Dramatist, poet, historian, and correspondent of some of the most noted men of her day, Mercy Warren stands as the foremost woman representative of American letters in Revolutionary days. It is true that her activities were by no means confined to this period, for she was born in 1728 and died in 1814, having thus passed eighty-seven years of well-filled life; but she is as much the woman writer of the Revolution as Freneau is its male poet. Perhaps neither name is familiar to the present generation; but Mercy Warren and Philip Freneau, if not of the highest order of their calling, did notable work in the cause of American letters, and the former is well worthy of being included in any work that purports to tell, however incompletely, the history of American womanhood. The shadow passed at length, leaving the country maimed, bleeding, but still lusty with vigor and with the waxing strength of youth. The passing of the shadow found the women of America for the most part shorn of the gauds that women love, destitute of the lesser things of life, but filled with a proud sense of new birth with their country. To the triumphant result of the years of strife and struggle they had contributed in full measure; and they were ready, however they might be hampered by present conditions, to reap the fruit of the period of contest no less than the men, though in different fashion. Moreover, though in hidden methods, they had asserted themselves and the power of their womanhood as never before. They had turned from the sporadic and eccentric attempts of some of their sex to win fame by religious leadership or other such manifestations of restless ambition; they had shown their power of concentrated and universal consecration to a cause when it was found worthy thereof, and they had evidenced their intensity of devotion to that which was of the best. The period of formation was over; the battle-filled days of the Revolution saw the birth of the American woman as an individual entity. There is yet another name which must be recorded here, less for the merit of the work done than for the sentiment which attaches to that work. There still stands on Arch Street, Philadelphia, the little house where Betsy Ross made the first American flag that was given to the breeze of battle and conquest. Not perhaps the very first American flag, since Paul Jones's rattlesnake flag might fitly claim that honor, but the first to be recognized as in any way national and to survive, and therefore honored as truly the first of its kind. It is not Betsy Ross, but the birth of the flag of our country, of which we think when we look at that little house and remember why it is honored. But it is fitting that the maker of that flag which is the symbol of our country should find mention here, even though she had no other claim to be remembered among the notable women of our land.