University of Virginia Library

MEMOIR.

The incidents of Mrs. Rowson's life were such as
peculiarly to fit her for the task of a novelist. Her pursuits
were not less suited to render her productions in
this department of literature, eminently useful to those,
for whose benefit they seem to have been particularly
intended, the young of her own sex.

She was the daughter of William Haswell, a lieutenant
in the British navy, and was born in Portsmouth, England,
in the year 1763. Her mother, whose maiden name
was Musgrove, lost her life in giving her existence. In the
winter of 1769, Lieutenant Haswell, being ordered upon
the New England station, sailed for this country with his
daughter and her nurse, and was shipwrecked on Lovell's
island, where they suffered the greatest hardships, being
obliged to remain two days on the wreck before they
could receive any assistance from the shore. It is to the
recollection of this scene that we are indebted, for the
vivid description of a shipwreck, in her popular novel
of Rebecca, or the Fille de Chambre.

During his residence on this station, Lieutenant Haswell
became acquainted with a Miss Woodward, a native of

Massachusetts, and married her. With her he resided
at Nantasket eight years, a period which his daughter
describes as among the happiest seasons of her life. Enjoying
a genteel competency, an agreeable domestic
circle, the friendly attentions of the most respectable inhabitants
of the province, and the society of his brother
officers, Lieutenant Haswell could scarcely have known
an ungratified wish as it regarded his situation.

When the revolution commenced, as he had served for
thirty years under the British Government, it is not surprising
that he should have adhered to the royal cause.
The consequence was, that his property was confiscated
and himself detained as a prisoner of war, and ordered
from the sea coast with his family, which then consisted
of his wife, his daughter, and two sons, the offspring of
his second marriage.

For a lively description of the sufferings of this period,
we must again refer the reader to the “Fille de Chambre.”
It is worthy of remark, that notwithstanding the
treatment which the rigorous policy of that period occasioned,
and which must have appeared to her young mind
harsh and severe, the amiable subject of this memoir
seems to have harboured no resentment against the authors
of her father's and her own sufferings. In describing
these scenes, she delighted to dwell on the humanity
of those who treated them kindly, and to bury the recollection
of what must then have been regarded as an
injury, inflicted by the patriots of that country, which
she subsequently adopted as her own.

After a detention of two years and a half, a part of
which was spent in Hingham and a part in Abington,
Lieutenant Haswell and his family were sent by cartel
to Halifax, from whence they soon after embarked for
England. The two sons mentioned above, afterwards

became distinguished officers in the naval service of the
United States.

During her residence in this country, Miss Haswell
became acquainted with the great statesman James Otis,
and, by her early display of talents, is said to have attracted
his particular notice and favour, so much so that he
called her his little pupil, and allowed her frequently to
share the hours of social relaxation of one of the most
powerful and cultivated minds of the age. She was fond
of recurring to this intimacy, and regarded the distinction
thus bestowed on her childhood as one of the proudest of
her life.

Another kind of patronage awaited her in England.
There she was permitted to dedicate her first novel,
“Victoria,” published in 1786, to Her Grace the Dutchess
of Devonshire, a lady whose liberality to those who were
toiling in the rugged path of fame, has gained for her
name a celebrity, which her rank, beauty, and even her
talents, could never have attained.

The design of “Victoria” is set forth in the title.[1] It
is contained in a series of letters interspersed with poetry.
The scenes and incidents are rather inartificially connected,
and the plot is deficient in unity and combination.
But its true and natural delineation of character, and that
pure and elevated morality, which ever characterized her
works, afforded a promise of future success, which was
soon to be fulfilled. The touching pathos of those passages
in which Victoria is described as losing her reason from
the cruel treatment which she receives, her plaintive
sorrow when deserted, and the overpowering revulsion

of feeling, when restored to her first love, are worthy the
best hours of the gifted writer.

Among the many marks of favour, with which the
Dutchess of Devonshire, at this period, distinguished Miss
Haswell, one of the most important was an introduction
to the Prince of Wales, which resulted in her obtaining
a pension for her father. It must have been a circumstance
in no small degree gratifying to both, that the care
and attention bestowed on the daughter's education,
should have enabled her to distinguish herself so much,
as to attract the attention of patrons, who could so efficiently
serve the father. She thus enforced, by example,
the filial piety which she had already recommended by
precept and story.

She was now to enter upon a new sphere of duty, and
a new field for the exercise of her affections as well as
her talents; for in the same year in which her first work
was published, Miss Haswell united her fate with the
man of her choice, and became the wife of Mr. William
Rowson. In the happiness occasioned by this event,
she did not forget the duty which she had imposed on
herself as the friend and instructer to the young of her
own sex. Her systematic arrangement and strict economy
of time, enabled her still to continue the work of composition.

Her next work, the “Inquisitor,” is a series of sketches
after the manner of Sterne, and possesses many of his
beauties with none of his looseness of principle. The
“Inquisitor” is represented as possessing a ring, which has
the property of rendering its wearer invisible. By this
he introduces himself into a great variety of scenes in the
metropolis, and performs numerous acts of benevolence.
The reader is made acquainted with life in London,
without being disgusted with the indecency, affectation

and nonsense, which disfigure many more modern delineations
of that popular subject.

This was followed by a Collection of Poems; and
shortly after by “Mary, or the Test of Honour,” which
last was principally taken from a manuscript furnished
by a bookseller, and was never claimed by Mrs. Rowson
as her own.

It appears that the prejudice existing among parents
against any thing which was called a novel, was much
stronger at that time than at present; and it must be acknowledged
that the numerous volumes of sentimental
nonsense, which issued from the Minerva press, furnished
but too sufficient ground for such a prejudice. Mrs.
Rowson was fully aware of its existence, and, that the
daughters of those who were influenced by it, might not
lose the benefit of her valuable counsel, she soon after
published the work called “Mentoria, or the Young
Lady's Friend.” It consists of a series of Tales illustrating
and enforcing the virtues most essential to success
and happiness in life, and especially that of filial piety.
These are communicated, by the female Mentor, to certain
young ladies who are just entering into the higher
circles of London, and to whom she had acted as governess
during the earlier stages of their education. The
stories are simple, the style excellent, and the advice
conveyed in them invaluable, to any young female, who is
just entering upon the arduous duties and trials of life,
whether in an exalted or an humble sphere.

“Charlotte Temple,” by far the most popular of Mrs.
Rowson's novels, was published in 1790. With respect
to the story on which this favourite work is founded, the
author observes, “I had the recital from the lady whom
I have introduced under the name of Beauchamp. I was
myself personally acquainted with Montraville, and from

the most authentic sources could now trace his history[2]
till within a very few years; a history which would tend
to prove that retribution treads upon the heels of vice,
and that though not always apparent, yet even in the
midst of splendor and prosperity, conscience stings the
guilty, and

The tears of many thousand readers have borne ample
testimony to the power and pathos of this work.

Her next novel, “Rebecca, or the Fille de Chambre,”
was published in 1792. Some of the most striking events
in the life of Rebecca are drawn from the personal experience
of the author. In the preface to the second American
edition, published in 1814, she says,

“Though Rebecca is a fictitious character, many of
the scenes in which she is engaged are sober realities.
The scenes in her father's family previous to her leaving
it, those at Lord Ossiter's, the distress at sea, the subsequent
shipwreck; the burning of Boston light-house,
the death of the poor marine, the imprisonment of the
family, the friendship experienced by them in the most
distressed circumstances, the removal of her farther into
the country, and exchange to Halifax, are events which
really took place between the years 1769 and 1778, though
the persons here mentioned as the sufferers are fictitious.”

This novel is deservedly popular. It is hardly assuming
too much to say, that Rebecca is one of the best
drawn female characters in modern fiction. Not only
the stronger traits, but all the nicer shades, the innocent
foibles and amiable weaknesses of woman, are given

with a truth which discovers a careful study of female
manners and a thorough acquaintance with the human
heart.

Mrs. Rowson had inherited a decent independence
from her paternal grandfather, and it is to the unexpected
loss of this, that we are to attribute her adopting the stage
as a temporary means of relief from pecuniary embarrassment.
She returned to the United States in 1793, and
was engaged at the Philadelphia Theatre for three years.

During this engagement, she wrote “Trials of the
Human Heart,” a novel, in four volumes, (1795,) “Slaves
in Algiers,” an opera, “The Volunteers,” a farce, and
the “Female Patriot,” a play altered from Massinger,
and several odes, epilogues, &c. which were collected
and published with other Miscellaneous Poems in Boston,
in 1804. “The Standard of Liberty,” a poetical address
to the army of the United States, which is to be found in
this collection, was recited by Mrs. Whitlock from the
stage in Baltimore, in 1795, in presence of the independent
militia companies of the city.

In 1796 Mrs. Rowson came to Boston, and was engaged
at the Federal Street Theatre, and for her benefit
produced the comedy of “Americans in England.” This
was the last of her dramatic works, except an occasional
song or ode. The subjects of most of her compositions
of this class, were of a purely temporary and local interest,
and could scarcely be expected to add much to her reputation
as a writer.

At the close of her engagement, she took a final leave
of the stage, and without any other prospect of patronage
than what arose from her known talents and probity in
every previous situation, she entered upon one of the
most delicate and responsible, we might add one of the
most exalted and worthy undertakings, to which a female

can aspire, that of educating the young of her own sex.
She commenced with one pupil, and in less than a twelve-month,
she had a hundred under her care, and a long
list of anxious applicants, whom she could not admit.

Her school was removed to Medford, and subsequently
to Newton, where she remained till 1810, when she
returned to Boston, and continued to reside in the city
till the time of her decease. From the commencement
of her seminary it continued to be crowded with pupils
from every part of the United States, and from the
British Provinces in North America and the West Indies.
During this period, she wrote many works connected with
the subject of education, particularly two systems of
“Geography,” a “Dictionary,” “Historical Exercises,”
and “Biblical Dialogues.” She also conducted the
Boston Weekly Magazine, and contributed largely to the
success of that popular periodical, by her ability as an
editor and writer.

“Sarah, or the Exemplary Wife,” “Reuben and Rachel,”
and “Charlotte's Daughter, or the Three Orphans,”
were also written, while the author was engaged in the
arduous duties of an instructor. “Sarah” was first published
in the “Boston Weekly Magazine,” in 1805, and
was republished in a separate volume in 1813. It is in the
form of a series of letters, and is one of the most interesting
of her novels, although it has not enjoyed so great a
popularity as “Charlotte Temple.” The scene of “Reuben
and Rachel” is laid in this country, and whether from that
or some other cause, it has here been preferred by a large
class of readers to any of the author's productions.

“Charlotte's Daughter,” which is now first published,
was not prepared for the press until after the author's
decease. It would be hardly becoming to speak of its
character on the present occasion.

The “Biblical Dialogues,” was the last work of Mrs.
Rowson published during her life time. It contains a
connected view of sacred and profane history, from the
creation to the death of our Saviour, and of the most important
ecclesiastical and civil events which succeeded,
down to the period of the Reformation, conveyed in the
form of familiar dialogues between a father and his family.
It is a work of considerable research, written in her usual
easy and interesting style, and calculated to be eminently
useful in the higher schools and academies.

During the latter part of her life, Mrs. Rowson having
retired from the business of instruction, passed her time,
in completing and publishing her later works, participating
in the social intercourse of a select circle of friends,
and enjoying the consolations, which arise from the review
of a life spent in active virtue and diffusive benevolence.
She died in Boston, March 2, 1824.

No writer of fiction has enjoyed a greater popularity
in this country than Mrs. Rowson. Of “Charlotte Temple”
upwards of twenty-five thousand copies were sold in
a short time after its appearance, and three sets of stereotype
plates are at present sending forth their interminable
series of editions, in different parts of the country. Several
of her other novels have gone through many editions.

If we were required to point out a single circumstance
to which more than all others this remarkable success is
to be attributed, we should say it was that of her delincations
being drawn directly from nature. Next to this,
the easy familiarity of her style and the uniformly moral
tendency of her works, have furnished the readiest passports
to the favour of the American people. She cannot
be pronounced a consummate artist, nor did her education
furnish the requisite qualifications of a highly finished
writer. Novel writing as an art, she seems to have considered

a secondary object. Her main design was to instruct
the opening minds and elevate the moral character
of her own sex. Fiction was one of the instruments
which she employed for this laudable purpose. In using
it, she drew practical maxims of conduct from the
results of every day experience. Such a plan hardly admitted
of extraordinary exhibitions of what is technically
called power. Her pictures have been criticised for being
tame. Admitting that they are occasionally so, it results
from the nature of her designs and her subjects. A
critic might as well find fault with one of the quiet landscapes
of Doughty for not exhibiting the savage grandeur
and sublimity of Salvator Rosa, as object to Mrs. Rowson's
delineations of domestic life for a want of strength
and energy. She was, however, by no means deficient
in spirited representations of character, when the occasion
required them. Her pathetic passages will be found to
justify this observation.

In exhibiting the foibles of fashionable life she was
peculiarly happy. The interview of Rebecca with Lady
Ossiter, after the decease of her ladyship's mother, will
furnish a fair specimen of her talent in this way. We
would solicit the reader's indulgence for introducing it
here.

“On entering the dressing room, she found her ladyship
deeply engaged with her mantua maker and milliner.
She did not even notice the entrance of Rebecca; but
thus continued her directions to the former of her
tradeswomen.

“Let them be as elegant and as full as possible; but
at the same time, remember, I wish to pay every respect
to my poor mother. It was a very sudden thing, Mrs.
Modily, you cannot think how it shocked me; my nerves

will not be settled again this fortnight, I dare say. Then
a thing of this kind forces one to be mewed up and see
no company. So I thought I might as well stay where I
was, as go to town. But, as I was saying, Modily, let my
white bombazine be made very handsome and full trimmed
with crape. I do not mean to keep from visiting
above a fortnight, and, I think in a month or six weeks,
I may wear white muslin, with black crape ornaments
for undress.”

The accommodating mantuamaker agreed to all the
lady said, when, turning round to speak to her milliner,
Lady Ossiter was struck by the elegant person, and
modest, humble countenance of Rebecca.

“Oh! I suppose,” said she, carelessly, “you are the
young woman my mother mentioned in her last moments?”

“Rebecca courtesied assent, but was unable to speak.

“Ah! she was very good to you, I understand. Well,
don't make yourself uneasy, I will be your friend in
future.”

“Rebecca attempted to express her thanks, but her
emotions were so violent, that she was forced to continue
silent.

“I dare say, child,” said her ladyship, “you have some
taste in dress: come, give me your opinion about the
caps I have ordered. Here, La Blond, show her those
caps: Well, now, what do you think? Will these be deep
enough? For, though I hate mourning, I would not be
wanting in respect. One's friends are apt to say such
ill-natured things; one can't be too cautious in giving
them occasion. Do you think I should go without powder?
You look monstrous well without powder; but then
you have light hair, and your black dress, though so plain,
is becoming. Who are you in mourning for, child?”

“Rebecca was struck almost speechless with astonishment.
“Good Heavens!” said she mentally, “can this
be the daughter of Lady Worthy?”

“Who are you in mourning for, child,” repeated Lady
Ossiter.

“My father, madam.”

“Oh! you have lost your father. Well, it can't be
helped. Old folks must be expected to fall off. You
must not be low spirited if you are with me: I hate low
spirited people; though, since I lost my poor mother
I am low enough myself. But I endeavour to shake it off
as much as I can. It is of no manner of use to grieve.
When folks are once dead, we can't recall them, though
we fretted ourselves blind.”

“But we cannot always command our feelings, madam,”
said Rebecca.

“No, child, that is true. I am sure I often wish my
own feelings were not so delicate as they are. It is a
great affliction to have too much sensibility. Pray what
is your name, my dear?”

“Rebecca.”

“Rebecca? That's a queer old fashioned name. I
remember when my mother used to make me read the
great family bible, I remember then reading about a Rebecca
Somebody. But, Law! child, 'tis a vastly vulgar
name. I'd alter it, if I were you. One never hears of
such a name among people of any refinement.”

“I am sorry it does not please your ladyship,” said
Rebecca, almost smiling at her absurdity;—“but as I was
christened by it, I must be satisfied with it.”

“Well, then, Rebecca, but what is your other name?”

“Littleton, madam.”

“Ah, Lord! they are both three syllables—that is so
tiresome. Well, but, Rebecca, (for I like that name best

on account of its oddity) should you have any objection
to enter into my service?”

“Far from it, madam; I shall cheerfully serve any
part of the family of my dear departed lady.”

“Ah! but I am not quite so sentimental as my mother
was: I shall not want any person to work and read by
me. I shall want you to be useful; now, for instance,
to make up my morning caps, to trim my muslin dresses.
Can you speak French, child?”

“Yes, madam, and shall be happy to render myself
useful in any thing within the compass of my power. I
do not wish to eat the bread of idleness.”

Rebecca spoke with a degree of spirit that surprised
Lady Ossiter: however, she unabashed proceeded:

“I have two little boys and a girl; I really have not
time to attend to them: now I could wish you to bear
them read, give them some little knowledge of the French,
and take care of Miss Ossiter's clothes. Can you make
frocks?”

“I make no doubt but I can, if I try, and my utmost
endeavours shall not be wanting.”

“That is well. I understand my mother did not suffer
you to eat with the servants, so you shall have your meals
in the nursery with the children. I suppose, if my woman
should happen to be ill, or out of the way, you would
have no objection to dress or undress me.”

“I am afraid I should be awkward, madam; but if
you will pardon my want of experience, you shall always
find me ready to obey your commands.”

“And what wages do you expect?”

“Whatever you please.”

“What did my mother give you?”

“I had no settled salary.”

“Well, but I like to know what I am about—I'll give
you sixteen guineas a year.”

Rebecca agreed to the terms, and retiring to her apartment,
left Lady Ossiter to finish her consultation with
her milliner and mantuamaker—while she took up her
pen, and informed her mother that she had entered into
a new line of life, in which she hoped to be enabled to
do her duty, and gain the approbation of her lady.”

Her later novels abound with passages of a similar
character. The situations are artless; and yet the characters
are brought into strong contrast, and strikingly
displayed.

Still she has none of the tricks of practised authorship.
There is no straining for effect, nor laboured extravagance
of expression in any of her performances. On the contrary
her style is perfectly simple, perspicuous and unaffected.
She seems to have given herself up to “`nature's
teachings,” and in so doing, she frequently accomplished
what art and refinement labour in vain to effect.
There is a naiveté in her female characters, an unconscious
disclosure of their little foibles, which is never to
be found except in the delineations of female writers,
who draw from nature; for these nicer traits lie beyond
the observation of writers of the other sex.

In her pathetic passages we are struck with a natural
eloquence, which never fails to reach the hearts of her
readers; and it is perhaps in these passages that her
genius exerts its highest efforts. When brought into
circumstances of distress, her characters assume a new
dignity; the deeper springs of feeling are opened; and
its expression bursts forth with an energy, of which while
reading her more calm delineations, we had hardly suspected
the writer to be capable.

In this abandonment of herself to nature, if we may be
allowed the expression, Mrs. Rowson was certainly far
in advance of the popular writers of fiction of her day;
for, it must be recollected that except the present publication,
all her novels were given to the world before the
great reform in this department of literature had been
effected by the commanding genius of Scott. She wrote
in the time of Radcliffe and her imitators; in the very
atmosphere of the Della Cruscan school; and some of
her works actually issued from the Minerva Press, although
it is difficult to tell what could entitle them to
such a distinction.

It is no trifling merit, that she should have drawn her
characters and incidents directly from the life, when it
was the prevailing fashion of writers of fiction to riot
exclusively in the regions of fancy; nor is it less to her
praise, that in an age of false sentiment and meretricious
style, she should have relied for success on the unpretending
qualities of good sense, pure morality, and unaffected
piety.

We shall conclude this memoir with a notice of Mrs.
Rowson's personal character, from the pen of one who
was favoured with her intimate acquaintance.

“Mrs. Rowson was singularly fitted for a teacher.
Such intelligence as she possessed, was then rare among
those who took upon themselves the task of forming the
characters, and enlightening the minds of young females.
To her scholars she was easy and accessible, but not too
familiar. Her manners were dignified, without distance
or affectation. Her method of governing the school was
strict, cautious and precise, without severity, suspicion
or capriciousness. She watched the progress of sentiment,
as well as of knowledge in the minds of her pupils, and
taught them that they might fully confide in her judgment;

and when their imaginations reflected the hues of life,
she struggled to give a just direction to the bright colours,
that they might not fall to dazzle or enchant, when there
was but little reason or stability of purpose to oppose the
delirium. A guide to the female mind in this dangerous
hour, is a friend that can never be forgotten. Many have
ability “to wake the fancy,” but few have power, by the
same means, “to mend the heart,” particularly the female
heart, when the character is passing from girlish frivolity,
to sentiment, susceptibility and passion. She did not
chill by austerity, “the genial current of the soul,” but
taught it to flow in the channels of correct feeling, taste,
virtue and religion. Many dames, perhaps, who have
the care of female youth, can boast of bringing forward
as fine scholars as Mrs. Rowson, but few can show so
many excellent wives and exemplary mothers—and this
is the proudest criterion of the worth of instruction that
can be offered to the world. Many educated by her care
might with justice say—

“Few men were ever great whose mothers were not
intelligent and virtuous—first impressions often stamp
the future character. Education, for every purpose, is
further advanced in the nursery than is generally imagined.

“Mrs. Rowson was a model of industry. By a judicious
arrangement of her time, she found opportunities to visit
her friends, attend to her pupils, and to write large volumes
for amusement and instruction; and yet never seemed
hurried or overwhelmed with cares or labours.—Method
gave harmony to her avocations, and if she suffered, it

was not perceived; if she was weary or exhausted, it was
not known to those around her. This was the more
wonderful, as she was for a great portion of her life, a
valetudinarian. She was an economist of the closest
calculation, in every arrangement of her school, or household
affairs. The mere good, industrious housewife,
learned something more of her duty, and added to her
stock of culinary information at every visit she paid this
patron of industry and economy. The science and skill
of the kitchen were as familiar to her as works of taste,
and if she ever seemed proud of any acquirement, it was
of the knowledge of housewifery.

“Mrs. Rowson was an admirable conversationist. There
was nothing affected or pedantic in her manner, at the
same time that there was nothing trite or common-place.
In colloquial intercourse she rather followed than led,
although at home in most subjects—interesting to the
learned or accomplished. She was firm, at all times, in
her opinions, but modest in support of them. She reasoned
with eloquence, and skill, but seldom pushed her
remarks in the form of debate. She was patient in the
protracted communion of opposing thoughts, but shrunk
at once from the war of words. Bland and gentle, she
pursued her course of thinking fairly, and astutely to
perfect victory, but her opponent never felt in her presence
the mortification of a defeat.

“She was truly a mother in Israel—to her charities
there was no end. Not only “apportioned maids” and
apprenticed orphans blessed her bounty, but many, cast
helpless on the world, found in her the affection, tenderness
and care of a parent. Her charities were not the
whim of a benevolent moment, but such as suffer long
and are kind, and which reach to the extent of the necessity.
The widow and fatherless will remember her

affectionate efforts in their behalf—she was President of
a society for their relief, and for many years, her purse,
pen and powers of solicitation, were always at their
service; and the cold winds of winter, and the shattered
hovel, and the children of want, have been witnesses to
the zeal and judgment she has shown in their cause, and
could also declare how often she stole silently to places,
where misery watched and wept, to bring consolation
and comfort.

“Mrs. Rowson possessed a most affectionate disposition—
too often the sad concomitant of genius. There are times
when the pulses of a susceptible heart cannot be checked
by reason, nor soothed by religious hopes—the ills of the
world crowd upon its surface, until it bleeds and breaks.
There will always be some evils in our path, however
circumspectly we may travel. No one can stay in this
sad world, until the common age of man, without numbering
more dear friends among the dead, than he finds
among the living. A strong and fervid imagination,
after years spent in labouring to paint the bow upon
the dark surrounding clouds of life, but finding the lively
tints fade away as fast as they are drawn, often grows
weary of thinking on the business of existence, and fixing
an upward gaze on another world, stands abstracted from
this, until the curtain falls and the drama is closed
forever.”