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THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN

In this fairy isle Lady Blennerhassett passed eight years of ideal happiness. Devoted to her husband and children, she still entered with quick sympathy into the sports of her friends and neighbors. The corn-huskings lost much of their rusticity, but none of their merriment, when she was present. She adorned the primitive feasts of log-rolling and barn-raising, and was the ruling spirit of every assembly. She was interested in wrestling matches, foot and boat races. In deer hunts and parties for chasing the fox she was a Diana Vernon. Her grace in dancing was the poetry of motion. She was beloved everywhere and inspired everyone to do their best. She was a fearless horsewoman, and attired in her scarlet broadcloth habit and cap, whose ostrich plume fell over her shoulders, she was a delightful vision. A young farmer rented a cornfield on the island simply to catch a glimpse of Lady Blennerhassett in her daily walks and rides. It was a delight to her to teach her slaves to read, to visit the sick, and often to act in plays in her own house. She was particularly fond of Shakespeare’s. This woman made people good by first making them happy. Her life was brimming with enjoyment. She was universally called “The Queen of the Isle.” Poetry she composed with ease and pleasure. The poems that I have seen were written after the sad change in her life, and their pathos disarms all criticism.

And now Colonel Burr appears upon the scene. In considering the life of this bril­liant man, we must bear in mind the words of St. Augustine: “ The human mind is never altogether a sanctuary, or altogether a sewer. There are potentialities of good in the felon and of evil in the saint.” We all know how the fascinating Aaron Burr entered this paradise, and won the. heart of the lady of the mansion to his views. Guileless herself, she had no conception of his treachery. By forged papers, purporting to be government endorsements, and plausible arguments, Burr obtained complete control of the Blennerhassetts. He ruined them financially and in reputation, and then sacrificed them remorselessly. We cannot but pity Blennerhassett after the President’s procla­mation, calling for all residents of the United States to bring to punishment all per­sons engaged in such treasonable enterprises as Burr’s Expedition. The unfortunate Blennerhassett was sitting in the cabin of a flatboat with Burr—betrayer and betrayed— when one dark, dreary night they sunk the chest of arms in the middle of the Missis­sippi River. So ended all the hopes of the success of Burr’s conspiracy. Though Burr was acquitted by jury of the crime of treason, the verdict of the nation was guilty, and Blennerhassett shared the odium.

Whether we see Lady Blennerhassett in her scarlet riding dress flying along in the sunshine, the embodiment of hope and womanly beauty, the guardian spirit of the “ Fairy Isle,” or on a December midnight, escaping with her sons in a flat-boat, cheer­ing, encouraging the frightened boatmen as the ice crashed and ground around them; or whether we see her supplying her husband with energy and pluck in his last venture on a cotton farm in Mississippi, energy which, but for the embargo, would have retrieved their fortunes, we see hope, blossom of immortality,ever alive in her heart. We behold her again in the Old .World, sustaining her husband in his miserable search after health and employment. We see her standing by his deathbed in the Island of Guern­sey; but though the shadows close around her, and the air is full of minor music, she is always the same unselfish, noble woman, who cannot be subdued by circumstances, because undying affection gives her strength. Unconquered, she had seen her home rifled, destroyed by Virginia militia; she had looked calmly upon its ashes, and beheld an utter ruin where she had once reigned queen.

After her husband’s death Lady Blennerhassett used every effort to support and educate her children in. England. It was in vain. She determined to return to America. She petitioned the government of the United States. Her house and furniture had been destroyed by the officers and soldiers of a government pledged to protect its citizens. Her husband had been put to great expense in defending himself in Richmond. She asked for her rights, not for alms. Robert Emmet forwarded the memorial of his friend’s widow to Henry Clay, who was in the United States Senate. It prayed for redress for her. Mr. Clay presented the memorial and eloquently