AUGUSTA DE GRASSE STEVENS.
Among the younger American authors who have made their mark on the literature of the day, Augusta de Grasse Stevens takes a high stand. Highly educated and deeply read, as well versed in the political and civil history of her own country as in that of the land of her adoption, her mind expanded by much continental travel, and inheriting the talents of her brilliantly gifted parents, it is no wonder that she should have attained the depth of thought, the originality of idea, and the fluency of expression which characterise her writings. The young author, who is petite in stature, and slight in figure, with grey-blue eyes and brown hair, was born in Albany, on the Hudson River, the capital city of New York, a quaint old Dutch town that bears to this day many marked peculiarities of its rich founders, whose manor lands, granted by royal patent, stretched far and wide along the river banks. Her father was the Hon. Samuel Stevens, one of the most brilliant lawyers the American bar has ever produced; his opinions are still quoted in legal matters on both sides of the ocean. He was a man of the keenest intellect, and most wonderful memory; a power wherever he appeared, and one who had the reputation of never losing a case. The courtesy title was bestowed upon him by the State Legislature in recognition of his great services to that body. He was the life-long friend of such men as Chancellor Walworth, Henry Clay the statesman, and Daniel Webster, who declared that "in his opinion Mr. Stevens as a lawyer stood first in the United States, and that as a colleague he welcomed him in every case, but as an opponent he hoped each case would be the last." From Mr. Stevens' conduct of so many cases, involving important inventions, he has been called unanimously "The Founder of American Patent Law."
"Mr. Phelps, the late U.S. Minister, has often told me," says Miss Stevens, "that he, as a young man, used to travel miles to hear my father argue a case, such a lesson was it in eloquence and profound legal knowledge, and he retained as one of his happiest memories the remembrance of certain interviews he had had with him in which he learned more from my father than in hours of study and private research. My paternal grandmother was of French birth and lineage. She was Mdlle. Marie de Grasse, the daughter of Pierre de Grasse, who was a brother of the famous Admiral Comte de Grasse, the intimate friend of La Fayette, whose patriotism, like his own, was devoted to the American cause. Her parents left France in the seventeenth century, and established themselves in a country home not far from Albany. My grandmother was very beautiful, and retained her beauty to an advanced age, and it is from her we take the name of De Grasse. My great-grandfather was an ardent patriot, and I have often heard my aunt say, that stored away in the attic of their house were trunks full of 'national paper bonds,' not worth the paper on which they were printed, but which represented the sums that he had advanced to the American Government during the War of Independence, and which afterwards they were unable to redeem. My father married rather late in life, my mother being only a girl of eighteen at the time. She was very charming in manner and appearance and highly educated." On the maternal side, Miss de Grasse Stevens can trace her descent back without a break to that brave Simon de Warde who fought with the Conqueror and who fell at Hastings, and whose name is engraved on the Battle Abbey Roll, among those for whom "prayer perpetual is to be offered up" within the Abbey walls. The Wards emigrated to America some time in the year 1600, and settled in New England. They were staunch Puritans and patriots, and begrudged neither life, nor money, nor substance to the cause. General Artemas Ward, one of Washington's chief generals, early distinguished himself in the service, and he was but one in a long line of similar instances. It was while walking through an old churchyard in Connecticut that the late Samuel Brown, coming upon General Artemas Ward's tomb-stone, first saw the name that he afterwards adopted and made world-famous in a far different fashion.
Miss Stevens can remember well her great-grandfather Ward, though she was only a child when he died. He was a typical gentleman of the old school, and wore to the day of his death his hair tied in a queue, the knee breeches, silk stockings, low shoes with gold buckles, fine cambric frill, and neckerchief of his time. Her childish recollections are full of pictures of him, and she can shut her eyes and recall without effort the long, sunny drawing-room, so still, and full of a certain awe, the trees outside bending in the summer wind, the warm crimson hangings at the wide windows, the fire on the open hearth, burning there all the year round, and the great arm-chair drawn close within its rays, in which was seated the dignified figure of her great-grandfather, Dr. Levi Ward, his beautiful clean-shaven face, slightly stern when in repose, breaking into a kindly smile at the first sound of his daughter's voice. By his side on a little table lay the great Bible, always open, which he knew literally by heart, and from which, when the blindness of old age came upon him, he could repeat chapter after chapter with unfailing accuracy. "My great-grandmother, his wife, I cannot remember," says Miss Stevens, "but she, too, was a remarkably handsome woman, and one who throughout her whole life held a distinguished position in society as well as being a leader in all philanthropic and charitable undertakings. Their beautiful home, Grove Place, Rochester, New York, was the perfection of a country seat, and about it cluster many tender memories and associations. Their daughter married my grandfather, Mr. Silas Smith, whose daughter in turn became my father's wife, and went with him to his home in Albany, where she soon won for herself a position of much responsibility, and became, puny as she was, a recognised power in all social matters. My father died when I was very young, and my earliest recollections do not date beyond his death. My mother, a young widow, returned with her little family to her father's home, Woodside, just out of Rochester, and with that dear and beautiful home all my happiest, fondest memories are knit up indissolubly. Woodside was a typical home; a large and spacious mansion set in the midst of acres of park land, gardens, and meadows. I think there never was just such a home! Everything that refinement, cultivation, and wealth could procure surrounded us, yet all was distributed and governed with so just and wise a hand that luxurious ostentation and wastefulness were never known amongst us. Here I grew from babyhood to girlhood, and to the fond remembrance and recollection of life there my thoughts turn always when I speak or think of—home."
The young American author describes her mother and her system of education in touching and eloquent words. Her mother, she says, was possessed of one of those rare, unselfish natures to whom personal grief was unknown. Even in her early widowhood her first thought was for her children, and to their care and education she devoted herself unsparingly. Possessing a gifted mind and great personal attractions, a voice of unusual sweetness and power, and a heart that literally did not know the meaning of the word self, she called forth in everyone with whom she came in contact the greatest admiration and affection. "Her children loved her passionately," says Miss Stevens. "How well I can remember when I was but a tiny mite of five, how she would gather us all around her in the grey winter afternoons, and with me nestled close at her knee, read to us by the hour together, but not fairy tales or story books. She went straight to the big heart of Shakespeare, of Longfellow, of Tennyson, of Thackeray, of Dickens, and opening the treasure-houses of their genius, read them to us with only such explanations and changes as necessity required to meet the status of her youthful audience. I cannot remember the time when Shakespeare was unknown to me, or when the Poet Laureate, and Campbell, and Dickens, were not dear, familiar friends. Out of this galaxy of riches, The Tempest, Midsummer Night's Dream, Hiawatha, and Dombey and Son, stand out clearest in my mind. Then she would sing to us, play to us, and so we became familiar with Mendelssohn, Mozart, Schubert, and with all the plaintive, old English ballads and Scotch border songs; and in the morning hours, while she was busy with a large correspondence and literary work, my dear grandmother taught us, my sister and me, to sew, cut out, and knit, inculcating meantime many a goodly lesson in charity, kindliness, and thoughtfulness for others. To my dear mother, indeed, I owe all that I am. She is gone from me now, but to her clear mind, wise criticism, and sound judgment is due whatever literary reputation I may have earned. I wrote for her, she was my public!"
This beloved home was ever one of open hospitality, and to it came at all times guests of every kind. Here, Miss Stevens tells you, her grandfather had welcomed Talleyrand and Louis Napoleon, and here in later days gathered many a company of literary giants whose names are now household words. After six years of widowhood her mother married the late Mr. John Fowler Butterworth, a man who was universally beloved and respected, of high position, wealth, and great personal attractions. "We all went with them to the new home in New York," adds Miss Stevens. "He was the only father I have ever known, and I loved him most tenderly."
From this time the family spent much of their time on the Continent of Europe. Miss Stevens and her sister were educated in Paris, having for their instructress a very charming and capable woman, who had been gouvernante to the Orleans Princesses. It was their habit to spend at least three months of every year abroad, and in this way the young girl saw much more of foreign countries than her own. Italy, Switzerland, France, Germany, the Tyrol, each were visited in turn, and such was the method of their travelling that every country and town were indelibly and individually impressed upon her memory. Rome, Florence, Geneva, Verona, Turin, Munich, Innspruck, each one and all are to her bright with particular associations. After her stepfather's death Miss Stevens and her mother settled permanently in London, where they had many friends and many family ties, her sister having married and made her home in England.