which in those perilous days, glowed in the bosoms of the Charleston FAIR.
Instead of gloomy sadness and tears, for the dark cloud
that threatened their city, they wore the most enlivening looks --
constantly talked the boldest language of patriotism --
animated their husbands, brothers, and lovers to fight bravely --
and, for themselves, they vowed they would "never live the slaves of Britain."
Some people in our days, may not believe me, when I add of these
NOBLE ladies, that they actually begged leave of their commandant,
to let them "fight by the sides of their relatives and friends."
This, though a glorious request, was absolutely refused them.
For who could bear to see the sweet face of beauty roughened over
with the hard frowns of war; or, the warrior's musket, on those tender bosoms,
formed of heaven only to pillow up the cheeks of happy husbands,
and of smiling babes?

But though the SPIRITS of the ladies were willing, their NERVES were weak;
for when the British ships of war hove in sight, opposite to the town,
they all went down to the shore to view them. And then strong fear,
like the cold wind of autumn, struck their tender frames with trembling,
and bleached their rosy cheeks. Some, indeed, of the younger sort,
affected to laugh and boast; but the generality returned silent and pensive,
as from a funeral, hanging their lovely heads, like rows of sickly jonquils,
when the sun has forsaken the garden, and faded nature
mourns his departed beams. Sisters were often seen to turn pale and sigh,
when they looked on their youthful brothers, while tender mothers,
looking down on their infant cherubs at the breast, let drop
their pearly sorrows, and exclaimed, "happy the wombs that bear not,
and the paps that give no suck."

In consequence of a most extraordinary continuation of calms,