29. CHAPTER XXIX.
HOW A VIRGINIA GIRL WROTE VERSES IN '74.
St. John was going along in a reverie, with his head
hanging down, his hands idle at his side, his steps wandering
and uncertain, as the steps of drunkards and lovers, those
true brethren, are so apt to be, when suddenly he found
himself arrested; a gross material obstacle encountered
him, his hat was thrust forcibly quite over his eyes, and he
waked up, so to speak, from his dream.
The first object which attracted his attention was a slight
gentleman, clad in a suit of dark drab cloth, and carrying
under his arm a bundle of papers, which gentleman, with a
profusion of smiles and numerous deprecating waves of the
hand, uttered a flood of apologies, accompanied by courteous
bows.
“I beg you'll not trouble yourself about such a trifle,
Mr. Purdie,” said St. John, shaking hands with the editor
of the old “Virginia Gazette,” “ 't was the most natural
thing in the world.”
“Very awkward in me! really now, excessively awkward,
Mr. St. John!”
“ 'T was my own fault.”
“Pardon me,” returned Mr. Purdie, with courteous persistence,
“I was really to blame! But this copy of verses
absorbed me.”
“Very well, my dear friend, have it as you will; but pray
let me have a sight of the copy of verses which interested
you so.”
“Willingly, my dear sir.”
And Mr. Purdie handed a letter to Mr. St. John. As his
eyes fell upon the hand-writing, a slight color came to the
young man's cheek, and he smiled. Mr. Purdie wondered
at the sparkling eyes and deep interest betrayed by the
young man as he read the verses; but we shall soon understand
the reason.
The letter and poem were word for word as follows. We
have even retained the spelling and capital letters customary
at the period in written composition.
“To the Printer of the Virginia Gazette.
“Sir:—The accompanying verses are sent to you by a
Country Girl, who hopes they will meet your Approval.
Your Correspondent withholds her Name from Fear of the
Criticks, whom she truly detests. They're an odious Set!
are they not, Mr. Purdie? A Portion of the Effusion may
make you laugh, Sir. I offer you a Salute to bribe you in
Favour of my Verses; but observe, Sir! 't is only when you
find me out! That I'm resolved you shall never do. All
I shall say is, that I've the Honour to be humble Cousin to a
very high Military Functionary of this Colony, who honours
me with his Esteem! Now do print my effusion, dear, good
Mr. Purdie. I like you so much because you are a true
Friend to the Cause of Liberty. We've sealed up all our
Tea, and I'd walk with bare Feet on hot Ploughshares before
I'd drink a drop of the odious Stuff!
“I am Mr. Purdie's friend,
“—— ——.”
“Permit a giddy, trifling, Girl,
For once to fill your Poet's Corner,
She cares not though the Criticks snarl,
Or Beaus and Macaronies scorn her;
She longs in Print her Lines to see,
Oblige her, (sure you can't refuse it,)
And if you find her out, your Fee
Shall be—to kiss her—if you choose it.
Perhaps you'll think the Fee too small—
You would not think so if you knew her!
For she has Charms confessed by all
Who have the Happiness to view her.
The Favour that to you she proffers
Has been solicited in vain,
And many flattering, splendid Offers
Rejected with a cold Disdain.
She scorns the Man however pretty,
However Riches round him flow,
However wise, or great, or witty,
That's to his Country's Rights a Foe.
He that to flatter Folks in Power,
His Country's Freedom would betray,
Deserves the Gallows every Hour,
Or worse—to feel a Tyrant's Sway!
May such alone be unprotected
By Justice and by Nature's Laws,
And to Despotic Powers subjected,
Suffer the Miseries they cause.
To scorn them is each Female's Duty;
Let them no Children have, or Wife,
May they ne'er meet the Smiles of Beauty,
Nor any social Joys of Life!”
These were the lines which caused Mr. St. John's eyes to
sparkle and his face to beam with smiles. The explanation
of this is not difficult. As the reader has guessed, they
were in the handwriting of Miss Bonnybel Vane.
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Purdie, smiling, when the young
man had finished, “you seem as much pleased as myself.”
“I am delighted, my dear Mr. Purdie,” was the laughing
reply, “indeed I admire them so greatly that I shall esteem
as a great favor the gift of the manuscript, promising you a
clear copy in an hour.”
“I see not the least objection, my dear Mr. St. John—pray
keep them—a friend eh?” he added with a sly smile; “and
now I wish you a very good morning.”
The friends parted, and Mr. St. John hastened to his lodgings
to make the copy he had promised. The occupation
was often interrupted by laughter, but the copy was finished
at last and sent to the office of the “Virginia Gazette.”
On the fourth page of the old journal for June 2, 1774,
the reader will find them now, though unaccompanied by
the letter, good Mr. Purdie having given his space to more
important events than the epistles of young ladies. Here,
in the discolored pages of the old colonial paper, were the
verses found by the present writer. You read such old
pieces with smiles and sighs if you are a dreamer. Where
now are the lips which kissed, the eyes that shone—all the
“charms” which true lovers “confessed”—the archness, the
favor, the disdain? From far-off fields—the fields of colonial
Virginia—shines the form of this lovely little maiden,
so long dead. She passed away like a shadow or a dream
—like the brilliant old days she adorned with her loveliness
—her bright eyes and curls, her blushes and smiles. But
being dead she still lives and speaks; lives here on the yellow
old page, as up there on the canvas! The “giddy girl”
was a heroine at heart; that heart, like ten thousand more
of her sex's, heat high and true in the storm of the Revolution!
Toute dame, tout honneur!
