Washington showed with great pride, explaining that the silk stripes
in the fabrics were made from the ravellings of brown silk stockings
and old crimson damask chair covers. Her coachman, footman, and maid
were all attired in domestic cloth, except the coachman's scarlet
cuffs, which she took care to state had been imported before the
war.... The welfare of the slaves, of whom one hundred and fifty had
been part of her dower, their clothing, much of which was woven and
made upon the estate, their comfort, especially when ill; and their
instruction in sewing, knitting and other housewifely arts, engaged
much of Mrs. Washington's time and thought."[88]


_V. Special Domestic Tasks_

So many little necessities to which we never give a second thought were
matters of grave concern in those old days. The matter, for instance, of
obtaining a candle or a piece of soap was one requiring the closest
attention and many an hour of drudgery. The supplying of the household
with its winter stock of candles was a harsh but inevitable duty in the
autumn, and the lugging about of immense kettles, the smell of tallow,
deer suet, bear's grease, and stale pot-liquor, and the constant demands
of the great fireplace must have made the candle season a period of
terror and loathing to many a burdened wife and mother. Then, too, the
constant care of the wood ashes and hunks of fat and lumps of grease for
soap making was a duty which no rural woman dared to neglect. Nor must
we forget that every housewife was something of a physician, and the
gathering and drying of herbs, the making of ointments and salve, the
distilling of bitters, and the boiling of syrups was then as much a part
of housework as it is to-day a part of a druggest's activities.

In a sense, however, the very nature of such work provided some phases
of that social life which authorities consider so lacking in colonial
existence. For those arduous tasks frequently required neighborly
co-operation, and social functions thus became mingled with industrial
activities. Quilting bees, spinning bees, knitting bees, sewing bees,
paring bees, and a dozen other types of "bees" served to lighten the
drudgery of such work and developed a spirit of neighborliness that is
perhaps a little lacking under modern social conditions. Ignoring the
crude methods of labor, and the other forms of hardship, we may look
back from the vantage point of two hundred years of progress and perhaps
admire and envy something of the quietness, orderliness, and simplicity
of those colonial homes. After all, however, doubtless many a colonial
mother now and then grew sick at heart over the conditions and problems
facing her. Confronted with the unsettled condition of a new country,
with society on a most insecure foundation, with privations, hardships,
and genuine toil always in view, and with the prospect of the terrible
strain of bearing and rearing an inexcusable number of children, the
wife of that era may not have been able to see all the romance which
modern novelists have perceived in the days that are no more.


_VI. The Size of the Family_

And this brings us once more to what was doubtless the most terrific
burden placed upon the colonial woman--the incessant bearing of
offspring. In those days large families were not a liability, but a
positive asset. With a vast wilderness teeming with potential wealth,
waiting only for a supply of workers, the only economic pressure on the
birth rate was the pressure to make it larger to meet the demand for
laborers. Every child born in the colonies was assured, through moderate
industry, of the comforts of life, and, through patience and shrewd
investments, of some degree of wealth. Boys and girls meant
workers--producers of wealth--the boys on farm or sea or in the shop,
the girls in the home. Since their wants were simple, since the
educational demands were not large, since much of the food or clothing
was produced directly by those who used it, children were not
unwelcome--at least to the fathers.

Yet, who can say what rebellion unconsciously arose sometimes in the
hearts of the women? Doubtless they strove to make themselves believe
that all the little ones were a blessing and welcome--the religion of
the day taught that any other thought was sinful--but still there must
have been many a woman, distant from medical aid, living amidst new, raw
environments, mothers already of many a child, who longed for liberty
from the inevitable return of the trial. Women bore many children--and
buried many. And mothers followed their children to the grave too
often--to rest with them. Cotton Mather, married twice, was father of
fifteen children; the two wives of Benjamin Franklin's father bore
seventeen; Roger Clap of Dorchester, Massachusetts, "begat" fourteen
children by one wife; William Phipps, a governor of Massachusetts, had
twenty-five brothers and sisters all by one mother. Catherine Schuyler,
a woman of superior intellect, gave birth to fourteen children. Judge
Sewall piously tells us in his _Diary_: "Jan. 6, 1701. This is the
Thirteenth child that I have offered up to God in Baptisme; my wife
having borne me Seven Sons and Seven Daughters." One of the children had
been born dead, and therefore had not received baptism. Ben Franklin
often boasted of the strong constitution of his mother and of the fact
that she nursed all of her own ten babes; but he does not tell us of the
constitution of the children or of the ages to which they lived. Five of
Sewall's children died in infancy, and only four lived beyond the age of
thirty. It seems never to have occurred to the pious colonial fathers
that it would be better to rear five to maturity and bury none, than to
rear five and bury five. The strain on the womanhood of the period
cannot be doubted; innumerable men were married twice or three times and
no small number four times.

Industry was the law of the day, and every child soon became a producer.
The burdens placed upon children naturally lightened as the colonies
progressed; but as late as 1775, if we may judge by the following
record, not many moments of childhood were wasted. This is an account of
her day's work jotted down by a young girl in that year: "Fix'd gown for
Prude,--Mend Mother's Riding-hood, Spun short thread,--Fix'd two gowns
for Welsh's girls,--Carded tow,--Spun linen,--Worked on
Cheese-basket,--Hatchel'd flax with Hannah, we did 51 lbs.
apiece,--Pleated and ironed,--Read a Sermon of Dodridge's,--Spooled a
piece--Milked the Cows,--Spun linen, did 50 knots,--Made a Broom of
Guinea wheat straw,--Spun thread to whiten,--Set a Red dye,--Had two
Scholars from Mrs. Taylor's,--I carded two pounds of whole wool and felt
Nationaly,--Spun harness twine,--Scoured the pewter,--Ague in my
face,--Ellen was spark'd last night,--spun thread to whiten--Went to Mr.
Otis's and made them a swinging visit--Israel said I might ride his jade
[horse]--Prude stayed at home and learned Eve's Dream by heart."[89]


_VII. Indian Attacks_

The children whose comment has just been quoted were probably safe from
all dangers except ague and sparking; but in the previous century women
and children daily faced possibilities that apparently should have kept
them in a continuous state of fright. Time after time mothers and babes
were stolen by the Indians, and the tales of their sufferings fill many
an interesting page in the diaries, records, and letters of the
seventeenth century and the early eighteenth. Hear these words from an
early pamphlet, _A Memorial of the Present Deplorable State of New
England_, inserted in Sewall's _Diary_:

"The Indians came upon the House of one Adams at Wells, and captived the
Man and his Wife, and assassinated the children.... The woman had Lain
in about Eight Days. They drag'd her out, and tied her to a Post, until
the House was rifled. They then loosed her, and bid her walk. She could
not stir. By the help of a Stick she got half a step forward. She look'd
up to God. On the sudden a new strength entered into her. She was up to
the Neck in Water five times that very Day in passing Rivers. At night
she fell over head and ears, into a Slough in a Swamp, and hardly got
out alive.... She is come home alive unto us."

The following story of Mrs. Bradley of Haverly, Massachusetts, was sworn
to as authentic:

"She was now entered into a Second Captivity; but she had the
great Encumbrance of being Big with Child, and within Six Weeks
of her Time! After about an Hours Rest, wherein they made her put
on Snow Shoes, which to manage, requires more than ordinary
agility, she travelled with her Tawny Guardians all that night,
and the next day until Ten a Clock, associated with one Woman
more who had been brought to Bed but just one Week before: Here
they Refreshed themselves a little, and then travelled on till
Night; when they had no Refreshment given them, nor had they any,
till after their having Travelled all the Forenoon of the Day
Ensuing.... She underwent incredible Hardships and Famine: A
Mooses Hide, as tough as you may Suppose it, was the best and
most of her Diet. In one and twenty days they came to their
Head-quarters.... But then her Snow-Shoes were taken from her;
and yet she must go every step above the knee in Snow, with such
weariness that her Soul often Pray'd _That the Lord would put an
end unto her weary life_!"

"...Here in the Night, she found herself ill." [Her child was
born here].... There she lay till the next Night, with none but
the Snow under her, and the Heaven over her, in a misty and rainy
season. She sent then unto a French Priest, that he would speak
unto her _Squaw Mistress_, who then, without condescending to
look upon her, allow'd her a little Birch-Rind, to cover her Head
from the Injuries of the Weather, and a little bit of dried
Moose, which being boiled, she drunk the Broth, and gave it unto
the Child."

"In a Fortnight she was called upon to Travel again, with her
child in her Arms: every now and then, a whole day together
without the least Morsel of any Food, and when she had any, she
fed only on Ground-nuts and Wild-onions, and Lilly-roots. By the
last of May, they arrived at _Cowefick_, where they planted their
Corn; wherein she was put into a hard Task, so that the Child
extreamly Suffered. The Salvages would sometimes also please
themselves, with casting _hot Embers_ into the Mouth of the
Child, which would render the Mouth so sore that it could not
Suck for a long while together, so that it starv'd and Dy'd...."

"Her mistress, the squaw, kept her a Twelve-month with her, in a
Squalid Wigwam: Where, in the following Winter, she fell sick of
a Feavour; but in the very height and heat of her Paroxysms, her
Mistress would compel her sometimes to Spend a Winters-night,
which is there a very bitter one, abroad in all the bitter Frost
and Snow of the Climate. She recovered; but Four Indians died of
the Feavour, and at length her Mistress also.... She was made to
pass the River on the Ice, when every step she took, she might
have struck through it if she pleased."

"...At last, there came to the fight of her a Priest from Quebeck
who had known her in her former Captivity at Naridgowock.... He
made the Indians sell her to a French Family.... where tho' she
wrought hard, she Lived more comfortably and contented.... She
was finally allowed to return to her husband."[90]

The account of Mary Rowlandson's captivity, long known to every New
England family, and perhaps secretly read by many a boy in lieu of the
present Wild West series, may serve as another vivid example of the
dangers and sufferings faced by every woman who took unto herself a
husband and went forth from the coast settlements to found a new home in
the wilderness. The narrative, as written by Mrs. Rowlandson herself,
tells of the attack by the Indians, the massacre of her relations, and
the capture of herself and her babe:

"There remained nothing to me but one poor, wounded babe, and it
seemed at present worse than death, that it was in such a pitiful
condition, bespeaking compassion, and I had no refreshing for it,
nor suitable things to revive it.... But now (the next morning) I
must turn my back upon the town, and travel with them into the
vast and desolate wilderness, I knew not whither. It is not my
tongue or pen can express the sorrows of my heart, and bitterness
of my spirit, that I had at this departure; but God was with me
in a wonderful manner, carrying me along and bearing up my spirit
that it did not quite fail."

"One of the Indians carried my poor wounded babe upon a horse, it
went moaning all along: 'I shall die, I shall die.' I went on
foot after it, with sorrow that cannot be expressed. At length I
took it off the horse and carried it in my arms, till my strength
failed and I fell down with it. Then they set me upon a horse
with my wounded child in my lap, and there being no furniture on
the horse's back, as we were going down a steep hill we both fell
over the horse's head, at which they, like inhuman creatures,
laughed and rejoiced to see it, though I thought we should there
have ended our days, overcome with so many difficulties."

They went farther and farther into the wilderness, and a few days after
leaving her home, her son Joseph joined her, having been captured by
another band of Indians. She tells how, having her Bible with her, she
and her son found it a continual help, reading it and praying.

"After this it quickly began to snow, and when night came on they
stopped: and now down I must sit in the snow by a little fire,
and a few boughs behind me, with my sick child in my lap and
calling much for water, (being now) through the wound fallen into
a violent fever. My own wound also growing so stiff that I could
scarce sit down or rise up, yet so it must be, that I must sit
all this cold winter night, upon the cold snowy ground, with my
sick child in my arms, looking that every hour would be the last
of its life; and having no Christian friend near me, either to
comfort or help me."

"...Fearing the worst, I durst not send to my husband, though
there were some thoughts of his coming to redeem and fetch me,
not knowing what might follow...."

"The Lord preserved us in safety that night, and raised us up
again in the morning, and carried us along, that before noon we
came to Concord. Now was I full of joy and yet not without
sorrow: joy, to see such a lovely sight, so many Christians
together; and some of them my neighbors. There I met with my
brother, and brother-in-law, who asked me if I knew where his
wife was. Poor heart! he had helped to bury her and knew it not;
she, being shot down by the house, was partly burned, so that
those who were at Boston ... who came back afterward and buried
the dead, did not know her.... Being recruited with food and
rainment, we went to Boston that day, where I met with my dear
husband; but the thoughts of our dear children, one being dead,
and the other we could not tell where, abated our comfort in each
other...."

And here is the brief story of the return of her daughter: "She was
travelling one day with the Indians, with her basket on her back; the
company of Indians were got before her and gone out of sight, all except
one squaw. She followed the squaw till night, and then both of them lay
down, having nothing over them but the heavens, nor under them but the
earth. Thus she traveled three days together, having nothing to eat or
drink but water and green whortle-berries. At last they came into
Providence, where she was kindly entertained by several of that town....
The Lord make us a blessing indeed to each other. Thus hath the Lord
brought me and mine out of the horrible pit, and hath set us in the
midst of tender-hearted and compassionate Christians. 'Tis the desire of
my soul that we may walk worthy of the mercies received, and which we
are receiving."

This carrying away of white children occurred with surprising frequency,
and we of a later generation can but wonder that their parents did not
wreak more terrific vengeance upon the red man than is recorded even in
the bloodiest pages of our early history. In 1755, after the close of
the war with Pontiac, a meeting took place in the orchard of the
Schuyler homestead at Albany, where many of such kidnapped children were
returned to their parents and relatives. Perhaps we can comprehend some
of the tragedy of this form of warfare when we read of this gathering as
described by an eye-witness:

"Poor women who had traveled one hundred miles from the back
settlements of Pennsylvania, and New England appeared here with
anxious looks and aching hearts, not knowing whether their
children were alive or dead, or how to identify their children if
they should meet them...."

"On a gentle slope near the Fort stood a row of temporary huts
built by retainers to the troops; the green before these
buildings was the scene of these pathetic recognitions which I
did not fail to attend. The joy of the happy mothers was
overpowering and found vent in tears; but not the tears of those
who after long travel found not what they sought. It was
affecting to see the deep silent sorrow of the Indian women and
of the children, who knew no other mother, and clung fondly to
their bosems from whence they were not torn without bitter
shrieks. I shall never forget the grotesque figures and wild
looks of these young savages; nor the trembling haste with which
their mothers arrayed them in the new clothes they had brought
for them, as hoping with the Indian dress they would throw off
their habits and attachments...."[91]

Such distress caused by Indian raids did not, of course, cease with the
seventeenth century. During the entire period of the next century the
settlers on the western frontier lived under constant dread of such
calamities. It has been one of the chief elements in American
history--this ceaseless expectation of warfare with primitive savages.
In the settlement of the Ohio and Mississippi valleys, in the
establishment of the great states of the Plains, in the founding of
civilization on the Pacific slope, even down to the twentieth century,
the price of progress has been paid in this form of savage torture of
women and children. Even in the long settled communities of the
eighteenth century such dangers did not entirely disappear. As late as
1782, when an attempt was made by Burgoyne to capture General Schuyler,
the ancient contest between mother and Indian warrior once more
occurred. "Their guns were stacked in the hall, the guards being
outside and the relief asleep. Lest the small Philip (grandson of
General Schuyler) be tempted to play with the guns, his mother had them
removed. The guards rushed for their guns, but they were gone. The
family fled up stairs, but Margaret, remembering the baby in the cradle
below, ran back, seized the baby, and when she was half way up the
flight, an Indian flung his tomahawk at her head, which, missing her,
buried itself in the wood, and left its historic mark to the present
time."[92]


_VIII. Parental Training_

We sometimes hear the complaint that the training of the modern child is
left almost entirely to the mother or to the woman school teacher, and
that as a result the boy is becoming effeminate. The indications are
that this could not have been said of the colonial child; for, according
to the records of that day, there was admirable co-operation between man
and wife in the training of their little ones. Kindly Judge Sewall, who
so indiscriminately mingled his accounts of courtships, weddings,
funerals, visits to neighbors, notices of hangings, duties as a
magistrate, what not, often spared time from his activities among the
grown-ups to record such incidents as: "Sabbath-day, Febr. 14, 1685.
Little Hull speaks Apple plainly in the hearing of his grandmother and
Eliza Jane; this the first word."[93]

And hear what Samuel Mather in his _Life of Cotton Mather_ tells of the
famous divine's interest in the children of the household: "He began
betimes to entertain them with delightful stories, especially
scriptural ones; and he would ever conclude with some lesson of piety,
giving them to learn that lesson from the story.... And thus every day
at the table he used himself to tell some entertaining tale before he
rose; and endeavored to make it useful to the olive plants about the
table. When his children accidentally, at any time, came in his way, it
was his custom to let fall some sentence or other that might be monitory
or profitable to them.... As soon as possible he would make the children
learn to write; and, when they had the use of the pen, he would employ
then in writing out the most instructive, and profitable things he could
invent for them.... The first chastisement which he would inflict for
any ordinary fault was to let the child see and hear him in an
astonishment, and hardly able to believe that the child could do so base
a thing; but believing they would never do it again. He would never come
to give a child a blow excepting in case of obstinacy or something very
criminal. To be chased for a while out of his presence he would make to
be looked upon as the sorest punishment in his family. He would not say
much to them of the evil angels; because he would not have them
entertain any frightful fancies about the apparitions of devils. But yet
he would briefly let them know that there are devils to tempt to
wickedness."

Beside this tender picture we may place one of juvenile warfare in the
godly home of Judge Sewall, and of the effect such a rise of the Old
Adam had upon the soul of the conscientious magistrate: "Nov. 6, 1692.
Joseph threw a knob of Brass and hit his sister Betty on the forhead so
as to make it bleed and swell, upon which, and for his playing at
Prayer-time, and eating when Return Thanks, I whipd him pretty smartly.
When I first went in (call'd by his Grandmother) he sought to shadow and
hide himself from me behind the head of the Cradle: which gave me the
sorrowfull remembrance of Adam's carriage."[94]

Such turmoil was, of course, unusual in the Sewall or any other Puritan
home; but the spiritual paroxysms of his daughter Betty, as noted in
previous pages, were more characteristic, and probably not half so
alarming to the deeply religious father. There seems to be little
"sorrowfull remembrance" in the following note by the Judge; what would
have caused genuine alarm to a modern parent seemed to be almost a
source of secret satisfaction to him: "Sabbath, May 3, 1696. Betty can
hardly read her chapter for weeping; tells me she is afraid she is gone
back, does not taste that sweetness in reading the Word which once she
did; fears that what was once upon her is worn off. I said what I could
to her, and in the evening pray'd with her alone."[95]

Though more mention is made in the early records about the endeavors of
the father than of the efforts of the mother to lead the children
aright, we may, of course, take it for granted that the maternal care
and watchfulness were at least as strong as in our own day. Eliza
Pinckney, who had read widely and studied much, did not consider it
beneath her dignity to give her closest attention to the awakening
intellect of her babe. "Shall I give you the trouble, my dear madam,"
she wrote to a friend, "to buy my son a new toy (a description of which
I enclose) to teach him according to Mr. Locke's method (which I have
carefully studied) to play himself into learning. Mr. Pinckney, himself,
has been contriving a sett of toys to teach him his letters by the time
he can speak. You perceive we begin betimes, for he is not yet four
months old." Her consciousness of her responsibility toward her children
is also set forth in this statement: "I am resolved to be a good Mother
to my children, to pray for them, to set them good examples, to give
them good advice, to be careful both in their souls and bodys, to watch
over their tender minds, to carefully root out the first appearing and
budings of vice, and to instill piety.... To spair no paines or trouble
to do them good.... And never omit to encourage every Virtue I may see
dawning in them."[96] That her care brought forth good fruit is
indicated when she spoke, years later, of her boy as "a son who has
lived to near twenty-three years of age without once offending me."

Here and there we thus have directed testimony as to the part taken by
mothers in the mental and spiritual training of children. For instance,
in New York, according to Mrs. Grant, such instruction was left entirely
to the women. "Indeed, it was on the females that the task of religious
instruction generally devolved; and in all cases where the heart is
interested, whoever teaches at the same time learns.... Not only the
training of children, but of plants, such as needed peculiar care or
skill to rear them, was the female province."[97]

In New England, as we have seen, the parental love and care for the
little ones was at least as much a part of the father's domestic
activities as of the mother's; unfortunately the men were in the
majority as writers, and they generally wrote of what they themselves
did for their children. Abigail Adams was one of the exceptional women,
and her letters have many a reference to the training of her famous son.
Writing to him while he was with his father in Europe in 1778, she said:
"My dear Son.... Let me enjoin it upon you to attend constantly and
steadfastly to the precepts and instructions of your father, as you
value the happiness of your mother and your own welfare. His care and
attention to you render many things unnecessary for me to write ... but
the inadvertency and heedlessness of youth require line upon line and
precept upon precept, and, when enforced by the joint efforts of both
parents, will, I hope, have a due influence upon your conduct; for, dear
as you are to me, I would much rather you should have found your grave
in the ocean you have crossed, or that an untimely death crop you in
your infant years, than see you an immoral profligate, or graceless
child...."[98]

Such quotations should prove that home life in colonial days was no
one-sided affair. The father and the mother were on a par in matters of
child training, and the influence of both entered into that strong race
of men who, through long years of struggle and warfare, wrested
civilization from savagery, and a new nation from an old one. What a
modern writer has written about Mrs. Adams might possibly be applicable
to many a colonial mother who kept no record of her daily effort to lead
her children in the path of righteousness and noble service: "Mrs.
Adams's influence on her children was strong, inspiring, vital.
Something of the Spartan mother's spirit breathed in her. She taught her
sons and daughter to be brave and patient, in spite of danger and
privation. She made them feel no terror at the thought of death or
hardships suffered for one's country. She read and talked to them of the
world's history.... Every night, when the Lord's prayer had been
repeated, she heard him [John Quincey] say the ode of Collins beginning,

'How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest.'"[99]


_IX. Tributes to Colonial Mothers_

With such wives and mothers so common in the New World, it is but
natural that many a high tribute to them should be found in the old
records. Not for any particular or exactly named trait are these women
praised, but rather for that general, indescribable quality of
womanliness--that quality which men have ever praised and ever will
praise. Those noble words of Judge Sewall at the open grave of his
mother are an epitome of the patience, the love, the sacrifice, and the
nobility of motherhood: "Jany. 4th, 1700-1.... Nathan Bricket taking in
hand to fill the grave, I said, Forbear a little, and suffer me to say
that amidst our bereaving sorrows we have the comfort of beholding this
saint put into the rightful possession of that happiness of living
desir'd and dying lamented. She liv'd commendably four and fifty years
with her dear husband, and my dear father: and she could not well brook
the being divided from him at her death; which is the cause of our
taking leave of her in this place. She was a true and constant lover of
God's Word, worship and saints: and she always with a patient
cheerfulness, submitted to the divine decree of providing bread for her
self and others in the sweat of her brows. And now ... my honored and
beloved Friends and Neighbors! My dear mother never thought much of
doing the most frequent and homely offices of love for me: and lavished
away many thousands of words upon me, before I could return one word in
answer: And therefore I ask and hope that none will be offended that I
have now ventured to speak one word in her behalf; when she herself has
now become speechless."[100]

How many are the tributes to those "mothers in Israel"! Hear this
unusual one to Jane Turell: "As a wife she was dutiful, prudent and
diligent, not only content but joyful in her circumstances. She
submitted as is fit in the Lord, looked well to the ways of her
household.... She respected all her friends and relatives, and spake of
them with honor, and never forgot either their counsels or their
kindnesses.... I may not forget to mention the _strong and constant
guard she placed on the door of her lips_. Whoever heard her call an ill
name? or detract from anybody?"[101]

And, again, note the tone of this message to Alexander Hamilton from his
father-in-law, General Philip Schuyler, after the death of Mrs.
Schuyler: "My trial has been severe.... But after giving and receiving
for nearly half a century a series of mutual evidences of affection and
friendship which increased as we advanced in life, the shock was great
and sensibly felt, to be thus suddenly deprived of a beloved wife, the
mother of my children, and the soothing companion of my declining
years."

The words of President Dirkland of Harvard upon the death of Mrs. Adams,
show how deeply women had come to influence the life of New England by
the time of the Revolution. His address was a sincere tribute not only
to this remarkable mother but to the thousands of unknown mothers who
reared their families through those days of distress and death: "Ye will
cease to mourn bereaved friends.... You do then bless the Giver of life,
that the course of your endeared and honored friend was so long and so
bright; that she entered so fully into the spirit of those injunctions
which we have explained, and was a minister of blessings to all within
her influence. You are soothed to reflect, that she was sensible of the
many tokens of divine goodness which marked her lot; that she received
the good of her existence with a cheerful and grateful heart; that, when
called to weep, she bore adversity with an equal mind; that she used the
world as not abusing it to excess, improving well her time, talents, and
opportunities, and, though desired longer in this world, was fitted for
a better happiness than this world can give."[102]

It is apparent that men were not so neglectful of praise nor so cautious
of good words for womankind in colonial days as the average run of books
on American history would have us believe. As noted above, womanliness
is the characteristic most commonly pictured in these records of good
women; but now and then some special quality, such as good judgment, or
business ability, or willingness to aid in a time of crisis is brought
to light. Thus Ben Franklin writes:

"We have an English proverb that says, 'He that would thrive must ask
his wife.' It was lucky for me that I had one as much dispos'd to
industry and frugality as myself. She assisted me chearfully in my
business, folding and stitching pamphlets, tending shop, purchasing old
linen rags for the paper makers, etc. We kept no idle servants, our
table was plain and simple, our furniture of the cheapest.... One
morning being call'd to breakfast, I found it in a china bowl with a
spoon of silver! They had been bought for me without my knowledge by my
wife.... She thought her husband deserv'd a silver spoon and china bowl
as well as any of his neighbors. This was the first appearance of plate
and China in our house, which afterwards in a course of years, as our
wealth increased, augmented gradually to several hundred pounds in
value."[103]

Again, he notes on going to England: "April 5, 1757. I leave Home and
undertake this long Voyage more chearful, as I can rely on your Prudence
in the Management of my Affairs, and education of my dear Child; and yet
I cannot forbear once more recommending her to you with a Father's
tenderest concern. My Love to all."[104]

Whether North or South the praise of woman's industry in those days is
much the same. John Lawson who made a survey journey through North
Carolina in 1760, wrote in his _History of North Carolina_ that the
women were the more industrious sex in this section, and made a great
deal of cloth of their own cotton, wool, and flax. In spite of the fact
that their families were exceedingly large, he noted that all went "very
decently appareled both with linens and woolens," and that because of
the labor of the wives there was no occasion to run into the merchant's
debt or lay out money on stores of clothing. And hundreds of miles north
old Judge Sewall had expressed in his _Diary_ his utmost confidence in
his wife's financial ability when he wrote: "1703-4 ... Took 24s in my
pocket, and gave my Wife the rest of my cash L4, 3-8 and tell her she
shall now keep the Cash; if I want I will borrow of her. She has a
better faculty than I at managing Affairs: I will assist her; and will
endeavour to live upon my salary; will see what it will doe. The Lord
give his blessing."[105]

And nearly seventy years later John Adams, in writing to Benjamin Rush,
declares a similar confidence in his help-meet and expresses in his
quiet way genuine pride in her willingness to meet all ordeals with him.
"May 1770. When I went home to my family in May, 1770 from the Town
Meeting in Boston ... I said to my wife, 'I have accepted a seat in the
House of Representatives, and thereby have consented to my own ruin, to
your ruin, and to the ruin of our children. I give you this warning that
you may prepare your mind for your fate.' She burst into tears, but
instantly cried in a transport of magnanimity, 'Well, I am willing in
this cause to run all risks with you, and be ruined with you, if you are
ruined.' These were times, my friend, in Boston which tried women's
souls as well as men's."

Surely men were not unmindful in those stern days of the strength and
devotion of those women who bore them valiant sons and daughters that
were to set a nation free. And, furthermore, from such tributes we may
justly infer that women of the type of Jane Turell, Eliza Pinckney,
Abigail Adams, Margaret Winthrop, and Martha Washington were wives and
mothers who, above all else, possessed womanly dignity, loved their
homes, yet sacrificed much of the happiness of this beloved home life
for the welfare of the public, were "virtuous, pious, modest, and
womanly," built homes wherein were peace, gentleness, and love, havens
indeed for their famous husbands, who in times of great national woes
could cast aside the burdens of public life, and retire to the rest so
well deserved. As the author of _Catherine Schuyler_ has so fittingly
said of the home life of her and her daughter, the wife of Hamilton:
"Their homes were centers of peace; their material considerations
guarded. Whatever strength they had was for the fray. No men were ever
better entrenched for political conflict than Schuyler and Hamilton....
The affectionate intercourse between children, parents, and
grand-parents reflected in all the correspondence accessible makes an
effective contrast to the feverish state of public opinion and the
controversies then raging. Nowhere would one find a more ideal
illustration of the place home and family ties should supply as an
alleviation for the turmoils and disappointments of public life."[106]

There are scores of others--Mercy Warren, Mrs. Knox, and women of their
type--whose benign influence in the colonial home could be cited. One
could scarcely overestimate the value of the loving care, forethought,
and sympathy of those wives and mothers of long ago; for if all were
known,--and we should be happy that in those days some phases of home
life were considered too sacred to be revealed--perhaps we should
conclude that the achievements of those famous founders of this nation
were due as much to their wives as to their own native powers. The
charming mingling of simplicity and dignity is a trait of those women
that has often been noted; they lived such heroic lives with such
unconscious patience and valor. For instance, hear the description of
Mrs. Washington as given by one of the ladies at the camp of
Morristown;--with what simplicity of manner the first lady of the land
aided in a time of distress:

"Well, I will honestly tell you, I never was so ashamed in all my
life. You see, Madame ----, and Madame ----, and Madame Budd, and
myself thought we would visit Lady Washington, and as she was
said to be so grand a lady, we thought we must put on our best
bibbs and bands. So we dressed ourselfes in our most elegant
ruffles and silks, and were introduced to her ladyship. And don't
you think we found her _knitting and with a speckled (check)
apron on!_ She received us very graciously, and easily, but after
the compliments were over, she resumed her knitting. There we
were without a stitch of work, and sitting in State, but General
Washington's lady with her own hands was knitting stockings for
herself and husband!"

"And that was not all. In the afternoon her ladyship took
occasion to say, in a way that we could not be offended at, that
it was very important, at this time, that American ladies should
be patterns of industry to their countrywomen, because the
separation from the mother country will dry up the sources whence
many of our comforts have been derived. We must become
independent by our determination to do without what we cannot
make ourselves. Whilst our husbands and brothers are examples of
patriotism, we must be patterns of industry."[107]


_X. Interest in the Home_

Many indeed are the hints of gentle, loving home life presented in the
letters and records of the eighteenth century colonists. Domestic life
may have been rather severe in seventeenth century New England--our
histories make more of it than the original sources warrant--but the
little touches of courtesy, the considerate deeds of love, the words of
sympathy and confidence show that those early husbands and wives were
lovers even as many modern folk are lovers, and that in the century of
the Revolution they courted and married and laughed and sorrowed much as
we of the twentieth century do. Sometimes the hint is in a letter from
brother to sister, sometimes in the message from patriot to wife,
sometimes in the secret diary of mother or father; but, wherever found,
the words with their subtle meaning make us realize almost with a shock
that here were human hearts as much alive to joy and anguish as any that
now beat. Hear a message from the practical Franklin to his sister in
1772: "I have been thinking what would be a suitable present for me to
make and for you to receive, as I hear you are grown a celebrated
beauty. I had almost determined on a tea table, but when I considered
that the character of a good housewife was far preferable to that of
being only a gentle woman, I concluded to send you a spinning
wheel."[108]

And see in these notes from him in London to his wife the interest of
the philosopher and statesman in his home--his human longing that it
should be comfortable and beautiful. "In the great Case ... is contain'd
some carpeting for a best Room Floor. There is enough for one large or
two small ones; it is to be sow'd together, the Edges being first fell'd
down, and Care taken to make the Figures meet exactly: there is
Bordering for the same. This was my Fancy. Also two large fine Flanders
Bed Ticks, and two pair large superfine Blankets, 2 fine Damask Table
Cloths and Napkins, and 43 Ells of Ghentish Sheeting Holland.... There
is also 56 Yards of Cotton, printed curiously from Copper Plates, a new
Invention, to make Bed and Window Curtains; and 7 yards Chair
Bottoms...."[109]

"The same box contains 4 Silver Salt Ladles, newest, but ugliest
Fashion; a little Instrument to core Apples; another to make little
Turnips out of great ones; six coarse diaper Breakfast Cloths, they are
to spread on the Tea Table, for nobody Breakfasts here on the naked
Table; but on the cloth set a large Tea Board with the Cups...."
"London, Feb. 14, 1765. Mrs. Stevenson has sent you ... Blankets,
Bedticks.... The blue Mohair Stuff is for the Curtains of the Blue
Chamber. The Fashion is to make one Curtain only for each Window. Hooks
are sent to fix the Rails by at the Top so that they might be taken down
on Occasion...."[110]

It does the soul good and warms the heart toward old Benjamin to see him
stopping in the midst of his labors for America to write his wife: "I
send you some curious Beans for your Garden," and "The apples are
extreamly welcome, ... the minced pies are not yet come to hand.... As
to our lodging [she had evidently inquired] it is on deal featherbeds,
in warm blankets, and much more comfortable than when we lodged at our
inn...."[111]

Surely, too, the home touch is in this message of Thomas Jefferson at
Paris to Mrs. Adams in London. After telling her how happy he was to
order shoes for her in the French capital, he continues: "To show you
how willingly I shall ever receive and execute your commissions, I
venture to impose one upon you. From what I recollect of the diaper and
damask we used to import from England, I think they were better and
cheaper than here.... If you are of the same opinion I would trouble you
to send me two sets of table cloths & napkins for twenty covers
each."[112] And again he turns aside from his heavy duties in France to
write his sister that he has sent her "two pieces of linen, three gowns,
and some ribbon. They are done in paper, sealed and packed in a
trunk."[113]

And what of old Judge Sewall of the previous century--he of a number of
wives and innumerable children? Even in his day, when Puritanism was at
its worst, or as he would say, at its best, acts of thoughtfulness and
mutual love between man and wife were apparently not forgotten. The
wonderful _Diary_ offers the proof: "June 20, 1685: Carried my Wife to
Dorchester to eat Cherries, Raspberries, chiefly to ride and take the
Air. The time my Wife and Mrs. Flint spent in the Orchard, I spent in
Mr. Flint's Study, reading Calvin on the Psalms...."[114] "July 8, 1687.
Carried my wife to Cambridge to visit my little Cousin Margaret...."[115]
"I carry my two sons and three daughters in the Coach to Danford, the
Turks head at Dorchester; eat sage Cheese, drunk Beer and Cider and came
homeward...."[116]

Thus human were those grave fathers of the nation. History and fiction
often conspire to portray them as always walking with solemnity, talking
with deep seriousness, and looking upon all mortals and all things with
chilling gloom; but, after all, they seem, in domestic life at least, to
have gone about their daily round of duties and pleasures in much the
same spirit as we, their descendants, work and play. As Wharton in her
_Through Colonial Doorways_ says: "The dignified Washington becomes to
us a more approachable personality when, in a letter written by Mrs.
John M. Bowers, we read that when she was a child of six he dandled her