168 Tickler. James ! HER CONTEMPLATIONS. North. The celebrated Cotton Mather Shepherd. Ay, I ken about him-born about fifty years after that date-the great mover in the mysterious matter o' the Salem witchcraft.1 North. He says that "her poems, eleven times printed, have afforded a plentiful entertainment unto the ingenious, and a monument for her memory beyond the stateliest marbles." And the learned and excellent Norton of Ipswich Shepherd. I kenna him North. her sex." -calls her "The mirror of her age, and glory of Shepherd. Recolleck ye ony verses o' her contemplations? North. Anne is walking in her contemplations through a wood, and she saith 66 While musing thus, with contemplation fed, And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain, The sweet-tongued Philomel perch'd o'er my head, And wish'd me wings with her a while to take my flight. 66 "O Merry Bird!' said I, 'that fears no snares, That neither toils, nor hoards up in thy barns, Feels no sad thought, nor cruciating cares To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm; Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear, Remind'st not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear. The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, 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 !"" 1 Cotton Mather, D.D., was born at Boston in 1663, and died in 1728. He wrote An Ecclesiastical History of England, and The Wonders of the Invisible World, or the Trials of Witches. Shepherd. Oh! man, but they're bonny, incorrect, sweet, simple lines thae-and after sic a life as Anne Bradstreet led, can there be ony doubt that she is in heaven? North. In my mind none. Nearly a hundred years after the birth-and nearly forty after the death of Anne Bradstreet was born in Boston, Jane Colman, daughter of a clergyman, who was a school companion of Cotton Mather. At eleven, she used to correspond with her worthy father in verse-on entering her nineteenth year, she married a Mr Turel of Medford You for Shepherd. Hoo can ye remember names in that wonnerfu' way, sir? And yet you say ye hae nae memory? get naething. North.and died, James, in 1735, at the age of twentyseven, "having faithfully fulfilled those duties which shed the brightest lustre on woman's name- -the duties of the friend, the daughter, the mother, and the wife." Shepherd. Hae ye ony o' her verses by heart, sir? North. The following flows plaintively "From hearts oppress'd with grief, did they require Heaven forbid that we should tune our voice, Thou once wert blest with peace, and loved of God; Thy fruitful fields by thorns and woods disgraced. 170 JANE COLMAN'S FATHER. Let Edom's sons thy just displeasure know, Shepherd. I daursay, gin I could get the soun' o' our ain mournfu' auld version out o' ma heart, that I sud like the lines unco weel-she maun hae been a gentle cretur. North. I mentioned, James, that she and her father used to correspond Shepherd. After her marriage? North. Before and after-and in one of his letters-which I think must have been addressed to her before-before living with her husband at Medford-alluding to her having, in her paraphrase, said "No helper in the waste and barren ground, her father writes to her thus-Strange, is it not, that part of his letter should be read at a Noctes! Shepherd. I think I see him mendin his pen in his study at Boston, New England, America, ae forenoon about Twal o'clock, on the 21st January o' 1731-preceesely a hunder years! North. The affectionate father says, "This serious melancholy Psalm is well turned by you in most parts of it, considering your years and advantages for such a performance. You speak of a single withered willow which they hung their harps on; but Euphrates was covered with willows along the banks of it, so that it has been called the river of willows. I hope, my dear, your lyre will not be hung on such a sorrowful shrub. Go on in sacred songs, and we'll hang it on the stately cedars of Lebanon, or let the pleasant elm before the door where you are suffice for you." Shepherd. The pious pride o' paternal affection! North. Jane Colman, during her eight years of wedded life, was no doubt happy-and in a calm spirit of happiness must have indited the soft, sweet, and simple close of an imitation of Horace. Shepherd. O' Horace! Could she read Latin? ANN ELIZA SCHUYLER. North. Why not? Daughter-wife-of a clergyman? "No stately beds my humble roof adorn, And all be calm and still as is your breast!" 171 Shepherd. Far mair simplicity o' langage seem to hae had the young leddies o' New England in thae days, sir, than them o' Auld England o' the present age.-Come doun some half-century still nearer us, and fin' you ony virgin or wife o' poetical genie at that pint o' time! North. I come down to 1752, and find Ann Eliza Schuyler, the daughter of Mr Brandt Schuyler, New York. At seventeen she was married to Mr Bleeker of New Rochelle, and removed with him to Tomhanick, a beautiful solitary village, eighteen miles above Albany. There they passed several years, we are told, in the unbroken quiet of the wilderness; but then, were driven from the repose of that beautiful and romantic spot by the savages in alliance with Burgoyne. On their way from Albany, down the Hudson, they were forced. to go ashore by the illness of their youngest daughter, where the poor creature died. Soon after, the capture of Burgoyne— (an unfortunate soldier, but a most accomplished man-witness his celebrated comedy, "The Heiress")—allowed them to return to their retreat in the country; but the loss of her daughter made so deep an impression on her mind, that the mother never recovered her former happiness. A few years afterwards, her husband, when assisting his men in taking in the harvest, was surprised by a party of the enemy from Canada, and carried off prisoner. The shock which she received was so great, that her health was gone for ever; and though her husband was soon rescued from thraldom, and 172 A STRIKING SPECTACLE. they, after a visit to their friends in New York, returned to Tomhanick, there she shortly died, in the thirty-first year of her age. Shepherd. And is her poetry as interesting as her life? North. I have seen but little of it, and wish the editor of the Specimens had given us more; for he well observes, that a female cultivating the elegant arts of refined society at the Ultima Thule of civilised life, in regions of savage wildness, and among scenes of alarm, desolation, and blood, is a striking spectacle. Tickler (as the timepiece smites Twelve). A striking spectacle indeed! (Enter PICARDY and Tail, with all the substantialities of the season.) 1 Shepherd. I maun hear mair frae you, sir, anither time, about these American poetesses. Ony flourishing at this day?-Eh! Eh! What'n a guse! North. Several, James. Shepherd. What? Severals. Mr Awmrose-Dinna bring in a single ither guse, till we hae despatched our freen at the head o' the table.—Mr Tickler, whare'll ye sit? and what 'ill ye eat? and what 'ill ye drink? and what 'ill ye want to hear? and what 'ill ye want to say? For oh, sir! you've been pleesant the nicht-in ane o' your lown, but no seelent humours. Tickler. The legs. Shepherd. Baith? Tickler. Do you mean to insult me? Certainly-both. Shepherd. I've sprained ma thooms. Sae tak him to yoursel, and[SHEPHERD shoves over the goose to TICKLER. North. Help yourself first, James. Shepherd. Be easy, sir, on ma accoont. Alloo me to gie you some slices o' the breist aff ma ain plate, Mr North, I've never touched them North. Do, James. Shepherd. Na, niffer' plates at ance-though yours is clean, and mine soomin wi' sappy shavins aff the bonny bosom o' the best bird that ever waddled among stubble. [SHEPHERD insists on NORTH exchanging trenchers. 1 Niffer-exchange. |