Readers, you have been introduced to MILCAH MARTHA MOORE as the author of a commonplace book into which she transcribed poems and letters by women she admired, a book which circulated among her friends. After the Revolution, Moore, who was a Quaker, published a book that became one of the most popular collections of readings for use in schools, entitled Miscellanies, Moral and Instructive. She included in the Preface Benjamin Franklin’s comment: “A BOOK containing so many well chosen sentiments, and excellent instructions, put into the hands of our children, cannot but be highly useful to the rising generation.” Moore established a school for indigent girls in Montgomery County and taught there until her death in 1829. She left an endowment to the school. Following are a few excerpts from the book.

BEAUTY is a short-lived flower, which is easily withered. A cultivated mind is a treasure which increases every moment; it is a rich soil, which brings forth a hundred fold.

THAT little incendiary, called the tongue, is more venomous than a poisoned arrow; and more killing than a two-edged sword.

THE use of learning is not to procure popular applause, or excite vain admiration; but to make the possessor more virtuous and useful to society, and his virtue a more conspicuous example to those that are illiterate.

WHO is wise? He that learns from every one. Who is powerful? He that governs his passions. Who is rich? He that is content.

WE often overlook the blessings which are in our possession, to hunt after those which are out of our reach.

Book, published in 1787, digitized by Google from the library of the New York Public Library and uploaded to the Internet Archive by user tpb. It may be viewed HERE. Quoted material can be found on pp. iv, 10, 17, 35, and 50.

A salute to JEMIMA CONDICT, the daughter of a New Jersey farmer, in this last post of Women’s History Month. Jemima’s compulsion to commit her thoughts to paper is the reason we have information about her life and the events during the American Revolution. “Sometimes after our people is gone to Bed I get my Pen for I Don’t know how to Content myself without writing Something.” She was not well schooled but she did learn to write: “When I was But a Child my Dear Parents sent me to school to Mrs. D.W. where there was some Children that I now think was none of the Cleverest. I Don’t write this to excuse myself for I know I want sent to Learn of them, But O how ready I was to idle!”

In April of 1779 she bade farewell to her parents and sister as she was about to marry her first cousin Revolutionary War Captain Aaron Harrison. Recall her conversation with her mother about marrying a close relative in this post.

Dear & Loveing parents I am about to leave you & Do Beg your forgiveness for all I have Done a miss while in your servis. I Confess I have bin a greaf to you all my Days Instead of a Comfort which is now a greaf to me. I thank you for all your Kindness to me. I am going Where I Shall have No father to Pray Night & morning [her father was a preacher]. I have Lived this four and twenty years under great mercys, But I have made So poor use of them, it is just I should be Deprived of them all, yet Dear father I Beseach of you Not to forget me, But Pray for me, O Pray for me Dayly, So after onece more asking your forgiveness & Blessing I remain your

My Dearest & Loving Sister, you & I have Lived many years together, But Now we must Part, which is a hard thing to me, O how Can I? my Dear Sister, I have not Bin Such a sister to you as I ought to a bin yet Cant you forgive me? yes pray So forgive all & don’t forget me. We have Spent many Pleasant hours together & hope we shall as many more & bettor then an any we have before. So farewell my Dear Sister, farewell.

Jemima had a child, Ira, in November 1779 and died of complications of childbirth.

The first quote is from In the Words of Women: The Revolutionary War and the Birth of the Nation, 1765-1799, by Louise North, Janet Wedge, and Landa Freeman (Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2011) xiii. The other excerpts are from Jemima Condict, Her Book: Being a Transcript of the Diary of an Essex County Maid During the Revolutionary War (Orange N.J.: Jemima Condict Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution, 1930), 70-72.

As the daughter of a fairly well-to-do merchant family living in Gloucester, Massachusetts, JUDITH SARGENT STEVENS MURRAY received the typical education for a girl at the time while her brother had a tutor to prepare him for entrance to Harvard. To make up for her perceived educational deficiency she read widely on her own from books in her father’s library. At age eighteen she married John Stevens; it was considered a good match.
When her father became interested in the new theology of Universalism Judith met the English preacher John Murray who visited Gloucester in 1774. She struck up a correspondence with him that continued through the Revolutionary War. Eventually she and her family broke with the Congregational church and established a new religious society called the Independent Church of Christ choosing Murray as their pastor.
Finding himself so burdened by debt because of the war and trade embargoes John Stevens, Judith’s husband, was forced to leave the country for the West Indies in 1786. He died soon thereafter and John Murray asked Judith to marry him. At age thirty-nine she became pregnant; sadly, the child was stillborn and Judith herself nearly died. Here is the poem she composed expressing her sorrow. In 1791, at the age of forty-one, she became pregnant again and was delivered of a healthy girl, Julia Maria.

LINES, Occasioned by the Death of an Infant.

Soft—tread with care, my darling baby sleeps,
And innocence its spotless vigils keeps.
Around my cradled boy the loves attend,
And, clad in smiles, the dimpling graces bend:
While his fair Angel’s talk, so late assign’d,
Assumes the charge of the immortal mind.

Hail guardian spirit! Watch with tender care,
And for each opening scene my child prepare;
Shield him from vice—to virtue stimulate,
Around his every step assiduous wait:
Not one weak moment thou thy post resign,
Implant the gen’rous wish—the glow divine;
Warn if thou canst—or, ‘gainst the bursting storm,
His little frame with growing firmness arm;
Teach him to suffer—teach him to enjoy,
And all thy heavenly influence employ.
Attendant spirits, hear my ardent prayer,
In paths of rectitude my infant rear;
Trust me, his mother shall her efforts join,
To shield, and guide, her utmost powers combine.

‘Twas thus I plann’d my future hours to spend,
With my soft hopes maternal joys to blend;
But agonized nature trembling sighs!
And my young sufferer in the struggle dies:
As the green bud though hid from outward view,
On its own stem invigorated grew,
Yet ere its opening leaves could look abroad,
The howling blast its latent life destroy’d:
So shrieking terrour all destructive rose,
Each moment fruitful of increasing woes,
And ere my tongue could mark his natal day,
(With eager haste great nature’s dues to pay)
Its native skies the gentle spirit sought,
And clos’d a life with early evil fraught.
For me, the clay cold tenement I press’d,
And sorrow’s keenest shafts tranfix’d my breast;
Dear pledge of love—all tremulous I cry’d—
Fair hope, full many a week thou hast supply’d;
To give thee life, I would endure again—
And every pang without regret sustain!
But icy death thy pretty features moulds,
And to no mortal gaze thy worth unfolds.
Thy funeral knell with melancholy sound,
Borne on the heavy gale—diffusing round
A dirgeful gloom—proclaims I must obey,
And bears thy beauteous image far away;
To the absorbing grave I must resign,
All of my first born child that e’er was mine!
And though no solemn train of mourners bend,
Or on thy hearse with tearful woe attend,
Too insignificant thy being view’d,
To be but by thy father’s steps pursu’d;
Yet thy pale corse the hand of beauty grac’d,
When on thy urn the new pluck’d flow’rs she plac’d,
The purple blow when her soft hand enwreath’d,
And o’er my dead the sigh of pity breath’d.

And still to shade and deck thy early tomb,
Fancy’s rich foliage shall forever bloom,
Embowering trees in stately order rise,
While fragrant sweets the damask rose supplies;
The drooping lily too shall lowly bend,
And none but genial showers shall e’er descend,
Say white rob’d Cherub—whither dost thou stray,
Mid what celestial walk pursue thy way;
To some sequester’d bower hast thou repair’d,
Where thy young hopes may be to knowledge rear’d;
Where the untutor’d, the infantile mind,
With sacred joy the path of truth may find;
Where guardian Angels wait the glad employ,
The latent seeds of evil to destroy;
Where wisdom blending, innocence entwines.
With infant sweetness; where improvement shines;
Where all thy little powers thou mayst expand;
Where unassuming, thou mayst understand[.]
Those laws, by which the Great First Cause directs,
And from eventual ruin man protects.
Go on my Son—thy radiant path pursue,
In paradise I trust thy face to view,
To mark thy progress my Celestial makes,
That virtue, which my soul to transport wakes;
And, my sweet boy, prepare the flowery wreath,
For yet a little, and thy air I breathe;
Misfortunes frequent, will reduce this clay,
Will bear the animating spark away:
And sure thy gentle spirit will descend,
With some blest choir my parting soul attend,
My dying requiem studious to compose,
To lead me where each sacred pleasure flows.
While here—alas—thou mock’d my ardent grasp,
For in my arms a lifeless form I clasp’d:
But there, I shall enjoy the dear embrace,
Amid the infant host my cherub trace.

Nor smile ye censurers that I thus lament,
A being scarce into existence sent;
What said the rock of ages—while he wore
This mortal coil—and all our sorrows bore:
“Regard those innocents—their worth reverse,
“Their Angels in the court of God appear;
“Immortal denizens of Heav’n they are,
“And in that kingdom radiant honours share.”
August decisions—and my heart believes,
With humble joy this truth receives;
Nor fears to err, when in the Just One’s path,
Howe’er mysterious may be its faith,
For God himself descends, with light divine,
And an eternal day shall yet be mine.

CONSTANTIA

The poem can be found HERE. For more information about Judith Murray’s life check this SITE.

I received a most unusual book for Christmas. Titled The Public Universal Friend—Jemima Wilkinson and Religious Enthusiasm in Revolutionary America by Paul B. Moyer (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2015), it was given to me by a family member who knows of my interest in American women who lived in the latter half of the eighteenth century. Jemima Wilkinson, the subject of the book, was born in Rhode Island in 1752. She was the first American-born female religious leader. (Mother Anne Lee who founded the Shakers emigrated from England.) Raised as a Quaker, she was attracted to a splinter group called the New Light Baptists whose emphasis was on a more emotional religious experience. As a result she was disowned by her Quaker meeting.
Wilkinson fell ill in 1776 and was near death. She revived and claimed that she had in fact died and been returned to life by God as a genderless prophet to preach about the imminent Final Judgment and the need for repentance. Wilkinson no longer answered to her name but called herself The Public Universal Friend. She wore men’s clothing, her hair hanging long and loose, and she rode a horse. Traveling throughout southern New England and as far south as Philadelphia, the Friend attracted a following. Ruth Pritchard, a convert, had this to say in a reminiscence about the Friend’s early ministry.

The Friend of Sinners began to serve In the year 1777 When this Nation was still in arms and America had embroiled her hands in human blood. There appeared the Messenger of Peace going from City to City and from Village to village proclaiming the News of Salvation to all that would Repent and believe the Gospel. The Friend was not staid by guards of armed men. She went through to visit the poor condemned prisoners in their Chains. Naked swords shook over the Friend’s head, she was not in terror because of the mighty Power of the Lord. No storms or severity of weather could hinder the Friend’s journey to speak unto Souls like the unwearied Sun, Determin’d its faithful race to run, spreading heavenly benediction far abroad that wandering sinners might return to God.

There was a mystical element to the Friend’s teachings—she put great stock in the interpretation of dreams—and she advocated though did not require sexual abstinence. In 1788 her followers purchased land in western New York and established a settlement called Jerusalem (now Penn Yan), where they could be sheltered from the temptations of the “wicked world.” There the Friend exercised considerable control over her followers, including men, requiring obedience and deference as befitted an exalted leader. She lived a comfortable life amid many material possessions in a house constructed for her. The image shows the symbols which adorned her carriage. When the Friend died in 1819, the religious movement without its charismatic leader declined in numbers and eventually disappeared.
Jemima Wilkinson is a strange and fascinating character who went beyond the bounds of social norms in the period in which she lived. She greatly expanded on the Quaker tradition of female leadership, indeed was a gender nonconformist who advocated equality of the sexes. As Moyer puts it: “While not a self-conscious effort to upend the social order, the Universal Friend’s ministry provided a space for the renegotiation of what it meant to be a man and a woman. In particular it created new opportunities for the latter to exercise authority, achieve personal independence, and transcend the traditional roles of wife and mother.”
Quoted passage from Moyer’s book, p 23. The portrait is by J.L.D Mathies, 1816, Wilkinson Collection, Yates County History Center, Penn Yan, NY, also from Moyer’s book p 191.

Another poem from Mercy Otis Warren, patriot, dramatist, poet, historian, and correspondent, to mark the end of Poetry Month, this one with a religious bent. See another poem by MOW in the previous post.

On a SURVEY of the HEAVENS.

DOES there an infidel exist?
Let him look up—he can’t resist,
These proofs of Deity—so clear,
He must the architect revere,
Whene’er to heaven he lifts his eyes,
And there surveys the spangled skies;
The glitt’ring stars, the worlds that shine,
And speak their origin divine,
Bid him adore, and prostrate fall,
And own one Lord, supreme o’er all.

One God this mighty fabrick guides,
Th’ etherial circles he divides;
And measures out the distant bound,
Of each revolving planet’s round;
Prevents the universal jar,
That might from one eccentric star,
Toss’d in the wide extended space,
At once—a thousand worlds displace.

What else supports the rolling spheres;
Nought but Almighty power appears,
The vast unnumber’d orbs to place,
And scatter o’er the boundless space,
Myriads of worlds of purer light,
Our adoration to excite;
And lead the wandering mind of man,
To contemplate the glorious plan.

Not even Newton’s godlike mind,
Nor all the sages of mankind,
Could e’er assign another cause,
Though much they talk of nature’s laws;
Of gravity’s attractive force,
They own the grand, eternal source,
Who, from the depths of chaos’ womb,
Prepar’d the vaulted, spacious dome;
He spake—a vast foundation’s laid,
And countless globes thereon display’d.

His active power still sustains
Their weight, amidst the heavenly plains;
Infinite goodness yet protects,
All perfect wisdom still directs
Their revolutions;—knows the hour,
When rapid time’s resistless pow’r,
In mighty ruin will involve,
And God—this grand machine dissolve.

Then time and death shall both expire,
And in the universal fire,
These elements shall melt away,
To usher in eternal day.

Amazing thought!—Is it decreed;
New earth and heavens, shall these succeed?
More glorious far—still more august!
In his omnific arm we trust.

But how this system ’twill excel,
Nor Angel’s voice, or tongue can tell;
Nor human thought so high can soar;
His works survey, and God adore.

The poem is from Mercy Otis Warren’s Poems, Dramatic and Miscellaneous (Boston: I. Thomas and E.T. Andrews, 1790), pages 198-199. It can be found HERE. The image is from Abner D. Jones, ed., The Illustrated American Biography, Vol. 3 (1855) p 107.