Through the entire poem, which is quite long, the writer never drops or mixes her figures, even when she recounts the dangers to which her brood is likely to be exposed, as in the lines,

"If birds could weep, then would my tears
Let others know what are my fears

Lest this my brood some harm should catch,
And be surpriz'd for want of watch,
Whilst pecking corn, and void of care
They fall un'wares in Fowler's snare;
Or whilst on trees they sit and sing,
Some untoward boy at them do fling;
Or whilst allur'd with bell and glass,
The net be spread, and caught, alas.
Or least by Lime-twigs they be foyl'd,
Or by some greedy hawks be spoyl❜d.
O, would my young, ye saw my breast,
And knew what thoughts there sadly rest.
Great was my pain when I you bred,
Great was my care when I you fed,
Long did I keep you soft and warm,
And with my wings kept off all harm."

If this mother, whose heart was filled with such trembling solicitude for the future of her brood, could have realized that from the home-nest at Andover were to descend such lights in literature and

theology as the Channings, the Danas, Wendell Phillips, and Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, the strain with which she closed her poem might have been more exultant, but could have been no more earnest :

"Thus gone, amongst you I

may live,

And dead, yet speak, and counsel give;
Farewel, my birds farewel, adieu,
I happy am, if well with you."

Another New England poetess, of a much later date, was Mercy Warren, daughter of James Otis, of Barnstable, and wife of James Warren, sometime President of the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts.* This lady, whom her friend Mrs. Winthrop addressed as Philomela, wrote a number of poems and tragedies abounding in the classical allusions

* George Sandys was writing verses and translating Ovid on the banks of the James ten years before Anne Bradstreet came to Massachusetts. Yet in the years that followed, the muse of poetry was more prone to frequent the New England Colonies than those of Virginia and Maryland, although no more inspiring themes could be found than histories as romantic as that of Evelyn Byrd, and faces as beautiful as those of Mary Randolph, Anne Francis, and Dorothy Blake.

so common at that time. Political reveries in verse also engaged her pen, and spirited attacks upon the manners and customs of the day, in which

"India's poisonous weed,

Long since a sacrifice to Thetis made,"

came in for a full share of her keen satire. Mrs. Warren also left a number of admirable pen-pictures of the great men of the day, clear, sharp, and well drawn. It is interesting to learn from one of her letters, written during the encampment at Cambridge, that she considered General Washington "the most amiable and accomplished gentleman both in person, mind and manners that she has ever met with," and equally so to know that her first impression of Charles Lee was far less favorable, and that she found him, with all his learning and ability, "plain in his person to a degree of ugliness and careless even to unpoliteness."

Nor were the visits of the muse confined to the Colonial and Provincial women of New England, as we learn that down

in Pennsylvania Elizabeth Fergusson was composing poetry about the same time as Mrs. Warren, while Mrs. Deborah Logan, a little later, was writing both prose and verse, the former destined to survive the latter, not only because it was more excellent, but also because it gives us pictures of the times, a form of composition whose value, like wine, increases with the years. Susanna Wright, Hannah Griffitts, a grand-daughter of the first Isaac Norris, and Mrs. Richard Stockton were among our early poetesses. The latter, born Annis Boudinot, a New Jersey woman, composed verses upon "Peace," upon "The Surrender of Cornwallis," and a triumphal ode to the Commander-in-Chief. The letters in which Washington thanked Mrs. Stockton for these patriotic poems are among the most charming and playful to be found in his correspondence, and, if somewhat more ponderous than similar effusions in our day, are interesting as illustrations of what the great man could do upon occasions when fancy held the rein. The poetess modestly sent a

line of apology with her verses, to which the hero who inspired her muse thus replied:

66

"You apply to me, my dear madam, for absolution, as though I was your father confessor, and as though you had committed a crime great in itself, yet of the venial class. You have reason good; for I find myself strangely disposed to be a very indulgent ghostly adviser upon this occasion, and notwithstanding 'you are the most offending soul alive' (that is, if it is a crime to write elegant poetry), yet if you will come and dine with me on Thursday, and go through the proper course of penitence which shall be prescribed, I will strive hard to assist you in expiating these poetical trespasses on this side of purgatory."

Mr. and Mrs. Stockton were evidently a most congenial and devoted couple. In their letters they frequently addressed each other as "Lucius" and "Emilia," after the fanciful custom of the day. Some of these letters, written while Mr. Stockton was in London in 1766, engaged with Dr. Franklin in furthering the interests of the Colonies, give us pleasing glimpses of the wife, as seen through glasses that were prone to magnify rather than to diminish her charms. Mrs. Stockton had declined to accompany her husband abroad, because