But this weak knot they will full soon untieThe Greeks did naught but play the fool and lie.

Let Greeks be Grecks, and women what they are;
Men have precedency, and still excel;
It is but vain unjustly to wage war,

Men can do best, and women know it well;
Pre-eminence in each and all is yours,
Yet grant some small acknowledgment of ours.

And oh, ye high-flown quills that soar the skies, And ever with your prey still catch your praise, If e'er you deign these lowly lines your eyes,

Give thyme or parsley wreath: I ask no bays; This mean and unrefined ore of mine Will make your glistering gold but more to shine.

EXTRACT FROM CONTEMPLATIONS. UNDER the cooling shadow of a stately elm, Close sat I by a goodly river's side, Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm; A lonely place, with pleasures dignified. I, once that loved the shady woods so well, Now thought the rivers did the trees excel, [dwell. And if the sun would ever shine, there would I

While on the stealing stream I fixed mine eye, Which to the longed-for ocean held its course, I marked nor crooks nor rubs that there did lie, Could hinder aught, but still augment its force. "O happy flood," quoth I, "that holdst thy race Till thou arrive at thy beloved place,

Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace.

"Nor is 't enough that thou alone may'st slide,
But hundred brooks in thy clear waves do meet:
So hand in hand along with thee they glide
To Thetis' house, where all embrace and greet.
Thou emblem true of what I count the best-
O could I leave my rivulets to rest!

So may we press to that vast mansion ever blest.

"Ye fish which in this liquid region 'bide,

That for each season have your habitation, Now salt, now fresh, when you think best to glide, To unknown coasts to give a visitation, In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry: So Nature taught, and yet you know not whyYou wat'ry folk that know not your felicity!"

Look how the wantons frisk to taste the air,
Then to the colder bottom straight they dive,
Eftsoon to Neptune's glassy hall repair

To see what trade the great ones there do drive,
Who forage o'er the spacious sea-green field,
And take their trembling prey before it yield,
Whose armor is their scales, their spreading fins
their shield.

While musing thus with contemplation fed,
And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,
The sweet tongued Philomel perched o'er my head,
And chanted forth a most melodious strain,

Which rapt me so with wonder and delight,
I judged my hearing better than my sight,
And wished me wings with her a while to take
my flight.

"O merry bird," said I, "that fears no snares; That neither toils nor hoards up in thy barn; Feels no sad thoughts, nor 'cruciating cares

To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm: Thy clothes ne'er wear, thy meat is everywhere, Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear, [fear. Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost

"The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent* Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew; So each one tunes his pretty instrument,

And warbling out the old, begins anew, And thus they pass their youth in summer season, Then follow thee into a better region, Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion."

Man's at the best a creature frail and vain,

In knowledge ignorant, in strength but weak; Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain, Each storm his state, his mind, his body break: From some of these he never finds cessation, But day or night, within, without, vexation, Troubles from foes, from friends, from dearest,

near'st relations.

And yet this sinful creature, frail and vain,
This lump of wretchedness, of sin and sorrow,
This weather-beaten vessel racked with pain,
Joys not in hope of an eternal morrow;
Nor all his losses, crosses, and vexation,
In weight, in frequency, and long duration,
Can make him deeply groan for that divine trans-
lation.

The mariner that on smooth waves doth glide,
Sings merrily, and steers his bark with ease,
As if he had command of wind and tide,
And were become great master of the seas;
But suddenly a storm spoils all the sport,
And makes him long for a more quiet port,
Which 'gainst all adverse winds may serve for fort.

So he that saileth in this world of pleasure,

Feeding on sweets, that never bit of the sour, That's full of friends, of honor, and of treasure— Fond fool! he takes this earth c'en for heaven's

bower.

But sad affliction comes, and makes him see Here's neither honor, wealth, nor safety: Only above is found all with security.

O Time, the fatal wrack of mortal things,
That draws Oblivion's curtains over kings-
Their sumptuous monuments men know them not,
Their names without a record are forgot, [dust-
Their parts, their ports, their pomps, all laid i' the
Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings, 'scape Time's rust;
But he whose name is graved in the white stone,
Shall last and shine when all of these are gone!

*That is. anticipate.

THIS Woman, once so well known as a poet, and whose historical writings are still consulted as among the most valuable authorities relating to our revolutionary age, was a sister of the celebrated James Otis and the wife of James Warren, for many years honorably conspicuous in public affairs. She was born in Barnstable, of a family which had been nearly a century in the Plymouth colony, on the 25th of September, 1728. Her youth was passed in retirement, but in habits and duties suitable for the eldest daughter of a gentleman of the first rank in the colonial society. Her education was directed first by the minister of the parish, and afterward by her brother James, who graduated at Harvard in 1743, and was a thoroughly accomplished scholar. When about twentysix years of age she was married to Mr. Warren, then a merchant at Plymouth, and it was while residing with him and her children, in after years, near that town, at a place to which she gave the name of Clifford, that she wrote the greater part of her dramatic and miscellaneous poems.

The popular excitement which preceded the separation from England, and the relations sustained by her brother and her husband to the great parties by which the country was divided, had a quick and powerful influence upon her ardent and sympathetic spirit, and perhaps nothing would give us a more just impression of the feelings of the time than her eloquent and terse correspondence with the Adamses, with Jefferson, Dickinson, Gerry, Knox, and other leading characters, upon the aspects and prospects of affairs. Her intercourse with the remarkable women who seconded so carnestly the movements of the fathers of the republic, was more intimate, and probably would admit us yet further into the secrets and passions of the youthful heart of the nation. Her intelligence and patriotism are recognised by Mrs. Adams, who, in a letter to her written in 1773, remarks: "You are so sincere a lover of your country, and so hearty a mourner in all her misfortunes, that it will

greatly aggravate your anxiety to hear how much she is now oppressed and insulted. To you, who have so thoroughly looked through the deeds of men, and developed the dark designs of a 'Rapatio' soul, no action, however base or sordid, no measure, however cruel and villanous, will be a matter of surprise." By "Rapatio" is meant Governor Hutchinson, who is thus designated in The Group, a satirical drama, in two acts, which Mrs. Warren had published, and to which much influence is ascribed in contemporary letters. In the first scene of the second act, in describing the royal governor, she says:

But mark the traitor! his high crime glossed o'er
Conceals the tender feelings of the man,
The social ties that bind the human heart:
He strikes a bargain with his country's foes,
And joins to wrap America in flames,
Yet, with feigned pity and satanic grin,
As if more deep to fix the keen insult,
Or make his life a farce still more complete,
He sends a groan across the broad Atlantic,
And with a phiz of crocodilean stamp,

Can weep and writhe, still hoping to deceive.
He cries, The gathering clouds hang thick about her,
But laughs within-then sobs, Alas, my country!
And in another place, alluding to the de-
struction of the tea in Boston harbor:

India's poisonous weed, Long since a sacrifice to Thetis, made A rich regale. Now all the watery dames May snuff souchong, and sip, in flowing bowls, The higher-flavored choice hysonian stream, And leave their nectar to old Homer's gods. There is certainly very little poetry in these extracts, or in the piece from which they are taken; but as reflexions of the common feeling her satires received the best applause of the day.

Mrs. Warren's residence was changed during the Revolution to Milton, Watertown, and other places; Washington, Lee, Gates, and D'Estaing, were among her occasional guests; and many of the leading statesmen of New England by her fireside formed plans of the execution of which she subsequently became the historian. Her tragedies were written for amusement, in the solitary hours

in which her friends were abroad, and they are as deeply imbued with the general spirit as if their characters were acting in the daily experience of the country. They have little dramatic or poetic merit, but many passages are smoothly and some vigorously writtenas the following, from The Sack of Rome:

SUSPICION.

I think some latent mischief lies concealed Beneath the vizard of a fair pretence; My heart ill brooked the errand of the day, Yet I obeyed-though a strange horror seized My gloomy mind, and shook my frame As if the moment murdered all my joys.

REMORSE.

The bird of death that nightly pecks the roof, Or shrieks beside the caverns of the dead; Or paler spectres that infest the tombs Of guilt and darkness, horror or despair, Are far more welcome to a wretch like me Than yon bright rays that deck the opening morn.

FORTUNE.

The wheel of fortune, rapid in its flight, Lags not for man, when on its swift routine; Nor does the goddess ponder unresolved: She wafts at once and on her lofty car Lifts up her puppet-mounts him to the skies, Or from the pinnacle hurls headlong down The steep abyss of disappointed hope.

ARDELIA.

She was, for innocence and truth, For elegance, true dignity, and grace, The fairest sample of that ancient worth Th' illustrious matrons boasted to the world When Rome was famed for every glorious deed.

DECLINE OF PUBLIC VIRTUE.

That dignity the gods themselves inspired, When Rome, inflamed with patriotic zeal, Long taught the world to tremble and admire, Lies faint and languid in the wane of fame, And must expire in Luxury's lewd lap If not supported by some vigorous arm. Or these, from The Ladies of Castile:

CIVIL WAR.

'Mongst all the ills that hover o'er mankind,
Unfeigned, or fabled in the poet's page,
The blackest scrawl the sister furies hold,
For red-eyed Wrath or Malice to fill up,
Is incomplete to sum up human wo,
Till Civil Discord, still a darker fiend,
Stalks forth unmasked from his infernal den,
With mad Alecto's torch in his right hand.

THE COURAGE OF VIRTUE.

A soul, inspired by freedom's genial warmth, Expands, grows firm, and by resistance, strong; The most successful prince that offers life, And bids me live upon ignoble terms, Shall learn from me that virtue seldom fears. Death kindly opes a thousand friendly gates, And Freedom waits to guard her votaries through.

Appended to her tragedies are several miscellaneous poems, generally in a flowing verse, but frequently marked by bad taste, and rarely evincing any real poetical power or feeling. The following lines are from the beginning of an epistle to a young gentleman educated in Europe:—

SUPERSTITION.

When ancient Britons piped the rustic lays,
And tuned to Woden notes of vocal praise,
The dismal dirges caught the listening throng,
And ruder gestures joined the antique song.
Then the gray druid's grave, majestic air,
The frantic priestess, with dishevelled hair
And flaming torch, spoke Superstition's reign;
While elfin damsels dancing o'er the plain,
Allured the vulgar by the mystic scene,
To keep long vigils on the sacred green.

In A Political Revery, written before the commencement of the war, she gives a view of the future glory of America, and the punishment of her oppressors. After a sketch of the first history of the country, she says:

Here a bright form, with soft majestic grace, Beckoned me on through vast unmeasured space; Beside the margin of the vast profound, Wild echoes played and cataracts did bound; Beyond the heights of nature's wide expanse, Where moved superb the planetary dance, Light burst on light, and suns o'er suns displayed The system perfect Nature's God had laid."

And here the fate of nations is revealed to her. In The Squabble of the Sea-Nymphs is celebrated the destruction of tea in 1774. The following are the concluding lines:

The virtuous daughters of the neighb'ring mead In graceful smiles approved the glorious deed (And though the syrens left their coral beds, Just o'er the surface lifted up their heads, And sung soft pæans to the brave and fair, Till almost caught in the delusive snare To sink securely in a golden dream, And taste the sweet, inebriating stream); They saw delighted from the inland rocks, O'er the broad deep poured out Pandora's box; They joined, and fair Salacia's triumph sungWild echo o'er the bounding ocean rung; The sea-nymphs heard, and all the sportive train In shaggy tresses danced around the main, From southern lakes down to the northern rills, And spread confusion round N- hills.

The lines to the Hon. John Winthrop, who, on the determination in 1774 to suspend all trade with England except for the real “necessaries of life," requested a list of articles the ladies might comprise under that head, are in the author's happiest vein of satire :

THINGS NECESSARY TO THE LIFE OF A WOMAN.

An inventory clear

Of all she needs, Lamira offers here;
Nor does she fear a rigid Cato's frown,
When she lays by the rich embroidered gown,
And modestly compounds for just enough-
Perhaps some dozens of mere flighty stuff:
With lawns and lustrings, blond, and mecklin laces,
Fringes and jewels, fans and tweezer-cases;
Gay cloaks and hats, of every shape and size,
Scarfs, cardinals, and ribands, of all dyes;
With ruffles stamped, and aprons of tambour,
Tippets and handkerchiefs at least threescore;
With finest muslins that fair India boasts,
And the choice herbage from Chinesan coasts.
Add feathers, furs, rich satins, and ducapes,
And head-dresses in pyramidial shapes;
Sideboards of plate, and porcelain profuse,
With fifty dittoes that the ladies use;
If my poor, treach'rous memory has missed,
Ingenious T-1 shall complete the list.
So weak Lamira, and her wants so few,
Who can refuse ?-they're but the sex's due.
Yet Clara quits the more dressed negligee,
And substitutes the careless Polanee,
Until some fair one from Britannia's court
Some jaunty dress or newer taste import ;
This sweet temptation could not be withstood,
Though for the purchase's paid her father's blood;
Though earthquakes rattle, or volcanoes roar,
Indulge this trifle-and she asks no more:
Can the stern patriot Clara's suit deny?
'Tis Beauty asks, and Reason must comply.

John Adams was perhaps a better orator than critic. He writes to Mrs. Warren, upon the publication of her "However poems: foolishly some European writers may have sported with American reputation for genius, literature, and science, I know not where they will find a female poet of their own to prefer to the ingenious author of these compositions."

In the dedication of her poems to Washington, she says: "Feeling much for the distresses of America in the dark days of her affliction, a faithful record has been kept of the most material transactions, through a period that has engaged the attention both of the philosopher and the politician; and, if life is spared, a just trait of the most distinguished characters, either for valor, virtue, or patriotism, for perfidy, intrigue, in

consistency, or ingratitude, shall be faithfully transmitted to posterity." The work thus announced was published in three octavo volumes in 1805, under the title of "The History of the Rise, Progress, and Termination of the American Revolution, interspersed with Biographical, Political, and Moral Observations." It will always be consulted as one of the most interesting original authorities upon the revolution. It is written with care, and in a spirit of independence which is illustrated by her notice of the character of her friend Mr. Adams, which was so unfavorable as to cause a temporary interruption of the relations between the two families; but Mrs. Adams in this case, as in that of her husband's quarrel with Mr. Jefferson, finally brought about a reconciliation, which was sealed with a ring which she sent to the historian, containing her own and her husband's hair.

Mrs. Warren continued to the close of her life to feel a lively interest in affairs, and she was intelligent and honest enough to be always a partisan. Though sometimes wrong, as she clearly was in her active opposition to the federal constitution, it was delightful to see even in a woman a contempt for that neutrality in regard to public measures which under a democratic government is invariably the sign of a feeble understanding or of timeserving wickedness. The duke de Rochefoucault, in his entertaining Travels in the United States, speaks of her extensive and varied reading, and declares that at seventy she had "lost neither the activity of her mind nor the graces of her person." In her old age she was blind, but she bore the misfortune with cheerfulness, and continued her intercourse with society. She died in her eighty-seventh year, on the 19th of October,

1814.

There is a portrait of Mrs. Warren, by Copley, in the possession of her family, and an excellent life of her is contained in Mrs. Ellet's recently published "Women of the Revolution."

THE most polite and elegant society in this country before the Revolution was probably that of Philadelphia, with its connexions in the southeastern part of the colony, and in Delaware and New Jersey. There were "solid men" in Boston, there was much real respectability in New York, and good families were scattered through New England and along the Old Dominion and the Carolinas: but in Philadelphia the distinction of classes was more marked, and the coteries of fashion larger and more exclusive, than elsewhere in America. Of the first rank here were the Græmes, of Græme Park, who by blood, fortune, abilities, and character, were alike entitled to consideration among the provincial gentry. Dr. Thomas Græme was a native of Scotland. He was a physician of large acquirements, and the respectability of his origin, his popular manners, and success in the practice of his profession, made him an eligible match for the daughter of Sir William Keith; and his alliance with the governor led to his appointment to the collectorship of the customs, which he held for

many years.

ELIZABETH GREME, the youngest of the four children of Thomas Græme and Anne Keith, was born in Philadelphia in 1739. At an early age she evinced uncommon abilities, and the chief care of her mother was to educate her mind and heart so that she should illustrate by her intelligence and virtue the highest grade of female character. Much of her youth was passed at Græme Park, a beautiful country residence, twenty miles from the city, where she was frequently visited by her friends, and where her naturally feeble constitution was so improved, that when she appeared in society, at sixteen, the charms of her person were scarcely less distinguished than the wit and learning which made her a particular star in the metropolitan society. In her seventeenth year she was addressed by a young gentleman of the city, and engaged to be married to him upon his return from London, whither he soon after proceeded to complete his educa

*

It appears, however, that her health rapidly declined; and it was determined by her father, after conferences upon the subject with other physicians, that she should seek its restoration by a sea-voyage and a temporary residence in England. She sailed for London under the care of the Rev. Dr. Richard Peters, a gentleman of polished manners and elevated character, whose connexions enabled him to secure her introduction to the most eminent persons and to the first circles in the kingdom. She was particularly noticed by George III.; she became acquainted with Laurence Sterne and other celebrated wits and men of letters; and she formed an intimacy with the well-known Dr. Fothergill, which was maintained by correspon

dence until his death. She remained in England a year, during which period she kept a journal, in which she described, with happy vivacity, manners and persons, and the contrasts between English and colonial society.

After her return to Philadelphia she occupied the place of her mother in her father's family. Every Saturday evening for several years was set apart for the reception of company, and on these occasions her pleasing manners and brilliant conversation were causes of never-ending admiration to the in

* It is related that her mother assented to Miss Greme's departure for another reason. This venerable and excellent woman was anticipating, from some disease, a quick dissolution, and she desired the removal of her daughter, to whom she was tenderly attached, lest her presence should distract her attention from heaven, and wean her heart too much from the love of God in the hour of death. Archbishop Lightfoot wished for similar reasons to die from home.