so long time the Governor, whose portrait is given herewith from the picture in the Senate Chamber at Boston.

While Anne Bradstreet continued to study and write very copiously, and had no thought of abandoning her literary labors, yet she was aware that the men of her society looked with almost as great distrust upon her poetry as they did upon Mrs. Hutchinson's afternoon services, in rehearsing the previous Sunday's serNathaniel Ward was on record as calling women offensive epithets, and comparing women's brains to "squirrel's." It was regarded as a great surprise that a woman could compose or write poetry, and her neighbors severely, it is said, criticised her passion for poetry. In her Prologue she writes of these harping critics,

mons.

"I am obnoxious to each carping tongue

Who says my hand a needle better fits,
A Poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong,

For such despite they cast on female wits;

If what I do prove well, it won't advance,

They 'l say its stolen, or else it was by chance."

Three years after her death, Edward Phillips, the nephew of Milton the poet, has this brief notice of Anne Bradstreet in his Theatrum Poetarum, wherein he calls her a New England Poetess:

"Anne Bradstreet, a New England Poetess, no less in title; viz., before her Poems, printed in Old England anno. 1650, then the Tenth Muse sprang up in America; the memory of which poems, consisting chiefly of Descriptions of the Four Elements, the Four Humours, the Four Ages, the Four Seasons, and the Four Monarchies, is not wholly extinct."

Mrs. Bradstreet's grave is unknown, and no portrait of her is in existence. Her character is known to us by her works and all the graces of a most beautiful life; as a dear mother, a faith

ful wife, and a devout Christian who believed in the efficacy of prayer, and who made her prayers and vows to the Lord, and when answered she gave praise to God, and if not answered, she ascribed to her Heavenly Father's love, whose wisdom knew what to give and what to withhold.

Anne Bradstreet, when a little over thirty, had five children, absorbing much of her thought and time, three more being added during the first six years at Andover. When five had passed out into the world and homes of their own, she wrote, in 1656, a poem which is really a family biography; we here insert it in full.

THE BIRD'S NEST.

"I had eight birds hatcht in one nest,

Four Cocks there were, and Hens the rest;

I nurst them up with pain and care,
Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
Till at the last they felt their wing,

Mounted the Trees, and learned to sing;
Chief of the Brood then took his flight
To regions far, and left me quite;
My mournful chirps I after send,
Till he return, or I do end;

Leave not thy nest, thy Dam and Sire,
Fly back and sing amidst this Quire.
My second bird did take her flight,
And with her mate flew out of sight;
Southward they both their course did bend,
And Seasons twain they there did spend;
Till after blown by Southern gales,
They Norward steer'd with filled Sayles.
A prettier bird was no where seen,
Along the beach among the treen.

I have a third of colour white
On whom I plac'd no small delight;
Coupled with mate loving and true,
Hath also bid her Dam adieu;

And where Aurora first appears,

She now hath percht, to spend her years.
One to the Academy flew

To chat among that learned crew;
Ambition moves still in his breast
That he might chant above the rest,
Striving for more than to do well,
That nightingales he might excell.
My fifth, whose down is scarce yet gone
Is 'mongst the shrubs and bushes flown,
And as his wings increase in strength,
On higher boughs he'l pearch at length.
My other three, still with me nest,
Untill they 'r grown, then as the rest,
Or here or there, they 'l take their flight,
As is ordain'd, so shall they light.

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 fish 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 keep off all harm;
My cares are more, and fears than ever,
My throbs such now, as 'fore were never;'
Alas, my birds, you wisdome want,

Of perils you are ignorant;

Oft times in grass, on trees, in flight,
Sore accidents on you may light.

O, to your safety have an eye,
So happy may you live and die;

Mean while my dayes in tunes I'll spend,
Till my weak layes with me shall end.

In shady woods I'll sit and sing,
And things that past, to mind I'll bring.
Once young and pleasant, as are you,
But former boyes (no joyes) adieu.

My age I will not once lament,
But sing, my time so near is spent.
And from the top bough take my flight,
Into a country beyond sight,
Where old ones, instantly grow young,
And there with Seraphims set song;
No seasons cold, nor storms they see,
But spring lasts to eternity;

When each of you shall in your nest
Among your young ones take your rest,
In chirping language, oft them tell,
You had a Dam that lov'd you well,
That did what could be done for young,

And nurst you up till you were strong,
And 'fore she once would let you fly,

She shew'd you joy and misery;

Taught what was good, and what was ill,

What would save life, and what would kill?

Thus gone, amongst you I may live,

And dead, yet speak, and counsel give;
Farwel, my birds, farewel, adieu,

I happy am, if well with you.

A. B."

The "Chief of the Brood," refers to her oldest, Samuel, and describes his life; and so she goes on making in succession a

1

family biography of them all, in a way that a proud mother and a fond parent would view the success of their progeny.

Cotton Mather in his "Magnalia" says of Mrs. Bradstreet, "The cares of married life would not appear to have interrupted Mistress Bradstreet's acquisitions, for she was married at the age of sixteen, and her poetry was written in the early part of her life. As she had eight children, and addressed herself particularly to their education, her reading, well stuffed with the facts of ancient history, was no trifle for the memory." She must have been a good classical scholar, versed in all pagan and heathen mythology, as her poems very plainly indicate.

Alluding to her life and labors, Professor C. E. Norton paints her picture in these words: "It is the image of a sweet, devout, serene and affectionate nature, of a woman faithfully discharging the multiplicity of duties which fell upon the mother of many children, in those days when little help from the outside could be had; when the mother must provide for all their wants with scanty means of supply, and must watch over their health with the consciousness that little help from without was to be had in case of even serious need."