ELIZABETH GREME FERGUSON.
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 Grames, of Græme Park, who by blood, fortune, abilities, and character, were alike entitled to consideration among the vincial 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.
tion in the law. This contract for some rea son was never fulfilled. To divert her attention from the disappointment, Miss Græme undertook the translation of Fénélon's Telemachus into English heroic verse; and she completed the work, in three years. In an introduction, written in 1769, she observes that "she is sensible the translation has little merit,” but that “it is sufficient for her that it amused her in a period that would have been pensive and solitary with out a pursuit."
It appears, however, that her health rap
idly 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 tempo-
London under the care of the Rev. Dr. Rich-
rary residence in England. She sailed for
ard 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 no-
ticed 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. Fother-
gill, which was maintained by correspon
dence until his death.
She remained in
kept a journal, in which she described, with
England a year, during which period she
happy vivacity, manners and persons, and the
ciety.
contrasts between English and colonial so-
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 frequent-pied the place of her mother in her father's After her return to Philadelphia she occuly 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
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 Græme'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.
telligent society of the city and to the strangers whose positions or abilities secured for them a presentation at Dr. Græme's house. At one of these parties she became acquainted with Mr. Hugh Henry Ferguson, a young gentleman who had recently arrived in the country from Scotland; and though he was ten years younger, her personal attractions and the congeniality of their tastes soon led to their marriage. Her father died in a few weeks after, and they retired to Græme Park; but the approach of the Revolution, and the adhesion of Mr. Ferguson to the British party, in 1775, induced a speedy and perpetual separation.
tion of her translation of Telemachus, she rewrote the four volumes, adding occasional notes and observations. In some memoranda dated at Græme Park, May 20, 1788, she says of the copy which received her last corrections: "This is meant for a particular friend, but if I live I intend to give a more correct version, and perhaps, if I meet with encouragement, shall have it printed. I am now quite undetermined as to all my plans in life. I have little reason to think I am to remain here long; but at present I am at this place with only my old and faithful friend Eliza Stedman." She lived until the 23d of February, 1801, but it does not appear that she ever again revised the work, and it has not yet been printed.
Mrs. Ferguson's position made her an object of respectful consideration to individuals of both parties during the war. Her domestic relations were principally with the enemy, but she was by birth a Pennsylvanian, and her old friends, some of whom were leading patriots, treated her with kindness. She appears in the public history of the time as the bearer of an extraordinary letter from the celebrated Dr. Duché to General Washington, and as the agent by whom Governor Johnstone made those overtures to General Joseph Reed which were answered by the famous declaration"My influence is but small, but were it as great as Governor John-apprehension and successful illustration of stone would insinuate, the king of Great Brither author; and it appears to me that Fénéain has nothing in his gift that would tempt lon has not been presented in a more correct or pleasing English dress.
She endeavored to make the translation as literal as the poetical form and the genius of our language would permit; it is, however, somewhat diffuse, the twenty-four books making twenty-nine thousand and six hundred lines. I have read Mrs. Ferguson's manuscript (which has been deposited by her heirs in the library of the Philadelphia Library Company), and have compared parts of it with the original and with other translations. She had command of a fine poetical diction, and all the learning necessary for the just
The remainder of Mrs. Ferguson's life was passed chiefly at Græme Park, in the pursuits of literature, in domestic avocations, and in offices of friendship. Her income was greatly reduced, but her charities were never interrupted, nor was she ever known to murmur at the changed and comparatively desolate condition of her later years. She cherished an unhesitating faith in the Christian religion, and was familiar with the masters of divinity. It is related that she transcribed the whole Bible, to impress its contents more deeply in her memory.
More than twenty years after the comple
*Sparks's Washington, v. 95, 476; William B. Reed's Life of President Reed, i, 381; American Remembrancer, vi. 3, &c:
Some of the minor poems, and a considerable number of the letters and other compositions of Mrs. Ferguson, have been published, and they all evince a delicate and vigorous understanding, and an honorable character.
A talent for versification was at that period not uncommon among the educated women of the country, but it was principally exercised in the expression of private feeling or for the amusement of particular circles. Some verses by Mrs. Stockton, welcoming Washington to New Jersey, have been preserved by Marshall, and in the monthly magazines of Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, appeared many anonymous poems, evidently by female authors, which were eminently creditable to their literary abilities.
INVOCATION TO WISDOM.
PREFIXED TO THE AUTHOR'S TRANSLATION OF THE
ADVENTURES OF TELEMACHUS.
GRAVE WISDOM, guardian of the modest youth,
Thou soul of knowledge and thou source of truth,
Inspire my muse, and animate her lays,
That she harmonious may chant thy praise.
O could a spark of that celestial fire,
Which did thy favored Fénelon inspire,
Light on the periods of my fettered theme,
And dart one radiant, one illumined beam,
Then struggling Passion might its portrait view,
And learn from thence its tumults to subdue.
This was the pious prelate's great design:
As rays converged to one bright point combine,
So do the fable and the tale unite
The path of Truth by Fancy's torch to light;
Each to one noble, generous aim aspires,
And the rich galaxy at once conspires
To catch the fluttering mind and fix the sense
The end can justify the fine pretence,
For youthful spirits abstract reasonings shun,
And from grave precept void of life they run.
Though heathen gods are introduced to sigut,
"Tis one Great Being radiates every light:
Seen through the medium of a lesser guide,
From one pure fount is each small rill supplied;
Then, rigid Christian, be not too severe,
Nor think great Cambray in an error here.
In parable the holy Jesus taught
Unwound the clue with mystic knowledge fraught.
He knew the frailties of man's earthly lot,
That truths important were too soon forgot;
He screened his purpose in the pleasing tale,
Then tore aside the heavenly-woven veil,
Showed his design-the perfect, sacred plan-
And raised to angel what he found but man;
By nice gradation in this scale divine
The glorious meaning did illustrious shine.
Like his great Master, pious Cambray taught,
And all the good of all mankind he sought:
Through his Telemachus he points to view
What youth should fly from and what youth pursue.
He makes pure Wisdom leave the realms above
To screen a mortal from bewitching love,
To lead him through the thorny ways below,
And all those arts of false refinement show
Which end in fleeting joy and lasting wo;
He paints gay Venus in tumultuous rage,
Yet shows her baffled by the guardian sage,
Who draws his pupil from Idalian groves,
From blooming Cyprus and from melting loves.
Passion and Wisdom hold perpetual strife
Through the strange mazes of man's chequered life.
Of all the evils our frail nature knows,
The most acute from Love's emotions flows.
The utmost efforts of the brave are seen,
To check the transports of the Paphian queen;
Minerva gives an energy of soul
Which does the tide of Passion's rage control,
Nor damps that fire which generous youth should
But only tempers the high-finished steel:
For metal softened, polished, and refined,
Is like th' opening of the ductile mind,
Moulded by flame, made pliant to the hand,
Turned in the furnace to each just command:
This fire is disappointment, grief, and pain,
Which, if the soul with fortitude sustain,
The furnace of affliction makes more bright;
Yet higher burnished in Jehovah's sight,
And it at last shall joyfully survey
The tangled path to where perfection lay,
And bless the briers of life's thorny road
That led to peace, to happiness, and God!
THE PROCESSION OF CALYPSO. FROM THE FIRST BOOK OF TELEMACHUS
SHE moved along
Environed by a beauteous female throng.
As some tall oak, the wonder of the wood,
That long the glory of the grove has stood,
Raises its head superb above the rest,
Of the green forest stands the pride confest,
So does Calypso tower in state supreme,
And darts around her an illumined beam.
The royal youth doth her soft charms admire,
And the rich lustre of her gay attire.
Her purple robes hung negligent behind,
Her hair in careless ringlets met the wind,
Her sparkling eyes shone with a vivid fire,
Yet showed no unsubdued, impure desire.
With modest silence the young prince pursued
At awful distance, cautious to intrude;
With downcast eyes the reverend sage came last:
Thus the procession through the green grove past.
At length they reached the rural goddess' grot,
And as they entered the delightful spot,
Telemachus was much amazed to find
How Nature's beauty could allure the mind.
An elegant simplicity here reigned,
Which all the rules of studied art disdained:
No massy gold, no polished silver, glowed,
No stone that life in all its passions showed,
No lively tints spread vigor o'er a face
And spoke the picture's animating grace;
No Doric pillars, no Corinthian style,
Rose in the turrets of a lofty pile.
Scooped from a rock the concave grotto lay,
Where Nature's touches thousand freaks display;
There shells and pebbles the rough sides adorned
That rigid method and dull order scorned;
A vine luxuriant round its tendrils flung;
Beneath its foliage ladened branches hung.
This vernal tapestry careless seemed to hide
The craggy roughness of its rocky side;
The softest zephyrs made meridian suns
Cool as when Sol his morning progress runs;
Meandering fountains stole along the green,
And amaranths adorned the sprightly scene;
The purple violet shed a richness round,
And strewed its beauties on the chequered ground;
The flowery chaplets wreath around the lake,
And in small basins mimic baths they make;
The flowers that spring and glowing summer yield,
In gay profusion ornament the field.
Not very distant from the grotto stood
A tufted grove of fragrant vernal wood;
The tempting fruit shone rich like burnished gold,
A dazzling lustre charming to behold:
The blossoms white as pure untrodden snow,
Their edges shining with the scarlet's glow;
They bloom perpetual, and perpetual bear,
And waft their incense to the yielding air.
So close their branches, and so near entwined,
They scarcely trembled to the active wind;
No piercing sunbeams could their shades annoy,
No busy eye their sacred peace destroy;
No sounds were heard but sprightly birds that sing,
And the fleet skylark mounting early wing;
A tumbling cascade, in which broken falls
Gushed down in torrents from the rocks' sharp walls,
But softly gliding ere it met the green,
Smooth as a mirror, painted back the scene.
Not on the mountain's top the grot was placed,
Nor yet too lowly at its feet debased;
From all extremes the charming cave was free,
At a small distance from the briny sea,
Where oft you viewed it, softened, calm, and clear,
Like the lulled bosom when no danger's near;
Sometimes enraged, its angry waves were found
Dashing the rocks and bursting every bound.
Your eyes you turn, and from the other side
You see a river roll its ample tide.
There scattered islands rose to charm the sight,
And by the change of novelty delight;
Lindens fall, blooming, ladened flowers sustain,
And raise their heads in lofty, high disdain;
In wanton circles the smooth fountains run,
And gayly glistered in the midday sun;
In rapid motion some their streams unfurled,
While others gently with the zephyrs curled—
By various windings met their former track,
And slowly murmuring, crept all lazy back.
Then in a distant view in groups were seen
Blue, misty mounts, and hills of doubtful green;
Their lofty summits lost above the skies,
And like the clouds deluded wandering eyes,
As pleasing fancy changed its different mode
And whim and caprice did each object robe.
The neighboring mountains were more highly
graced:
There liberal Nature clustering vines had placed;
In noble branches the grand bunches hung,
And purple raisins burst beneath the sun;
The foliage sought their lovely charge to hide,
Yet the rich grapes shone through in gorgeous pride.
Then low beneath, mixed with the golden grain,
The fig and olive overspread the plain;
Its tempting fruit the pomegranate displayed,
And globes of gold burst through the vernal shade:
The whole retreat was a delightful grove,
A soft recess for friendship's sweets or love.
APOLLO WITH THE FLOCKS OF KING
ADMETUS.
BENEATH the shady elms, where fountains played,
The listening shepherds here his rest invade;
Th' informing song new polished every soul,
But bound their passions in a soft control. . . .
Swiftly the music and the theme would change
To vivid meads where sparkling fountains range,
Whose glittering waters the gay plains adorn,
And all the rules of art-drawn channels scorn;
Winding they sport: the meadows seem to smile,
Their verdure heightened, and enriched their soil.
Hence the enraptured swains began to know
That joys serene from moral pleasures flow;
The happy rustic pitied now the king,
That could not, like the cheerful shepherd, sing;
Their lowly roofs began the great to draw
To view the cottage humbly thatched with straw.
Courtiers too oft are strangers to delight:
They rise unhappy from the restless night;
But here the graces sweetly were arrayed,
Here lovely females every charm displayed-
Soft Innocence and ever-blooming Health,
That cheerful triumph o'er the slaves of wealth;
No torturing envy here the peace invades
Of the mild shepherd in the greenwood shades;
Each day superior shone with new delight,
And gentle slumbers crowned the sportive wight,
The fluttering birds put forth their liveliest notes,
And stretched to music their expanded throats;
The fragrant zephyrs undulate the trees,
And fan to music the enamored breeze;
The rills pellucid murmured to the sound,
And floating harmony rolled all around;
The muses band, the sacred virgin train,
Inspired the numbers of the tuneful swain:
But not supine they dwell in idle joys;
An active vigor, too, their limbs employs:
To run, to wrestle, to obtain the prize,
And chase the stag as he o'er mountains flies,
Was oft the business of a vacant day,
As through the green grove they betook their way
The gods looked down from great Olympus' height,
And almost envied man's supreme delight.
THE INVASION OF LOVE.
FROM THE SEVENTH BOOK OF TELEMACHUS.
CALYPSO dwelt on Cupid's blooming face,
And clasped him to her in a fond embrace;
Though goddess born, she feels love's soft alarms
As close she strains him in her circling arms......
The thoughtless nymphs all felt the subtle flame,
But for the strange sensation knew no name,
Yet innate modesty and latent fear
Whispered some power of wondrous force was near.
In silence they the newborn blaze concealed,
And, blushing, dreaded it might be revealed,
The spreading fire a latent heat imparts
And flings its influence o'er their tender hearts.
The princely youth, most careless, too, surveyed
The jocund sweetness which in Cupid played,
Saw all his little freaks with fond surprise,
His thoughtless frolics, and his laughing eyes,
With pleasing transport his fine features traced,
And on his knees the little urchin placed,
Views all the changes in his boyish charms,
Nor feels suspicion of impending harms
MRS. ANNE ELIZA BLEECKER, a daughter of Brandt Schuyler, of New York, was born in that city in 1752, and when seventeen years of age was married to John J. Bleecker of New Rochelle. After residing about two years in Poughkeepsie, Mr. Bleecker removed to Tomhanick, a secluded little village eighteen miles from Albany, where five years were passed in uninterrupted happiness.Mrs. Bleecker's mother, and her half-sister, Miss Ten Eyck, passed much of the time with her, and her husband saw the fruition of his hopes in the success of plans which had drawn him from the more populous parts of the colony. It was in this period that Mrs. Bleecker wrote most of her poems which have been preserved. Before her marriage, her playful or serious verses had amused or charmed the circle in which she moved – one of the most intelligent and accomplished then in America- and she now found a solace for the absence of society in the indulgence of a taste for literature. The following extract from one of her poems not only illustrates her style, but gives us a glimpse
From yon grove the woodcock rises,
Mark her progress by her notes;
High in air her wings she poises,
Then like lightning down she shoots.
Now the whip-poor-will beginning,
Clamorous on a pointed rail,
Drowns the more melodious singing
Of the cat-bird, thrush, and quail.
Cast your eyes beyond this meadow,
Painted by a hand divine,
And observe the ample shadow
Of that solemn ridge of pine.
Here a trickling rill depending,
Glitters through the artless bower;
And the silver dew descending,
Doubly radiates every flower.
While I speak, the sun is vanished,
All the gilded clouds are fled,
Music from the groves is banished,
Noxious vapors round us spread.
Rural toil is now suspended.
Sleep invades the peasant's eyes,
Each diurnal task is ended,
While soft Luna climbs the skies.
Some lines addressed to Mr. Bleecker while on a voyage down the Hudson, suggest the
changes of three quarters of a century in the
travel and culture along the most beautiful
of rivers. She says:
Methinks I see the broad, majestic sheet
Swell to the wind; the flying shores retreat:
I see the banks, with varied foliage gay,
Inhale the misty sun's reluctant ray;
The lofty groves, stripped of their verdure, rise
To the inclemence of autumnal skies. [woods
Rough mountains now appear, while pendant
Hang o'er the gloomy steep and shade the floods;
Slow moves the vessel, while each distant sound
The caverned echoes doubly loud rebound.
It was a custom for the lazy sloops occasion-
ally to rest by the hunting-grounds or in the
highlands, but she implores her husband not
to tempt
Fate, on those stupendous rocks
Where never shepherd led his timid flocks,
and dreams that instead of the musket-shot,
she can hear-
The melting flute's melodious sound,
Which dying zephyrs waft alternate round;
While rocks, in notes responsive, soft complain,
And think Amphion strikes his lyre again.
Ah! 'tis my Bleecker breathes our mutual loves,
And sends the trembling airs through vocal groves.
The approach of the British army under General Burgoyne, in 1777, was the first event to disturb this repose. Mr. Bleecker left Tomhanick to make arrangements for the removal of his family to Albany; but while he was gone, hearing that the enemy was but two miles distant, she hastily started for the city, bearing her youngest child in her arms, and leading the other, who was but four years of age, by the hand. A single domestic accompanied her, and they rested at night in a garret, after a dreary and most exhausting walk through the wilderness. The next morning they met Mr. Bleecker coming from Albany, and returned with him to the city. The youngest of the children died a few days after, and within a month Mrs. Bleecker's mother expired in her arms, at Redhook. The death of her child is commemorated in the following lines, which evince genuine feeling, and are in a very natural style:
WRITTEN ON THE RETREAT FROM BURGOYNE.
Was it for this, with thee, a pleasing load,
I sadly wandered through the hostile wood-
When I thought Fortune's spite could do no more,
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