thee again".

p. 325: "rode side" changed to "road side".

P. Footnote 351: "beseiged" changed to "besieged".

p. 389: "appropiately" changed to "appropriately".

p. 402: "Buts stoops" changed to "But stoops".

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