The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Among the scenes of peculiar interest the American traveller is, as it were, under a patriotic obligation to visit while abroad, may be mentioned the birth-place of Columbus near Genoa, Cave Castle, the mansion of the Washington family in the Wolds of Yorkshire, and the abode at Edinburgh of the venerable authoress of “Letters from the Mountains.” In acknowledgment of what we all owe to her, and as a heartfelt tribute of admiration, and affection for her talents, and virtues, the present work being out of print, the opportunity of republishing what so much identifies Mrs. Grant of Laghan with our country, is gladly seized upon by one who since one of those pilgrimages has long enjoyed the benign influence of her society and correspondence. The simple circumstances she relates of herself, and the gentle spirit of the whole work render it unnecessary to deprecate criticism; and the praise of Southey who pronounced the “description of the breaking up of the ice in the Hudson,” as “quite Homeric,” must bespeak for it a favourable perusal. As a picture, taken at the dawning of the Revolution, of the clouds which then passed along to have vanished otherwise forever, and as one in a series of works shedding light upon that momentous period of which the “Pioneers” is its natural successor, its reappearance must be a welcome event in the marshalling of American literature now in progress.

SIR,

It is very probable that the friends, by whose solicitations I was induced to arrange in the following pages my early recollections, studied more the amusement I should derive from executing this task, than any pleasure they could expect from its completion.

The principal object of this work is to record the few incidents, and the many virtues which diversified and distinguished the life of a most valued friend. Though no manners could be more simple, no notions more primitive than those which prevailed among her associates, the stamp of originality with which they were marked, and the peculiar circumstances in which they stood, both with regard to my friend, and the infant society to which they belonged, will, I flatter myself, give an interest with reflecting minds, even to this desultory narrative; and the miscellany of description, observation, and detail which it involves.

If truth, both of feeling and narration, which are its only merits, prove a sufficient counterbalance to carelessness, laxity, and incoherence of style, its prominent faults, I may venture to invite you, when you unbend from the useful and honourable labours to which your valuable time is devoted, to trace this feeble delineation of an excellent, though unembellished character; and of the rapid pace with which an infant society has urged on its progress from virtuous simplicity, to the dangerous “knowledge of good and evil:” from tremulous imbecility to self-sufficient independence.

To be faithful, a delineation must necessarily be minute. Yet if this sketch, with all its imperfections, be honoured by your indulgent perusal, such condescension of time and talent must certainly be admired, and may, perhaps, be imitated by others.

I am, sir, very respectfully,

Your faithful, humble servant,

THE AUTHOR.

London, Oct. 1808.

DEAR SIR,

Others as well as you have expressed a wish to see a memoir of my earliest and most valued friend. To gratify you and them I feel many inducements, and see many objections. To comply with any wish of yours is one strong inducement. To please myself with the recollection of past happiness and departed worth, is another; and to benefit those into whose hands this imperfect sketch may fall, is a third. For the authentic record of an exemplary life, though delivered in the most unadorned manner, or even degraded by poverty of style or uncouthness of narration, has an attraction for the uncorrupted mind.

It is the rare lot of some exalted characters, by the united power of virtues and of talents, to soar above their fellow-mortals, and leave a luminous track behind, on which successive ages gaze with wonder and delight. But the sweet influence of these benign stars that now and then enlighten the page of history, is partial and unfrequent.

Those to whom the most important parts on the stage of life are allotted, if possessed of abilities undirected by virtue, are too often

that is really good and desirable.

They, again, where virtue is not supported by wisdom, are often, with the best intentions, made subservient to the short-sighted craft of the artful and designing. Hence, though we may be at times dazzled with the blaze of heroic achievement, or contemplate with a purer satisfaction those “awful fathers of mankind,” by whom nations were civilized, equitable dominion established, or liberty restored; yet, after all, the crimes and miseries of mankind form such prominent features of the history of every country, that humanity sickens at the retrospect, and misanthropy finds an excuse amidst the laurels of the hero, and the deep-laid schemes of the politician:

Where shall we seek the antidote to this chilling gloom left on the mind by the bustling intricate scenes, where the best characters, goaded on by furious factions or dire necessity, become involved in crimes that their souls abhor?

It is the contemplation of the peaceful virtues in the genial atmosphere of private life, that can best reconcile us to our nature, and quiet the turbulent emotions excited by

But vice, folly, and vanity are so noisy, so restless, so ready to rush into public view, and so adapted to afford food for malevolent curiosity, that the small still voice of virtue, active in its own sphere, but unwilling to quit it, is drowned in their tumult. This is a remedy, however,

If we would counteract the baleful influence of public vice by the contemplation of private worth, we must penetrate into its retreats, and not be deterred from attending to its simple details by the want of that glare and bustle with which a fictitious or artificial character is generally surrounded.

But in this wide field of speculation one might wander out of sight of the original subject. Let me then resume it, and return to my objections. Of these the first and greatest is the dread of being inaccurate. Embellished facts, a mixture of truth and fiction, or what we sometimes meet with, a fictitious superstructure built on a foundation of reality, would be detestable on the score of bad taste, though no moral sense were concerned or consulted. It is walking on a river half frozen that betrays your footing every moment. By these repulsive artifices no person of real discernment is for a moment imposed upon. You do not know exactly which part of the narrative is false; but you are sure it is not all true, and therefore distrust what is genuine, where it occurs. For this reason a fiction, happily told, takes a greater hold of the mind than a narrative of facts, evidently embellished and interwoven with inventions.

I do not mean to discredit my own veracity. I certainly have no intention to relate any thing that is not true. Yet in the dim distance of near forty years, unassisted by written memorials, shall I not mistake dates, misplace facts, and omit circumstances that form essential links in the chain of narration? Thirty years since, when I expressed a wish to do what I am now about to attempt, how differently should I have executed it. A warm heart, a vivid imagination, and a tenacious memory, were then all filled with a theme which I could not touch without kindling into an enthusiasm, sacred at once to virtue and to friendship. Venerated friend of my youth, my guide and my instructress; are then the dregs of an enfeebled mind, the worn affections of a wounded heart, the imperfect efforts of a decaying memory, all that remain to consecrate thy remembrance, to make known thy worth, and to lay on thy tomb the offering of gratitude?

My friend’s life, besides being mostly passed in unruffled peace and prosperity, affords few of those vicissitudes which astonish and amuse. It is from her relations, to those with whom her active benevolence connected her, that the chief interest of her story (if story it may be called) arises. This includes that of many persons, obscure indeed but for the light which her regard and beneficence reflected upon them. Yet without these subordinate persons in the drama, the action of human life, especially such a life as hers, cannot be carried on. They can neither appear with grace, nor be omitted with propriety. Then, remote and retired as her situation was, the variety of nations and characters, of tongues and of complexions, with which her public spirit and private benevolence connected her, might appear wonderful to those unacquainted with the country and the times in which she lived; without a pretty distinct view of which my narrative would be unintelligible. I must be excused too for dwelling, at times, on the recollection of a state of society so peculiar, so utterly dissimilar to any other that I have heard or read of, that it exhibits human nature in a new aspect, and is so far an object of rational curiosity, as well as a kind of phenomenon in the history of colonization. I forewarn the reader not to look for lucid order in the narration, or intimate connection between its parts. I have no authorities to refer to, no coeval witnesses of facts to consult. In regard to the companions of my youth, (in which several particulars relative to my friend’s ancestry must necessarily be included,) I sit like the “Voice of Cona,” alone on the heath; and, like him too, must muse in silence, till at intervals the “light of my soul arises,” before I can call attention to “a tale of other times.”

It is well known that the province of New-York, anciently called Manahattos by the Indians, was originally settled by a Dutch colony, which came from Holland, I think, in the time of Charles the Second. Finding the country to their liking, they were followed by others more wealthy and better informed. Some of the early emigrants also appear to have been people respectable both from their family and character. Of these the principal were the Cuylers, the Schuylers, the Rensselaers, the Delanceys, the Cortlandts, the Tenbroeks, and the Beekmans, who have all of them been since distinguished in the late civil wars, either as persecuted loyalists or triumphant patriots. I do not precisely recollect the motives assigned for the voluntary exile of persons who were evidently in circumstances that might admit of their living in comfort at home, but am apt to think that the early settlers were those who adhered to the interest of the Stadtholder’s family, a party which, during the minority of King William, was almost persecuted by the high republicans. Those who came over at a later period probably belong to the party which opposed the Stadtholder, and which was then in its turn depressed. These persons afterwards distinguished themselves by an aversion, almost amounting to antipathy, to the British army, and indeed to all the British colonists. Their notions were mean and contracted; their manners blunt and austere; and their habits sordid and parsimonious. As the settlement began to extend they retired, and formed new establishments, afterwards called Fishkill, Esopus, &c.

To the Schuylers, Cuylers, Delanceys, Cortlandts, and a few others, this description did by no means apply. They carried about them the tokens of former affluence and respectability, such as family plate, portraits of their ancestors executed in a superior style, and great numbers of original paintings, some of which were much admired by acknowledged judges. Of these the subjects were generally taken from sacred history.

I do not recollect the exact time, but think it was during the last years of Charles the Second, that a settlement we then possessed at Surinam was exchanged for the extensive (indeed at that time boundless) province of Manahattos, which, in compliment to the then heir apparent, was called New-York. Of the part of that country then explored, the most fertile and beautiful was situated far inland, on the banks of the Hudson River. This copious and majestic stream is navigable one hundred and seventy miles from its mouth for vessels of sixty or seventy tons burthen. Near the head of it, as a kind of barrier against the natives, and a central resort for traders, the foundation was laid of a town called Oranienburgh, and afterwards by the British, Albany.

After the necessary precaution of erecting a small stockaded fort for security, a church was built in the centre of the intended town, which served in different respects as a kind of landmark. A gentleman of the name of Rensselaer was considered as in a manner lord paramount of this city. A pre-eminence which his successor still enjoys, both with regard to the town and the lands adjacent. The original proprietor having obtained from the high and mighty states a grant of lands, which, beginning at the church, extended twelve miles in every direction, forming a manor twenty-four Dutch miles in length, the same in breadth, including lands not only of the best quality of any in the province, but the most happily situated both for the purposes of commerce and agriculture. This great proprietor was looked up to as much as republicans in a new country could be supposed to look up to any one. He was called the Patroon, a designation tantamount to lord of the manor. Yet, in the distribution of these lands, the sturdy Belgian spirit of independence set limits to the power and profits of this lord of the forests, as he might then be called. None of these lands were either sold or alienated. The more wealthy settlers, as the Schuylers, Cuylers, &c. took very extensive leases of the fertile plains along the river, with boundless liberty of woods and pasturage, to the westward. The terms were, that the lease should hold while water runs and grass grows, and the landlord to receive the tenth sheaf of every kind of grain the ground produces. Thus ever accommodating the rent to the fertility of the soil, and changes of the seasons, you may suppose the tenants did not greatly fear a landlord, who could neither remove them, nor increase their rents. Thus, without the pride of property, they had all the independence of proprietors. They were like German princes, who, after furnishing their contingent to the Emperor, might make war on him when they chose. Besides the profits (yearly augmenting) which the patroon drew from his ample possessions, he held in his own hands an extensive and fruitful demesne. Yet preserving in a great measure the simple and frugal habits of his ancestors, his wealth was not an object of envy, nor a source of corruption to his fellow-citizens. To the northward of these bounds, and at the southern extremity also, the Schuylers and Cuylers held lands of their own. But the only other great landholders I remember, holding their land by those original tenures, were Philips and Cortlandt; their lands lay also on the Hudson River, half way down to New-York, and were denominated Philips’ and Cortlandt’s manors. At the time of the first settling of the country the Indians were numerous and powerful all along the river; but they consisted of wandering families, who, though they affixed some sort of local boundaries for distinguishing the hunting grounds of each tribe, could not be said to inhabit any place. The cool and crafty Dutch governors being unable to cope with them in arms, purchased from them the most valuable tracts for some petty consideration. They affected great friendship for them; and while conscious of their own weakness, were careful not to provoke hostilities; and silently and insensibly established themselves to the west.

On the Mohawk River, about forty miles distant from Albany, there subsisted a confederacy of Indian tribes, of a very different character from those mentioned in the preceding chapter; too sagacious to be deceived, and too powerful to be eradicated. These were the once renowned five nations, whom any one, who remembers them while they were a people, will hesitate to call savages. Were they savages who had fixed habitations; who cultivated rich fields; who built castles, (for so they called their not incommodious wooden houses, surrounded with palisadoes;) who planted maize and beans, and showed considerable ingenuity in constructing and adorning their canoes, arms, and clothing? They who had wise though unwritten laws, and conducted their wars, treaties, and alliances with deep and sound policy; they whose eloquence was bold, nervous, and animated; whose language was sonorous, musical, and expressive; who possessed generous and elevated sentiments, heroic fortitude, and unstained probity? Were these indeed savages? The difference

is not greater than that of the Mohawks in point of civility and capacity, from other American tribes, among whom, indeed, existed a far greater diversity of character, language, &c. than Europeans seem to be aware of. This little tribute to the memory of a people who have been, while it soothes the pensive recollections of the writer, is not so foreign to the subject as it may at first appear. So much of the peace and safety of this infant community depended on the friendship and alliance of these generous tribes; and to conciliate and retain their affections so much address was necessary, that common characters were unequal to the task. Minds liberal and upright, like those I am about to describe, could alone excite that esteem, and preserve that confidence, which were essential towards retaining the friendship of those valuable allies.

From the time of the great rebellion, so many English refugees frequented Holland, that the language and manners of our country became familiar at the Hague, particularly among the Stadtholder’s party. When the province of New-York fell under the British dominion, it became necessary that every body should learn our language, as all public business was carried on in the English tongue, which they did the more willingly, as, after the revolution, the accession of the Stadholder to the English crown very much reconciled them to our government. Still, however, the English was a kind of court language; little spoken, and imperfectly understood in the interior. Those who brought with them the French and English languages soon acquired a sway over their less enlightened fellow settlers. Of this number were the Schuylers and Cuylers, two families among whom intellect of the superior kind seemed an inheritance, and whose intelligence and liberality of mind, fortified by well-grounded principle, carried them far beyond the petty and narrow views of the rest. Habituated at home to centre all wisdom and all happiness in commercial advantages, they would have been very ill calculated to lay the foundation of an infant state in a country that afforded plenty and content, as the reward of industry, but where the very nature of the territory, as well as the state of society, precluded great pecuniary acquisitions. Their object here was taming savage nature, and making the boundless wild subservient to agricultural purposes. Commercial pursuits were a distant prospect; and before they became of consequence, rural habits had greatly changed the character of these republicans. But the commercial spirit, inherent in all true Batavians, only slept to wake again, when the avidity of gain was called forth by the temptation of bartering for any lucrative commodity. The furs of the Indians gave this occasion, and were too soon made the object of the avidity of petty traders. To the infant settlement at Albany the consequences of this short-sighted policy might have proved fatal, had not these patriotic leaders, by their example and influence, checked for a while such illiberal and dangerous practices. It is a fact singular and worth attending to, from the lesson it exhibits, that in all our distant colonies there is no other instance where a considerable town and prosperous settlement has arisen and flourished, in peace and safety, in the midst of nations disposed and often provoked to hostility; at a distance from the protection of ships, and from the only fortified city, which, always weakly garrisoned, was little fitted to awe and protect the whole province. Let it be remembered that the distance from New-York to Albany is 170 miles; and that in the intermediate space, at the period of which I speak, there was not one town or fortified place. The shadow of a palisadoed fort^[1], which then existed at Albany, was occupied by a single independent company, who did duty, but were dispersed through the town, working at various trades: so scarce indeed were artisans in this community, that a tradesman might in those days ask any wages he chose.

To return to this settlement, which evidently owed its security to the wisdom of its leaders, who always acted on the simple maxim that honesty is the best policy: several miles north from Albany a considerable possession, called the Flats, was inhabited by Colonel Philip Schuyler, one of the most enlightened men in the province. This being a frontier, he would have found it a very dangerous situation had he not been a person of singular worth, fortitude, and wisdom. Were I not afraid of tiring my reader with a detail of occurrences which, taking place before the birth of my friend, might seem irrelevant to the present purpose, I could relate many instances almost incredible, of the power of mind displayed by this gentleman in governing the uninstructed without coercion or legal right. He possessed this species of power in no common degree; his influence, with that of his brother John Schuyler, was exerted to conciliate the wandering tribes of Indians; and by fair traffic, for he too was a trader, and by fair liberal dealing they attained their object. They also strengthened the league already formed with the five Mohawk nations, by procuring for them some assistance against their enemies, the Onondagoes of the Lakes.

Queen Ann had by this time succeeded to the Stadholder. The gigantic ambition of Lewis the Fourteenth actuated the remotest parts of his extensive dominions; and the encroaching spirit of this restless nation began to discover itself in hostilities to the infant colony. A motive for which could scarce be discovered, possessing, as they did, already, much more territory then they were able to occupy, the limits of which were undefined. But the province of New-York was a frontier; and, as such, a kind of barrier to the southern colonies. It began also to compete for a share of the fur trade, then very considerable, before the beavers were driven back from their original haunts. In short, the province daily rose in importance; and being in a great measure protected by the Mohawk tribes, the policy of courting their alliance, and impressing their minds with an exalted idea of the power and grandeur of the British empire, became obvious. I cannot recollect the name of the governor at this time; but whoever he was, he, as well as the succeeding ones, visited the settlement at Albany, to observe its wise regulations, and growing prosperity, and to learn maxims of sound policy from those whose interests and happiness were daily promoted by the practice of it.

It was thought advisable to bring over some of the heads of tribes to England to attach them to that country; but to persuade the chiefs of a free and happy people, who were intelligent, sagacious, and aware of all probable dangers; who were strangers to all maritime concerns, and had never beheld the ocean; to persuade such independent and high-minded warriors to forsake the safety and enjoyments of their own country, to encounter the perils of a long voyage, and trust themselves among entire strangers, and this merely to bind closer an alliance with the sovereign of a distant country, a female sovereign too; a mode of government that must have appeared to them very incongruous. This was no common undertaking, nor was it easy to induce these chiefs to accede to the proposal. The principal motive for urging it was to counteract the machinations of the French, whose emissaries in these wild regions had even then begun to style us, in effect, a nation of shopkeepers; and to impress the tribes dwelling in their boundaries with vast ideas of the power and splendour of their grand monarchy, while our sovereign, they say, ruled over a petty island, and was himself a trader. To counterwork those suggestions, it was thought requisite to give the leaders of the nation (who then in fact protected our people) an adequate idea of our power, and the magnificence of our court. The chiefs at length consented on this only condition, that their brother Philip, who never told a lie, or spoke without thinking, should accompany them. However this gentleman’s wisdom and integrity might qualify him for this employment, it did not suit his placid temper, simple manners, and habits of life, at once pastoral and patriarchal, to travel over seas, and mingle in the bustle of a world, the customs of which were become foreign to those primitive inhabitants of new and remote regions, was to him no pleasant undertaking. The adventure, however, succeeded beyond his expectation; the chiefs were pleased with the attentions paid them, and with the mild and gracious manners of their queen, who at different times admitted them to her presence. With the good Philip she had many conversations, and made him some valuable presents, among which, I think, was her picture; but this with many others was lost, in a manner which will appear hereafter. Colonel Schuyler too was much delighted with the courteous affability of this princess; she offered to knight him, which he respectfully, but positively refused; and being pressed to assign his reasons, he said he had brothers and near relations in humble circumstances, who, already his inferiors in property, would seem as it were depressed by his elevation; and though it should have no such effect on her mind, it might be the means of awakening pride or vanity in the female part of his family. He returned, however, in triumph, having completely succeeded in his mission. The kings, as they were called in England, came back in full health, deeply impressed with esteem and attachment for a country which to them appeared the centre of arts, intelligence, and wisdom; where they were treated with kindness and respect; and neither made the objects of perpetual exhibition, nor hurried about to be continually distracted with a succession of splendid, and to them incomprehensible sights, the quick shifting of which rather tends to harass minds which have enough of native strength to reflect on what they see, without knowledge sufficient to comprehend it. It is to this childish and injudicious mode of treating those uncivilized beings, this mode of rather extorting from them a tribute to our vanity, than taking the necessary pains to inform and improve them, that the ill success of all such experiments since have been owing. Instead of endeavouring to conciliate them by genuine kindness, and by gradually and gently unfolding to them simple and useful truths, our manner of treating them seems calculated to dazzle, oppress, and degrade them with a display of our superior luxuries and refinements; which, by the elevated and self-denying Mohawk, would be regarded as unmanly and frivolous objects, and which the voluptuous and low-minded Otaheitean would so far relish, that the privation would seem intolerable, when he returned to his hogs and his cocoas. Except such as have been previously inoculated, (a precaution which voyagers have rarely had the prudence or humanity to take,) there is scarcely an instance of savages brought to Europe that have not died of the small-pox; induced either by the infection to which they are exposed from the indiscriminate crowds drawn about them, or the alteration in their blood, which unusual diet, liquors, close air, and heated rooms, must necessarily produce.

The presents made to these adventurous warriors were judiciously adapted to their taste and customs. They consisted of showy habits, of which all these people are very fond, and arms made purposely in the form of those used in their own country. It was the fortune of the writer of these memoirs, more than thirty years after, to see that great warrior and faithful ally of the British crown the redoubted King Hendrick, then sovereign of the Five Nations, splendidly arrayed in a suit of light blue, made in an antique mode, and trimmed with broad silver lace; which was probably an heirloom in the family, presented to his father by his good ally and sister, the female king of England.

I cannot exactly say how long Mr. Schuyler and his companions staid in England, but think they were nearly a year absent. In those primeval days of the settlement, when our present rapid modes of transmitting intelligence were unknown, in a country so detached and inland as that at Albany, the return of these interesting travellers was like the first lighting of lamps in a city.

This sagacious and intelligent patriot thus brought to the foot of the British throne the high-spirited rulers of the boundless wild, who, alike heedless of the power and splendour of distant monarchs, were accustomed to say with Fingal, “sufficient for me is the desert, with all deer and woods.” It may easily be supposed that such a mind as Philip’s was equally fitted to acquire and communicate intelligence. He who had conversed with Addison, Marlborough, and Godolphin, who had gratified the curiosity of Oxford and Bolingbroke, of Arbuthnot and of Gay, with accounts of nature in her pristine garb, and of her children in their primitive simplicity; he who could do all this, no doubt received ample returns of various information from those best qualified to give it, and was besides a diligent observer. Here he improved a taste for literature, native to him, for it had not yet taken root in this uncultivated soil. He brought home the Spectator and the tragedy of Cato, Windsor Forest, Young’s poem on the Last Day, and in short all the works then published of that constellation of wits which distinguished the last female reign. Nay more, and better, he brought Paradise Lost; which in after-times afforded such delight to some branches of his family, that to them

But to return to our Sachems, from whom we have too long digressed; when they arrived at Albany, they did not, as might be expected, hasten home to communicate their discoveries, or display their acquisitions. They summoned a congress there, not only of the elders of their own nation, but the chiefs of all those with whom they were in alliance. This solemn meeting was held in the Dutch church. In the present depressed and diminished state of these once powerful tribes, so few traces of their wonted energy remain, that it could scarce be credited, were I able to relate with what bold and flowing eloquence they clothed their conceptions; powerful reasoning, emphatic language, and graceful action, added force to their arguments; while they persuaded their adherents to renounce all connexion with the tribes under the French influence; and form a lasting league, offensive and defensive, with that great queen, whose mild majesty had so deeply impressed them; and the mighty people whose kindness had gratified, and whose power had astonished them, whose populous cities swarmed with arts and commerce, and in whose floating castles they had rode safely over the ocean. I have seen a volume of the speeches of these Mohawks preserved by Colonel Schuyler; they were literally translated, so that the native idiom was preserved; which, instead of appearing uncouth, seemed to add to their strength and sublimity.

When Mr. Schuyler returned from England, about the year 1709, his niece Catalina, the subject of this narrative, was about seven years old; he had a daughter and sons, yet this child was early distinguished above the rest for docility, a great desire of knowledge, and an even and pleasing temper; this her uncle early observed. It was at that time very difficult to procure the means of instruction in those inland districts; female education of consequence was conducted on a very limited scale; girls learnt needle-work (in which they were indeed both skilful and ingenious) from their mothers and aunts; they were taught too at that period to read, in Dutch, the Bible and a few Calvinistic tracts of the devotional kind. But in the infancy of the settlement few girls read English; when they did, they were thought accomplished; they generally spoke it, however imperfectly, and few were taught writing. This confined education precluded elegance; yet, though there was no polish, there was no vulgarity. The dregs of the people, who subside to the bottom of the mass, are not only degraded by abject poverty, but so utterly shut out from intercourse with the more enlightened, and so rankling with envy at feeling themselves so, that a sense of their condition gradually debases their minds; and this degradation communicates to their manners, the vulgarity of which we complain. This more particularly applies to the lower class in towns; for mere simplicity, or even a rustic bluntness, I would by no means call vulgarity. At the same time these unembellished females had more comprehension of mind, more variety of ideas, more in short of what may be called original thinking, than could easily be imagined. Their thoughts were not like those of other illiterate women, occupied by the ordinary details of the day, and the gossiping tattle of the neighbourhood. The life of new settlers, in a situation like this, where the very foundations of society were to be laid, was a life of exigencies. Every individual took an interest in the general welfare, and contributed their respective shares of intelligence and sagacity to aid plans that embraced important objects relative to the common good. Every day called forth some new expedient, in which the comfort or advantage of the whole was implicated; for there were no degrees but those assigned to worth and intellect. This singular community seemed to have a common stock, not only of sufferings and enjoyments, but of information and ideas; some pre-eminence, in point of knowledge and abilities, there certainly was, yet those who possessed it seemed scarcely conscious of their superiority; the daily occasions which called forth the exertions of mind, sharpened sagacity and strengthened character; avarice and vanity were there confined to very narrow limits; of money there was little; and dress was, though in some instances valuable, very plain, and not subject to the caprice of fashion. The wolves, the bears, and the enraged or intoxicated savages, that always hung threatening on their boundaries, made them more and more endeared to each other. In this calm infancy of society, the rigour of the law slept, because the fury of turbulent passions had not awakened it. Fashion, that capricious tyrant over adult communities, had not erected her standard; that standard, to which the looks, the language, the very opinions of her subjects must be adjusted. Yet no person appeared uncouth, or ill bred, because there was no accomplished standard of comparison. They viewed no superior with fear or envy; and treated no inferior with contempt or cruelty; servility and insolence were thus equally unknown; perhaps they were less solicitous either to please or to shine than the members of more polished societies; because, in the first place, they had no motive either to dazzle or deceive; and in the next, had they attempted it, they felt there was no assuming a character with success, where their native one was so well known. Their manners, if not elegant and polished, were at least easy and independent; the constant efforts necessary to extend their commercial and agricultural possessions, prevented indolence; and industry was the certain path to plenty. Surrounded on all sides by those whom the least instance of fraud, insolence, or grasping meanness, would have rendered irreconcilable enemies, they were at first obliged to “assume a virtue if they had it not;” and every circumstance that renders virtue habitual, may be accounted a happy one. I may be told that the virtues I describe were chiefly those of situation. I acknowledge it. It is no more to be expected that this equality, simplicity, and moderation, should continue in a more advanced state of society, than that the sublime tranquillity and dewy freshness which add a nameless charm to the face of nature, in the dawn of a summer morning, should continue all day. Before increased wealth and extended territory, these “wassel days” quickly receded; yet it is pleasing to indulge the remembrance of a spot, where peace and felicity, the result of moral excellence, dwelt undisturbed, alas! hardly for a century.

I must finish this general outline, by saying something of that religion which gave stability and effect to the virtues of this infant society. Their religion, then, like their original national character, had in it little of fervour or enthusiasm; their manner of performing religious duties was regular and decent, but calm, and to more ardent imaginations might appear mechanical. None ever doubted of the great truths of revelation, yet few seemed to dwell on the result with that lively delight which devotion produces in minds of keener sensibility. If their piety, however, was without enthusiasm, it was also without bigotry; they wished others to think as they did, without showing rancour or contempt towards those who did not. In many individuals, whose lives seemed governed by the principles of religion, the spirit of devotion seemed to be quiescent in the heart, and to break forth in exigencies; yet that monster in nature, an impious woman, was never heard of among them.

Indeed it was on the females that the task of religious instruction generally devolved; and in all cases where the heart is interested, who ever teaches, at the same time learns.

Before I quit this subject, I must observe a singular coincidence; not only the training of children, but of plants, such as needed peculiar care or skill to rear them, was the female province. Every one in town or country had a garden; but all the more hardy plants grew in the field, in rows, amidst the hills, as they were called, of Indian corn. These lofty plants sheltered them from the sun, while the same hoeing served for both; their cabbages, potatoes, and other esculent roots, with variety of gourds, grew to a great size, and were of an excellent quality. Kidney-beans, asparagus, celery, great variety of salads and sweet herbs, cucumbers, &c., were only admitted into the garden, into which no foot of man intruded, after it was dug in spring. Here were no trees, those grew in the orchard in high perfection. Strawberries and many high flavoured wild fruits of the shrub kind abounded so much in the woods, that they did not think of cultivating them in their gardens, which were extremely neat, but small, and not by any means calculated for walking in. I think I yet see what I have so often beheld both in town and country, a respectable mistress of a family going out to her garden, in an April morning, with her great calash, her little painted basket of seeds, and her rake over her shoulder, to her garden labours. These were by no means figurative,

A woman, in very easy circumstances, and abundantly gentle in form and manners, would sow, and plant, and rake, incessantly. These fair gardeners too were great florists; their emulation and solicitude in this pleasing employment, did indeed produce “flowers worthy of Paradise.” These, though not set in “curious knots,” were arranged in beds, the varieties of each kind by themselves; this, if not varied and elegant, was at least rich and gay. To the Schuylers this description did not apply; they had gardeners, and their gardens were laid out in the European manner.

Perhaps I should reserve my description of the manner of living in that country for that period, when by the exertions of a few humane and enlightened individuals it assumed a more regular and determinate form. Yet as the same outline was preserved through all the stages of its progression, I know not but that it may be best to sketch it entirely, before I go further; that the few and simple facts which my narrative affords may not be clogged by explanations relative to the customs, or any other peculiarities which can only be understood by a previous acquaintance with the nature of the country, its political relations, and the manners of the people; my recollection all this while has been merely confined to Albany, and its precincts. At New-York there was always a governor, a few troops, and a kind of little court kept; there too was a mixed, and in some degree, polished society. To this the accession of many families of French Huguenots, rather above the middling rank, contributed not a little; those conscientious exiles had more knowledge and piety than any other class of the inhabitants; their religion seemed indeed endeared to them, by what they had suffered for adhering to it. Their number and wealth was such, as enabled them to build not only a street, but a very respectable church in the new city. In this place of worship service continued to be celebrated in the French language within my recollection, though the original congregation was by that time much blended in the mass of general society. It was the custom of the inhabitants of the upper settlement, who had any pretensions to superior culture or polish, among which number Mr. Schuyler stood foremost, to go once in a year to New-York, where all the law-courts were held, and all the important business of the province transacted; here too they sent their children occasionally to reside with their relations, and to learn the more polished manners and language of the capital. The inhabitants of that city, on the other hand, delighted in a summer excursion to Albany. The beautiful, and in some places highly singular banks of the river, rendering a voyage to its source both amusing and interesting, while the primitive manners of the inhabitants diverted the gay and idle, and pleased the thoughtful and speculative.

Let me now be indulged in drawing a picture of the abode of my childhood just as, at this time, it presents itself to my mind.

The city of Albany was stretched along the banks of the Hudson; one very wide and long street lay parallel to the river, the intermediate space between it and the shore being occupied by gardens. A small, but steep hill rose above the centre of the town, on which stood a fort, intended (but very ill adapted) for the defence of the place, and of the neighbouring country. From the foot of this hill, another street was built, sloping pretty rapidly down till it joined the one before mentioned that ran along the river. This street was still wider than the other; it was only paved on each side, the middle being occupied by public edifices. These consisted of a market-place, or guard-house, a town hall, and the English and Dutch churches. The English church, belonging to the Episcopal persuasion, and in the diocese of the bishop of London, stood at the foot of the hill, at the upper end of the street. The Dutch church was situated at the bottom of the descent where the street terminated; two irregular streets, not so broad, but equally long, ran parallel to those, and a few even ones open between them. The town, in proportion to its population, occupied a great space of ground. This city, in short, was a kind of semi-rural establishment; every house had its garden, well, and a little green behind; before every door a tree was planted, rendered interesting by being coeval with some beloved member of the family; many of their trees were of a prodigious size and extraordinary beauty, but without regularity, every one planting the kind that best pleased him, or which he thought would afford the most agreeable shade to the open portico at his door, which was surrounded by seats, and ascended by a few steps. It was in these that each domestic group was seated in summer evenings to enjoy the balmy twilight, or serenely clear moonlight. Each family had a cow, fed in a common pasture at the end of the town. In the evening they returned all together, of their own accord, with their tinkling bells hung at their necks, along the wide and grassy street, to their wonted sheltering trees, to be milked at their master’s doors. Nothing could be more pleasing to a simple and benevolent mind than to see thus, at one view, all the inhabitants of a town, which contained not one very rich or very poor, very knowing or very ignorant, very rude or very polished individual; to see all these children of nature enjoying in easy indolence, or social intercourse,

clothed in the plainest habits, and with minds as undisguised and artless. These primitive beings were dispersed in porches grouped according to similarity of years and inclinations. At one door young matrons, at another the elders of the people, at a third the youths and maidens, gaily chatting or singing together, while the children played round the trees, or waited near the cows, for the chief ingredient of their frugal supper, which they generally ate sitting on the steps in the open air. This picture, so familiar to my imagination, has led me away from my purpose, which was to describe the rural economy, and modes of living in this patriarchal city. At one end of the town, as I observed before, was a common pasture where all the cattle belonging to the inhabitants grazed together. A never-failing instinct guided each home to her master’s door in the evening, where, being treated with a few vegetables and a little salt, which is indispensably necessary for cattle in this country, they patiently waited the night; and after being milked in the morning, they went off in slow and regular procession to their pasture. At the other end of the town was a fertile plain along the river, three miles in length, and near a mile broad. This was all divided into lots, where every inhabitant raised Indian corn sufficient for the food of two or three slaves, (the greatest number that each family ever possessed,) and for his horses, pigs, and poultry: their flour and other grain they purchased from farmers in the vicinity. Above the town, a long stretch to the westward was occupied first by sandy hills, on which grew bilberries of uncommon size and flavour in prodigious quantities; beyond, rise heights of a poor hungry soil, thinly covered with stunted pines, or dwarf oak. Yet in this comparatively barren tract, there were several wild and picturesque spots, where small brooks, running in deep and rich bottoms, nourished on their banks every vegetable beauty; there, some of the most industrious early settlers had cleared the luxuriant wood from these charming little glens, and built neat cottages for their slaves, surrounded with little gardens and orchards, sheltered from every blast, wildly picturesque, and richly productive. Those small sequestered vales had an attraction that I know not how to describe, and which probably resulted from the air of deep repose that reigned there, and the strong contrast which they exhibited to the surrounding sterility. One of these was in my time inhabited by a hermit. He was a Frenchman, and did not seem to inspire much veneration among the Albanians. They imagined, or had heard, that he retired to that solitude in remorse for some fatal duel in which he had been engaged: and considered him as an idolator because he had an image of the Virgin in this hut. I think he retired to Canada at last; but I remember being ready to worship him for the sanctity with which my imagination invested him, and being cruelly disappointed because I was not permitted to visit him. These cottages were in summer occupied by some of the negroes who cultivated the grounds about them, and served as a place of joyful liberty to the children of the family on holidays, and a nursery for the young negroes, whom it was the custom to rear very tenderly, and instruct very carefully.

In the society I am describing, even the dark aspect of slavery was softened into a smile. And I must, in justice to the best possible masters, say, that a great deal of that tranquillity and comfort, to call them by no higher names, which distinguish this society from all others, was owing to the relation between master and servant being better understood here than in any other place. Let me not be detested as an advocate for slavery, when I say that I think I have never seen people so happy in servitude as the domestics of the Albanians. One reason was, (for I do not now speak of the virtues of their masters,) that each family had few of them, and that there were no field negroes. They would remind one of Abraham’s servants, who were all born in the house, which was exactly their case. They were baptised too, and shared the same religious instruction with the children of the family; and, for the first years, there was little or no difference with regard to food or clothing between their children and those of their masters.

When a negro-woman’s child attained the age of three years, the first New-Year’s day after, it was solemnly presented to a son or daughter, or other young relative of the family, who was of the same sex with the child so presented. The child to whom the young negro was given, immediately presented it with some piece of money and a pair of shoes; and from that day the strongest attachment subsisted between the domestic and the destined owner. I have no where met with instances of friendship more tender and generous, than that which here subsisted between the slaves and their masters and mistresses. Extraordinary proofs of them have been often given in the course of hunting or Indian trading, when a young man and his slave have gone to the trackless woods together, in the cases of fits of the ague, loss of a canoe, and other casualties happening near hostile Indians. The slave has been known, at the imminent risk of his life, to carry his disabled master through trackless woods with labour and fidelity scarce credible; and the master has been equally tender on similar occasions of the humble friend who stuck closer than a brother; who was baptised with the same baptism, nurtured under the same roof, and often rocked in the same cradle with himself. These gifts of domestics to the younger members of the family were not irrevocable; yet they were very rarely withdrawn. If the kitchen family did not increase in proportion to that of the master, young children were purchased from some family where they abounded, to furnish those attached servants to the rising progeny. They were never sold without consulting their mother, who, if expert and sagacious, had a great deal to say in the family, and would not allow her child to go into any family with whose domestics she was not acquainted. These negro-women piqued themselves on teaching their children to be excellent servants, well knowing servitude to be their lot for life, and that it could only be sweetened by making themselves particularly useful, and excelling in their department. If they did their work well, it is astonishing, when I recollect it, what liberty of speech was allowed to those active and prudent mothers. They would chide, reprove, and expostulate in a manner that we would not endure from our hired servants; and sometimes exert fully as much authority over the children of the family as the parents, conscious that they were entirely in their power. They did not crush freedom of speech and opinion in those by whom they knew they were beloved, and who watched with incessant care over their interest and comfort. Affectionate and faithful as these home-bred servants were in general, there were some instances (but very few) of those who, through levity of mind, or a love of liquor or finery, betrayed their trust, or habitually neglected their duty. In these cases, after every means had been used to reform them, no severe punishments were inflicted at home. But the terrible sentence, which they dreaded worse than death, was passed—they were sold to Jamaica. The necessity of doing this was bewailed by the whole family as a most dreadful calamity, and the culprit was carefully watched on his way to New-York, lest he should evade the sentence by self-destruction.

One must have lived among those placid and humane people to be sensible that servitude—hopeless, endless servitude—could exist with so little servility and fear on the one side, and so little harshness or even sternness of authority in the other. In Europe, the footing on which service is placed in consequence of the corruptions of society, hardens the heart, destroys confidence, and embitters life. The deceit and venality of servants not absolutely dishonest, puts it out of one’s power to love or trust them. And if in hopes of having people attached to us, who will neither betray our confidence, nor corrupt our children, we are at pains to rear them from childhood, and give them a religious and moral education; after all our labour, others of their own class seduce them away to those who can afford to pay higher for their services. This is not the case in a few remote districts, where surrounding mountains seeming to exclude the contagion of the world, some traces of fidelity and affection among domestics still remain. But it must be remarked that, in those very districts, it is usual to treat inferiors with courtesy and kindness, and to consider those domestics who marry out of the family as holding a kind of relation to it, and still claiming protection. In short, the corruption of that class of people is, doubtless, to be attributed to the example of their superiors. But how severely are those superiors punished? Why this general indifference about home; why are the household gods, why is the sacred hearth so wantonly abandoned? Alas! the charm of home is destroyed, since our children, educated in distant seminaries, are strangers in the paternal mansion; and our servants, like mere machines, move on their mercenary track, without feeling or exciting one kind or generous sentiment. Home, thus despoiled of all its charms, is no longer the scene of any enjoyments but such as wealth can purchase. At the same time we feel there, a nameless, cold privation, and conscious that money can coin the same enjoyments with more variety elsewhere. We substitute these futile and evanescent pleasures for that perennial spring of calm satisfaction, “without o’erflowing full,” which is fed by the exercise of the kindly affections, and soon indeed must those stagnate where there are not proper objects to excite them. I have been forced into this painful digression by unavoidable comparisons. To return:—

Amidst all this mild and really tender indulgence to their negroes, these colonists had not the smallest scruple of conscience with regard to the right by which they held them in subjection. Had that been the case, their singular humanity would have been incompatible with continued injustice. But the truth is, that of law, the generality of those people knew little; and of philosophy, nothing at all. They sought their code of morality in the Bible, and there, imagined they found this hapless race condemned to perpetual slavery; and thought nothing remained for them but to lighten the chains of their fellow Christians, after having made them such. This I neither “extenuate,” nor “set down in malice,” but merely record the fact. At the same time, it is but justice to record also a singular instance of moral delicacy, distinguishing this settlement from every other in the like circumstances, though, from their simple and kindly modes of life, they were from infancy in habits of familiarity with these humble friends, yet being early taught that nature had placed between them a barrier, which was in a high degree criminal and disgraceful to pass, they considered a mixture of such distinct races with abhorrence, as a violation of her laws. This greatly conduced to the preservation of family happiness and concord. An ambiguous race, which the law does not acknowledge; and who (if they have any moral sense, must be as much ashamed of their parents as these last are of them) are certainly a dangerous, because degraded part of the community. How much more so must be those unfortunate beings who stand in the predicament of the bat in the fable, whom both birds and beasts disowned? I am sorry to say that the progress of the British army, when it arrived, might be traced by a spurious and ambiguous race of this kind. But of a mulatto born before their arrival I only remember a single instance; and from the regret and wonder it occasioned, considered it as singular. Colonel Schuyler, of whom I am to speak, had a relation so weak and defective in capacity, that he never was entrusted with any thing of his own, and lived an idle bachelor about the family. In process of time a favourite negro-woman, to the great offence and scandal of the family, bore a child to him, whose colour gave testimony to the relation. The boy was carefully educated; and when he grew up, a farm was allotted to him well stocked and fertile, but “in depth of woods embraced,” about two miles back from the family seat. A destitute white woman, who had somehow wandered from the older colonies, was induced to marry him; and all the branches of the family thought it incumbent on them now and then to pay a quiet visit to Chalk (for so, for some unknown reason, they always called him). I have been in Chalk’s house myself, and a most comfortable abode it was; but considered him as a mysterious and anomalous being.

I have dwelt the longer on this singular instance of slavery, existing devoid of its attendant horrors, because the fidelity and affection resulting from a bond of union so early formed between master and servant contributed so very much to the safety of individuals, as well as the general comfort of society, as will hereafter appear.

The foundations both of friendship and still tender attachments, were here laid very early, by an institution which I always thought had been peculiar to Albany, till I found in Dr. Moore’s View of Society on the Continent an account of a similar custom subsisting in Geneva. The children of the town were all divided into companies, as they called them, from five or six years of age, till they became marriageable. How those companies first originated, or what were their exact regulations, I cannot say; though I, belonging to none, occasionally mixed with several, yet always as a stranger, though I spoke their current language fluently. Every company contained as many boys as girls. But I do not know that there was any limited number; only this I recollect, that a boy and a girl of each company, who were older, cleverer, or had some other pre-eminence above the rest, were called heads of the company, and, as such, obeyed by the others. Whether they were voted in, or attained their pre-eminence by a tacit acknowledgment of their superiority, I knew not; but however it was attained it was never disputed. The companies of little children had also their heads. All the children of the same age were not in one company; there were at least three or four of equal ages, who had a strong rivalry with each other; and children of different ages, in the same family, belonged to different companies. Wherever there is human nature there will be a degree of emulation, strife, and a desire to lessen others, that we may exalt ourselves. Dispassionate as my friends comparatively were, and bred up in the highest attainable candour and innocence, they regarded the company most in competition with their own with a degree of jealous animosity. Each company, at a certain time of the year, went in a body to the hills, to gather a particular kind of berries. It was a sort of annual festival, attended with religious punctuality. Every company had an uniform for this purpose; that is to say, very pretty light baskets made by the Indians, with lids and handles, which hung over the arm, and were adorned with various colours. One company would never allow the least degree of taste to the other in this instance; and was sure to vent its whole stock of spleen in decrying the rival baskets. Nor would they ever admit that the rival company gathered near so much fruit on these excursions as they did. The parents of these children seemed very much to encourage this manner of marshalling and dividing themselves. Every child was permitted to entertain the whole company on its birth-day, and once besides, during winter and spring. The master and mistress of the family always were bound to go from home on these occasions, while some old domestic was left to attend and watch over them, with an ample provision of tea, chocolate, preserved and dried fruits, nuts, and cakes of various kinds, to which was added cider or a syllabub, for these young friends met at four, and did not part till nine or ten, and amused themselves with the utmost gaiety and freedom in any way their fancy dictated. I speak from hearsay; for no to these meetings: other children or young people visit occasionally, and are civilly treated, but they admit of no person that does not belong to the company is ever admitted intimacies beyond their company. The consequence of these exclusive and early intimacies was, that, grown up, it was reckoned a sort of apostasy to marry out of one’s company, and indeed, it did not often happen. The girls, from the example of their mothers, rather than any compulsion, became very early notable and industrious, being constantly employed in knitting stockings, and making clothes for the family and slaves: they even made all the boys’ clothes. This was the more necessary, as all articles of clothing were extremely dear. Though all the necessaries of life, and some luxuries, abounded, money, as yet, was a scarce commodity. This industry was the more to be admired, as children were here indulged to a degree that, in our vitiated state of society, would have rendered them good for nothing. But there, where ambition, vanity, and the more turbulent passions were scarce awakened; where pride, founded on birth, or any external pre-eminence, was hardly known; and where the affections flourished fair and vigorous, unchecked by the thorns and thistles with which our minds are cursed in a more advanced state of refinement; affection restrained parents from keeping their children at a distance, and inflicting harsh punishments. But then they did not treat them like apes or parrots, by teaching them to talk with borrowed words and ideas, and afterwards gratifying their own vanity by exhibiting these premature wonders to company, or repeating their sayings. They were tenderly cherished, and early taught that they owed all their enjoyments to the divine source of beneficence, to whom they were finally accountable for their actions; for the rest they were very much left to nature, and permitted to range about at full liberty in their earliest years, covered in summer with some slight and cheap garb, which merely kept the sun from them, and in winter with some warm habit, in which convenience only was consulted. Their dress of ceremony was never put on but when their company were assembled. They were extremely fond of their children; but, luckily for the latter, never dreamed of being vain of their immature wit and parts, which accounts, in some measure, for the great scarcity of coxcombs among them. The children returned the fondness of their parents with such tender affection, that they feared giving them pain as much as ours do punishment, and very rarely wounded their feelings by neglect or rude answers. Yet the boys were often wilful and giddy at a certain age, the girls being sooner tamed and domesticated.

These youths were apt, whenever they could carry a gun, (which they did at a very early period,) to follow some favourite negro to the woods, and, while he was employed in felling trees, range the whole day in search of game, to the neglect of all intellectual improvement, and contract a love of savage liberty, which might, and in some instances did, degenerate into licentious and idle habits. Indeed, there were three stated periods in the year, when, for a few days, young and old, masters and slaves, were abandoned to unruly enjoyment, and neglected every serious occupation for pursuits of this nature.

We, who occupy countries fully inhabited, can form no idea of the multitude of birds and animals that nature provides to consume her waste fertility, in those regions unexplored by man. In the interior of the province, the winter is much colder than might be supposed, from the latitude in which it lies, which is only 42 deg. 36 min. and from the keen north winds which blow constantly for four or five months over vast frozen lakes and snowy tracts, in the direction of Canada. The snow too lies very deep; but when once they are visited by the south wind in March, its literally warm approach dissolves the snow like magic, and one never sees another wintry day till the season of cold returns. These southern winds seem to flow in a rapid current, uninterrupted by mountains or other obstacles, from the burning sands of the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas, and bring with them a degree of warmth, that appears no more the natural result of the situation, than the intense cold of winter does in that season.

Along the sea banks, in all these southern provinces, are low, sandy lands, that never were or will be inhabited, covered with the berry-bearing myrtle, from which wax is extracted fit for candles. Behind these banks are woods and unwholesome swamps of great extent. The myrtle groves, formerly mentioned, afford shelter and food to countless multitudes of pigeons in winter, when their fruit is in season; while wild geese and ducks, in numbers nearly as great, pass the winter in the impenetrable swamps behind. Some time in the month of April, a general emigration takes place to the northward, first of the geese and ducks, and then of the pigeons; they keep the direction of the sea-coast till they come to the mouths of the great rivers, and then follow their course till they reach the great lakes in the interior, where nature has provided for them with the same liberality as in their winter haunts. On the banks of these lakes, there are large tracts of ground, covered with a plant taller and more luxuriant than the wild carrot, but something resembling it, on the seeds of which the pigeons feed all the summer, while they are breeding and rearing their young. When they pass in spring, which they always do in the same track, they go in great numbers, and are very fat. Their progression northward and southward, begins always about the vernal and autumnal equinoxes-and it is this that renders the carnage so great when they pass over inhabited districts. They begin to fly in the dawn, and are never seen after nine or ten o’clock in the morning, possibly feeding and resting in the woods all the rest of the day. If the morning be dry and windy, all the fowlers, (that is every body,) are disappointed, for then they fly so high that no shot can reach them; but in a cloudy morning, the carnage is incredible; and it is singular that their removal falls out at the times of the year that the weather, (even in this serene climate,) is generally cloudy. This migration, as it passed by, occasioned, as I said before, a total relaxation from all employments, and a kind of drunken gaiety, though it was rather slaughter than sport; and, for above a fortnight, pigeons in pies and soups, and every way they could be dressed, were the food of the inhabitants. These were immediately succeeded by wild geese and ducks, which concluded the carnival for that season, to be renewed in September. About six weeks after the passage of these birds, sturgeon of a large size, and in great quantities, made their appearance in the river. Now the same ardour seemed to pervade all ages in pursuit of this new object. Every family had a canoe—and on this occasion all were launched; and these persevering fishers traced the course of the sturgeon up the river, followed them by torchlight, and often continued two nights upon the water, never returning till they had loaded their canoes with this valuable fish, and many other, very excellent in their kinds, that come up the river at the same time. The sturgeon not only furnished them with good part of their food in the summer months, but was pickled or dried for future use or exportation.

To return to the boys, as all young men were called here till they married. Thus early trained to a love of sylvan sports, their characters were unfolded by contingencies. In this infant society, penal laws lay dormant, and every species of coercion was unknown.

Morals, founded on Christianity, were fostered by the sweet influence of the charities of life. The reverence which children in particular, had for their parents, and the young in general for the old, was the chief bond that held society together. This veneration, being founded on esteem, certainly could only have existed thus powerfully in an uncorrupted community. It had, however, an auxiliary no less powerful.

Here, indeed, it might with truth be said,

In consequence of the singular mode of associating together little exclusive parties of children of both sexes, which has been already mentioned, endearing intimacies, formed in the age of playful innocence, were the precursors of more tender attachments.

These were not wrought up to romantic enthusiasm, or extravagant passion, by an inflamed imagination, or by the fears of rivalry, or the artifices of coquetry, yet they had power sufficient to soften the manners and elevate the character of the lover.

I know not if this be the proper place to observe how much of the general order of society, and the happiness of a people, depend on marriage being early and universal among them; but of this more hereafter. The desire, (undiverted by any other passion,) of obtaining the object of their affection, was to them a stimulus to early and severe exertion. The enamoured youth did not listlessly fold his arms, and sigh over his hopeless or unfortunate passion. Of love not fed by hope, they had not an idea. Their attachments originated at too early an age, and in a circle too familiar, to give room for those first-sight impressions of which we hear such wonders. If the temper of the youth was rash and impetuous, and his fair one gentle and complying, they frequently formed a rash and precipitate union, without consulting their relations, when, perhaps, the elder of the two was not above seventeen. This was very quietly borne by the parties aggrieved. The relations of both parties met, and with great calmness consulted on what was to be done. The father of the youth or the damsel, whichever it was who had most wealth or fewest children, brought home the young couple; and the new married man immediately set about a trading adventure, which was renewed every season, till he had the means of providing a home of his own. Meantime the increase of the younger family did not seem an inconvenience, but rather a source of delight to the old people; and an arrangement begun from necessity, was often continued through choice for many years after. Their tempers, unruffled by the endless jealousies and competitions incident to our mode of life, were singularly placid, and that love of offspring, where children were truly an unmixed blessing, was a common sentiment which united all the branches of the family, and predominated over every other. The jarring and distrust—the petulance and egotism, which, distinct from all weightier considerations, would not fail to poison concord, were different families to dwell under one roof here, were there scarcely known. It is but justice to our acquired delicacy of sentiment to say, that the absence of refinement contributed to this tranquillity. These primitive people, if they did not gather the flowers of cultivated elegance, were not wounded by the thorns of irritable delicacy. They had neither artificial wants nor artificial miseries. In short, they were neither too wise to be happy, nor too witty to be at rest.

Thus it was in the case of unauthorized marriages. In the more ordinary course of things, love, which makes labour light, tamed these young hunters, and transformed them into diligent and laborious traders, for the nature of their trade included very severe labour. When one of the boys was deeply smitten, his fowling-piece and fishing-rod were at once relinquished. He demanded of his father forty or at most fifty dollars, a negro boy, and a canoe; all of a sudden he assumed the brow of care and solicitude, and began to smoke, a precaution absolutely necessary to repel aguish damps and troublesome insects. He arrayed himself in a habit very little differing from that of the aborigines, into whose bounds he was about to penetrate, and in short commenced Indian trader. That strange, amphibious animal, who, united the acute senses, strong instincts, and unconquerable patience and fortitude of the savage, with the art, policy, and inventions of the European, encountered, in the pursuit of gain, dangers and difficulties equal to those described in the romantic legends of chivalry.

The small bark canoe in which this hardy adventurer embarked himself, his fortune, and his faithful squire, (who was generally born in the same house, and predestined to his service,) was launched amidst the tears and prayers of his female relations, amongst whom was generally included his destined bride, who well knew herself to be the motive of this perilous adventure.

The canoe was entirely filled with coarse strouds and blankets, guns, powder, beads, &c., suited to the various wants and fancies of the natives; one pernicious article was never wanting, and often made a great part of the cargo. This was ardent spirits, for which the natives too early acquired a relish, and the possession of which always proved dangerous and sometimes fatal to the traders. The Mohawks bringing their furs and other peltry, habitually to the stores of their wonted friends and patrons, it was not in that easy and safe direction that these trading adventures extended. The canoe generally steered northward towards the Canadian frontier. They passed by the flats and stonehook in the outset of their journey; then commenced their toils and dangers at the famous water-fall called the Cohoes, ten miles above Albany, where three rivers, uniting their streams into one, dash over a rocky shelf, and falling into a gulf below with great violence, raise clouds of mist, bedecked with splendid rainbows. This was the rubicon which they had to pass, before they plunged into pathless woods, engulfing swamps and lakes, the opposite shores of which the eye could not reach. At the Cohoes, on account of the obstruction formed by the torrent, they unloaded their canoe, and carried it above a mile further upon their shoulders, returning again for the cargo, which they were obliged to transport in the same manner. This was but a prelude to labours and dangers, incredible to those who dwell at ease. Further on, much longer carrying places frequently recurred—where they had the vessel and cargo to drag through thickets, impervious to the day, abounding with snakes and wild beasts, which are always to be found on the side of rivers.

Their provision of food was necessarily small, for fear of overloading the slender and unstable conveyance already crowded with goods. A little dried beef and Indian cornmeal was their whole stock, though they formerly enjoyed both plenty and variety. They were, in a great measure, obliged to depend upon their own skill in hunting and fishing, and the hospitality of the Indians. For hunting, indeed, they had small leisure, their time being sedulously employed, in consequence of the obstacles that retarded their progress. In the slight and fragile canoes, they often had to cross great lakes, on which the wind raised a terrible surge. Afraid of going into the track of the French traders, who were always dangerous rivals, and often declared enemies, they durst not follow the direction of the river St. Lawrence; but, in search of distant territories and unknown tribes, were wont to deviate to the east and south-west, forcing their painful way towards the source of “rivers unknown to song,” whose winding course was often interrupted by shallows, and oftener still by fallen trees of great magnitude, lying across, which it was requisite to cut through with their hatchets, before they could proceed. Small rivers, which wind through fertile valleys, in this country, are peculiarly liable to this obstruction. The chestnut and hickory grew to so large a size in this kind of soil, that in time they became top-heavy, and are then the first prey to the violence of the winds; and thus falling, form a kind of accidental bridge over these rivers.

When the toils and dangers of the day were over, the still greater terrors of the night commenced. In this, which might literally be styled the howling wilderness, they were forced to sleep in the open air, which was frequently loaded with the humid evaporation of swamps, ponds, and redundant vegetation. Here the axe must be again employed to procure the materials of a large fire, even in the warmest weather. This precaution was necessary, that the flies and mosquitoes might be expelled by the smoke, and that the wolves and bears might be deterred by the flame from encroaching on their place of rest. But the light which afforded them protection created fresh disturbance, as the American wolves howl to the fires kindled to affright them—watching the whole night on the surrounding hills to keep up a concert which truly “rendered night hideous:” meantime the bull-frogs, terrible though harmless, and smaller kinds, of various tones and countless numbers, seemed all night calling to each other from opposite swamps, forming the most dismal assemblage of discordant sounds. Though serpents abounded very much in the woods, few of them were noxious. The rattle-snake, the only dangerous reptile, was not so frequently met with as in the neighbouring provinces, and the remedy which nature has bestowed as an antidote to his bite, was very generally known. The beauties of rural and varied scenery seldom compensated the traveller for the dangers of his journey. “In the close prison of innumerous boughs,” and on ground thick with underwood, there was little of landscape open to the eye. The banks of streams and lakes no doubt afforded a rich variety of trees and plants—the former of a most majestic size, the latter of singular beauty and luxuriance; but otherwise they only travelled through a grove of chestnuts or oak, to arrive at another of maple or poplar, or a vast stretch of pines and other evergreens. If, by chance, they arrived at a hill crowned with cedars, which afforded some command of prospect, still the gloomy and interminable forest, only varied with different shades of green, met the eye whichever way it turned, while the mind, repelled by solitude so vast, and silence so profound, turned inward on itself. Nature here wore a veil rich and grand, but impenetrable—at least this was the impression it was likely to make on an European mind; but a native American, familiar from childhood with the productions and inhabitants of the woods, sought the nuts and wild fruits with which they abounded—the nimble squirrel, in all its varied forms, the architect beaver, the savage raccoon, and the stately elk, where we should see nothing but awful solitudes, untrod by human foot. It is inconceivable how well these young travellers, taught by their Indian friends, and the experimental knowledge of their fathers, understood every soil and its productions. A boy of twelve years old would astonish you with his accurate knowledge of plants, their properties, and their relation to the soil and to each other. “Here,” said he, “is a wood of red oak, when it is grubbed up this will be loam and sand, and make good Indian corn ground. This chestnut wood abounds with strawberries, and is the very best soil for wheat. The poplar wood, yonder, is not worth clearing—the soil is always wet and cold. There is a hickory wood, where the soil is always rich and deep, and does not run out; such and such plants that dye blue or orange, grow under it.”

This is merely a slight epitome of the wide views of nature, that are laid open to these people from their very infancy—the acquisition of this kind of knowledge being one of their first amusements; yet those who were capable of astonishing you by the extent and variety of this local skill, in objects so varied and so complicated, never heard of a petal, corolla, or stigma in their lives, nor even of the strata of that soil, with the productions and properties of which they were so intimately acquainted.

Without compass or guide of any kind, the traders steered through these pathless forests. In those gloomy days, when the sun is not visible, or in winter, when the falling snows obscured his beams, they made an incision in the bark on the different sides of a tree; that on the north was invariably thicker than the other, and covered with moss in much greater quantity: and this never-failing indication of the polar influence, was to those sagacious travellers a sufficient guide. They had, indeed, several subordinate monitors. Knowing, so well as they did, the quality of the soil, by the trees or plants most prevalent, they could avoid a swamp, or approach with certainty to a river or high ground, if such was their wish, by means, that to us would seem incomprehensible. Even the savages seldom visited these districts, except in the dead of winter; they had towns, as they called their summer dwellings, on the banks of the lakes and rivers in the interior, where their great fishing places were. In the winter, their grand hunting parties were in places more remote from our boundaries, where the deer and other larger animals took shelter from the neighbourhood of man. These single adventurers sought the Indians in their spring haunts, as soon as the rivers were open; there they had new dangers to apprehend. It is well known that among the natives of America, revenge was actually a virtue, and retaliation a positive duty. While faith was kept with these people they never became aggressors; but the Europeans, by the force of bad example and strong liquors, seduced them from their wonted probity. Yet, from the first, their notion of justice and revenge was of that vague and general nature, that if they considered themselves injured, or if one of their tribe had been killed by an inhabitant of any one of our settlements, they considered any individual of our nation as a proper subject for retribution. This seldom happened among our allies; never, indeed, but when the injury was obvious, and our people very culpable. But the avidity of gain often led our traders to deal with Indians, among whom the French possessed a degree of influence, which produced a smothered animosity to our nation. When, at length, after conquering numberless obstacles, they arrived at the place of their destination, these daring adventurers found occasion for no little address, patience, and indeed courage, before they could dispose of their cargo, and return safely with the profits.

The successful trader had now laid the foundation of his fortune, and approved himself worthy of her for whose sake he encountered all these dangers. It is utterly inconceivable, how even a single season spent in this manner, ripened the mind, and changed the whole appearance—nay, the very character of the countenance of these demi-savages, for such they seemed on returning from among their friends in the forests. Lofty, sedate, and collected, they seem masters of themselves, and independent of others; though sunburnt and austere, one scarce knows them till they unbend. By this Indian likeness, I do not think them by any means degraded. One must have seen these people, (the Indians I mean,) to have any idea what a noble animal man is while unsophisticated. I have often been amused with the descriptions that philosophers, in their closets, who never in their lives saw man, but in his improved or degraded state, give of uncivilized people; not recollecting that they are at the same time uncorrupted. Voyagers, who have not their language, and merely see them transiently, to wonder and be wondered at, are equally strangers to the real character of man in a social though unpolished state. It is no criterion to judge of this state of society by the roaming savages, (truly such,) who are met with on these inhospitable coasts, where nature is niggardly of her gifts, and where the skies frown continually on her hard-fated children. For some good reason, to us unknown, it is requisite that human beings should be scattered through all habitable space, “till gradual life goes out beneath the pole;” and to beings so destined, what misery would result from social tenderness and fine perceptions. Of the class of social beings, (for such indeed they were,) of whom I speak, let us judge from the traders, who know their language and customs, and from the adopted prisoners, who have spent years among them. How unequivocal, how consistent is the testimony they bear to their humanity, friendship, fortitude, fidelity, and generosity; but the indulgence of the recollections thus suggested, has already led me too far from my subject.

The joy that the return of these youths occasioned was proportioned to the anxiety their perilous journey had produced. In some instances, the union of the lovers immediately took place before the next career of gainful hardships commenced. But the more cautious went to New-York in winter, disposed of their peltry, purchased a larger cargo, and another slave and canoe. The next year they laid out the profits of their former adventures in flour and provisions, the staple of the province; this they disposed of at the Bermuda Islands, where they generally purchased one of those light-sailing cedar schooners, for building of which those islanders are famous, and proceeding to the Leeward Islands, loaded it with a cargo of rum, sugar, and molasses.

They were now ripened into men, and considered as active and useful members of society, possessing a stake in the common weal.

The young adventurer had generally finished this process by the time he was one, or, at most, two and twenty. He now married, or if married before, which pretty often was the case, brought home his wife to a house of his own. Either he kept his schooner, and, loading her with produce, sailed up and down the river all summer, and all winter disposed of the cargoes he obtained in exchange, to more distant settlers; or he sold her, purchased European goods, and kept a store. Otherwise he settled in the country, and became as diligent in his agricultural pursuits as if he had never known any other.

It was in this manner that the young colonist made the transition from boyhood to manhood; from the disengaged and careless bachelor, to the provident and thoughtful father of a family; and thus was spent that period of life, so critical in polished society, to those whose condition exempts them from manual labour. Love, undiminished by any rival passion, and cherished by innocence and candour, was here fixed by the power of early habit, and strengthened by similarity of education, tastes, and attachments. Inconstancy, or even indifference among married couples, was unheard of, even where there happened to be a considerable disparity in point of intellect. The extreme affection they bore their mutual offspring, was a bond that forever endeared them to each other. Marriage, in this colony, was always early, very often happy, and very seldom, indeed, interested. When a man had no son, there was nothing to be expected with a daughter but a well-brought-up female slave, and the furniture of the best bed-chamber. At the death of her father, she obtained another division of his effects, such as he thought she needed or deserved, for there was no rule in these cases.

Such was the manner in which those colonists began life; nor must it be thought that those were mean or uninformed persons. Patriots, magistrates, generals, those who were afterwards wealthy, powerful, and distinguished, all—except a few elder brothers, occupied by their possessions at home—set out in the same manner; and, in after life, even in the most prosperous circumstances, they delighted to recount the “humble toils and destiny obscure,” of their early years.

The very idea of being ashamed of any thing that was neither vicious nor indecent, never entered an Albanian head. Early accustomed to this noble simplicity, this dignified candour, I cannot express the contempt and disgust I felt at the shame of honourable poverty. The extreme desire of concealing our real condition, and appearing what we are not, that peculiarly characterizes, I had almost said disgraces, the northern part more particularly of this island. I have often wondered how this vile sentiment, that undermines all true greatness of mind, should prevail more here than in England, where wealth, beyond a doubt, is more respected, at least preponderates more over birth, and heart, and mind, and many other valuable considerations. As a people, we certainly are not sordid, why then should we descend to the meanness of being ashamed of our condition, while we have not done any thing to degrade ourselves? Why add a sting to poverty, and a plume to vanity, by the poor transparent artifice that conceals nothing, and only changes pity into scorn?

Before I quit the subject of Albanian manners, I must describe their amusements, and some other peculiarities, in their modes of life. When I say their amusements, I mean those in which they differed from most other people. Such as they had in common with others, require no description. They were exceedingly social, and visited each other very frequently, beside the regular assembling together in their porches, every fine evening. Of the more substantial luxuries of the table, they knew little, and of the formal and ceremonious parts of good breeding, still less.

If you went to spend a day any where, you were received in a manner, we should think, very cold. No one rose to welcome you; no one wondered you had not come sooner, or apologized for any deficiency in your entertainment. Dinner, which was very early, was served exactly in the same manner as if there were only the family. The house, indeed, was so exquisitely neat and well regulated, that you could not surprise them; and they saw each other so often and so easily, that intimates made no difference. Of strangers they were shy—not by any means from want of hospitality, but from a consciousness that people who had little to value themselves on but their knowledge of the modes and ceremonies of polished life, disliked their sincerity, and despised their simplicity. If you showed no insolent wonder, but easily and quietly adopted their manners, you would receive from them not only very great civility but much essential kindness. Whoever has not common sense and common gratitude enough to pay this tribute of accommodation to those among whom he is destined for the time to live, must of course be an insulated, discontented being—and come home railing at the people whose social comforts he disdained to partake. After sharing this plain and unceremonious dinner, which might, by the by, chance to be a very good one, but was invariably that which was meant for the family, tea was served in at a very early hour; and here it was that the distinction shown to strangers commenced. Tea here, was a perfect regale, accompanied by various sorts of cakes unknown to us, cold pastry, and great quantities of sweetmeats and preserved fruits of various kinds, and plates of hickory and other nuts, ready cracked. In all manner of confectionary and pastry, these people excelled; and having fruit in great abundance, which cost them nothing, and getting sugar home at an easy rate, in return for their exports to the West-Indies, the quantity of these articles used in families, otherwise plain and frugal, was astonishing. Tea was never unaccompanied with some of these petty articles; but for strangers, a great display was made. If you staid supper, you were sure of a most substantial though plain one. In this meal they departed, out of compliment to the strangers, from their usual simplicity. Having dined between twelve and one, you were quite prepared for it. You had either game or poultry roasted, and always shell-fish in the season; you had also fruit in abundance. All this with much neatness but no form. The seeming coldness with which you were first received, wore off by degrees. They could not accommodate their topics to you, and scarcely attempted it. But the conversation of the old, though limited in regard to subjects, was rational and easy, and had in it an air of originality and truth, not without its attractions. That of the young was natural and playful, yet full of localities, which lessened its interest to a stranger, but which were extremely amusing when you became one of the initiated.

Their amusements were marked by a simplicity, which, to strangers, appeared rude and childish; (I mean those of the younger class.) In spring, eight or ten of the young people of one company, or related to each other, young men and maidens, would set out together in a canoe, on a kind of rural excursion, of which amusement was the object. Yet so fixed were their habits of industry, that they never failed to carry their work-baskets with them, not as a form, but as an ingredient. necessarily mixed with their pleasures. They had no attendants—and steered a devious course of four, five, or perhaps more, miles, till they arrived at some of the beautiful islands with which this fine river abounded, or at some sequestered spot on its banks, where delicious wild fruits, or particular conveniences for fishing, afforded some attraction. There they generally arrived about nine or ten o’clock, having set out in the cool and early hour of sunrise. Often they met another party, going, perhaps, to a different place, and joined them, or induced them to take their route. A basket, with tea, sugar, and the other usual provisions for breakfast, with the apparatus for cooking it—a little rum and fruit, for making cool, weak punch, the usual beverage in the middle of the day, and now and then some cold pastry, was the sole provision; for the great affair was to depend on the sole exertions of the boys, in procuring fish, wild ducks, &c., for their dinner. They were all, like Indians, ready and dexterous with the axe, gun, &c. Whenever they arrived at their destination, they sought out a dry and beautiful spot opposite to the river, and in an instant, with their axes, cleared so much superfluous shade or shrubbery as left a semicircular opening, above which they bent and twined the boughs, so as to form a pleasant bower, while the girls gathered dried branches, to which one of the youths soon set fire with gunpowder, and the breakfast, a very regular and cheerful one, occupied an hour or two; the young men then set out to fish, or perhaps to shoot birds, and the maidens sat busily down to their work, singing and conversing with all the ease and gaiety the bright serenity of the atmosphere and beauty of the surrounding scene were calculated to inspire. After the sultry hours had been thus employed, the boys brought their tribute from the river or the wood, and found a rural meal prepared by their fair companions, among whom were generally their sisters and the chosen of their hearts. After dinner they all set out together to gather wild strawberries, or whatever other fruit was in season, for it was accounted a reflection to come home empty-handed. When wearied of this amusement, they either drank tea in their bower, or returning, landed at some friend’s on the way, to partake of that refreshment. Here, indeed,

Another of their summer amusements was going to the bush, which was thus managed: a party of young people set out in little open carriages, something in the form of a gig, of which every family had one; every one carried something with him, as, in these cases, there was no hunting to add provision. One brought wine for negus, another tea and coffee of a superior quality, a third a pigeon pie; in short, every one brought something, no matter how trifling, for there was no emulation about the extent of the contribution. In this same bush, there were spots to which the poorer members of the community retired, to work their way with patient industry, through much privation and hardship, compared to the plenty and comfort enjoyed by the rest. They perhaps could only afford to have one negro-woman, whose children, as they grew up, became to their master a source of plenty and ease: but in the mean time, the good man wrought hard himself, with a little occasional aid sent him by his friends. He had plenty of the necessaries of life, but no luxuries. His wife and daughters milked the cows and wrought at the hay, and his house was on a smaller scale than the older settlers had theirs, yet he had always one neatly-furnished room. A very clean house, with a pleasant portico before it—generally a fine stream beside his dwelling, and some Indian wigwams near it. He was wood-surrounded, and seemed absolutely to live in the bosom of nature, screened from all the artificial ills of life; and those spots, cleared of incumbrances, yet rich in native luxuriance, had a wild originality about them, not easily described. The young parties, or sometimes elder ones, who set out on this woodland excursion, had no fixed destination; they went generally in the forenoon, and when they were tired of going on the ordinary road, turned into the bush, and wherever they saw an inhabited spot, with the appearance of which they were pleased, went in with all the ease of intimacy, and told them they were come to spend the afternoon there. The good people, not in the least surprised at this incursion, very calmly opened the reserved apartments, or if it were very hot, received them in the portico. The guests produced their stores, and they boiled their tea-kettle, and provided cream, nuts, or any peculiar dainty of the woods which they chanced to have; and they always furnished bread and butter, which they had excellent of their kinds. They were invited to partake of the collation, which they did with great ease and frankness; then dancing, or any other amusement that struck their fancy, succeeded. They sauntered about the bounds in the evening, and returned by moonlight. These good people felt not the least embarrassed at the rustic plainness of every thing about them: they considered themselves as on the way, after a little longer exertion of patient industry, to have every thing that the others had; and their guests thought it an agreeable variety, in this abrupt manner, to visit their sequestered abodes.

In winter, the river, frozen to a great depth, formed the principal road through the country, and was the scene of all those amusements of skating, and sledge races, common to the north of Europe. They used, in great parties, to visit their friends at a distance, and having an excellent and hardy breed of horses, flew from place to place, over the snow and ice, in these sledges, with incredible rapidity, stopping a little while at every house they came to, and always well received, whether acquainted with the owners or not. The night never impeded these travellers, for the atmosphere was so pure and serene, and the snow so reflected the moon and star-light, that the nights exceeded the days in beauty.

In town, all the boys were extravagantly fond of a diversion, that to us would appear a very odd and childish one. The great street of the town, in the midst of which, as has been formerly mentioned, stood all the churches and public buildings, sloped down from the hill on which the fort stood, towards the river: between the buildings was an unpaved carriage-road, the footpath, beside the houses, being the only part of the street which was paved. In winter, this sloping descent, continued for more than a quarter of a mile, acquiring firmness from the frost, and became extremely slippery. Then the amusement commenced. Every boy and youth in town, from eight to eighteen, had a little, low sledge, made with a rope like a bridle to the front, by which it could be dragged after one by the hand. On this, one or two, at most, could sit—and this sloping descent, being made as smooth as a looking-glass, by sliders, sledges, &c., perhaps a hundred at once set out in succession from the top of this street, each seated in his little sledge, with the rope in his hand, which drawn to the right or left, served to guide him. He pushed it off with a little stick, as one would launch a boat; and then, with the most astonishing velocity, precipitated by the weight of the owner, the little machine glided past, and was at the lower end of the street in an instant. What could be so peculiarly delightful in this rapid and smooth descent, I could never discover—though in a more retired place, and on a smaller scale, I have tried the amusement: but to a young Albanian, sleighing, as he called it, was one of the first joys of life, though attended with the drawback of walking to the top of the declivity, dragging his sledge every time he renewed his flight, for such it might well be called. In the management of this little machine, some dexterity was necessary: an unskilful Phaeton was sure to fall. The conveyance was so low, that a fall was attended with little danger, yet with much disgrace, for an universal laugh from all sides, assailed the fallen charioteer. This laugh was from a very full chorus, for the constant and rapid succession of this procession, where every one had a brother, lover, or kinsman, brought all the young people in town to the porticos, where they used to sit, wrapt in furs, till ten or eleven at night, engrossed by this delectable spectacle. What magical attraction it could possibly have, I never could find out; but I have known an Albanian, after residing some years in Britain, and becoming a polished, fine gentleman, join the sport, and slide down with the rest. Perhaps, after all our laborious refinements in amusement, being easily pleased is one of the great secrets of happiness, as far as it is attainable in this “frail and feverish being.”

Now there remains another amusement to be described, which I mention with reluctance, and should scarce venture to mention at all, had I not found a precedent for it among the virtuous Spartans. Had Lycurgus himself, been the founder of their community, the young men could scarce have stolen with more alacrity and dexterity. I could never conjecture how the custom could possibly originate among a set of people of such perfect and plain integrity; but thus it was. The young men now and then spent a convivial evening at a tavern together, where, from the extreme cheapness of liquor, their bills, (even when they committed an occasional excess,) were very moderate. Either to lessen the expense of the supper, or from the pure love of what they styled frolic, (anglicè mischief,) they never failed to steal either a roasting pig, or a fat turkey, for this festive occasion. The town was the scene of these depredations, which never extended beyond it. Swine and turkeys were reared in great numbers by all the inhabitants. For those they brought to town in winter, they had an appropriate place at the lower end of the garden, in which they were locked up. It is observable that these animals were the only things locked up about the house, for this good reason, that nothing else ran the least risk of being stolen. The dexterity of the theft consisted in climbing over very high walls, watching to steal in when the negroes went down to feed the horse or cow, or making a clandestine entrance at some window or aperture; breaking open doors was quite out of rule, and rarely ever resorted to. These exploits were always performed in the darkest nights; if the owner heard a noise in his stables, he usually ran down with a cudgel, and laid it without mercy on any culprit he could overtake. This was either dexterously avoided or patiently borne. To plunder a man, and afterwards offer him any personal injury, was accounted scandalous; but the turkies or pigs were never recovered. In some instances, a whole band of these young plunderers would traverse the town, and carry off such a prey as would afford provision for many jovial nights. Nothing was more common than to find one’s brothers or nephews amongst these pillagers.

Marriage was followed by two dreadful privations: a married man could not fly down the street in a little sledge, or join a party of pig-stealers, without outraging decorum. If any of their confederates married, as they frequently did, very young, and were in circumstances to begin house-keeping, they were sure of an early visit of this nature from their old confederates. It was thought a great act of gallantry to overtake and chastise the robbers. I recollect an instance of a young married man, who had not long attained to that dignity, whose turkies screaming violently one night, he ran down to chastise the aggressors; he overtook them in the fact, but finding they were his old associates, could not resist the force of habit, joined the rest in another exploit of the same nature, and then shared his own turkey at the tavern. There were two inns in the town, the masters of which were “honourable men,” yet these pigs and turkies were always received and dressed, without questioning whence they came. In one instance, a young party had, in this manner, provided a pig, and ordered it to be roasted at the King’s Arms; another party attacked the same place, whence this booty was taken, but found it already rifled. This party was headed by an idle, mischievous young man, who was the Ned Poins of his fraternity: well guessing how the stolen roasted-pig was disposed of, he ordered his friends to adjourn to the rival tavern, and went himself to the King’s Arms. Inquiring in the kitchen, (where a pig was roasting,) who supped there, he soon arrived at certainty; then taking an opportunity when there was no one in the kitchen but the cook-maid, he sent for one of the jovial party, who were at cards up stairs. During her absence, he cut the string by which the pig was suspended, laid it in the dripping-pan, and through the quiet and dark streets of that sober city, carried it safely to the other tavern, where, after finishing the roasting, he and his companions prepared to regale themselves. Meantime, the pig was missed at the King’s Arms, and it was immediately concluded, from the dexterity and address with which this trick was performed, that no other but the Poins aforesaid, could be the author of it. A new stratagem was now devised to outwit this stealer of the stolen. An adventurous youth of the despoiled party, laid down a parcel of shavings opposite to the other tavern, and setting them in a blaze, cried fire! a most alarming sound here, where such accidents were too frequent. Every one rushed out of the house, where supper had been just served. The dexterous purveyor, who had occasioned all this disturbance, stole in, snatched up the dish with the pig in it, stole out again by the back door, and feasted his companions with the recovered spoils.

These were a few idle young men, the sons of avaricious fathers, who grudging to advance the means of pushing them forward, by the help of their own industry, to independence, allowed them to remain so long unoccupied, that their time was wasted, and habits of conviviality at length degenerated into those of dissipation. These were not only pitied and endured, but received with a great deal of kindness and indulgence, that was wonderful. They were usually a kind of wags, went about like privileged persons, at whose jests no one took offence, and were in their discourse and style of humour, so much like Shakspeare’s clowns, that on reading that admirable author, I thought I recognized my old acquaintances. Of these, however, I saw little, the society admitted at my friends being very select.

Before I quit this attempt to delineate the number of which this community was composed, I must mention a class of aged persons, who, united by the same recollections, pursuits, and topics, associated very much with each other, and very little with a world which they seemed to have renounced. They might be styled lay-brothers, and were usually widowers, or persons who, in consequence of some early disappointment, had remained unmarried. These were not devotees, who had, as was formerly often the case in Catholic countries, run from the extreme of licentiousness to that of bigotry. They were generally persons who were never marked as being irreligious or immoral—and just as little distinguished for peculiar strictness or devotional fervour. These good men lived in the house of some relation, where they had their own apartments to themselves, and only occasionally mixed with the family. The people of the town lived to a great age; ninety was frequently attained, and I have seen different individuals of both sexes, who had reached a hundred. These ancients seemed to place all their delight in pious books and devotional exercises, particularly in singing psalms, which they would do in their own apartments for hours together. They came out and in like ghosts, and were treated in the same manner, for they never spoke unless when addressed, and seemed very careless of the things of this world, like people who had got above it. Yet they were much together, and seemed to enjoy each other’s conversation. Retrospection on the scenes of early life, anticipations of that futurity, so closely veiled from our sight, and discussions regarding different passages of holy writ, seemed their favourite themes. They were mild and benevolent, but abstracted, and unlike other people, their happiness, for happy I am convinced they were, was of a nature peculiar to themselves, not obvious to others. Others there were not deficient in their attention to religious duties, who, living in the bosom of their families, took an active and cheerful concern to the last, in all that amused or interested them; and I never understood that the lay-brothers, as I have chosen to call them, blamed them for so doing. One of the first Christian virtues, charity, in the most obvious and common sense of the word, had little scope. Here a beggar was unheard of. People, such as I have described in the bush, or going there, were no more considered as objects of pity, than we consider an apprentice as such, for having to serve his time before he sets up for himself. In such cases, the wealthier, because older settlers, frequently gave a heifer or colt each, to a new beginner, who set about clearing land in their vicinity. Orphans were never neglected; and from their early marriages, and the casualties their manner of life subjected them to, these were not unfrequent. You never entered a house without meeting children; maidens, bachelors, and childless married people, all adopted orphans, and all treated them as if they were their own.

Having given a sketch, that appears to my recollection, (aided by subsequent conversations with my fellow-travellers,) a faithful one of the country and its inhabitants, it is time to return to the history of the mind of Miss Schuyler, for by no other circumstances than prematurity of intellect, and superior culture, were her earliest years distinguished. Her father, dying early, left her very much to the tuition of his brother. Her uncle’s frontier situation, made him a kind of barrier to the settlement; while the powerful influence that his knowledge of nature and of character, his sound judgment and unstained integrity, had obtained over both parties, made him the bond by which the aborigines were united with the colonists. Thus, little leisure was left him for domestic enjoyments or literary pursuits, for both of which his mind was peculiarly adapted. Of the leisure time he could command, however, he made the best use, and soon distinguished Catalina as the one amongst his family to whom nature had been most liberal; he was at the pains to cultivate her taste for reading, which soon discovered itself, by procuring for her the best authors in history, divinity, and belles lettres; in this latter branch, her reading was not very extensive, but then the few books of this kind that she possessed, were very well chosen, and she was early and intimately familiar with them. What I remember of her, assisted by comparisons since made with others, has led me to think that extensive reading, superficial and indiscriminate—such as the very easy access to books among us encourages, is not at an early period of life, favourable to solid thinking, true taste, or fixed principle. Whatever she knew, she knew to the bottom; and the reflections which were thus suggested to her strong, discerning mind, were digested by means of easy and instructive conversation. Colonel Schuyler had many relations in New-York—and the governor and other ruling characters there, carefully cultivated the acquaintance of a person, so well qualified to instruct and inform them on certain points as he was. Having considerable dealings in the fur trade, too, he went every winter to the capital for a short time, to adjust his commercial concerns, and often took his favourite niece along with him, who, being of an uncommonly quick growth and tall stature, soon attracted attention by her personal graces, as well as by the charms of her conversation. I have been told, and should conclude from a picture I have seen drawn when she was fifteen, that she was in her youth very handsome. Of this, few traces remained when I knew her; excessive corpulence having then overloaded her majestic person, and entirely changed the aspect of a countenance, once eminently graceful. In no place did female excellence of any kind more amply receive its due tribute of applause and admiration than here, for various reasons; first, cultivation and refinement were rare. Then, as it was not the common routine that women should necessarily have such and such accomplishments, pains were only taken on minds strong enough to bear improvement, without becoming conceited or pedantic; and lastly, as the spur of emulation was not invidiously applied, those who acquired a superior degree of knowledge, considered themselves as very fortunate in having a new source of enjoyment opened to them. But never having been made to understand that the chief motive of excelling was to dazzle or outshine others, they no more thought of despising their less fortunate companions, than of assuming pre-eminence for discovering a wild plum-tree or bee-hive in the woods, though, as in the former case, they would have regarded such a discovery as a benefit and a pleasure; their acquisitions, therefore, were never shaded by affectation. The women were all natives of the country, and few had more than a domestic education; but men, who possessed the advantages of early culture and usage of the world, daily arrived on the continent from different parts of Europe; so that if we may be indulged in the inelegant liberty of talking commercially of female elegance, the supply was not equal to the demand. It may be easily supposed that Miss Schuyler met with due attention; who, even at this early age, was respected for the strength of her character, and the dignity and composure of her manners. Her mother, whom she delighted to recollect, was mild, pious, and amiable; her acknowledged worth was chastened by the utmost diffidence. Yet, accustomed to exercise a certain power over the minds of the natives, she had great influence in restraining their irregularities and swaying their opinions. From her knowledge of their language, and habit of conversing with them, some detached Indian families resided for a while in summer in the vicinity of houses occupied by the more wealthy and benevolent inhabitants. They generally built a slight wigwam under shelter of the orchard fence, on the shadiest side; and never were neighbours more harmless, peaceable, and obliging—I might truly add industrious, for in one way or other they were constantly occupied. The women and their children employed themselves in many ingenious handicrafts, which, since the introduction of European arts and manufactures, have greatly declined. Baking trays, wooden dishes, ladles and spoons, shovels and rakes, brooms of a peculiar manufacture, made by splitting a birch block into slender but tough filaments; baskets of all kinds and sizes, made of similar filaments, enriched with the most beautiful colours, which they alone knew how to extract from vegetable substances, and incorporate with the wood. They made also of the birch-bark, (which is here so strong and tenacious, that cradles and canoes are made of it,) many receptacles for holding fruit and other things, curiously adorned with embroidery—not inelegant, done with the sinews of deer, and leggins and moomesans, a very comfortable and highly ornamental substitute for shoes and stockings, then universally used in winter among the men of our own people. They had also a beautiful manufacture of deer skin, softened to the consistence of the finest Chamois leather, and embroidered with beads of wampum, formed like bugles; these, with great art and industry, they formed out of shells, which had the appearance of fine, white porcelain, veined with purple. This embroidery showed both skill and taste, and was among themselves highly valued. They had belts, large embroidered garters, and many other ornaments, formed, first of deer sinews, divided to the size of coarse thread, and afterwards, when they obtained worsted thread from us, of that material, formed in a manner which I could never comprehend. It was neither knitted nor wrought in the manner of net, nor yet woven—but the texture was formed more like an officer’s sash than any thing I can compare it to. While the women and children were thus employed, the men sometimes assisted them in the more laborious part of their business, but oftener occupied themselves in fishing on the rivers, and drying or preserving, by means of smoke, in sheds erected for the purpose, sturgeon and large eels, which they caught in great quantities, and of an extraordinary size, for winter provision.

Boys on the verge of manhood, and ambitious to be admitted into the hunting parties of the ensuing winter, exercised themselves in trying to improve their skill in archery, by shooting birds, squirrels, and raccoons. These petty huntings helped to support the little colony in the neighbourhood, which, however, derived its principal subsistence from an exchange of their manufactures with the neighbouring family, for milk, bread, and other articles of food.

The summer residence of these ingenious artisans promoted a great intimacy between the females of the vicinity and the Indian women, whose sagacity and comprehension of mind were beyond belief.

It is a singular circumstance, that though they saw the negroes in every respectable family not only treated with humanity, but cherished with parental kindness, they always regarded them with contempt and dislike, as an inferior race, and would have no communication with them. It was necessary then that all conversations should be held, and all business transacted with these females, by the mistress of the family. In the infancy of the settlement, the Indian language was familiar to the more intelligent inhabitants, who found it very useful, and were, no doubt, pleased with its nervous and emphatic idiom, and its lofty and sonorous cadence. It was, indeed, a noble and copious language, when one considers that it served as the vehicle of thought to a people, whose ideas and sphere of action we should consider as so very confined.

Conversing with those interesting and deeply-reflecting natives, was, to thinking minds, no mean source of entertainment. Communication soon grew easier, for the Indians had a singular facility in acquiring other languages—the children, I well remember, from experimental knowledge, for I delighted to hover about the wigwam, and converse with those of the Indians, and we very frequently mingled languages. But to return: whatever comfort or advantage a good and benevolent mind possesses, it is willing to extend to others. The mother of my friend, and other matrons, who, like her, experienced the consolations, the hopes, and the joys of Christianity, wished those estimable natives to share in their pure enjoyments.

Of all others, these mild and practical Christians were the best fitted for making proselytes. Unlike professed missionaries, whose zeal is not always seconded by judgment, they did not begin by alarming the jealousy, with which all manner of people watch over their hereditary prejudices. Engaged in active life, they had daily opportunities of demonstrating the truth of their religion, by its influence upon their conduct. Equally unable and unwilling to enter into deep disquisitions or polemical arguments, their calm and unstudied explanations of the essential doctrines of Christianity, were the natural results which arose out of their ordinary conversation. To make this better understood, I must endeavour to explain what I have observed in the unpolished society that occupies the wild and remote districts of different countries. Their conversation is not only more original, but, however odd the expression may appear, more philosophical than that of persons equally destitute of mental culture, in more populous districts. They derive their subjects of reflection and conversation, more from natural objects, which lead minds, possessing a certain degree of intelligence, more forward to trace effects to their causes. Nature, there, too, is seen arrayed in virgin beauty and simple majesty. Its various aspects are more grand and impressive; its voice is more distinctly heard, and sinks deeper into the heart. These people, more dependent on the simples of the fields and the wild fruits of the woods, better acquainted with the forms and instincts of the birds and beasts, their fellow denizens in the wilds, and more observant of every constellation and every change in the sky, from living so much in the open air, have a wider range of ideas than we are aware of. With us, art every where combats nature—opposes her plainest dictates, and too often conquers her. The poor, are so confined to the spot where their occupations lie—so engrossed by their struggles for daily bread, and so surrounded by the works of man, that those of their Creator are almost excluded from their view, at least form a very small part of the subjects that engross their thoughts. What knowledge they have is often merely the husks and orts that fall from the table of their superiors, which they swallow without chewing.

Many of those who are one degree above the lowest class, see nature in poetry, novels, and other books, and never think of looking for her any where else; like a person amused by seeing the reflection of the starry heavens, or shifting clouds in a calm lake, never lifting his eyes to those objects, of which he sees the imperfect though resembling pictures.

Those who live in the undisguised bosom of tranquil nature, and whose chief employment it is, by disincumbering her of waste luxuriance, to discover and improve her latent beauties, need no borrowed enthusiasm to relish her sublime and graceful features. The venerable simplicity of the sacred scriptures, has something extremely attractive for a mind in this state. The soul, which is the most familiar with its Creator, in his works, will be always the most ready to recognise him in his word. Conversations, which had for their subjects, the nature and virtues of plants, the extent and boundaries of woods and lakes, and the various operations of instinct in animals, under those circumstances where they are solely directed by it, and the distinct customs and manners of various untutored nations, tended to expand the mind, and teach it to aspire to more perfect intelligence. The untaught reasoners of the woods, could not but observe that the Europeans knew much that was concealed from them, and derived many benefits and much power from that knowledge. Where they saw active virtue keep pace with superior knowledge, it was natural to conclude that persons thus beneficially enlightened, had clearer and ampler views of that futurity, which, to them, only dimly gleamed through formless darkness. They would suppose, too, that those illuminated beings, had some means of approaching nearer to that source of light and perfection, from which wisdom is derived, than they themselves had attained. Their minds being thus prepared by degrees, these pious matrons, (probably assisted by those lay-brothers, of whom I have spoken,) began to diffuse the knowledge of the distinguished doctrines of Christianity among the elderly and well-intentioned Indian women. These did not, by any means, receive the truth without examination. The acuteness of intellect, which discovered itself in their objections, (of which I have heard many striking instances,) was astonishing; yet the humble and successful instruments of enlightening those sincere and candid people, did by no means take to themselves any merit in making proselytes. When they found their auditors disposed to listen diligently to the truth, they sent them to the clergyman of the place, who instructed, confirmed, and baptised them. I am sorry that I have not a clear and distinct recollection of the exact manner, or the numbers, &c. of these first converts, of whom I shall say more hereafter; but I know that this was the usual process. They were, however, both zealous and persevering, and proved the means of bringing many others under the law of love, to which it is reasonable to suppose the safety of this unprotected frontier was greatly owing at that crisis, that of the first attacks of the French. The Indian women, who, from motives of attachment to particular families, or for the purpose of carrying on the small traffic, already mentioned, were wont to pass their summers near the settlers, were of detached and wandering families, who preferred this mode of living to the labour of tilling the ground, which entirely devolved upon the women among the Five Nations. By tilling the ground, I would not be understood to mean any settled mode of agriculture, requiring cattle, inclosures, or implements of husbandry. Grain made but a very subordinate part of their subsistence, which was chiefly derived from fishing and hunting. The little they had was maize; this, with kidney-beans and tobacco, the only plants they cultivated, was sown in some very pleasant fields along the Mohawk river, by the women, who had no implements of tillage but the hoe, and a kind of wooden spade. These fields laid round their castles—and while the women were thus employed, the men were catching and drying fish by the rivers or on the lakes. The younger girls, were much busied during summer and autumn, in gathering wild fruits, berries, and grapes, which they had a peculiar mode of drying, to preserve them for the winter. The great cranberry they gathered in abundance, which, without being dried, would last the whole winter, and was much used by the settlers. These dried fruits were no luxury; a fastidious taste would entirely reject them. Yet, besides furnishing another article of food, they had their use, as was evident. Without some antiseptic, they who lived the whole winter on animal food, without a single vegetable, or any thing of the nature of bread, unless now and then a little maize, which they had the art of boiling down to softness in lye of wood-ashes, must have been liable to that great scourge of northern nations, in their primitive state, the scurvy, had not this simple desert been a preservative against it. Rheumatisms, and sometimes agues affected them, but no symptom of any cutaneous disease was ever seen on an Indian.

The stragglers, from the confines of the orchards, did not fail to join their tribes in winter, and were zealous, and often successful in spreading their new opinions. Indians supposed that every country had its own mode of honouring the Great Spirit, to whom all were equally acceptable. This had, on one hand, the bad effect of making them satisfied with their own vague and undefined notions; and on the other, the good one of making them very tolerant of those of others. If you do not insult their belief, (for mode of worship they have scarce any,) they will hear you talk of yours with the greatest patience and attention; their good breeding, in this respect, was really superlative. No Indian ever interrupted any the most idle talker; but when he concluded, he would deliberately, methodically, and not ungracefully answer or comment upon all he had said, in a manner which showed that not a word had escaped him.

Lady Mary Montague ludicrously says, that the court of Vienna was the paradise of old women; and that there is no other place in the world where a woman past fifty excites the least interest. Had her travels extended to the interior of North America, she would have seen another instance of this inversion of the common mode of thinking. Here a woman never was of consequence, till she had a son old enough to fight the battles of his country; from that date she held a superior rank in society; was allowed to live at ease, and even called to consultations on national affairs. In savage and warlike countries, the reign of beauty is very short, and its influence comparatively limited. The girls, in childhood, had a very pleasing appearance; but excepting their fine hair, eyes, and teeth, every external grace was soon banished by perpetual drudgery, carrying burdens too heavy to be borne, and other slavish employments, considered beneath the dignity of the men. These walked before, erect and graceful, decked with ornaments, which set off to advantage the symmetry of their well-formed persons, while the poor women followed, meanly attired, bending under the weight of the children and utensils, which they carried every where with them; and disfigured and degraded by ceaseless toils. They were very early married—for a Mohawk had no other servant but his wife; and whenever he commenced hunter, it was requisite that he should have some one to carry his load, cook his kettle, make his moccasins, and above all, produce the young warriors, who were to succeed him in the honours of the chase, and of the tomahawk. Wherever man is a mere hunter, woman is a mere slave. It is domestic intercourse that softens man, and elevates woman; and of that there can be little, where the employments and amusements are not in common. The ancient Caledonians honoured the fair—but then, it is to be observed, they were fair huntresses, and moved, in the light of their beauty, to the hill of roes; and the culinary toils were entirely left to the rougher sex. When the young warrior, above alluded to, made his appearance, it softened the cares of his mother, who well knew that when he grew up, every deficiency in tenderness to his wife, would be made up in superabundant duty and affection to her. If it were possible to carry filial veneration to excess, it was done here, for all other charities were absorbed in it. I wonder this system of depressing the sex in their early years, to exalt them when all their juvenile attractions were flown, and when mind alone can distinguish them, has not occurred to our modern reformers. The Mohawks took good care not to admit their women to share their prerogatives, till they approved themselves good wives and mothers.

This digression, long as it is, has a very intimate connexion with the character of my friend, who early adopted the views of her family, in regard to those friendly Indians, which greatly enlarged her mind, and ever after influenced her conduct. She was, even in childhood, well acquainted with their language, opinions, and customs; and, like every other person possessed of a liberality or benevolence of mind, whom chance had brought acquainted with them, was exceedingly partial to those high-souled and generous natives. The Mohawk language was early familiar to her; she spoke Dutch and English with equal ease and purity, was no stranger to the French tongue, and could, (I think,) read German: I have heard her speak it. From the conversations which her active curiosity led her to hold with native Africans, brought into her father’s family, she was more intimately acquainted with the customs, manners, and government of their native country, than she could have been, by reading all that was ever written on the subject. Books are, no doubt, the granaries of knowledge; but a diligent, inquiring mind, in the active morning of life, will find it strewed like manna, over the face of the earth—and need not, in all cases, rest satisfied with intelligence accumulated by others, and tinctured with their passions and prejudices. Whoever reads Homer or Shakspeare, may daily discover that they describe both nature and art from their own observation. Consequently, you see the images reflected from the mirror of their great minds, differing from the descriptions of others, as the reflection of an object in all its colours and proportions, from an unpolished surface, does from a shadow on a wall, or from a picture drawn from recollection. The enlarged mind of my friend, and her simple, yet easy and dignified manners, made her readily adapt herself to those with whom she conversed, and every where command respect and kindness—and, on a nearer acquaintance, affection followed; but she had too much sedateness and independence to adopt those caressing and insinuating manners, by which the vain and the artful so soon find their way into shallow minds. Her character did not captivate at once, but gradually unfolded itself, and you had always something new to discover. Her style was grave and masculine, without the least embellishment—and at the same time so pure, that every thing she said might be printed without correction, and so plain, that the most ignorant and most inferior persons were never at a loss to comprehend it. It possessed, too, a wonderful flexibility; it seemed to rise and fall with the subject. I have not met with a style, which, to noble and uniform simplicity, united such variety of expression. Whoever drinks knowledge pure at its sources, solely from a delight in filling the capacities of a large mind, without the desire of dazzling or out-shining others; whoever speaks for the sole purpose of conveying to other minds those ideas from which he himself has received pleasure and advantage, may possess this chaste and natural style; but it is not to be acquired by art or study.

Miss Schuyler had the happiness to captivate her cousin Philip, eldest son of her uncle, who was ten years older than herself, and was in all respects to be accounted a suitable, and in the worldly sense, an advantageous match for her. His father was highly satisfied to have the two objects on whom he had bestowed so much care and culture united, but did not live to see this happy connexion take place. They were married in the year 1719,^[2] when she was in the eighteenth year of her age. When the old colonel died, he left considerable possessions to be divided among his children, and from the quantity of plate, paintings, &c. which they shared, there is reason to believe he must have brought some of his wealth from Holland, as in those days, people had little means of enriching themselves in new settlements. He had also considerable possessions in a place near the town, now called Fishkill, about twenty miles below Albany. His family residence, however, was at the Flats, a fertile and beautiful plain on the banks of the river. He possessed about two miles on a stretch of that rich and level campaign. This possession was bounded on the east by the river Hudson, whose high banks overhung the stream and its pebbly strand, and were both adorned and defended by elms, (larger than I have seen in any other place,) decked with natural festoons of wild grapes, which abound along the banks of this noble stream. These lofty elms were left when the country was cleared, to fortify the banks against the masses of thick ice, which make war upon them in spring, when the melting snows burst this glassy pavement, and raise the waters many feet above their usual level. This precaution not only answers that purpose, but gratifies the mind, by presenting to the eye a remnant of the wild magnificence of nature, amidst the smiling scenes produced by varied and successful cultivation. As you came along by the north end of the town, where the Patroon had his seat, you afterwards past by the enclosures of the citizens, where, as formerly described, they planted their corn, and arrived at the Flats, Colonel Schuyler’s possession. On the right you saw the river in all its beauty, there above a mile broad: on the opposite side, the view was bounded by steep hills, covered with lofty pines, from which a water-fall descended, which not only gave animation to the sylvan scene, but was the best barometer imaginable—foretelling by its varied and intelligible sounds, every approaching change, not only of the weather, but of the wind. Opposite to the grounds lay an island, above a mile in length, and about a quarter in breadth, which also belonged to the Colonel: exquisitely beautiful it was, and though the haunt I most delighted in, it is not in my power to describe it. Imagine a little Egypt, yearly overflowed, and of the most redundant fertility. This charming spot was at first covered with wood, like the rest of the country, except a long field in the middle, where the Indians had probably cultivated maize: round this was a broad, shelving border, where the grey and the weeping willows, the bending osier, and numberless aquatic plants, not known in this country, were allowed to flourish in the utmost luxuriance, while within, some tall sycamores and wild fruit-trees, towered above the rest. Thus was formed a broad belt, which, in winter, proved an impenetrable barrier against the broken ice, and in summer, was the haunt of numberless birds and small animals, who dwelt in perfect safety, it being impossible to penetrate it. Numberless were the productions of this luxuriant spot: never was a richer field for a botanist; for though the ice was kept off, the turbid waters of the spring flood overflowed it annually, and not only deposited a rich sediment, but left the seeds of various plants swept from the shores it had passed by. The centre of the island, which was much higher than the sides, produced with a slight degree of culture, the most abundant crops of wheat, hay, and flax. At the end of this island, which was exactly opposite to the family mansion, a long sand-bank extended; on this was a very valuable fishing place, of which a considerable profit might be made. In summer, when the water was low, this narrow stripe, (for such it was,) came in sight, and furnished an amusing spectacle; for there the bald or white-headed eagle, (a large picturesque bird, very frequent in this country,) the osprey, the heron, and the curlew, used to stand in great numbers, in a long row, like a military arrangement, for a whole summer day, fishing for perch and a kind of fresh-water herring, which abounded there. At the same season, a variety of wild ducks, who bred on the shores of the island, (among which was a small, white diver, of an elegant form,) led forth their young to try their first excursion. What a scene have I beheld on a calm, summer evening! There, indeed, were “fringed banks” richly fringed, and wonderfully variegated; where every imaginable shade of colour mingled, and where life teemed prolific on every side. The river, a perfect mirror, reflecting the pine-covered hills opposite—and the pliant shades that bend without a wind, round this enchanting island, while hundreds of the white divers, saw-bill ducks, with scarlet heads, teal, and other aquatic birds, sported at once on the calm waters. At the discharge of a gun from the shore, these feathered beauties all disappeared at once, as if by magic, and in an instant rose to view in different places.

How much they seemed to enjoy that life which was so new to them! for they were the young broods first led forth to sport upon the waters. While the fixed attitude and lofty port of the large birds of prey, who were ranged upon the sandy shelf, formed an inverted picture in the same clear mirror, and were a pleasing contrast to the playful multitude around. These they never attempted to disturb, well aware of the facility of escape which their old retreats afforded them. Such of my readers as have had patience to follow me to this favourite isle, will be, ere now, as much bewildered, as I have often been myself on its luxuriant shores. To return to the southward, on the confines of what might then be called an interminable wild, rose two gently sloping eminences, about half a mile from the shore; from each of these a large brook descended, bending through the plain, and having their course marked by the shades of primeval trees and shrubs, left there to shelter the cattle when the ground was cleared. On these eminences, in the near neighbourhood, and in full view of the mansion at the Flats, were two large and well-built dwellings, inhabited by Colonel Schuyler’s two younger sons, Peter and Jeremiah. To the eldest was allotted the place inhabited by his father, which, from its lower situation and level surface, was called the Flats. There was a custom prevalent among the new settlers, something like that of gavelkind; they made a pretty equal division of lands among their younger sons; the eldest, by pre-eminence of birth, had a larger share, and generally succeeded to the domain inhabited by his father, with the slaves, cattle, and effects upon it.

This, in the present instance, was the lot of the eldest son of that family whose possessions I have been describing. His portion of land on the shore of the river, was scarcely equal in value to those of his brothers, to whose possessions, the brooks I have mentioned, formed a natural boundary, dividing them from each other, and from his. To him was allotted the costly furniture of the family, of which paintings, plate, and china constituted the valuable part, every thing else being merely plain and useful. They had also a large house in Albany, which they occupied occasionally.

I have neglected to describe, in its right place, the termination or back ground of the landscape I have such delight in recollecting. There the solemn and interminable forest was varied here and there by rising grounds, near streams where birch and hickory, maple and poplar, cheered the eye with a lighter green, through the prevailing shade of dusky pines. On the border of the wood, where the trees had been thinned for firing, was a broad shrubbery all along, which marked the edges of the wood, above the possessions of the brothers, as far as it extended.

This was formed of sumac, a shrub with leaves, continually changing colour through all the varieties, from blending green and yellow to orange tawney, and adorned with large lilac-shaped clusters of bright scarlet grains, covered with pungent dust of a sharp flavour, at once saline and acid. This the Indians use as salt to their food, and for the dyeing of different colours. The red glow, which was the general result of this natural border, had a fine effect, thrown out from the dusky shades which towered behind.

To the northward, a sandy tract, covered with low pines, formed a boundary betwixt the Flats and Stonehook, which lay further up the river.

Philip Schuyler, who, on the death of his father, succeeded to the inheritance I have been describing, was a person of a mild, benevolent character, and of an excellent understanding, which had received more culture than was usual in that country. But whether he had returned to Europe, for the purpose of acquiring knowledge in the public seminaries there, or had been instructed by any of the French protestants, who were sometimes retained in the principal families for such purposes, I do not exactly know; but am led rather to suppose the latter, from the connexion which always subsisted between that class of people and the Schuyler family.

When the intimacy between this gentleman and the subject of these memoirs took place, she was a mere child; for the colonel, as he was soon after called, was ten years older than herself. This was singular there, where most men married under twenty. But his early years were occupied by momentous concerns; for, by this time, the public safety began to be endangered by the insidious wiles of the French Canadians, to whom our frontier settlers began to be formidable rivals in the fur trade, which the former wished to engross. In process of time, the Indians, criminally indulged with strong liquors by the most avaricious and unprincipled of the traders, began to have an insatiable desire for them, and the traders’ avidity for gain increased in the same proportion.

Occasional fraud on the one hand gave rise to occasional violence on the other. Mutual confidence decayed, and hostility betrayed itself, when intoxication laid open every thought. Some of our traders were, as the colonies alleged, treacherously killed, in violation of treaties solemnly concluded between them and the offending tribes.

The mediation and protection of the Mohawk tribes, were, as usual, appealed to. But these shrewd politicians saw evidently the value of their protection to an unwarlike people, who made no effort to defend themselves; and who, distant from the source of authority, and contributing nothing to the support of government, were in a great measure neglected. They began also to observe, that their new friends were extending their possessions on every side, and conscious of their wealth and increasing numbers, did not so assiduously cultivate the good will of their faithful allies as formerly. These nations, savage as we may imagine them, were as well skilled in the arts of negociation as the most polite Europeans. They waged perpetual war with each other about their hunting grounds—each tribe laying claim to some vast wild territory, destined for that purpose, and divided from other districts by boundaries which we should consider as merely ideal, but which they perfectly understood. Yet these were not so distinctly defined as to preclude all dispute—and a casual encroachment on this imaginary deer park, was a sufficient ground of hostility; and this, not for the value of the few deer or bears which might be killed, but that they thought their national honour violated by such an aggression. That system of revenge, which subsisted with equal force among them all, admitted of no sincere conciliation till the aggrieved party had obtained at least an equal number of scalps and prisoners for those that they had lost. This bloody reckoning was not easily adjusted. After a short and hollow truce, the remaining balance on either side afforded a pretext for new hostilities, and time to solicit new alliances, for which last purpose much art and much persuasive power of eloquence were employed.

But the grand mystery of Indian politics was the flattery, the stratagem, and address employed in detaching other tribes from the alliance of their enemies. There could not be a stronger proof of the restless and turbulent nature of ambition, than these artful negociations, the consequences of perpetual hostility, where one would think there was so little ground for quarrel; and that amongst a people, who, individually, were by no means quarrelsome or covetous, and seemed, in their private transactions with each other, impressed with a deep sense of moral rectitude; who reasoned soundly, reflected deeply, and acted in most cases consequentially. Property there was none, to afford a pretext for war, excepting a little possessed by the Mohawks, which they knew so well how to defend, that their boundaries were never violated—

Territory could not be the genuine subject of contention in these thinly peopled forests, where the ocean and the pole were the only limits of their otherwise boundless domain. The consequence attached to the authority of chiefs, who, as such, possessed no more property than others, and had not the power to command a single vassal for their own personal benefit, was not such as to be the object of those wars. Their chief privilege was that of being first in every dangerous enterprise. They were loved and honoured, but never, that I have heard of, traduced, envied, or removed from their painful pre-eminence.

The only way in which these wars can be accounted for, is, first, from the general depravity of our nature, and from a singularly deep feeling of injury, and a high sense of national honour. They were not the hasty out-breakings of savage fury, but were commenced in the most solemn and deliberate manner, and not without a prelude of remonstrances from the aggrieved party, and attempts to sooth and conciliate from the other. This digression must not be considered as altogether from the purpose. To return to the Indians, whose history has its use in illustrating that of mankind: they now became fully sensible of the importance they derived from the increased wealth and undefended state of the settlement. They discovered, too, that they held the balance between the interior settlements of France and England, which, though still distant from each other, were daily approximating.

The Mohawks, though always brave and always faithful, felt a very allowable repugnance to expose the lives of their warriors in defence of those who made no effort to defend themselves; who were neither protected by the arms of their sovereign, nor by their own courage. They came down to hold a solemn congress, at which the heads of the Schuyler and Cuyler families assisted; and where it was agreed that hostilities should be delayed for the present—the hostile nations pacified by concessions and presents, and means adopted to put the settlement into a state of defence against future aggressions.

On all such occasions, when previously satisfied with regard to the justice of the grounds of quarrel, the Mohawks promised their hearty co-operation. This they were the readier to do, as their young brother Philip, (for so they styled Colonel Schuyler,) offered not only to head such troops as might be raised for this purpose, but to engage his two brothers, who were well acquainted with the whole frontier territory, to serve on the same terms. This was a singular instance of public spirit in a young patriot, who was an entire stranger to the profession of arms, and whose sedate equanimity of character was adverse to every species of rashness or enthusiasm. Meantime, the provisions of the above-mentioned treaty could not be carried into effect, till they were ratified by the assembly at New-York, and approved by the governor. Of this there was little doubt; the difficulty was to raise and pay the troops. In the interim, while steps were taking to legalize this project, in 1719, the marriage between Colonel Schuyler and his cousin took place under the happiest auspices.

Colonel Schuyler and his two brothers, all possessed a superior degree of intellect, and uncommon external advantages. Peter, the only one remaining when I knew the family, was still a comely and dignified looking old gentleman, and I was told his brothers were at least equal to him in this respect. His youngest brother, Jeremiah, who was much beloved for a disposition, frank, cheerful, and generous to excess, had previously married a lady from New-York, with whom he obtained some fortune—a thing then singular in that country. This lady, whom, in her declining years, I knew very well, was the daughter of a wealthy and distinguished family of French protestants. She was lively, sensible, and well-informed.

Peter, the second, was married to a native of Albany. She died early, but left behind two children, and the reputation of much worth, and great attention to her conjugal and maternal duties. All these relations lived with each other, and with the new-married lady, in habits of the most cordial intimacy and perfect confidence. They seemed, indeed, actuated by one spirit—having in all things similar views and similar principles. Looking up to the colonel as the head of the family, whose worth and affluence reflected consequence upon them all, they never dreamt of envying either his superior manners, or his wife’s attainments, which they looked upon as a benefit and ornament to the whole.

Soon after their marriage they visited New-York, which they continued to do once a year, in the earlier period of their marriage, on account of their connexion in that city, and the pleasing and intelligent society that was always to be met with there, both on account of its being the seat of government, and the residence of the commander in chief on the continent, who was then necessarily invested with considerable power and privileges, and had, as well as the governor for the time being, a petty court assembled round him. At a very early period, a better style of manners, greater ease, frankness, and polish prevailed at New-York, than in any of the neighbouring provinces. There was, in particular, a Brigadier General Hunter, of whom I have heard Mrs. Schuyler talk a great deal, as coinciding with her uncle and husband successively, in their plans, either of defence or improvement. He, I think, was then governor—and was as acceptable to the Schuylers for his colloquial talents and friendly disposition, as estimable for his public spirit and application to business, in which respects he was not equalled by any of his successors. In his circle, the young couple were much distinguished. There were, too, among those leading families, the Livingstons and Rensselaers, friends connected with them both by blood and attachment. There was, also, another distinguished family, to whom they were allied, and with whom they lived in cordial intimacy; these were the De Laneys, of French descent, but by subsequent intermarriages, blended with the Dutch inhabitants. Of these there were many then in New-York, as will be hereafter explained; but as these conscientious exiles were persons allied in religion to the primitive settlers, and regular and industrious in their habits, they soon mingled with and became a part of that society, which was enlivened by their sprightly manners, and benefited by the useful arts they brought along with them. In this mixed society, which must have had attraction for young people of superior, and in some degree, cultivated intellect, this well-matched pair took great pleasure; and here, no doubt, was improved that liberality of mind and manners, which so much distinguished them from the less enlightened inhabitants of their native city. They were so much caressed in New-York, and found so many charms in the intelligent and comparatively polished society, of which they made a part, that they had at first some thoughts of residing there. These, however, soon gave way to the persuasions of the old colonel, with whom they principally resided till his death, which happened in 1721, two years after. This union was productive of all that felicity which might be expected to result from entire congeniality, not of sentiment only, but of original dispositions, attachments, and modes of living and thinking. He had been accustomed to consider her as a child with tender endearment. She had been used to look up to him from infancy, as the model of manly excellence, and they drew knowledge and virtue from the same fountain; in the mind of that respected parent whom they equally loved and revered.

I have already sketched a general outline of that pleasant home to which the colonel was now about to bring his beloved.

Before I resume my narrative, I shall indulge myself in a still more minute account of the premises, the mode of living, &c., which will afford a more distinct idea of the country; all the wealthy and informed people of the settlement living on a smaller scale, pretty much in the same manner. Be it known, however, that the house I had so much delight in recollecting, had no pretension to grandeur, and very little to elegance. It was a large brick house, of two, or rather three stories, (for there were excellent attics,) besides a sunk story, finished with the most exact neatness. The lower floor had two spacious rooms, with large, light closets: on the first there were three rooms, and in the upper one four. Through the middle of the house was a very wide passage, with opposite front and back doors, which in summer, admitted a stream of air, peculiarly grateful to the languid senses. It was furnished with chairs and pictures, like a summer parlour. Here the family usually sat in hot weather, when there were no ceremonious strangers.

Valuable furniture, (though, perhaps, not very well chosen or assorted,) was the favourite luxury of these people; and in all the houses I remember, except those of the brothers, who were every way more liberal, the mirrors, the paintings, the china, but above all, the state bed, were considered as the family seraphim, secretly worshiped, and only exhibited on very rare occasions. But in Colonel Schuyler’s family, the rooms were merely shut up to keep the flies (which in that country are an absolute nuisance) from spoiling the furniture. Another motive was, that they might be pleasantly cool when opened for company. This house had also two appendages, common to all those belonging to persons in easy circumstances there. One was a large portico at the door, with a few steps leading up to it, and floored like a room; it was open at the sides, and had seats all around. Above was either a slight wooden roof, painted like an awning, or a covering of lattice-work, over which a transplanted wild vine spread its luxuriant leaves and numerous clusters. These, though small, and rather too acid till sweetened by the frost, had a beautiful appearance. What gave an air of liberty and safety to these rustic porticos, which always produced in my mind a sensation of pleasure that I know not how to define, was the number of little birds domesticated there. For their accommodation there was a small shelf built round, where they nestled, sacred from the touch of slaves and children, who were taught to regard them as the good genii of the place, not to be disturbed with impunity.

I do not recollect sparrows there, except the wood sparrow. These little birds were of various kinds, peculiar to the country; but the one most frequent and familiar, was a pretty little creature, of a bright cinnamon colour, called a wren, though little resembling the one to which we give that name, for it is more sprightly, and flies higher. Of these and other small birds, hundreds gave and received protection around this hospitable dwelling. The protection they received consisted merely in the privilege of being let alone. That which they bestowed was of more importance than any inhabitant of Britain can imagine. In these new countries, where man has scarce asserted his dominion, life swarms abundant on every side; the insect population is numerous beyond belief, and the birds that feed on them are in proportion to their abundance. In process of time, when their sheltering woods are cleared, all these recede before their master, but not before his empire is fully established. These minute aerial foes are more harassing than the terrible inhabitants of the forest, and more difficult to expel. It is only by protecting, and in some sort domesticating, these little winged allies, who attack them in their own element, that the conqueror of the lion and tamer of the elephant, can hope to sleep in peace, or eat his meals unpolluted. While breakfasting or drinking tea in the airy porticos, which was often the scene of these meals, birds were constantly gliding over the table with a butterfly, grasshopper, or cicada in their bills, to feed their young, who were chirping above. These familiar inmates brushed by without ceremony, while the chirping swallow, the martin, and other hirundines in countless numbers, darted past in pursuit of this aerial population, while the fields resounded with the ceaseless chirping of many gay insects, unknown to our more temperate summers. These were now and then mingled with the animated and not unpleasing cry of the tree-frog, a creature of that species, but of a light, slender form, almost transparent, and of a lively green; it is dry to the touch, and has not the dank moisture of its aquatic relations; in short, it is a pretty, lively creature, with a singular and cheerful note. This loud and not unpleasing insect-chorus, with the swarms of gay butterflies, in constant motion, enliven scenes, to which the prevalence of woods, rising “shade above shade,” on every side, would otherwise give a still and solemn aspect. Several objects, which, with us, are no small additions to the softened changes and endless charms of rural scenery, it must be confessed, are wanting there. No lark welcomes the sun that rises to gild the dark forests and gleaming lakes of America; no mellow thrush or deep-toned blackbird warbles through these awful solitudes, or softens the balmy hour of twilight with

Twilight itself, the mild and shadowy hour, so soothing to every feeling, every pensive mind; that soft transition from day to night, so dear to peace, so due to meditation, is here scarce known, at least only to have its shortness regretted. No daisy hastens to meet the spring, or embellishes the meads in summer. Here no purple heath exhales its wholesome odour, or decks the arid waste with the chastened glow of its waving bells. No bonny broom, such as enlivens the narrow vales of Scotland with its gaudy bloom, nor flowering furze, with its golden blossoms, defying the cold blasts of early spring, animates their sandy wilds. There the white-blossomed sloe does not forerun the orchard’s bloom, nor the pale primrose shelter its modest head beneath the tangled shrubs. Nature, bountiful yet not profuse, has assigned her various gifts to various climes, in such a manner, that none can claim a decided pre-eminence; and every country has peculiar charms, which endear it to the natives beyond any other. I have been tempted by lively recollections into a digression, rather unwarrantable. To return:

At the back of the large house was a smaller and lower one, so joined to it as to make the form of a cross. There one or two lower and smaller rooms below, and the same number above, afforded a refuge to the family during the rigours of winter, when the spacious summer rooms would have been intolerably cold, and the smoke of prodigious wood fires would have sullied the elegantly clean furniture. Here, too, was a sunk story, where the kitchen was immediately below the eating parlour, and increased the general warmth of the house. In summer, the negroes resided in slight outer kitchens, where food was dressed for the family. Those who wrought in the fields often had their simple dinner cooked without, and ate it under the shade of a great tree. One room, I should have said, in the greater house only, was opened for the reception of company—all the rest were bedchambers for their accommodation, while the domestic friends of the family occupied neat little bed-rooms in the attics, or in the winter-house. This house contained no drawing-room; that was an unheard-of luxury. The winter rooms had carpets—the lobby had oil-cloth, painted in lozenges, to imitate blue and white marble. The best bed-room was hung with family portraits, some of which were admirably executed; and in the eating-room, which, by the by, was rarely used for that purpose, were some fine scripture paintings:—that which made the greatest impression on my imagination, and seemed to be universally admired, was one of Esau, coming to demand the anticipated blessings. The noble, manly figure of the luckless hunter, and the anguish expressed in his comely though strong-featured countenance, I shall never forget. The house fronted the river, on the brink of which, under shades of elm and sycamore, ran the great road towards Saratoga, Stillwater, and the northern lakes; a little, simple avenue of morello cherry trees, inclosed with a white rail, led to the road and river, not three hundred yards distant. Adjoining to this, on the south side, was an inclosure, subdivided into three parts, of which the first was a small hay field, opposite the south end of the house; the next, not so long, a garden; and the third, by far the largest, an orchard. These were surrounded by simple deal fences. Now let not the genius that presides over pleasure-grounds, nor any of his elegant votaries, revolt with disgust, while I mention the unseemly ornaments which were exhibited on the stakes to which the deals of these same fences were bound. Truly they consisted of the skeleton heads of horses and cattle in as great numbers as could be procured, stuck upon the aforesaid poles. The jaws are fixed on the pole, and the skull uppermost. The wren, on seeing a skull thus placed, never fails to enter by the orifice, which is too small to admit the hand of an infant, lines the pericranium with small twigs and horse-hair, and there lays her eggs in full security. It is very amusing to see the little creatures carelessly go out and in at this aperture, though you should be standing immediately beside it. Not satisfied with providing these singular asylums for their feathered friends, the negroes never fail to make a small, round hole in the crown of every old hat they can lay their hands on, and nail it to the end of the kitchen, for the same purpose. You often see in such a one, at once, thirty or forty of these odd little domicils, with the inhabitants busily going out and in.

Besides all these salutary provisions for the domestic comfort of the birds, there was, in clearing the way for their first establishment, a tree always left in the middle of the back yard, for their sole emolument; this tree being purposely pollarded at midsummer, when all the branches were full of sap. Wherever there had been a branch, the decay of the inside produced a hole, and every hole was the habitation of a bird. These were of various kinds, some of which had a pleasing note, but, on the whole, their songsters are far inferior to ours. I rather dwell on these minutiæ, as they not only mark the peculiarities of the country, but convey very truly the image of a people, not too refined for happiness, which, in the process of elegant luxury, is apt to die of disgust.

Adjoining to the orchard, was the most spacious barn I ever beheld, which I shall describe for the benefit of such of my readers as have never seen a building constructed on a plan so comprehensive. This barn, which, as will hereafter appear, answered many beneficial purposes, besides those usually allotted for such edifices, was of a vast size, at least an hundred feet long, and sixty wide. The roof rose to a very great height in the midst, and sloped down till it came within ten feet of the ground, when the walls commenced, which, like the whole of this vast fabric, were formed of wood. It was raised three feet from the ground, by beams resting on stone—and on these beams was laid, in the middle of the building, a very massive oak floor. Before the door was a large sill, sloping downwards, of the same materials. About twelve feet in breadth, on each side of this capacious building, were divided off for cattle; on one side ran a manger, at the above-mentioned distance from the wall, the whole length of the building, with a rack above it; on the others, were stalls for the other cattle, running also the whole length of the building. The cattle and horses stood with their hinder parts to the wall, and their heads projecting towards the threshing floor. There was a prodigious large box or open chest in one side built up, for holding the corn after it was threshed; and the roof, which was very lofty and spacious, was supported by large cross beams; from one to the other of these was stretched a great number of long poles, so as to form a sort of open loft, on which the whole rich crop was laid up. The floor of those parts of the barn, which answered the purposes of a stable and cow-house, was made of thick slab deals, laid loosely over the supporting beams; and the mode of cleaning those places, was by turning the boards, and permitting the dung and litter to fall into the receptacles left open below for the purpose; from thence, in spring, they were often driven down to the river—the soil, in its original state, not requiring the aid of manure. In the front^[3] of this vast edifice, there were prodigious folding doors, and two others that opened behind.

Certainly never did cheerful rural toils wear a more exhilarating aspect than while the domestics were lodging the luxuriant harvest in this capacious repository. When speaking of the doors, I should have mentioned that they were made in the gable ends; those in the back equally large, to correspond with those in the front; while on each side of the great doors were smaller ones, for the cattle and horses to enter. Whenever the corn or hay was reaped or cut, and ready for carrying home, which in that dry and warm climate, happened in a very few days, a waggon, loaded with hay, for instance, was driven into the midst of this great barn; loaded also with numberless large grasshoppers, butterflies, and cicadas, who came along with the hay. From the top of the waggon, this was immediately forked up into the loft of the barn, in the midst of which was an open space left for the purpose; and then the unloaded waggon drove, in rustic state, out of the great door at the other end. In the mean time, every member of the family witnessed or assisted in this summary process, by which the building and thatching of stacks was at once saved; and the whole crop and cattle were thus compendiously lodged under one roof.

The cheerfulness of this animated scene was much heightened by the quick appearance and vanishing of the swallows, who twittered among their high-built dwellings in the roof. Here, as in every other instance, the safety of these domestic friends was attended to, and an abode provided for them. In the front of this barn were many holes, like those of a pigeon-house, for the accommodation of the martin—that being the species to which this kind of home seemed most congenial; and, in the inside of the barn, I have counted above fourscore at once. In the winter, when the earth was buried deep in new-fallen snow, and no path fit for walking in was left, this barn was like a great gallery, well suited for that purpose, and furnished with pictures, not unpleasing to a simple and contented mind. As you walked through this long area, looking up, you beheld the abundance of the year treasured above you; on one side, the comely heads of your snorting steeds presented themselves, arranged in seemly order; on the other, your kine displayed their meeker visages; while the perspective, on either, was terminated by heifers and fillies, no less interesting. In the midst, your servants exercised the flail; and even, while they threshed out the straw, distributed it to the expectants on both sides; while the “liberal handful” was occasionally thrown to the many-coloured poultry on the hill. Winter itself, never made this abode of life and plenty cold or cheerless. Here you might walk and view all your subjects, and their means of support, at one glance, except, indeed, the sheep, for whom a large and commodious building was erected very near the barn; the roof of which was furnished with a loft, large enough to contain hay sufficient for their winter’s food.

Colonel Schuyler’s barn was by far the largest I have ever seen; but all of them, in that country, were constructed on the same plan, furnished with the same accommodation, and presented the same cheering aspect. The orchard, as I formerly mentioned, was on the south side of the barn; on the north, a little farther back towards the wood, which formed a dark screen behind this smiling scene, there was an inclosure, in which the remains of the deceased members of the family were deposited. A field of pretty large extent, adjoining to the house on that side, remained uncultivated and uninclosed; over it were scattered a few large apple-trees, of a peculiar kind, the fruit of which was never appropriated. This piece of level and productive land, so near the family mansion, and so adapted to various and useful purposes, was never made use of, but left open as a public benefit.

From the known liberality of this munificent family, all Indians or new settlers, on their journey, whether they came by land or water, rested here. The military, in passing, always formed a camp on this common, and here the Indian wigwams were often planted; here all manner of garden-stuff, fruit, and milk, were plentifully distributed to wanderers of all descriptions. Every summer, for many years, there was an encampment, either of regular or provincial troops, on this common; and often, when the troops proceeded northward, a little colony of helpless women and children, belonging to them, was left, in a great measure, dependent on the compassion of these worthy patriarchs; for such the brothers might be justly called.

The first year of the colonel’s marriage was chiefly spent in New-York, and in visits to the friends of his bride, and other relations. The following years they spent at home, surrounded daily by his brothers and their families, and other relatives, with whom they maintained the most affectionate intercourse. The colonel, however, (as I have called him by anticipation,) had, at this time, his mind engaged by public duties of the most urgent nature. He was a member of the colonial assembly; and, by a kind of hereditary right, was obliged to support that character of patriotism, courage, and public wisdom, which had so eminently distinguished his father. The father of Mrs. Schuyler, too, had been long mayor of Albany—at that time an office of great importance—as including, within itself, the entire civil power, exercised over the whole settlement, as well as the town, and having attached to it a sort of patriarchal authority; for the people, little acquainted with coercion, and by no means inclined to submit to it, had, however, a profound reverence, as is generally the case in the infancy of society, for the families of their first leaders, whom they looked up to, merely as knowing them to possess superior worth, talent, and enterprise. In a society, as yet uncorrupted, the value of this rich inheritance can only be diminished by degradation of character, in the representative of a family thus self-ennobled, especially if he be disinterested. This, though apparently a negative quality, being the one of all others that, combined with the higher powers of mind, most engages affection in private and esteem in public life. This is a shield that blunts the shafts which envy never fails to level at the prosperous, even in old establishments, where, from the nature of things, a thousand obstructions rise in the upward path of merit, and a thousand temptations appear to mislead it from its direct road; and where the rays of opinion are refracted by so many prejudices of contending interests and factions. Still, if any charm can be found to fix that fleeting phantom, popularity, this is it. It would be very honourable to human nature, if this could be attributed to the pure love of virtue; but alas! multitudes are not made up of the wise or the virtuous. Yet the very selfishness of our nature inclines us to love and trust those who are not likely to desire any benefit from us in return for those they confer. Other vices may be, if not social, in some degree gregarious; but even the avaricious hate avarice in all but themselves.

Thus inheriting unstained integrity, unbounded popularity, a cool, determined spirit, and ample possessions, no man had fairer pretensions to unlimited sway, in the sphere in which he moved, than the colonel; but of this, no man could be less desirous. He was too wise and too happy to solicit authority, and yet too public-spirited, and too generous, to decline it, when any good was to be done, or any evil resisted, from which no private benefit resulted to himself.

Young as his wife was, and much as she valued the blessing of their union, and the pleasure of his society, she showed a spirit worthy of a Roman matron, in willingly risking all her happiness, even in that early period of her marriage, by consenting to his assuming a military command, and leading forth the provincial troops against the common enemy, who had now become more boldly dangerous than ever. Not content with secretly stimulating the Indian tribes, who were their allies, and enemies to the Mohawks, to acts of violence, the French Canadians, in violation of existing treaties, began to make incursions on the slightest pretexts. It was no common warfare in which the colonel was about to engage: but the duties of entering on vigorous measures, for the defence of the country, became not only obvious but urgent. No other person but he, had influence enough to produce any cohesion among the people of that district, or any determination, with their own arms, and at their own cost, to attack the common enemy. As formerly observed, this had hitherto been trusted to the five confederate Mohawk nations; who, though still faithful to their old friends, had too much sagacity and observation, and, indeed, too strong a native sense of moral rectitude, to persuade their young warriors to go on venturing their lives in defence of those, who, from their increased power and numbers, were able to defend themselves with the aid of their allies. Add to this, that their possessions were on all sides daily extending; and that they, the Albanians, were carrying their trade for furs, &c., into the deepest recesses of the forests, and towards those great lakes which the Canadians were accustomed to consider as the boundaries of their dominions; and where they had Indians whom they were at great pains to attach to themselves, and to inspire against us and our allies.

Colonel Schuyler’s father had held the same rank in a provincial corps formerly—but in his time, there was a profound peace in the district he inhabited; though from his resolute temper and knowledge of public business, and of the different Indian languages, he was selected to head a regiment raised in the Jerseys and the adjacent bounds, for the defence of the back frontiers of Pennsylvania, New-England, &c. Colonel Philip Schuyler was the first who raised a corps in the interior of the province of New-York, which was not only done by his personal influence, but occasioned him a considerable expense, though the regiment was paid by the province; the province also furnishing arms and military stores; their service being, like that of all provincials, limited to the summer half year.

The governor and chief commander came up to Albany, to view and approve the preparations making for this interior war, and to meet the congress of Indian sachems, who, on that occasion, renewed their solemn league with their brother, the great king. Colonel Schuyler, being then the person they most looked up to and confided in, was their proxy on this occasion, in ratifying an engagement, to which they ever adhered with singular fidelity; and mutual presents brightened the chain of amity, to use their own figurative language.

The common and the barn, at the Flats, were fully occupied, and the hospitable mansion, as was usual on all public occasions, overflowed. There the general, his aides-de-camp, the sachems, and the principal officers of the colonel’s regiment, were received; and those who could not find room there, of the next class, were accommodated by Peter and Jeremiah. On the common was an Indian encampment, and the barn and orchard were full of the provincials. All these last, brought, as usual, their own food; but were supplied by this liberal family, with every production of the garden, dairy, and orchard.

While the colonel’s judgment was exercised in the necessary regulations for this untried warfare, Mrs. Schuyler, by the calm fortitude she displayed in this trying exigence—by the good sense and good breeding with which she accommodated her numerous and various guests—and by those judicious attentions to family concerns, which, producing order and regularity through every department, without visible bustle and anxiety, enable the mistress of a family to add grace and ease to hospitality, showed herself worthy of her distinguished lot.

While these preparations were going on, the general^[4] was making every effort of the neighbourhood to urge those who had promised assistance, to come forward with their allotted quotas.

On the other side of the river, not very far from the Flats, lived a person whom I shall not name, though his conduct was so peculiar and characteristic of the times, that his anti-heroism is, on that sole account, worth mentioning. This person lived in great security and abundance, in a place like an earthly paradise, and scarcely knew what it was to have an ungratified wish, having had considerable wealth left to him; and from the simple and domestic habits of his life, had formed no desires beyond it, unless, indeed, it were the desire of being thought a brave man, which seemed his greatest ambition. He was strong, robust, and an excellent marksman; talked loud, looked fierce, and always expressed the utmost scorn and detestation of cowardice. The colonel applied to him, that his name, and the names of such adherents as he could bring, might be set down in the list of those who were to bring their quota, against a given time, for the general defence: with the request he complied. When the rendezvous came on, this talking warrior had changed his mind, and absolutely refused to appear. The general sent for him, and warmly expostulated on his breach of promise; the bad example, and the disarrangement of plan which it occasioned. The culprit spoke in a high tone, saying, very truly, that “the general was possessed of no legal means of coercion; that every one went or staid as they chose; and that his change of opinion, on that subject, rendered him liable to no penalty whatever.” Tired of this sophistry, the enraged general had recourse to club law, and seizing a cudgel, belaboured this recreant knight most manfully, while several Indian sachems, and many of his own countrymen and friends, coolly stood by—for the colonel’s noted common was the scene of this assault. Our poor neighbour, (as he long after became,) suffered this dreadful bastinado, unaided and unpitied; and this example, and the consequent contempt under which he laboured, (for he was ever after styled captain, and did not refuse the title,) was said to have an excellent effect in preventing such retrograde motions in subsequent campaigns.^[5] The provincial troops, aided by the faithful Mohawks, performed their duty with great spirit and perseverance. They were, indeed, very superior to the ignorant, obstinate, and mean-souled beings, who, in after times, brought the very name of provincial troops into discredit; and were actuated by no single motive but that of avoiding the legal penalty then affixed to disobedience, and enjoying the pay and provisions allotted to them by the province, or the mother country, I cannot exactly say which. Afterwards, when the refuse of mankind were selected, like Falstaff’s soldiers, and raised much in the same way, the New-York troops still maintained their respectability. This superiority might, without reproaching others, be in some measure accounted for from incidental causes. The four New-England provinces were much earlier settled—assumed sooner the forms of a civil community, and lived within narrower bounds; they were more laborious; their fanaticism, which they brought from England in its utmost fervour, long continued its effervescence, where there were no pleasures, or indeed, lucrative pursuits, to detach their minds from it: and long after that genuine spirit of piety, which, however narrowed and disfigured, was still sincere, had, in a great measure, evaporated, enough of the pride and rigour of bigotry remained, to make them detest and despise the Indian tribes, as ignorant, heathen savages. The tribes, indeed, who inhabited their district, had been so weakened by unsuccessful warfare with the Mohawks, and were so every way inferior to them, that after the first establishment of the colony, and a few feeble attacks successfully repulsed, they were no longer enemies to be dreaded, or friends to be courted. This had an unhappy effect with regard to those provinces; and to the different relations in which they stood with respect to the Indians, some part of the striking difference in the moral and military character of these various establishments must be attributed.

The people of New-England left the mother country, as banished from it by what they considered oppression; came over foaming with religious and political fury, and narrowly missed having the most artful and able of demagogues, Cromwell himself, for their leader and guide. They might be compared to burning lava, discharged by the force of internal combustion, from the bosom of the commonwealth, while inflamed by contending elements. This lava, every one acquainted with the convulsions of nature must know, takes a long time to cool, and when at length it is cooled, turns to a substance hard and barren, that long resists the kindly influence of the elements, before its surface resumes the appearance of beauty and fertility. Such were the almost literal effects of political convulsions, aggravated by a fiery and intolerant zeal for their own mode of worship, on these self-righteous colonists.

But to return to the superior moral and military character of the New-York populace; it was, in the first place, owing to a well-regulated piety, less concerned about forms than essentials; next, to an influx of other than the original settlers, which tended to render the general system of opinion more liberal and tolerant. The French protestants, driven from their native land by intolerant bigotry, had lived at home, excluded alike from public employments and fashionable society. Deprived of so many resources that were open to their fellow-subjects, and forced to seek comfort in piety and concord, for many privations, self-command and frugality had been, in a manner, forced upon them—consequently they were not so vain or so volatile as to disgust their new associates; while their cheerful tempers, accommodating manners, and patience under adversity, were very prepossessing.

These additional inhabitants, being such as had suffered real and extreme hardships for conscience-sake, from absolute tyranny and the most cruel intolerance, rejoiced in the free exercise of a pure and rational religion, and in the protection of mild and equitable laws, as the first of human blessings, which privation had so far taught them to value, that they thought no exertion too great to preserve them. I should have formerly mentioned, that, besides the French refugees already spoken of, during the earliest period of the establishment of the British sovereignty in this part of the continent, a great number of the protestants, whom the fury of war, and persecution on religious accounts, had driven from the Palatinate, during the successful and desolating period of the wars carried on against that unhappy country by Lewis the Fourteenth, took refuge here. The subdued and contented spirit, the simple and primitive manners, and frugal, industrious habits of these genuine sufferers for conscience-sake, made them an acquisition to any society which received them, and a most suitable infusion among the inhabitants of this province, who, devoted to the pursuits of agriculture and the Indian trade, which encouraged a wild, romantic spirit of adventure, little relished those mechanical employments, or that petty yet necessary traffic in shops, &c., to which part of every regulated society must needs devote their attention. These civic toils were left to those patient and industrious exiles; while the friendly intercourse with the original natives, had strongly tinctured the first colonists with many of their habits and modes of thinking. Like them, they delighted in hunting; that image of war, which so generally, where it is the prevalent amusement, forms the body to athletic force and patient endurance, and the mind to daring intrepidity. It was not alone the timorous deer or feeble hare that were the objects of their pursuit; nor could they, in such an impenetrable country, attempt to rival the fox in speed or subtlety. When they kept their “few sheep in the wilderness,” the she-bear, jealous of her young, and the wolf, furious for prey, were to be encountered for their protection. From these allies, too, many who lived much among them, had learnt that fearless adherence to truth, which exalts the mind to the noblest kind of resolution. The dangers they were exposed to, of meeting wandering individuals, or parties of hostile Indians, while traversing the woods in their sporting or commercial adventures, and the necessity that sometimes occurred of defending their families by their own personal prowess, from the stolen irruptions of detached parties of those usually called the French Indians, had also given their minds a warlike bent; and as the boy was not uncommonly trusted at nine or ten years of age, with a light fowling-piece, which he soon learned to use with great dexterity, few countries could produce such dexterous marksmen, or persons so well qualified for conquering those natural obstacles of thick woods and swamps, which would at once baffle the most determined European. It was not only that they were strong of limb, swift of foot, and excellent marksmen—the hatchet was as familiar to them as the musket; and an amateur, who had never cut wood but for his diversion, could hew down a tree with a celerity that would astonish and abash a professed wood-cutter in this country; in short, when means or arguments could be used powerful enough to collect a people so uncontrolled and so uncontrollable, and when headed by a leader whom they loved and trusted, so much as they did Colonel Schuyler, a well-armed body of New-York provincials had nothing to dread but an ague or an ambuscade, to both of which they were much exposed on the banks of the lakes, and amidst the swampy forests, through which they had to penetrate in pursuit of an enemy, of whom they might say with the Grecian hero, that “they wanted but daylight to conquer him.” This first essay in arms of those provincials, under the auspices of their brave and generous leader, succeeded beyond their hopes: this is all I can recollect of it. Of its destination, I only know that it was directed against some of those establishments which the French began to make within the British boundaries. The expedition only terminated with the season. The provincials brought home Canadian prisoners, who were kept on their parole in the houses of the three brothers, and became afterwards their friends; and the Five Nations brought home Indian prisoners, most of whom they adopted, and scalps enough to strike awe into the adverse nations, who were for a year or two afterwards pretty quiet.

Mrs. Schuyler had contributed all in her power to forward this expedition—but was probably hurt, either by the fatigue of receiving so many friends, or the anxiety produced by parting with them under such circumstances; for soon after the colonel’s departure, she was delivered of a dead child, which event was followed by an alarming illness—but she wished the colonel to be kept ignorant of it, that he might give his undivided attention to the duties in which he was engaged. Providence, which doubtless had singled out this benevolent pair to be the parents of many who had no natural claim upon their affection, did not indulge them with any succeeding prospects of a family of their own. This privation, not a frequent one in this colony, did not chill the minds or narrow the hearts of people, who, from this circumstance, found themselves more at liberty to extend their beneficence, and enlarge that circle which embraced the objects of their love and care. This, indeed, was not singular, during that reign of natural feeling which preceded the prevalence of artificial modes in this primitive district. The love of offspring is certainly one of the strongest desires that the uncorrupted mind forms to itself in a state of comparative innocence. Affecting indifference on this subject, is the surest proof of a disposition either callous, or led by extreme vanity to pretend insensibility to the best feelings of our nature.

To a tie so exquisitely tender, the pledge and bond of connubial union; to that bud of promised felicity, which always cheers with the fragrance of hope, the noon-day of toil or care, and often supports with the rich cordial of filial love and watchful duty, the evening of our decline, what mind can be indifferent? No wonder the joys of paternity should be highly relished, where they were so richly flavoured; where parents knew not what it was to find a rebel or a rival in a child; first, because they set the example of simplicity, of moderation, and of seeking their highest joys in domestic life; next, because they quietly expected and calmly welcomed the evening of life; and did not, by an absurd desire of being young too long, inspire their offspring with a premature ambition to occupy their place. What sacrifices have I not seen made to filial piety! How many respectable, (though not young) maidens, who, without pretending a dislike to marriage, have rejected men whom their hearts approved, because they would not forsake, during her lifetime, a widowed mother, whose sole comfort they were!

For such children, who that hopes to grow old, would not wish? a consideration which the more polished manners of Europe teach us to banish as far as possible from our minds. We have learned to check this natural sentiment, by finding other objects for those faculties of our minds, which nature intended to bless and benefit creatures born to love us, and to enlarge our affections by exciting them. If this stream, which so naturally inclines to flow downwards, happened to be checked in its course for want of the usual channel, these adepts in the science of happiness, immediately formed a new one, and liked their canal as well as a river, because it was of their own making. To speak without a metaphor, whoever wanted a child adopted one; love produced love, and the grafted scion very often proved an ornament and defence to the supporting stock; but then the scion was generally artless and grateful. This is a part of the manners of my old friends, which I always remember with delight; more particularly as it was the invariable custom to select the child of a friend who had a numerous family. The very animals are not devoid of that mixture of affection and sagacity, which suggests a mode of supplying this great desideratum. Next to that prince of cats, the famous cat of Whittington, I would place the cat recorded by Dr. White, in his curious natural history, who, when deprived of her young, sought a parcel of deserted leverets to suckle and to fondle. What an example!

The following year produced a suspension of hostilities between the provinces and the Canadians. The colonel went to New-York to attend his duty, being again chosen a member of the Colonial Assembly. Mrs. Schuyler accompanied him; and being improved both in mind and manners since her marriage, which, by giving her a more important part to act, had called forth her powers, she became the centre of a circle, by no means inelegant or uninformed; for society was there more various and more polished than in any other part of the continent, both from the mixture of settlers, formerly described, and from its being situated in a province most frequently the seat of war, and consequently forming the headquarters of the army, which, in point of the birth and education of the candidates for promotion, was on a very different footing from what it has been since. It was then a much narrower range, and the selection more attended to. Unless a man, by singular powers of talent, fought his way from the inferior rank, there was hardly an instance of a person getting even a subaltern’s commission, whose birth was not at least genteel, and who had not interest and alliances. There were not so many lucrative places under government. The wide field of adventure, since opened in the east, was scarcely known; a subaltern’s pay was more adequate to the maintenance of a gentleman; and the noblest and most respected families had no other way of providing for such younger brothers, as were not bred to any learned profession, but by throwing them into the army. As to morals, this did not, perhaps, much mend the matter. These officers might, in some instances be thoughtless, and even profligate, but they were seldom ignorant or low bred; and that rare character, called a finished gentleman, was not unfrequently to be found among the higher ranks of them—who had added experience, reading, and reflection, to their original stock of talents and attainments.

It so happened that a succession of officers, of the description mentioned in the preceding chapter, were to be ordered upon the service which I have been detailing; and whether in New-York or at home, they always attached themselves particularly to this family, who, to the attractions of good breeding, and easy, intelligent conversation, added the power, which they pre-eminently possessed, of smoothing the way for their necessary intercourse with the independent and self-righted settlers, and instructing them in many things essential to promote the success of the pursuits in which they were about to engage. It was one of aunt Schuyler’s many singular merits, that, after acting for a time a distinguished part in this comparatively refined society, where few were so much admired and esteemed, she could return to the homely good sense and primitive manners of her fellow-citizens at Albany, free from fastidiousness and disgust. Few, indeed, without study or design, ever better understood the art of being happy, and making others so. Being gay is another sort of thing; gaiety, as the word is understood in society, is too often assumed, artificial, and produced by such an effort, that, in the midst of laughter, “the heart is indeed sad.” Very different are the smiles that occasionally illume the placid countenance of cheerful tranquillity. They are the emanations of a heart at rest; in the enjoyment of that sunshine of the breast, which is set forever to the restless votaries of mere amusement.

According to the laudable custom of the country, they took home a child, whose mother had died in giving her birth, and whose father was a relation of the colonel’s. This child’s name was either Schuyler or Cuyler, I do not exactly remember which; but I remember her many years after, as Mrs. Vander Poolen—when, as a comely, contented-looking matron, she used to pay her annual visit to her beloved benefactress and send her ample presents of such rural dainties as her abode afforded. I have often heard her warm in her praises; saying, how useful, how modest, and how affectionate she had been—and exulting in her comfortable settlement, and the plain worth, which made her a blessing to her family. From this time to her aunt’s death, above fifty years afterwards, her house was never without one, but much oftener two children, whom this exemplary pair educated with parental care and kindness. And whenever one of their protégéss married out of the house, which was generally at a very early age, she carried with her a female slave, born and baptised in the house, and brought up with a thorough knowledge of her duty, and an habitual attachment to her mistress, besides the usual present of the furniture of a chamber, and a piece of plate, such as a teapot, tankard, or some such useful matter, which was more or less valuable, as the protégés was more or less beloved; for though aunt Schuyler had great satisfaction from the characters and conduct of all her adopted, there were, no doubt, degrees of merit among them, of which she was better able to judge than if she had been their actual mother.

There was now an interval of peace, which gave these philanthropists more leisure to do good in their own way. They held a threefold band of kindness in their hands, by which they led to the desirable purpose of mutual advantage three very discordant elements, which were daily becoming more difficult to mingle and to rule; and which yet were the more dependent on each other for mutual comfort, from the very causes which tended to disunite them.

In the first place, the Indians began to assume that unfavourable and uncertain aspect, which it is the fate of man to wear in the first steps of his progress from that state where he is a being at once warlike and social, having few wants, and being able, without constant labour or division of ranks, to supply them; where there is no distinction, save that attained by superior strength of mind and body, and where there are no laws, but those dictated by good sense, aided by experience, and enforced by affection, this state of life may be truly called the reign of the affections: the love of kindred and of country, ruling paramount, unrivalled by other passions, all others being made subservient to these. Vanity, indeed, was in some degree flattered, for people wore ornaments, and were at no small pains to make them. Pride existed—but was differently modified from what we see it; every man was proud of the prowess and achievements of his tribe collectively; of his personal virtues he was not proud, because we excel but by comparison; and he rarely saw instances of the opposite vices in his own nation, and looked on others with unqualified contempt.

When any public benefit was to be obtained, or any public danger to be averted, their mutual efforts were all bent to one end; and no one knew what it was to withhold his utmost aid, nor indeed could, in that stage of society, have any motive for doing so. Hence, no mind being contracted by selfish cares, the community were but as one large family, who enjoyed or suffered together. We are accustomed to talk, in parrot phrase, of indolent savages; and, to be sure, in warm climates, and where the state of man is truly savage, that is to say, unsocial, void of virtue, and void of comforts, he is certainly an indolent being: but that individual, in a cold climate, who has tasted the sweets of social life—who knows the wants that arise from it—who provides for his children in their helpless state—and where taste and ingenuity are so much improved, that his person is not only clothed with warm and seemly apparel, but decorated with numerous and not inelegant ornaments, which from the scarcity and simplicity of his tools, he has no ready or easy mode of producing. When he has not only found out all these wants, which he has no means of supplying but by his individual strength, dexterity, and ingenuity, industry must be added, ere they can be all regularly gratified. Very active and industrious, in fact, the Indians were in their original state; and when we take it into consideration, that beside all these occupations, together with their long journeys, wars, and constant huntings and fishing, their leisure was occupied not only by athletic but studious games, at which they played for days together with unheard-of eagerness and perseverance; it will appear they had very little of that lounging time, for which we are so apt to give them credit. Or if a chief, occasionally after fatigue, of which we can form no adequate idea, lay silent in the shade, those frisking Frenchmen, who have given us most details concerning them, were too restless themselves to subdue their skipping spirits to the recollection, that a Mohawk had no study or arm-chair wherein to muse and cogitate; and that his schemes of patriotism, his plans of war, and his eloquent speeches, were all like the meditations of Jacques, formed “under the greenwood tree.” Neither could any man lounge on his sofa, while half a dozen others were employed in shearing the sheep, preparing the wool, weaving and making his coat, or in planting the flax for his future linen, and flaying the ox for his future shoes; were he to do all this himself, he would have little leisure for study or repose. And all this and more the Indian did, under other names and forms; so that idleness, with its gloomy followers, ennui and suicide, were unknown among this truly active people; yet that there is a higher state of society cannot be denied; nor can it be denied that the intermediate state is a painful and enfeebling one.

Man, in a state of nature, is taught by his more civilized brethren a thousand new wants before he learns to supply one. Thence barter takes place; which, in the first stage of progression, is universally fatal to the liberty, the spirit, and the comforts of an uncivilized people.

In the east, where the cradle of our infant nature was appointed, the clime was genial, its productions abundant, and its winters only sufficient to consume the surplus, and give a welcome variety to the seasons. There man was either a shepherd or a hunter, as his disposition led—and that, perhaps, in the same family. The meek spirit of Jacob delighted in tending his father’s flocks; while the more daring and adventurous Esau traced the wilds of Mount Seir, in pursuit both of the fiercer animals who waged war upon the fold, and the more timorous, who administered to the luxury of the table.

The progress of civilization was here gradual and gentle; and the elegant arts seem to have gone hand in hand with the useful ones. For we read of bracelets and ear-rings sent as tokens of love, and images highly valued and coveted, while even agriculture seemed in its infancy.

Population extending to the milder regions of Europe, brought civilization along with it, so that it is only among the savages, (as we call our ancestors) of the north, that we can trace the intermediate state I have spoken of. Amongst them, one regular gradation seems to have taken place; they were first hunters and then warriors. As they advanced in their knowledge of the arts of life, and acquired a little property, as much of pastoral pursuits as their rigorous climate would allow, without the aid of regular agriculture, mingled with their wandering habits. But, except in a few partial instances, from hunters they became conquerors; the warlike habits acquired from that mode of life, raising their minds above patient industry, and teaching them to despise the softer arts that embellish society. In fine, their usual process was to pass to civilization through the medium of conquest. The poet says,

The surly censor might have spared his scorn, for doubtless science, and the arts of peace, were by far the most valuable acquisitions resulting from their conquest of that polished and ingenious people. But when the savage hunters of the north became too numerous to subsist on their deer and fish, and too warlike to dread the conflict with troops more regularly armed, they rushed down, like a cataract, on their enfeebled and voluptuous neighbours; destroyed the monuments of art, and seemed, for a time, to change the very face of nature. Yet dreadful as were the devastations of this flood, let forth by divine vengeance to punish and to renovate, it had its use in sweeping away the hoarded mass of corruption, with which the dregs of mankind had polluted the earth. It was an awful but a needful process, which, in some form or other, is always renewed when human degeneracy has reached its ultimatum. The destruction of these feeble beings, who, lost to every manly and virtuous sentiment, crawl about the rich property which they have not sense to use worthily, or spirit to defend manfully, may be compared to the effort nature makes to rid herself of the noxious brood of wasps and slugs, cherished by successive mild winters. A dreadful frost comes; man suffers and complains; his subject animals suffer more, and all his works are for a time suspended: but this salutary infliction purifies the air, meliorates the soil, and destroys millions of lurking enemies, who would otherwise have consumed the productions of the earth, and deformed the face of nature. In these barbarous irruptions, the monuments of art, statues, pictures, temples, and palaces, seem to be most lamented. From age to age, the virtuosi of every country have re-echoed to each other their feeble plaints over the lost works of art, as if that had been the heaviest sorrow in the general wreck—and as if the powers that produced them had ceased to exist. It is over the defaced image of the divine author, and not merely the mutilated resemblance of his creatures, that the wise and virtuous should lament! We are told that in Rome there are as many statues as men: had all these lamented statues been preserved, would the world be much wiser or happier? A sufficient number remain as models to future statuaries, and memorials of departed art and genius. Wealth, directed by taste and liberality, may be much better employed in calling forth, by due encouragement, that genius which doubtless exists among our contemporaries, than in paying exorbitantly the vender of fragments.

And what has ind achieved, that, in a favourable conjuncture, it may not again aspire to? The lost arts are ever the theme of classical lamentation; but the great and real evil was the loss of the virtues which protected them; of courage, fortitude, honour, and patriotism: in short, of the whole manly character. This must be allowed, after the dreadful tempest of subversion was over, to have been in some degree restored in the days of chivalry: and it is equally certain that the victors learnt from the vanquished many of the arts that support life, and all those which embellish it. When their manners were softened by the aid of a mild and charitable religion, this blended people assumed that undefined power, derived from superior valour and wisdom, which has so far exalted Europe over all the regions of the earth. Thus, where a bold and warlike people subdue a voluptuous and effeminate one, the result is, in due time, an improvement of national character. In similar climes and circumstances to those of the primeval nations in the other hemisphere, the case has been very different. There, too, the hunter, by the same gradation, became a warrior; but first allured by the friendship which sought his protection; then repelled by the art that coveted and encroached on his territories; and lastly by the avarice which taught him new wants, and then took an undue advantage of them; they neither wished for our superfluities, nor envied our mode of life; nor did our encroachments much disturb them, as they receded into their trackless coverts as we approached from the coast. But though they scorned our refinements; and though our government, and all the enlightened minds among us, dealt candidly and generously with all such as were not set on by our enemies to injure us, the blight of European vices, the mere consequence of private greediness and fraud, proved fatal to our very friends. As I formerly observed, the nature of the climate did not admit of the warriors passing through the medium of a shepherd’s life to the toils of agriculture. The climate, though extremely warm in summer, was so severe in winter, and that winter was so long, that it required no little labour to secure the food for the animals which were to be maintained; and no small expense, in that country, to procure the implements necessary for the purposes of agriculture. In other countries, when a poor man has not wherewithal to begin farming, he serves another, and the reward of his toil enables him to set up for himself. No such resource was open to the Indians, had they even inclined to adopt our modes. No Indian ever served another, or received assistance from any one except his own family. It is inconceivable, too, what a different kind of exertion of strength it requires to cultivate the ground, and to endure the fatigues of the chace, long journeys, &c. To all that induces us to labour they were indifferent. When a governor of New-York was describing to an Indian the advantages that some one would derive from such and such possessions; “Why,” said he, with evident surprise, “should any man desire to possess more than he uses?” More appeared, to his untutored sense, an incumbrance.

I have already observed how much happier they considered their manner of living than ours; yet their intercourse with us daily diminished their independence, their happiness, and even their numbers. In the New World, this fatality has never failed to follow the introduction of European settlers; who, instead of civilizing and improving, slowly consume and waste—where they do not, like the Spaniards, absolutely destroy and exterminate the natives. The very nature of even our most friendly mode of dealing with them, was pernicious to their moral welfare; which, though too late, they well understood, and could as well explain. Untutored man, in beginning to depart from that life of exigences, in which the superior acuteness of his senses, his fleetness and dexterity in the chace, are his chief dependence, loses so much of all this before he can become accustomed to, or qualified for our mode of procuring food by patient labour, that nothing can be conceived more enfeebled and forlorn, than the state of the few detached families remaining of vanished tribes, who, having lost their energy, and even the wish to live in their own manner, were slowly and reluctantly beginning to adopt ours. It was like that suspension of life which takes place in the chrysalis of insects, while in their progress towards a new state of being. Alas! the indolence with which we reproach them, was merely the consequence of their commercial intercourse with us; and the fatal passion for strong liquors which resulted from it. As the fabled enchanter, by waving his magic wand, chains up at once the faculties of his opponents, and renders strength and courage useless; the most wretched and sordid trader, possessed of this master-key to the appetites and passions of these hard-fated people, could disarm those he dealt with of all their resources, and render them dependent—nay, dependent on those they scorned and hated. The process was simple: first, the power of sending, by mimic thunder, an unseen death to a distant foe, which filled the softer inhabitants of the southern regions with so much terror, was here merely an object of desire and emulation; and so eagerly did they adopt the use of fire-arms, that they soon became less expert in using their own missile weapons. They could still throw the tomahawk with such an unerring aim, that, though it went circling through the air towards its object, it never failed to reach it. But the arrows, on which they had formerly so much depended, were now considered merely as the weapons of boys, and only directed against birds.

Thus was one strong link forged in the chain of dependence; next, liquor became a necessary, and its fatal effects who can detail? But to make it still clearer, I have mentioned the passion for dress, in which all the pride and vanity of this people was centered. In former days, this had the best effect, in being a stimulus to industry. The provision requisite for making a splendid appearance at the winter meetings, for hunting and the national congress, occupied the leisure hours of the whole summer. The beaver skins of the last year’s hunting were to be accurately dressed, and sewed together, to form that mantle which was so much valued, and as necessary to their consequence as the pelisse of sables is to that of an Eastern bashaw. A deer skin, or that of a bear or beaver, had their stated price. The boldest and most expert hunter, had most of these commodities to spare, and was therefore most splendidly arrayed. If he had a rival, it was in him whose dexterous ingenuity in fabricating the materials of which his own dress was composed, enabled him to vie with the hero of the chase.

Thus superior elegance in dress was not, as with us, the distinction of the luxurious and effeminate, but the privilege and reward of superior courage and industry; and became an object worthy of competition. Thus employed, and thus adorned, the sachem or his friends found little time to indulge the stupid indolence we have been accustomed to impute to them.

Another arduous task remains uncalculated. Before they became dependent on us for the means of destruction, much time was consumed in forming their weapons; in the construction of which no less patience and ingenuity were exercised than in that of their ornaments; and those, too, were highly embellished, and made with great labour out of flints, pebbles, and shells. But all this system of employment was soon overturned by their late acquaintance with the insidious arts of Europe, to the use of whose manufactures they were insensibly drawn in, first by their passion for fire-arms, and finally, by their fatal appetite for liquor. To make this more clear, I shall insert a dialogue, such as, if not literally, at least in substance, might pass betwixt an Indian warrior and a trader.

Indian—Brother, I am come to trade with you; but I forewarn you to be more moderate in your demands than formerly.

Trader—Why, brother, are not my goods of equal value with those you had last year?

Indian—Perhaps they may; but mine are more valuable because more scarce. The Great Spirit, who has withheld from you strength and ability to provide food and clothing for yourselves, has given you cunning and art to make guns and provided scaura;^[6] and by speaking smooth words to simple men, when they have swallowed madness, you have, by little and little, purchased their hunting grounds, and made them corn lands. Thus the beavers grow more scarce, and deer fly farther back; yet after I have reserved skins for my mantle, and the clothing of my wife, I will exchange the rest.

Trader—Be it so, brother: I came not to wrong you, or take your furs against your will. It is true, the beavers are few, and you go further for them. Come, brother, let us deal fair first, and smoke friendly afterwards. Your last gun cost fifty beaver skins, you shall have this for forty—and you shall give marten and raccoon skins in the same proportion for powder and shot.

Indian—Well, brother, that is equal. Now for two silver bracelets, with long, pendent ear-rings of the same, such as you sold to Cardarani, in the sturgeon month,^[7] last year. How much will you demand?

Trader—The skins of two deer for the bracelets, and those of two fawns for the ear-rings.

Indian—That is a great deal; but wampum grows scarce, and silver never rusts. Here are the skins.

Trader—Do you buy any more? Here are knives, hatchets, and beads of all colours.

Indian—I will have a knife and a hatchet, but must not take more: the rest of the skins will be little enough to clothe the women and children, and buy wampum. Your beads are of no value; no warrior who has slain a wolf will wear them.^[8]

Trader—Here are many things good for you, which you have not skins to buy; here is a looking-glass, and here is a brass kettle, in which your woman may boil her maize, her beans, and above all, her maple-sugar. Here are silver brooches, and here are pistols for the youths.

Indian—The skins I can spare will not purchase them.

Trader—Your will determine, brother; but next year you will want nothing but powder and shot, having already purchased your gun and ornaments. If you will purchase from me a blanket to wrap round you, a shirt and blue stroud for under garments for yourself and your woman, and the same for leggings, this will pass the time, and save you the great labour of dressing the skins, making the thread, &c. for your clothing, which will give you more fishing and shooting time in the sturgeon and bear months.

Indian—But the custom of my fathers.

Trader—You will not break the custom of your fathers by being thus clad for a single year. They did not refuse those things which were offered to them.

Indian—For this year, brother, I will exchange my skins; in the next, I shall provide apparel more befitting a warrior. One pack alone I will reserve, to dress for a future occasion. The summer must not find a warrior idle.

The terms being adjusted, and the bargain concluded, the trader thus shows his gratitude for liberal dealing.

Trader—Corlaer has forbid bringing scaura to steal away the wisdom of the warriors; but we white men are weak and cold; we bring kegs for ourselves, lest death arise from the swamps. We will not sell scaura, but you shall taste some of ours in return for the venison with which you have feasted us.

Indian—Brother, we will drink moderately.

A bottle was then given to the warrior, by way of present, which he was advised to keep long, but found it irresistible. He soon returned with the reserved pack of skins, earnestly urging the trader to give him beads, silver brooches, and above all, scaura, to their full amount. This, with much affected reluctance at parting with the private stock, was at last yielded. The warriors now, after giving loose for a while to frantic mirth, began the war-whoop, made the woods resound with infuriated howlings; and having exhausted their dear-bought draught, probably determined, in contempt of that probity, which at all other times they rigidly observed, to plunder the instruments of their pernicious gratification. He, well aware of the consequences, took care to remove himself and his goods to some other place, and a renewal of the same scene ensued. Where, all this time, were the women, whose gentle counsels might have prevented these excesses? Alas! unrestrained by that delicacy which is certainly one of the best fruits of refinement, they shared in them, and sunk sooner under them. A long and deep sleep generally succeeded, from which they awoke in a state of dejection and chagrin, such as no Indian had ever experienced under any other circumstances. They felt as Milton describes Adam and Eve to have done after their transgression. Exhausted and forlorn, and stung with the consciousness of error and dependence, they had neither the means nor the desire of exercising their wonted summer occupations with spirit. Vacancy produced languor, and languor made them wish for the potion which gave temporary cheerfulness.^[9] They carried their fish to the next fort or habitation to barter for rum. This brought on days of frenzy, succeeded by torpor. When again roused by want of exertion, they saw the season passing without the usual provision, and by an effort of persevering industry, tried to make up for past negligence; and then worn out by exertion, sunk into supine indolence, till the approach of winter called them to hunt the bear; and the arrival of that, (their busy season,) urged on their distant excursions in pursuit of deer. Then they resumed their wonted character, and became what they used to be; but conscious that acquired tastes and wants, which they had not themselves the power of supplying, would throw them again on the traders for clothing, &c. they were themselves out-straining every sinew to procure enough of peltry to answer their purpose, and to gratify their newly-acquired appetites. Thus the energy, both of their characters and constitutions, was gradually undermined—and their numbers as effectually diminished, as if they had been wasted by war.

The small-pox was also so fatal to them, that whole tribes on the upper lakes have been entirely extinguished by it. Those people being in the habit of using all possible means of closing the pores of the skin, by painting and anointing themselves with bears’ grease, to defend them against the extremity of cold, to which their manner of life exposed them; and not being habitually subject to any cutaneous disease, the small-pox rarely rises upon them; from which it may be understood how little chance they had of recovering. All this I heard aunt Schuyler relate, whose observations and reflections I merely detail.

In this wild liberty, habits of probity, mutual confidence, and constant variety, there was an undefinable charm, that while they preserved their primitive manners, wrought in every one who dwelt for any time amongst them.

I have often heard my friend speak of an old man, who, being carried away in his infancy by some hostile tribe who had slain his parents, was rescued very soon after by a tribe of friendly Indians, who, from motives of humanity, resolved to bring him up among themselves, that he might, in their phrase, “learn to bend the bow, and speak truth.” When it was discovered, some years after, that he was still living, his relations reclaimed him, and the community wished him to return and inherit his father’s lands, now become more considerable. The Indians were unwilling to part with their protégé, and he was still more reluctant to return. This was considered as a bad precedent; the early settlers having found it convenient in several things regarding hunting, food, &c. to assimilate in some degree with the Indians; and the young men, occasionally, at that early period, joined their hunting and fishing parties. It was considered as a matter of serious import to reclaim this young alien, lest others should be lost to the community and to their religion, by following his example. With difficulty they forced him home—where they never could have detained him, had they not carefully and gradually inculcated into his mind the truths of christianity. To those instructions, even his Indian predilections taught him to listen; for it was the religion of his fathers, and venerable to him as such: still, however, his dislike of our manners was never entirely conquered, nor was his attachment to his foster fathers ever much diminished. He was possessed of a very sound intellect, and used to declaim with the most vehement eloquence, against our crafty and insidious encroachments on our old friends. His abhorrence of the petty falsehoods to which custom has too well reconciled us, and those little artifices which we all occasionally practise, rose to a height fully equal to that felt by Gulliver. Swift and this other misanthrope, though they lived at the same time, could not have had any intercourse, else one might have supposed the invectives which he has put into the mouth of Gulliver, were borrowed from this demi-savage; whose contempt and hatred of selfishness, meanness, and duplicity, were expressed in language worthy of the dean: insomuch, that years after I had heard of this singular character, I thought, on reading Gulliver’s asperities, after returning from Houyhnhnmland, that I had met my old friend again. One really does meet with characters that fiction would seem too bold in portraying. This original had an aversion to liquor, which amounted to abhorrence; being embittered by his regret at the mischiefs resulting from it to his old friends, and rage at the traders for administering the means of depravity. He could never bear any seasoning to his food, and despised luxury in all its forms.

For all the growing evils I have been describing, there was only one remedy, which the sagacity of my friend and her other self soon discovered; and their humanity as well as principle, led them to try all possible means of administering. It was the pure light and genial influence of christianity alone, that could cheer and ameliorate the state of these people, now, from a concurrence of circumstances scarcely to be avoided in the nature of things, deprived of the independence habitual to their own way of life, without acquiring in its room any of those comforts which sweeten ours. By gradually and gently unfolding to them the views of a happy futurity, and the means by which depraved humanity was restored to a participation of that blessing; pride, revenge, and the indulgence of every excess of passion or appetite being restrained by the precepts of a religion ever powerful where it is sincere; their spirits would be brought down from the fierce pride which despises improvement, to adopt such of our modes as would enable them to incorporate in time with our society, and procure for themselves a comfortable subsistence, in a country no longer adapted to supply the wants of the houseless rangers of the forest.

The narrow policy of many looked coldly on this benevolent project. Hunters supplied the means of commerce, and warriors those of defence; and it was questionable whether a Christian Indian would hunt or fight as well as formerly. This, however, had no power with those in whom christianity was any thing more than a name. There were already many christian Indians; and it was very encouraging that not one, once converted, had ever forsaken the strict profession of their religion, or ever, in a single instance, abandoned themselves to the excesses so pernicious to their unconverted brethren. Never was the true spirit of christianity more exemplified than in the lives of those comparatively few converts, who, about this time, amounted to more than two hundred. But the tender care and example of the Schuylers, co-operating with the incessant labours of a judicious and truly apostolic missionary, some years after, greatly augmented their numbers in different parts of the continent; and to this day, the memory of David Brainard, the faithful labourer alluded to, is held in veneration in those districts that were blessed with his ministry. He did not confine himself to one people or province, but travelled from place to place, to disseminate the gospel to new converts, and confirm and cherish the truths already planted. The first foundation of that church had, however, as I formerly mentioned, been laid long ago; and the examples of piety, probity, and benevolence, set by the worthies at the Flats, and a few more, were a very necessary comment on the doctrines to which their assent was desired.

The great stumbling block which the missionaries had to encounter with the Indians, (who, as far as their knowledge went, argued with great acuteness and logical precision,) was the small influence which our religion seemed to have over many of its professors. “Why,” said they, “if the book of truth, that shows the way to happiness, and bids all men do justice, and love one another, is given both to Corlaer, and Onnonthio,^[10] does it not direct them in the same way? Why does Onnonthio worship, and Corlaer neglect, the mother of the blessed one? And why do the missionaries blame those for worshipping things made with hands, while the priests tell the praying nation^[11] that Corlaer and his people have forsaken the worship of his forefathers: besides, how can people, who believe that God and good spirits view and take an interest in all their actions, cheat and dissemble, drink and fight, quarrel and backbite, if they believe the great fire burns for those who do such things? If we believed what you say, we should not exchange so much good for wickedness, to please an evil spirit, who would rejoice at our destruction.”

To this reasoning it was not easy to oppose any thing that could carry conviction to untutored people, who spoke from observation and the evidence of the senses; to which could only be opposed scripture texts, which avail not till they are believed; and abstract reasoning, extremely difficult to bring to the level of an unlearned understanding. Great labour and perseverance wrought on the minds of a few, who felt conviction, as far as it is to be ascribed to human agency, flowing from the affectionate persuasion of those whom they visibly beheld earnest for their eternal welfare: and when a few had thus yielded,^[12] the peace and purity of their lives, and the sublime enjoyment they seemed to derive from the prospects their faith opened into futurity, was an inducement to others to follow the same path. This abstractedly from religious considerations of endless futurity, is the true and only way to civilization; and to the blending together the old and new inhabitants of these regions. National pride, rooted prejudices, ferocity, and vindictive hatred, all yield before a change that new moulds the whole soul, and furnishes man with new fears and hopes, and new motives for action.

Upon the attachment the Indians had to our religion, was grafted the strongest regard to our government, and the greatest fidelity to the treaties made with us. I shall insert a specimen of Indian eloquence, illustrative of this last; not that I consider it by any means so rich, impressive, or sublime as many others that I could quote, but as containing a figure of speech rarely to be met with among savage people; and supposed, by us, incompatible with the state of intellectual advancement to which they have attained. I mean a fine and well supported irony. About the year 1686, Mons. Barre, the commander of the French forces in Canada, made a kind of inroad, with a warlike design, into the precincts claimed by our Mohawk allies; the march was tedious, the French fell sick, and many of their Indians deserted them. The wily commander, finding himself unequal to the meditated attack, and that it would be unsafe to return through the lakes and woods, while in hourly danger of meeting enemies so justly provoked, sent to invite the sachems to a friendly conference; and when they met, asserted in an artful speech that he and his troops had come with the sole intention of settling old grievances, and smoking the calumet of peace with them. The Indians, not imposed on by such pretences, listened patiently to his speech, and then made the answer which the reader will find in the notes.^[13] It is to be observed, that whoever they considered as the ruling person for the time being in Canada, they styled Onnonthio; while the governor of New-York they always called Corlaer.

Twice in the year, the new converts came to Albany to partake of the sacrament, before a place of worship was erected for themselves. They always spent the night, or oftener two nights, before their joining in this holy rite, at the Flats, which was their general rendezvous from different quarters. There they were cordially received by the three brothers, who always met together at this time to have a conference with them, on subjects the most important to their present and future welfare. These devout Indians seemed all impressed with the same feelings, and moved by the same spirit. They were received with affectionate cordiality, and accommodated in a manner quite conformable to their habits, in the passage, porch, and offices; and so deeply impressed were they with a sense of the awful duty that brought them there, and the rights of friendship and hospitality, and at this period, become so much acquainted with our customs, that though two hundred communicants, followed by many of their children, were used to assemble on those occasions, the smallest instance of riot or impropriety was not known amongst them. They brought little presents of game, or of their curious handicrafts, and were liberally and kindly entertained by their good brother Philip, as they familiarly called him. In the evening they all went apart to secret prayer, and in the morning, by dawn of day, they assembled before the portico; and their entertainers, who rose early, to enjoy, unobserved, a view of their social devotion, beheld them with their mantles drawn over their heads, prostrate on the earth, offering praises and fervent supplications to their Maker. After some time spent in this manner, they arose, and seated in a circle on the ground, with their heads veiled as formerly, they sang a hymn, which it was delightful to hear, from the strength, richness, and sweet accord of their uncommonly fine voices; which every one that ever heard this sacred chorus, however indifferent to the purport of it, praised as incomparable. The voices of the female Indians are particularly sweet and powerful. I have often heard my friend dwell with singular pleasure on the recollection of those scenes, and of the conversations she and the colonel used to hold with the Indians, whom she described as possessed of very superior powers of understanding; and in their religious views and conversations, uniting the ardour of proselytes with the firm decision and inflexible steadiness of their national character. It was on the return of those new christians to the Flats, after they had thus solemnly sealed their profession, that these wise regulations for preserving peace and good will between the settlers (now become confident and careless from their numbers) and the Indians, jealous, with reason, of their ancient rights, were concluded.

The influence these converts had obtained over the minds of those most venerated for wisdom among their countrymen, was the medium through which this patriot family, in some degree, controlled the opinions of that community at large, and kept them faithful to the British interests. Every two or three years, there was a congress held, by deputies from New-York, who generally spoke to the Indians by an interpreter; went through the form of delivering presents from their brother, the great king, redressing petty grievances, smoking the calumet of peace, and delivering belts, the pledges of amity. But these were mere public forms; the real terms of this often renewed amity having been previously digested by those who far better understood the relations subsisting between the contracting parties, and the causes most likely to interrupt their union. Colonel Schuyler, though always ready to serve his country in exigencies, did not like to take upon himself any permanent responsibility, as a superintendent of Indian affairs, as it might have diminished that private influence which arose from the general veneration for his character, and from a conviction that the concern he took was voluntary and impartial; neither did he choose to sacrifice that domestic peace and leisure, which he so well knew how to turn to the best account, being convinced that by his example and influence as a private gentleman, he had it in his power to do much good of a peculiar kind, which was incompatible with the weight and bustle of public affairs, or with that hospitality, which, as they managed it, was productive of so many beneficial effects. I have already shown how, by prudent address and kind conciliation this patriotic pair soothed and attached the Indians to the British interest. As the country grew more populous, and property more abundant and more secure, the face of society in this inland region began to change. They whose quiet and orderly demeanor, devotion, and integrity, did not much require the enforcement of laws, began now to think themselves above them. To a deputed authority, the source of which lay beyond the Atlantic, they paid little deference; and from their neighbours of New Hampshire and Connecticut, who bordered on their frontiers, and served with them in the colonial wars, they had little to learn of loyalty or submission. These people they held in great contempt, both as soldiers and statesmen; and yet, from their frequent intercourse with those who talked of law and politics in their peculiar, uncouth dialect incessantly, they insensibly adopted many of their notions. There is a certain point of stable happiness at which our imperfect nature merely seems to arrive; for the very materials of which it is formed contain the seeds of its destruction: this was the case here. That peaceful and desirable equality of conditions, from which so many comforts resulted, in process of time occasioned an aversion to superiors, to whom they were not accustomed, and an exaggerated jealousy of the power which was exercised for their own safety and comfort. Their manners unsophisticated, and their morals, in a great measure, uncorrupted, led them to regard with unjustifiable scorn and aversion, those strangers who brought with them the manners of more polished, though less pure communities. Proud of their haughty bluntness, which daily increased with their wealth and security, they began to consider respectful and polite behaviour as a degree of servility and duplicity; while they revolted at the power exercised over themselves, and very reluctantly made the exertions necessary for their own protection. They showed every inclination to usurp the territories of their Indian allies; and use, to the very utmost, the power they had acquired over them, by supplying their wants.

At the liberal table of aunt Schuyler, where there were always intelligence, just notions, and good breeding to be met with, both among the owners and their guests, many had their prejudices softened down, their minds enlarged, and their manners improved. There they met British officers of rank and merit, and persons in authority; and learnt that the former were not artificial coxcombs, nor the latter petty tyrants, as they would otherwise be very apt to imagine. Here they were accustomed to find authority respected, on the one hand, and on the other, to see the natural rights of man vindicated, and the utmost abhorrence expressed of all the sophistry by which the credulous were misled by the crafty, to have a code of morality for their treatment of heathens, different from that which directed them in their dealing with christians. Here a selection of the best and worthiest, of the different characters and classes we have been describing, met—and were taught not only to tolerate, but to esteem each other: and it required the calm, temperate wisdom, and easy, versatile manners of my friend to bring this about. It is when they are called to act in a new scene, and among people different from any they had known or imagined, that the folly of the wise, and the weakness of the strong, become discernible.

Many officers justly esteemed, possessed of capacity, learning, and much knowledge, both of the usages of the world, and the art of war, from the want of certain habitudes, which nothing but experience can teach, were disqualified for the warfare of the woods; and from a secret contempt with which they regarded the blunt simplicity and plain appearance of the settlers, were not attentive to their advice on these points. They were not aware how much they were to depend on them for the means of carrying on their operations; and by rude or negligent treatment so disgusted them, that they withheld the horses, oxen, waggons, &c. which were to be paid for, merely to show their independence; well knowing the dreaded and detested military power, even if coercive measures were resorted to, would have no chance for redress in their courts; and even the civil authority were cautious of doing any thing so unpopular as to decide in favour of the military. Thus, till properly instructed, those bewildered strangers were apt to do the thing of all others that annihilates a feeble authority; threaten where they could not strike, and forfeit respect where they could not enforce obedience. A failure of this kind, clogged and enfeebled all their measures; for without the hearty co-operation of the inhabitants in furnishing pre-requisites, nothing could go on in a country without roads, or public vehicles, for the conveyance of their warlike stores. Another rock they were apt to run upon was, a neglect of the Indians, whom they neither sufficiently feared as enemies, nor valued as friends, till taught to do so by maturer judgments. Of this, Braddock’s defeat was an instance; he was brave, experienced, and versed in all military science; his confidence in which, occasioned the destruction of himself and his army. He considered those counsels, that warned him how little, manœuvres or numbers would avail in the close prison of innumerable boughs, as the result of feeble caution; and marched his army to certain ruin, in the most brave and scientific manner imaginable. Upon certain occasions, there is no knowledge so valuable as that of our own ignorance.

At the Flats, the self-righted boor learned civilization and subordination: the high-bred and high-spirited field officer, gentleness, accommodation, and respect for unpolished worth and untaught valour. There, too, the shrewd and deeply-reflecting Indian learnt to respect the British character, and to confide in that of the settlers, by seeing the best specimens of both acting candidly towards each other, and generously to himself.

My friend was most particularly calculated to be the coadjutor of her excellent consort, in thus subduing the spirits of different classes of people, strongly disposed to entertain a repulsive dislike of each other; and by leading them to the chastened enjoyment of the same social pleasures, under the auspices of those whose good will they were all equally convinced of, she contrived to smooth down asperities, and assimilate those various characters, in a manner that could not be done by any other means.

Accustomed from childhood, both from the general state of society, and the enlarged minds of her particular associates, to take liberal views of every thing, and to look forward on all occasions to consequences, she steadily followed her wise and benevolent purposes, without being attracted by petty gratifications, or repelled by petty disgusts. Neither influenced by female vanity, nor female fastidiousness, she might very truly say of popularity, as Falstaff says of Worcester’s rebellion, “it lay in her way and she found it;” for no one ever took less pains to obtain it; and if the weight of solid usefulness and beneficence had not, as it never fails to do in the long run, forced approbation, her mode of conducting herself, though it might greatly endear her to her particular associates, was not conciliating to common minds. The fact was, that though her benevolence extended through the whole circle of those to whom she was known, she had too many objects of importance in view, to squander time upon imbecility and insignificance; nor could she find leisure for the routine of ordinary visits, or inclination for the insipidity of ordinary chit chat.

If people of the description here alluded to, could forward any plan advantageous to the public, or to any of those persons in whom she was particularly interested, she would treat them occasionally with much civility—for she had all the power of superior intellect without the pride of it, but could not submit to a perpetual sacrifice to forms and trifles. This, in her, was not only justifiable but laudable; yet it is not mentioned as an example, because a case can very rarely occur, where the benefit resulting to others, from making one’s own path, and forsaking the ordinary road, can be so essential:—few ever can have a sphere of action so peculiar or so important as hers; and very few, indeed, have so sound a judgment to direct them in choosing, or so much fortitude to support them in pursuing, a way of their own.

In ordinary matters, where neither religion nor morality is concerned, it is much safer to trust to the common sense of mankind in general, than to our own particular fancy. Singularity of conduct or opinion is so often the result of vanity or affectation, that whoever ventures upon it, ought to be a person whose example is looked up to by others. A person too great to follow, ought to be great enough to lead. But though her conversation was reserved for those she preferred, her advice, compassion, and good offices were always given where most needed.

Years passed away in this manner, varied only by the extension of that protection and education, which they gave to a succession of nephews and nieces of the colonel or Mrs. Schuyler. These they did not take from mere compassion, as all their relations were in easy circumstances; but influenced by various considerations, such as, in some cases, the death of the mother of the children, or perhaps the father; in others, where their nieces or nephews married very early, and lived in the houses of their respective parents, while their young family increased before they had a settled home; or in instances where, from the remote situations in which the parents lived, they could not so easily educate them. Indeed, the difficulty of getting a suitable education for children, whose parents were ambitious for their improvement, was great; and a family so well regulated as hers, and frequented by such society, was in itself an academy, both for the best morals and manners. When people have children born to them, they must submit to the ordinary lot of humanity; and if they have not the happiness of meeting with many good qualities to cultivate and rejoice over, there is nothing left for them but to exert themselves to the utmost, to reform and ameliorate what will admit of improvement. They must carefully weed and prop: if the soil produce a crop both feeble and redundant, affection will blind them to many defects; imperious duty will stimulate them, and hope, soothing, however deceitful, will support them. But when people have the privilege, as in this case, of choosing a child, they are fairly entitled to select the most promising. This selection, I understood always to have been left to aunt Schuyler, and it appeared, by the event, to have been generally a happy one. Fifteen, either nephews or nieces, or the children of such who had been under her care, all lived to grow up and go out into the world: all acted their parts so as to do credit to the instruction they had received, and the example they looked up to. Besides these, they had many whom they brought for two or three years to their house to reside; either because the family they came from was at the time crowded with younger children, or because they were at a time of life, when a year or two spent in such society as was there assembled, might not only form their manners, but give a bias to their future character.

About the year 1730, they brought home a nephew of the colonel’s whose father having a large family, and having, to the best of my recollection, lost his wife, entirely gave over the boy to the protection of this relation. This boy was his uncle’s god-son, and called Philip, after him. He was a great favourite in the family; for though apparently thoughtless and giddy, he had a very good temper and quick parts, and was, upon the whole, an ingenious, lively, and amusing child. He was a very great favourite, and continued to be so, in some measure, when he grew up.

There were other children, whose names and relation to my friends I do not remember, in the house at the same time, but none that staid so long, or were so much talked of as this. There certainly never were people who received so much company, made so respectable a figure in life, and always kept so large a family about them, with so little tumult or bustle, or indeed at so moderate an expense. What their income was I cannot say; but am sure it could not have been what we should think adequate to the good they did, and the hospitality and beneficence which they practised; for the rents of lands were then of so little value, that, though they possessed a considerable estate in another part of the country, only very moderate profits could result from it; but, indeed, from the simplicity of dress, &c. it was easier; though, in that respect, too, they preserved a kind of dignity, and went beyond others in the materials, though not the form of their apparel. Yet their principal expense was a most plentiful and well ordered table, quite in the English style, which was a kind of innovation: but so many strangers frequented the houses of the three brothers, that it was necessary for them to accommodate themselves to the habits of their guests.

Peter being in his youth an extensive trader, had spent much time in Canada, among the noblesse there, and had served in the continental levies. He had a fine commanding figure, and quite the air and address of a gentleman, and was, when I knew him, an old man.

Intelligent and pleasing in a very high degree, Jeremiah had too much familiar kindness to be looked up to like his brother. Yet he also had a very good understanding, great frankness and affability, and was described by all who knew him, as the very soul of cordial friendship and warm benevolence. He married a polished and well-educated person, whose parents (French protestants) were people of the first fashion in New-York, and had given with her a good fortune, a thing very unusual in that country. They used, in the early years of their marriage, to pay a visit every winter to their connexions at New-York, who passed part of every summer with them. This connexion, as well as that with the Flats, gave an air of polish and a tincture of elegance to this family beyond others; and there were few so gay and social. This cheerfulness was supported by a large family, fourteen, I think, of very promising children. These, however, inheriting from their mother’s family a delicate constitution, died one after another as they came to maturity: one only, a daughter, lived to be married, but died after having had one son and a daughter.

I saw the mother of this large family, after out-living her own children, and a still greater number of brothers and sisters, who had all settled in life, prosperous and flourishing, when she married; I saw her a helpless, bed-ridden invalid, without any remaining tie, but a sordid, grasping son-in-law, and two grand-children, brought up at a distance from her.

With her, too, I was a great favourite, because I listened with interest to her details of early happiness, and subsequent woes and privations—all of which she described to me with great animation, and the most pathetic eloquence. How much a patient listener, who has sympathy and interest to bestow on a tale of woe, will hear! and how affecting are the respect and compassion even of an artless child, to a heart that has felt the bitterness of neglect, and known what it was to pine in solitary sadness! Many a bleak day have I walked a mile to visit this blasted tree, which the storm of calamity had stripped of every leaf! and surely in the house of sorrow the heart is made better.

From this chronicle of past times I derived much information respecting our good aunt; such as she would not have given me herself. The kindness of this generous sister-in-law was, indeed, the only light that shone on the declining days of sister Susan, as she was wont affectionately to call her. What a sad narrative would the detail of this poor woman’s sorrows afford! which, however, she did not relate in a querulous manner, for her soul was subdued by affliction, and she did not “mourn as those that had no hope.” One instance of self-accusation I must record. She used to describe the family she left as being no less happy, united, and highly prosperous, than that into which she came: if, indeed, she could be said to leave it, going, as she did, for some months every year to her mother’s house, whose darling she was, and who, being only fifteen years older than herself, was more like an elder sister, united by fond affection.

She went to New-York to lie in, at her mother’s house, of her four or five first children; her mother at the same time having children as young as hers: and thus caressed at home by a fond husband, and received with exultation by the tenderest parents; young, gay, and fortunate, her removals were only variations of felicity; but gratified in every wish, she knew not what sorrow was, nor how to receive the unwelcome stranger when it arrived. At length she went down to her father’s as usual, to lie in of her fourth child, which died when it was eight days old. She then screamed with agony, and told her mother, who tried by pious counsel to alleviate her grief, that she was the most miserable of human beings; for that no one was capable of loving their child so well as she did hers, and could not think by what sin she had provoked this affliction: finally, she clasped the dead infant to her bosom, and was not, without the utmost difficulty, persuaded to part with it; while her frantic grief outraged all decorum. “After this,” said she, “I have seen my thirteen grown-up children, and my dear and excellent husband, all carried out of this house to the grave: I have lost the worthiest and most affectionate parents, brothers, and sisters, such as few ever had; and however my heart might be pierced with sorrow, it was still more deeply pierced with a conviction of my own past impiety and ingratitude; and under all this affliction, I wept silently and alone—and my outcry or lamentation was never heard by mortal.” What a lesson was this!

This once loved and much respected woman have I seen sitting in her bed, where she had been long confined, neglected by all those whom she had known in her better days, excepting aunt Schuyler, who unwieldy and unfit for visiting as she was, came out two or three times in the year to see her, and constantly sent her kindly tokens of remembrance. Had she been more careful to preserve her independence, and had she accommodated herself more to the plain manners of the people she lived among, she might, in her adversity, have met with more attention; but too conscious of her attainments, lively, regardless, and perhaps vain, and confident of being surrounded and admired by a band of kinsfolk, she was at no pains to conciliate others; she had, too, some expensive habits, which, when the tide of prosperity ebbed, could meet with little indulgence among a people who never entertained an idea of living beyond their circumstances.

Thus, even among those unpolished people, one might learn how severely the insolence of prosperity can be avenged upon us, even by those we have despised and slighted—and who, perhaps, were very much our inferiors in every respect; though both humanity and good sense should prevent our mortifying them, by showing ourselves sensible of that circumstance.

This year was a fatal one to the families of the three brothers. Jeremiah, impatient of the uneasiness caused by a wen upon his neck, submitted to undergo an operation, which being unskilfully performed, ended fatally, to the unspeakable grief of his brothers and of aunt, who was particularly attached to him, and often dwelt on the recollection of his singularly compassionate disposition, the generous openness of his temper, and peculiar warmth of his affections. He, indeed, was “taken away from the evil to come;” for of his large family, one after the other went off, in consequence of the weakness of their lungs, which withstood none of the ordinary diseases of small-pox, measles, &c. till in a few years there was not one remaining.

These were melancholy inroads on the peace of her who might truly be said to “watch and weep, and pray for all;” for nothing could exceed our good aunt’s care and tenderness for this feeble family, who seemed flowers which merely bloomed to wither in their prime; for they were, as is often the case with those who inherit such disorders, beautiful, with quickness of comprehension, and abilities beyond their age.

Another very heavy sorrow followed the death of Jeremiah; Peter, being the eldest brother, his son, as I formerly mentioned, was considered and educated as heir to the colonel. It was Peter’s house that stood next to the colonel’s; their dwellings being arranged according to their ages, the youth was not in the least estranged from his own family (who were half a mile off,) by his residence at his uncle’s, and was peculiarly endeared to all the families, (who regarded him as the future head of their house,) by his gentle manners and excellent qualities. With all these personal advantages which distinguished that comely race, and which give grace and attraction to the unfolding blossoms of virtue, at an early age he was sent to a kind of college, then established in New-Jersey—and he was there instructed as far, as in that place, he could be. He soon formed an attachment for a lady still younger than himself, but so well brought up, and so respectably connected, that his friends were greatly pleased with the marriage, early as it was, and his father, with the highest satisfaction, received the young couple into the house. There they were the delight and ornament of the family, and lived amongst them as a common blessing. The first year of their marriage a daughter was born to them, whom they named Cornelia; and the next, a son, whom they called Peter. The following year, which was the same that deprived them of their brother Jeremiah, proved fatal to a great many children and young people, in consequence of an endemial disease which every now and then used to appear in the country, and made great havoc. It was called the purple or spotted fever, and was probably of the putrid kind: be that as it may, it proved fatal to this interesting young couple. Peter, who had lost his wife but a short time before, was entirely overwhelmed by this stroke: a hardness of hearing, which had been gradually increasing before, deprived him of the consolations he might have derived from society. He encouraged his second son to marry; shut himself up for the most part in his own apartment; and became, in effect, one of those lay-brothers I have formerly described. Yet, when time had blunted the edge of this keen affliction, many years after, when he lived at the Flats, he used to visit us; and though he did not hear well, he conversed with great spirit, and was full of anecdote and information. Meanwhile, madame did not sink under this calamity, though she felt it as much as her husband, but supported him, and exerted herself to extract consolation from performing the duties of a mother to the infant who was now become the representative of the family. Little Peter was accordingly brought home, and succeeded to all that care and affection of which his father had formerly been the object, while Cornelia was taken home to Jersey, to the family of her maternal grandfather, who was a distinguished person in that district. There she was exceedingly well-educated, became an elegant and very pleasing young woman, and was happily and most respectably married before I left the country, as was her brother very soon after. They are still living; and Peter, adhering to what might be called eventually the safer side during the war with the mother country, succeeded undisturbed to his uncle’s inheritance.

All these new cares and sorrows did not in the least abate the hospitality, the popularity, or the public spirit of these truly great minds. Their dwelling, though in some measure become a house of mourning, was still the rendezvous of the wise and worthy, the refuge of the stranger, and an academy for deep and sound thinking, taste, intelligence, and moral beauty. There the plans for the public good were digested by the rulers of the province, who came, under the pretext of a summer excursion for mere amusement. There the operations of the army, and the treaties of peace or alliance with various nations, were arranged; for there the legislators of the state, and the leaders of the war, were received, and mixed serious and important counsels with convivial cheerfulness, and domestic ease and familiarity. It is not to be conceived how essential a point of union, a barrier against license, and a focus, in which the rays of intellect and intelligence were concentrated, (such as in this family,) were to unite the jarring elements of which the community was composed, and to suggest to those who had power without experience, the means of mingling in due proportions its various materials for the public utility. Still, though the details of family happiness were abridged, the spirit that produced it continued to exist, and to find new objects of interest. A mind, elevated by the consciousness of its own powers, and enlarged by the habitual exercise of them, for the great purpose of promoting the good of others, yields to the pressure of calamity, but sinks not under it, particularly when habituated, like these exalted characters, to look through the long vista of futurity, towards the final accomplishment of the designs of providence. Like a diligent gardener, who, when his promising young plants are blasted in full strength and beauty, though he feels extremely for their loss, does not sit down in idle chagrin, but redoubles his efforts to train up their successors to the same degree of excellence. Considering the large family she (madame) always had about her, of which she was the guiding star as well as the informing soul, and the innocent cheerfulness which she encouraged and enjoyed; considering, too, the number of interesting guests whom she received, and that complete union of minds, which made her enter so intimately into all the colonel’s pursuits, it may be wondered how she found time for solid and improved reading; because people whose time is so much occupied in business and society, are apt to relax with amusing trifles of the desultory kind, when they have odd half hours to bestow on literary amusements. But her strong and indefatigable mind never loosened its grasp; ever intent on the useful and the noble, she found little leisure for what are indeed the greatest objects of feeble characters. After the middle of life she went little out; her household, long since arranged by certain general rules, went regularly on, because every domestic knew exactly the duties of his or her place, and dreaded losing it, as the greatest possible misfortune. She had always with her some young person, who was unto her as a daughter—who was her friend and companion, and bred up in such a manner as to qualify her for being such; and one of whose duties it was to inspect the state of the household, and “report progress” with regard to the operations going on in the various departments; for no one better understood or more justly estimated the duties of housewifery. Thus, those young females who had the happiness of being bred under her auspices, very soon became qualified to assist her instead of encroaching much on her time. The example and conversation of the family in which they lived, was to them a perpetual school for useful knowledge, and manners easy and dignified, though natural and artless. They were not indeed embellished, but then they were not deformed by affectation, pretensions, or defective imitation of fashionable models of nature. They were not indeed bred up “to dance, to dress, to roll the eye, or troll the tongue;” yet they were not lectured into unnatural gravity or frozen reserve. I have seen those of them who were lovely, gay and animated, though in the words of an old familiar lyric,

Two of those to whom this description particularly applies, still live, and still retain not only evident traces of beauty, but that unstudied grace and dignity which is the result of conscious worth and honour, habituated to receive the tribute of general respect. This is the privilege of minds which are always in their own place, and neither stoop to solicit applause from their inferiors, nor strive to rise to a fancied equality with those whom nature or fortune have placed beyond them.

Aunt was a great manager of her time, and always contrived to create leisure hours for reading; for that kind of conversation, which is properly styled gossiping, she had the utmost contempt. Light, superficial reading, such as merely fills a blank in time, and glides over the mind without leaving an impression, was little known there; for few books crossed the Atlantic but such as were worth carrying so far for their intrinsic value. She was too much accustomed to have her mind occupied with objects of real weight and importance, to give it up to frivolous pursuits of any kind. She began the morning with reading the scriptures. They always breakfasted early, and dined two hours later than the primitive inhabitants, who always took that meal at twelve. This departure from the ancient customs was necessary in this family, to accommodate the great numbers of British as well as strangers from New-York, who were daily entertained at her liberal table. This arrangement gave her the advantage of a longer forenoon to dispose of. After breakfast she gave orders for the family details of the day, which, without a scrupulous attention to those minutiæ which fell more properly under the notice of her young friends, she always regulated in the most judicious manner, so as to prevent all appearance of hurry and confusion. There was such a rivalry among domestics, whose sole ambition was her favour, and who had been so trained up from infancy, each to their several duties, that excellence in each department was the result both of habit and emulation; while her young protégés were early taught the value and importance of good housewifery, and were sedulous in their attention to little matters of decoration and elegance, which her mind was too much engrossed to attend to; so that her household affairs, ever well regulated, went on in a mechanical kind of progress, that seemed to engage little of her attention, though her vigilant and overruling mind set every spring of action in motion. Having thus easily and speedily arranged the details of the day, she retired to read in her closet, where she generally remained till about eleven, when, being unequal to distant walks, the colonel and she, and some of her elder guests, passed some of the hotter hours among those embowering shades of her garden, in which she took great pleasure. Here was their lyceum; here questions in religion and morality, too weighty for table-talk, were leisurely and coolly discussed, and plans of policy and various utility arranged. From this retreat they adjourned to the portico; and while the colonel either retired to write, or went to give directions to his servants, she sat in this little tribunal, giving audience to new settlers, followers of the army left in hapless dependence, and others who wanted assistance or advice, or hoped she would intercede with the colonel for something more peculiarly in his way, he having great influence with the colonial government. At the usual hour, her dinner-party assembled, which was generally a large one; and here I must digress from the detail of the day to observe, that, looking up as I always did to madame with admiring veneration, and having always heard her mentioned with unqualified applause, I look often back to think what defects or faults she could possibly have to rank with the sons and daughters of imperfection, inhabiting this transitory scene of existence, well knowing, from subsequent observation of life, that error is the unavoidable portion of humanity. Yet of this truism, to which every one will readily subscribe, I can recollect no proof in my friend’s conduct, unless the luxury of her table might be produced to confirm it. Yet this, after all, was but comparative luxury. There was more choice and selection, and, perhaps, more abundance at her table, than those of the other primitive inhabitants; yet how simple were her repasts, compared to those with which the luxury of the higher ranks in this country offer to provoke the sated appetite. Her dinner-party generally consisted of some of her intimate friends or near relations; her adopted children, who were inmates for the time being; and strangers sometimes invited, merely as friendless travellers, on the score of hospitality, but often welcomed for some time as stationary visitors, on account of worth or talents, that gave value to their society; and lastly, military guests, selected with some discrimination, on account of the young friends, whom they wished not only to protect, but cultivate by an improving association. Conversation here was always rational, generally instructive, and often cheerful. The afternoon frequently brought with it a new set of guests. Tea was always drank early here; and, as I have formerly observed, was attended with so many petty luxuries of pastry, confectionary, &c. that it might well be accounted a meal by those whose early and frugal dinners had so long gone by. In Albany it was customary, after the heat of the day was past, for the young people to go in parties of three or four, in open carriages, to drink tea at an hour or two’s drive from town. The receiving and entertaining this sort of company, generally was the province of the younger part of the family; and of these parties many came, in summer evenings, to the Flats, when tea, which was very early, was over. The young people, and those who were older, took their different walks, while madame sat in her portico, engaged in what might comparatively be called light reading, essays, biography, poetry, &c. till the younger party set out on their return home, and her domestic friends rejoined her in her portico, where, in warm evenings, a slight repast was sometimes brought; but they more frequently shared the last and most truly social meal within.

Winter made little difference in her mode of occupying her time. She then always retired to her closet to read at stated periods.

In conversation she certainly took delight, and peculiarly excelled, yet did not in the least engross it, or seem to dictate. On the contrary, her thirst of knowledge was such, and she possessed such a peculiar talent for discovering the point of utility in all things, that from every one’s discourse she extracted some information, on which the light of her mind was thrown in such a direction as made it turn to account. Whenever she laid down her book she took up her knitting, which neither occupied her eyes nor attention, while it kept her fingers engaged, thus setting an example of humble diligence to her young protégés. In this employment she had a kind of tender satisfaction, as little children, reared in the family, were the only objects of her care in this respect. For those, she constantly provided a supply of hosiery till they were seven years old, and after that, transferred her attention to some younger favourite. In her earlier days, when her beloved husband could share the gaieties of society, I have been told they both had a high relish for innocent mirth, and every species of humorous pleasantry; but in my time there was a chastened gravity in her discourse, which, however, did not repulse innocent cheerfulness, though it dashed all manner of levity, and that flippancy which great familiarity sometimes encourages among young people who live much together. Had madame, with the same good sense, the same high principle, and general benevolence towards young people, lived in society, such as is to be met with in Britain, the principle upon which she acted would have led her to have encouraged, in such society, more gaiety and freedom of manners. As the regulated forms of life in Britain set bounds to the ease that accompanies good breeding and refinement, generally diffused, supplies the place of native delicacy, where that is wanting, a certain decent freedom is both safe and allowable. But amid the simplicity of primitive manners, those bounds are not so well defined. Under these circumstances, mirth is a romp, and humour a buffoon; and both must be kept within strict limits.

The hospitalities of this family were so far beyond their apparent income, that all strangers were astonished at them. To account for this, it must be observed that, in the first place, there was, perhaps, scarce an instance of a family possessing such uncommonly well-trained, active, and diligent slaves as those I describe. The set that were staid servants when they married, had some of them died off by the time I knew the family; but the principal roots from whence the many branches, then flourishing, sprung, yet remained. These were two women, who had come originally from Africa while very young; they were most excellent servants, and the mothers or grandmothers of the whole set, except of one white-woolled negro-man, who, in my time, sat by the chimney and made shoes for all the rest. The great pride and happiness of those sable matrons were, to bring up their children to dexterity, diligence, and obedience. Diana being determined that Maria’s children should not excel hers in any quality which was a recommendation to favour; and Maria equally resolved that her brood, in the race of excellence, should outstrip Diana’s. Never was a more fervent competition. That of Phillis and Brunetta, in the Spectator, was a trifle to it: and it was extremely difficult to decide on their respective merits; for though Maria’s son Prince cut down wood with more dexterity and despatch than any one in the province, the mighty Cæsar, son of Diana, cut down wheat, and threshed it, better than he. His sister Betty, who, to her misfortune, was a beauty of her kind, and possessed wit equal to her beauty, was the best sempstress and laundress, by far, I have ever known; and plain, unpretending Rachael, sister to Prince, wife to Titus, alias Tyte, and head cook, dressed dinners that might have pleased Apicius. I record my old humble friends by their real names, because they allowedly stood at the head of their own class, and distinction of every kind should be respected. Besides, when the curtain drops, or, indeed, long before it falls, it is, perhaps, more creditable to have excelled in the lowest parts, than to have fallen miserably short in the higher. Of the inferior personages, in this dark drama I have been characterizing, it would be tedious to tell: suffice it, that besides filling up all the lower departments of the household, and cultivating to the highest advantage a most extensive farm, there was a thorough-bred carpenter and shoemaker, and an universal genius who made canoes, nets, and paddles, shod horses, mended implements of husbandry, managed the fishing, in itself no small department, reared hemp and tobacco, and spun both; made cider, and tended wild horses, (as they called them,) which was his province to manage and to break. For every branch of the domestic economy, there was a person allotted—educated for the purpose; and this society was kept immaculate, in the same way that the quakers preserve the rectitude of theirs, and, indeed, in the only way that any community can be preserved from corruption; when a member showed symptoms of degeneracy, he was immediately expelled, or in other words more suitable to this case, sold. Among the domestics, there was such a rapid increase, in consequence of their marrying very early, and living comfortably without care, that if they had not been detached off with the young people brought up in the house, they would have swarmed like an over-stocked bee-hive.

The prevention of crime was so much attended to in this well-regulated family, that there was very little punishment necessary; none that I ever heard of, but such as Diana and Maria inflicted on their progeny, with a view to prevent the dreaded sentence of expulsion. Notwithstanding the petty rivalry between the branches of the two original stocks, intermarriages between the Montagues and Capulets of the kitchen, which frequently took place, and the habit of living together under the same mild, though regular government, produced a general cordiality and affection among all the members of the family, who were truly ruled by the law of love; and even those who occasionally differed about trifles, had an unconscious attachment to each other, which showed itself on all emergencies. Treated themselves with care and gentleness, they were careful and kind with regard to the only inferiors and dependants they had, the domestic animals. The superior personages in the family, had always some good property to mention, or good saying to repeat of those whom they cherished into attachment, and exalted into intelligence; while they, in their turn, improved the sagacity of their subject animals, by caressing and talking to them. Let no one laugh at this; for whenever man is at ease and unsophisticated, where his native humanity is not extinguished by want or chilled by oppression, it overflows to inferior beings, and improves their instincts to a degree incredible to those who have not witnessed it. In all mountainous countries, where man is more free, more genuine, and more divided into little societies much detached from others, and much attached to each other, this cordiality of sentiment, this overflow of good will takes place. The poet says,

This question must be left for divines to determine; but sure am I that humble love and not proud reason, keeps the door of earthly happiness, as far as it is attainable. I am not going, like the admirable Crichton, to make an oration in praise of ignorance; but a very high degree of refinement certainly produces a quickness of discernment, a niggard approbation, and a fastidiousness of taste, that find a thousand repulsive and disgusting qualities mingled with those that excite our admiration, and would, (were we less critical,) produce affection. Alas! that the tree should so literally impart the knowledge of good and evil; much evil and little good. It is time to return from this excursion to the point from which I set out.

The Princes and Cæsars of the Flats had as much to tell of the sagacity and attachments of the animals, as their mistress related of their own. Numberless anecdotes that delighted me in the last century, I would recount, but fear I should not find my audience of such easy belief as I was, nor so convinced of the integrity of my informers. One circumstance I must mention, because I well know it to be true. The colonel had a horse which he rode occasionally, but which oftener travelled with Mrs. Schuyler in an open carriage. At particular times, when bringing home hay or corn, they yoked Wolf, for so he was called, in a waggon; an indignity to which, for a while, he unwillingly submitted. At length, knowing resistance was vain, he had recourse to stratagem; and whenever he saw Tyte marshalling his cavalry for service, he swam over to the island, the umbrageous and tangled border of which I formerly mentioned; there he fed with fearless impunity till he saw the boat approach; whenever that happened, he plunged into the thicket, and led his followers such a chase, that they were glad to give up the pursuit. When he saw from his retreat that the work was over, and the fields bare, he very coolly returned. Being, by this time, rather old, and a favourite, the colonel allowed him to be indulged in his dislike to drudgery. The mind which is at ease, neither stung by remorse, nor goaded by ambition or other turbulent passions, nor worn with anxiety for the supply of daily wants, nor sunk into languor by stupid idleness, forms attachments and amusements, to which those exalted by culture would not stoop, and those crushed by want and care could not rise. Of this nature was the attachment to the tame animals, which the domestics appropriated to themselves, and to the little fanciful gardens where they raised herbs or plants of difficult culture, to sell and give to their friends. Each negro was indulged with his racoon, his great squirrel or muskrat, or perhaps his beaver, which he tamed and attached to himself, by daily feeding and caressing him in the farm-yard. One was sure about all such houses to find these animals, in whom their masters took the highest pleasure. All these small features of human nature must not be despised for their minuteness; to a good mind they afford consolation.

Science, directed by virtue, is a god-like enlargement of the powers of human nature; and exalted rank is so necessary a finish to the fabric of society, and so invariable a result from its regular establishment, that, in respecting those whom the divine wisdom has set above us, we perform a duty such as we expect from our own inferiors, which helps to support the general order of society. But so very few, in proportion to the whole, can be enlightened by science, or exalted by situation, that a good mind draws comfort from discovering even the petty enjoyments permitted to those in the state we consider most abject and depressed.

It may appear extraordinary, with so moderate an income as could, in those days, be derived even from a considerable estate in that country, how madame found means to support that liberal hospitality which they constantly exercised. I know the utmost they could derive from their lands, and it was not much. Some money they had, but nothing adequate to the dignity, simple as it was, of their style of living, and the very large family they always drew round them. But with regard to the plenty, one might almost call it luxury, of their table, it was supplied from a variety of sources, that rendered it less expensive than could be imagined. Indians, grateful for the numerous benefits they were daily receiving from them, were constantly bringing the smaller game, and in winter and spring, loads of venison. Little money passed from one hand to another in the country; but there was constantly, as there always is in primitive abodes, before the age of calculation begins, a kindly commerce of presents. The people of New-York and Rhode-Island, several of whom were wont to pass a part of the summer with the colonel’s family, were loaded with all the productions of the farm and river. When they went home, they again never failed, at the season, to send a large supply of oysters and all other shell-fish, which at New-York abounded; besides great quantities of tropical fruit, which, from the short run between Jamaica and New-York, were there almost as plenty and cheap as in their native soil. Their farm yielded them abundantly all, that in general, a musket can supply; and the young relatives who grew up about the house, were rarely a day without bringing some supply from the wood or the stream. The negroes, whose business lay frequently in the woods, never willingly went there, or any where else, without a gun, and rarely came back empty-handed. Presents of wine, then a very usual thing to send to friends to whom you wished to show a mark of gratitude, came very often, possibly from the friends of the young people who were reared and instructed in that house of benediction; as there were no duties paid for the entrance of any commodity then, wine, rum, and sugar, were cheaper than can easily be imagined, and in cider they abounded.

The negroes of the three truly united brothers, not having home employment in winter, after preparing fuel, used to cut down trees, and carry them to an adjoining saw-mill, where, in a very short time, they made great quantities of planks, staves, &c., which is usually styled lumber, for the West-India market. And when a ship-load of their flour, lumber, and salted provisions was accumulated, some relative, for their behoof, freighted a vessel, and went out to the West-Indies with it. In this stygian schooner, the departure of which was always looked forward to with unspeakable horror, all the stubborn or otherwise unmanageable slaves were embarked, to be sold by way of punishment. This produced such salutary terror, that preparing the lading of this fatal vessel generally operated a temporary reform at least. When its cargo was discharged in the West-Indies, it took in a lading of wine, rum, sugar, coffee, chocolate, and all other West-India productions, paying for whatever fell short of the value—and returning to Albany, sold the surplus to their friends, after reserving to themselves a most liberal supply of all the articles thus imported. Thus they had not only a profusion of all the requisites for good house-keeping, but had it in their power to do what was not unusual there in wealthy families, though none carried it so far as these worthies.

In process of time, as people multiplied, when a man had eight or ten children to settle in life, and these marrying early, and all their families increasing fast, though they always were considered as equals, and each kept a neat house and decent outside, yet it might be that some of them were far less successful than others in their various efforts to support their families; but these deficiencies were supplied in a quiet and delicate way, by presents of every thing a family required, sent from all their connexions and acquaintances—which, where there was a continual sending back and forward of sausages, pigs, roasting-pieces, &c. from one house to another, excited little attention; but when aunt’s West-India cargo arrived, all the families of this description within her reach, had an ample boon sent them of her new supply.

The same liberal spirit animated her sister, a very excellent person, who was married to Cornelius Cuyler, then mayor of Albany, who had been a most successful Indian trader in his youth, and had acquired large possessions, and carried on an extensive commercial intercourse with the traders of that day, bringing from Europe quantities of those goods that best suited them, and sending back their peltry in exchange. He was not only wealthy, but hospitable, intelligent, and liberal-minded, as appeared by his attachment to the army, which was, in those days, the distinguishing feature of those who in knowledge and candour were beyond others. His wife had the same considerate and prudent generosity, which ever directed the humanity of her sister; though having a large family, she could not carry it to so great an extent.

If this maternal friend of their mutual relatives could be said to have a preference among her own and her husband’s relations, it was certainly to this family. The eldest son Philip, who bore her husband’s name, was on that and other accounts, a particular favourite, and was, I think, as much with them in childhood, as his attention to his education, which was certainly the best the province could afford, would permit.

Having become distinguished through all the northern provinces, the common people, and the inferior class of the military, had learned from the Canadians who frequented her house, to call aunt, Madame Schuyler; but by one or other of these appellations she was universally known; and a kindly custom prevailed, for those who were received into any degree of intimacy in her family, to address her as their aunt, though not in the least related. This was done oftener to her than others, because she excited more respect and affection, but it had, in some degree, the sanction of custom. The Albanians were sure to call each other aunt or cousin, as far as the most strained construction would carry those relations. To strangers they were indeed very shy at first, but extremely kind; when they not only proved themselves estimable, but by a condescension to their customs, and acquiring a smattering of their language, ceased to be strangers, then they were generally in the habit of calling each other cousin; and thus in an hour of playful or tender intimacy I have known it more than once begin: “I think you like me well enough, and I am sure I like you very well; come, why should not we be cousins? I am sure I should like very well to be your cousin, for I have no cousins of my own where I can reach them. Well, then you shall be my cousin for ever and ever.” In this uncouth language, and in this artless manner, were these leagues of amity commenced. Such an intimacy was never formed unless the object of it were a kind of favourite with the parents, who immediately commenced uncle and aunt to the new cousin. This, however, was a high privilege, only to be kept by fidelity and good conduct. If you exposed your new cousin’s faults, or repeated her minutest secrets, or by any other breach of constancy lost favour, it was as bad as refusing a challenge; you were coldly received every where, and could never regain your footing in society.

Aunt’s title, however, became current every where, and was most completely confirmed in the year 1750, when she gave with more than common solemnity, a kind of annual feast, to which the colonel’s two brothers and his sisters, aunt’s sister, Mrs. Cornelius Cuyler, and their families, with several others related to them, assembled. This was not given on a stated day, but at the time when most of these kindred could be collected. This year I have often heard my good friend commemorate, as that on which their family stock of happiness felt the first diminution. The feast was made, and attended by all the collateral branches, consisting of fifty-two, who had a claim by marriage or descent, to call the colonel and my friend uncle and aunt, besides their parents. Among these were reckoned three or four grandchildren of their brothers. At this grand gala, there could be no less than sixty persons, but many of them were doomed to meet no more; for the next year the small-pox, always peculiarly mortal here, (where it was improperly treated in the old manner,) broke out with great virulence, and raged like a plague; but none of those relatives whom Mrs. Schuyler had domesticated suffered by it; and the skill which she had acquired from the communications of the military surgeons who were wont to frequent her house, enabled her to administer advice and assistance, which essentially benefited many of the patients in whom she was particularly interested; though even her influence could not prevail on people to have recourse to inoculation. The patriarchal feast of the former year, and the humane exertions of this, made the colonel and his consort appear so much in the light of public benefactors, that all the young regarded them with a kind of filial reverence, and the addition of uncle and aunt was become confirmed and universal, and was considered as an honourary distinction. The ravages which the small-pox made this year among their Mohawk friends, was a source of deep concern to these revered philanthropists; but this was an evil not to be remedied by any ordinary means. These people being accustomed from early childhood to anoint themselves with bear’s grease, to repel the innumerable tribes of noxious insects in summer, and to exclude the extreme cold in winter, their pores are so completely shut up that the small-pox does not rise upon them, nor have they much chance of recovery from any acute disease; but, excepting the fatal infection already mentioned, they are not subject to any other but the rheumatism, unless in very rare instances. The ravages of disease this year operated on their population as a blow, which it never recovered; and they considered the small-pox in a physical, and the use of strong liquors in a moral sense, as two plagues which we had introduced among them, for which our arts, our friendship, and even our religion, were a very inadequate recompense.

To return to the legion of commissaries, &c. These employments were at first given to very inferior people; it was seen, however, that as the scale of military operations and erections increased, these people were enriching themselves both at the expense of the king and the inhabitants, whom they frequently exasperated into insolence or resistance, and then used that pretext to keep in their own hands the payments to which these people were entitled. When their waggons and slaves were pressed into the service, it was necessary to employ such persons from the first. The colonel and the mayor, and all whom they could influence, did all they could to alleviate an evil that could not be prevented, and was daily aggravating disaffection. They found, as the importance of these offices increased, it would conduce more to the public good, by larger salaries to induce people to accept them who were gentlemen, and had that character to support; and who, being acquainted with the people and their language, knew best how to qualify and soften, and where to apply—so as least to injure or irritate. Some young men belonging to the country, were at length prevailed on to accept two or three of these offices, which had the happiest effect in conciliating and conquering the aversion that existed against the regulars.

Among the first of the natives who engaged in those difficult employments, was one of aunt’s adopted sons, formerly mentioned; Philip Schuyler, of the pasture, as he was called, to distinguish him from the other nephew, who, had he lived, would have been the colonel’s heir. He appeared merely a careless, good-humoured young man. Never was any one so little what he seemed, with regard to ability, activity, and ambition, art, enterprise, and perseverance, all of which he possessed in an uncommon degree, though no man had less the appearance of these qualities; easy, complying, and good-humoured, the conversations, full of wisdom and sound policy, of which he had been a seemingly inattentive witness at the Flats, only slept in his recollection, to awake in full force, when called forth by occasion.

A shrewd and able man, who was, I think, a brigadier in the service, was appointed quarter-master-general, with the entire superintendence of all the boats, buildings, &c. in New-York, the Jerseys, and Canadian frontier. He had married, when very young, a daughter of Colonel Renssalaer. Having at the time no settled plan for the support of a young family, he felt it incumbent on him to make some unusual exertion for them. Colonel Schuyler and his consort, not only advised him to accept an inferior employment in this business, but recommended him to the Brigadier Bradstreet, who had the power of disposing of such offices, which were daily growing in importance. They well knew that he possessed qualities which might not only render him an useful servant to the public, but clear his way to fortune and distinction. His perfect command of temper, acuteness, and dispatch in business, and in the hour of social enjoyment, easily relapsing into all that careless, frank hilarity and indolent good-humour, which seems the peculiar privilege of the free and disencumbered mind; active and companionable, made him a great acquisition to any person under whom he might happen to be employed. This the penetration of Bradstreet soon discovered; and he became not only his secretary and deputy, but in a short time after, his ambassador, as one might say; for before Philip Schuyler was twenty-two, the general, as he was universally styled, sent him to England, to negotiate some business of importance with the board of trade and plantations. In the mean while, some other young men, natives of the country, accepted employments in the same department, by this time greatly extended. Averse as the country people were to the army, they began to relish the advantage derived from the money which that body of protectors, so much feared and detested, expended among them. This was more considerable than might at first be imagined. Government allowed provisions to the troops serving in America, without which they could not indeed have proceeded through an uninhabited country; where, even in such places as were inhabited, there were no regular markets, no competition for supply; nothing but exorbitant prices could tempt those people who were not poor, and found a ready market for all their produce in the West-Indies. Now, having a regular supply of such provisions as are furnished to the fleet, they had no occasion to lay out their money for such things; and rather purchased the produce of the country, liquors, &c. for which the natives took care to make them pay very high, an evil which the Schuyler’s moderated as much as possible, though they could not check it entirely. This provision system was a very great though necessary evil, for it multiplied contractors, commissaries, and store-keepers, without end. At a distance from the source of authority, abuses increase, and redress becomes more difficult, which is, of itself, a sufficient argument against the extension of dominion. Many of these new comers were ambiguous characters, originally from the old country, (as expatriated Britons fondly call their native land,) but little known in this, and not happy specimens of that they had left. These satellites of delegated power had all the insolence of office, and all that avidity of gain, which a sudden rise of circumstances creates in low and unprincipled minds; and they, from the nature of their employment, and the difficulty of getting provisions transported from place to place, were very frequently the medium of that intercourse carried on between the military and the natives; and did not by any means contribute to raise the British character in their estimation.

I dwell more minutely on all these great though necessary evils, which invariably attend an army in its progress through a country which is the theatre of actual war, that the reader may be led to set a just value on the privileges of this highly favoured region, which, sitting on many waters, sends forth her thunders through the earth: and while the farthest extremes of east and west bend to her dominion, has not for more than half a century heard the sound of hostility within her bounds. Many unknown persons, who were in some way attached to the army, and resolved to live by it in some shape, set up as traders; carried stores suited to military consumption along with them, and finally established themselves as merchants in Albany. Some of these proved worthy characters, however; and intermarrying with the daughters of the citizens, and adopting, in some degree, their sober manners, became, in process of time, estimable members of society. Others, and, indeed, the most part of them, rose like exhalations; and obtaining credit by dint of address and assurance, glittered for a time; affecting showy and expensive modes of living, and aping the manners of their patrons. These, as soon as peace diminished the military establishment, and put an end to that ferment and fluctuation which the actual presence of war never fails to excite, burst like bubbles on the surface of the subsiding waves, and astonished the Albanians with the novel spectacle of bankruptcy and imprisonment. All this gradually wrought a change on the face of society; yet such was the disgust which the imputed licentiousness, foppery, and extravagance of the officers, and the pretensions, unsupported by worth or knowledge of their apes and followers, produced, that the young persons who first married those ambiguous new comers, generally did so without the consent of their parents, whose affection for their children, however, soon reconciled them.

A regiment came to town about this time, the superior officers of which were younger, more gay, and less amenable to good counsel than those who used to command the troops which had formerly been placed on this station. They paid their visits at the Flats, and were received—but not as usual, cordially; neither their manners nor morals being calculated for that meridian. Part of the royal Americans or independent companies, had, at this time, possession of the fort; some of these had families—and they were, in general, persons of decent morals, and a moderate and judicious way of thinking, who, though they did not court the society of the natives, expressed no contempt for their manners or opinions. The regiment I speak of, on the contrary, turned those plain burghers into the highest ridicule, yet used every artifice to get acquainted with them. They wished, in short, to act the part of very fine gentlemen; and the gay and superficial in those days, were but too apt to take for their model the fine gentlemen of the detestable old comedies, which good taste has now very properly exploded; and at which, in every stage of society, the uncorrupted mind must have felt infinite disgust. Yet forms arrayed in gold and scarlet, and rendered more imposing by an air of command and authority, occasionally softened down into gentleness and submission; and by that noisy gaiety which youthful inexperience mistakes for happiness, and that flippant petulance, which those who knew not much of the language, and nothing at all of the world, mistook for wit, were very ensnaring. Those dangerously accomplished heroes made their appearance at a time when the English language began to be more generally understood; and when the pretensions of the merchants, commissaries, &c. to the stations they occupied, were no longer dubious. Those polished strangers now began to make a part of general society. At this crisis it was found necessary to have recourse to billets. The superior officers had generally been either received at the Flats or accommodated in a large house which the colonel had in town. The manner in which the hospitality of that family was exercised; the selection which they made of such as were fitted to associate with the young persons who dwelt under their protection, always gave a kind of tone to society, and held out a light to others.

Madame’s sister, as I before observed, was married to the respectable and intelligent magistrate, who administered justice not only to the town, but to the whole neighbourhood. In their house, also, such of the military were received, and kindly entertained, as had the sanction of their sister’s approbation. This judicious and equitable person, who, in the course of trading in early life upon the lakes, had undergone many of the hardships, and even dangers, which awaited the military in that perilous path of duty, knew well what they had to encounter in the defence of a surly and self-righted race, who were little inclined to show them common indulgence, far less gratitude. He judged equitably between both parties; and while with the most patriotic steadiness he resisted every attempt of the military to seize any thing with a high hand—he set the example himself, and used every art of persuasion to induce his countrymen to every concession that could conduce to the ease and comfort of their protectors. So far, at length, he succeeded; that when the regiment to which I allude, arrived in town, and showed in general an amiable and obliging disposition, they were quartered in different houses; the superior officers being lodged willingly by the most respectable of the inhabitants, such as not having large families, had room to accommodate them. The colonel and madame happened at the time of these arrangements, to be at New-York.

In the mean while society began to assume a new aspect; of the satellites, which, on various pretexts, official and commercial, had followed the army, several had families, and those began to mingle more frequently with the inhabitants, who were, as yet, too simple to detect the surreptitious tone of lax morals and second-hand manners which prevailed among many of those who had but very lately climbed up to the stations they held, and in whose houses the European modes and diversions were to be met with; these were not in the best style, yet even in that style they began to be relished by some young persons, with whom the power of novelty prevailed over that of habit; and in a few rare instances, the influence of the young drew the old into a faint consent to these attempted innovations; but with many the resistance was not to be overcome.

In this state of matters, one guardian genius watched over the community with unremitting vigilance. From the original settlement of the place there had been a succession of good, quiet clergymen, who came from Holland to take the command of this expatriated colony. These good men found an easy charge among a people with whom the external duties of religion were settled habits, which no one thought of dispensing with; and where the primitive state of manners, and the constant occupation of the mind in planting and defending a territory where every thing was, as it were, to be new created, was a preservation to the morals. Religion being never branded with the reproach of imputed hypocrisy, or darkened by the frown of austere bigotry, was venerated even by those who were content to glide thoughtless down the stream of time, without seriously considering whither it was conveying them, till sorrow or sickness reminded them of the great purpose for which they were indulged with the privilege of existence.

The dominees, as these people called their ministers, contented themselves with preaching in a sober and moderate strain to the people; and living quietly in the retirement of their families, were little heard of but in the pulpit; and they seemed to consider a studious privacy as one of their chief duties. Domine Freylinghausen, however, was not contented with this quietude, which he seemed to consider as tending to languish into indifference. Ardent in his disposition, eloquent in his preaching, animated and zealous in his conversation, and frank and popular in his manners, he thought it his duty to awaken in every breast that slumbering spirit of devotion, which he considered as lulled by security, or drooping in the meridian of prosperity, like tender plants in the blaze of sunshine. These he endeavoured to refresh by daily exhortation, as well as by the exercise of his public duties. Though rigid in some of his notions, his life was spotless, and his concern for his people warm and affectionate. His endeavours to amend and inspire them with happier desires and aims, were considered as the labour of love, and rewarded by the warmest affection, and the most profound veneration; and what to him was of much more value, by a growing solicitude for the attainment of that higher order of excellence, which it was his delight to point out to them. But while he thus incessantly “allured to brighter worlds, and led the way,” he might, perhaps, insensibly have acquired a taste of dominion, which might make him unwilling to part with any portion of that most desirable species of power, which subjects to us, not human actions only, but the will which directs them. A vulgar ambition contents itself with power to command obedience, but the more exalted and refined ambition aims at domination over the mind. Hence the leaders of a sect, or even those who have powers to awake the dying embers of pious fervour, sway the hearts of their followers in a manner far more gratifying to them than any enjoyment to be derived from temporal power. That this desire should unconsciously gain ground in a virtuous and ardent mind, is not wonderful, when one considers how the best propensities of the human heart are flattered, by supposing that we only sway the minds of others, to incline them to the paths of peace and happiness, and derive no other advantage from this tacit sovereignty, but that of seeing those objects of affectionate solicitude grow wiser and better.

To return to the apostolic and much beloved Freylinghausen. The progress which this regiment made in the good graces of his flock, and the gradual assimilation to English manners of a very inferior standard, alarmed and grieved the good man not a little; and the intelligence he received from some of the elders of his church, who had the honour of lodging the more dissipated subalterns, did not administer much comfort to him. By this time the Anglomania was beginning to spread. A sect arose among the young people, who seemed resolved to assume a lighter style of dress and manners, and to borrow their taste, in those respects, from their new friends. This bade fair soon to undo all the good pastor’s labours. The evil was daily growing—and what, alas! could Domine Freylinghausen do but preach! This he did earnestly and even angrily, but in vain. Many were exasperated, but none reclaimed. The good domine, however, had those who shared his sorrows and resentments; the elder and wiser heads of families, and, indeed, a great majority of the primitive inhabitants, were steadfast against innovation. The colonel of the regiment, who was a man of fashion and family, and possessed talents for both good and evil purposes, was young and gay; and being lodged in the house of a very wealthy citizen, who had before, in some degree, affected the newer modes of living, so captivated him with his good breeding and affability, that he was ready to humour any scheme of diversion which the colonel and his associates proposed. Under the auspices of this gallant commander, balls began to be concerted, and a degree of flutter and frivolity to take place, which was as far from elegance as it was from the honest, artless cheerfulness of the meetings usual among them. The good domine more and more alarmed, not content with preaching, now began to prophecy; but like Cassandra, or, to speak as justly, though less poetically, like his whole fraternity, was doomed always to deliver true predictions to those who never heeded them.

Now the very ultimatum of degeneracy, in the opinion of these simple good people, was approaching; for now the officers, encouraged by the success of all their projects for amusement, resolved to new fashion and enlighten those amiable novices whom their former schemes had attracted within the sphere of their influence; and, for this purpose, a private theatre was fitted up, and preparations made for acting a play. Except the Schuylers and their adopted family, there was not, perhaps, one of the natives who understood what was meant by a play. And by this time, the town, once so closely united by intermarriages and numberless other ties, which could not exist in any other state of society, were divided into two factions; one consisting almost entirely of such of the younger class, as, having a smattering of New-York education, and a little more of dress and vivacity, or, perhaps, levity, than the rest, were eager to mingle in the society, and adopt the manners of those strangers. It is but just, however, to add, that only a few of the more estimable were included in this number; these, however they might have been captivated with novelty and plausibility, were too much attached to their older relations to give them pain, by an intimacy with people to whom an impious neglect of duties the most sacred, was generally imputed, and whose manner of treating their inferiors, at that distance from the control of higher powers, was often such as to justify the imputation of cruelty, which the severity of military punishments had given rise to. The play, however, was acted in a barn, and pretty well attended, notwithstanding the good Domine’s earnest charges to the contrary. It was the Beaux Stratagem; no favourable specimen of the delicacy or morality of the British theatre; and as for the wit it contains, very little of that was level to the comprehension of the novices who were there first initiated into a knowledge of the magic of the scene, yet they “laughed consumedly,” as Scrub says, and actually did so, “because they were talking of him.” They laughed at Scrub’s gestures and appearance: and they laughed very heartily at seeing the gay young ensigns, whom they had been used to dance with, flirting fans, displaying great hoops, and with painted cheeks and coloured eyebrows, sailing about in female habiliments. This was a jest palpable and level to every understanding; and it was not only an excellent good one, but lasted a long while; for every time they looked at them when restored to their own habits, they laughed anew at the recollection of their late masquerade. “It is much,” says Falstaff, “that a lie with a grave face, and a jest with a sad brow, will do with a fellow who never had the ache in his shoulders.” One need only look back to the first rude efforts at comic humour which delighted our fathers, to know what gross and feeble jests amuse the mind, as yet a stranger to refinement. The loud and artless mirth so easily excited in a good-humoured child, the naivete of its odd questions and ignorant wonder, which delight us while associated with innocence and simplicity, would provoke the utmost disgust if we met with them where we look for intelligence and decorous observances. The simplicity of primitive manners, in what regards the petty amusements and minute attentions to which we have become accustomed, is exactly tantamount to that of childhood; it is a thing which, in our state of society, we have no idea of. Those who are, from their depressed situation, ignorant of the forms of polished life, know, at least, that such exist; and either awkwardly imitate them, or carefully avoid committing themselves, by betraying their ignorance. Here, while this simplicity, which, by the by, was no more vulgar than that of Shakspeare’s Miranda, with its concomitant purity, continued unbroken by foreign modes, it had all the charm of undesigning childhood; but when half education and ill supported pretensions took place of this sweet attraction, it assumed a very different aspect; it was no longer simplicity but vulgarity. There are things that every one feels and no one can describe, and this is one of them.

But to return to our Mirandas and their theatrical heroes: the fame of their exhibitions went abroad, and opinions were formed of them no way favourable to the actors or to the audience. In this region of reality, where rigid truth was always undisguised, they had not learned to distinguish between fiction and falsehood. It was said that the officers, familiar with every vice and every disguise, had not only spent a whole night in telling lies in a counterfeited place, the reality of which had never existed, but that they were themselves a lie, and had degraded manhood, and broke through an express prohibition in Scripture, by assuming female habits; that they had not only told lies, but cursed and swore the whole night; and assumed the characters of knaves, fools, and robbers, which every wise and good man held in detestation, and no one would put on unless they felt themselves easy in them. Painting their faces, of all other things, seemed most to violate the Albanian ideas of decorum, and was looked upon as a most flagrant abomination. Great and loud was the outcry produced by it. Little skilled in sophistry, and strangers to all the arts “that make the worst appear the better reason,” the young auditors could only say, “that indeed it was very amusing; made them laugh heartily, and did harm to nobody.” So harmless, indeed, and agreeable did this entertainment appear to the new converts to fashion, that the Recruiting Officer was given out for another night, to the great annoyance of Domine Freylinghausen, who invoked heaven and earth to witness and avenge this contempt, not only of his authority, but, as he expressed it, of the source from whence it was derived. Such had been the sanctity of this good man’s life, and the laborious diligence and awful earnestness with which he inculcated the doctrines he taught, that they had produced a correspondent effect, for the most part, on the lives of his hearers, and led them to regard him as the next thing to an evangelist. Accustomed to success in all his undertakings, and to “honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,” and all that gratitude and veneration can offer to its most distinguished object, this rebellion against his authority, and contempt of his opinion, once the standard by which every one’s judgment was regulated, wounded him very deeply. The abhorrence with which he inspired the parents of the transgressors, among whom were many young men of spirit and intelligence, was the occasion of some family disagreements, a thing formerly scarcely known. Those young people, accustomed to regard their parents with implicit reverence, were unwilling to impute to them unqualified harshness, and therefore removed the blame of a conduct so unusual to their spiritual guide; “and while he thought, good easy man, full surely his greatness was a ripening, nipt his root.” Early one Monday morning, after the Domine had, on the preceding day, been peculiarly eloquent on the subject of theatrical amusements, and pernicious innovations, some unknown person left within his door a club, a pair of old shoes, a crust of black bread, and a dollar. The worthy pastor was puzzled to think what this could mean, but had it too soon explained to him. It was an emblematic message, to signify the desire entertained of his departure. The stick was to push him away, the shoes to wear on the road, and the bread and money a provision for his journey. These symbols, appear, in former days, to have been more commonly used, and better understood than at present; for instance, we find that when Robert Bruce, afterwards king of Scotland, was in a kind of honourable captivity in the court of England; when his friend, the Earl of Glocester, discovered that it was the intention of the king to imprison him in the tower, lest he should escape to Scotland and assert his rights, unwilling by word or writing to discover what had passed in council, and at the same time desirous to save his friend, he sent him a pair of gilt spurs and twelve crowns, and ordered the servant to carry them to him as returning what he had formerly borrowed from him. This mysterious gift and message was immediately understood, and proved the means of restoring Bruce, and, with him, the laws and liberty of his native kingdom. Very different, however, was the effect produced by this mal a-propos symbol of dislike. Too conscious, and too fond of popularity, the pastor languished under a sense of imaginary degradation, grew jealous, and thought every one alienated from him, because a few giddy young people were stimulated, by momentary resentments, to express disapprobation in this vague and dubious manner. Thus, insensibly, do vanity and self-opinion, mingle with our highest duties. Had the Domine, satisfied with the testimony of a good conscience, gone on in the exercise of his duty, and been above allowing little personal resentments to mingle with his zeal for what he thought right, he might have felt himself far above an insult of this kind; but he found to his cost, that “a habitation giddy and unsure hath he, that buildeth on the fickle heart” of the unsteady, wavering multitude.

Madame now returned to town with the colonel, and finding this general disorder and division of sentiments with regard to the pastor, as well as to the adoption of new modes, endeavoured, with her usual good sense, to moderate and to heal. She was always of opinion that the increase of wealth should be accompanied with a proportionate progress in refinement and intelligence; but she had a particular dislike to peoples forsaking a respectable plainness of dress and manners, for mere imperfect imitation and inelegant finery. She knew too well the progress of society to expect, that, as it grew wealthy and numerous, it would retain its pristine purity; but then she preferred a gradual abolition of old habits, that people, as they receded from their original modes of thinking and living, might rather become simply elegant than tawdrily fine; and though she all along wished, in every possible way, to promote the comfort of the brave men to whom the country owed so much, she by no means thought an indiscriminate admission of those strangers among the youth of the place, so unpractised in the ways of the world, an advisable measure: she was particularly displeased with the person in whose house the colonel of the regiment lodged, for so entirely domesticating a showy stranger, of whose real character he knew so little.—Liberal and judicious in her views, she did not altogether approve the austerity of the Domine’s opinions, nor the vehemence of his language; and, as a Christian, she still less approved his dejection and concern at the neglect or rudeness of a few thoughtless young persons. In vain the colonel and madame soothed and cheered him with counsel and with kindness; night and day he mused on the imagined insult; nor could the joint efforts of the most respectable inhabitants prevent his heart from being corroded with the sense of imagined unkindness. At length he took the resolution of leaving those people so dear to him, to visit his friends in Holland, promising to return in a short time, whenever his health was restored, and his spirits more composed. A Dutch ship happened about this time to touch at New-York, on board of which the Domine embarked; but as the vessel belonging to Holland was not expected to return, and he did not, as he had promised, either write or return in an English ship, his congregation remained for a great while unsupplied, while his silence gave room for the most anxious and painful conjectures: these were not soon removed, for the intercourse with Holland was not frequent or direct. At length, however, the sad reality was but too well ascertained. This victim of lost popularity had appeared silent and melancholy to his ship-mates, and walked constantly on deck. At length he suddenly disappeared, leaving it doubtful whether he had fallen overboard by accident, or was prompted by despair to plunge into eternity. If this latter was the case, it must have been the consequence of a temporary fit of insanity; for no man had led a more spotless life, and no man was more beloved by all that were intimately known to him. He was, indeed, before the fatal affront, which made such an undue impression on him, considered as a blessing to the place; and his memory was so beloved, and his fate so regretted, that this, in addition to some other occurrences falling out about the same time, entirely turned the tide of opinion, and rendered the thinking as well as the violent party, more averse to innovations than ever. Had the Albanians been Catholics, they would probably have canonized M. Freylinghausen, whom they considered as a martyr to levity and innovation. He prophesied a great deal; such prophecy as ardent and comprehensive minds have delivered, without any other inspiration but that of the sound, strong intellect, which augurs the future from a comparison of the past, and a rational deduction of probable consequences. The affection that was entertained for his memory induced people to listen to the most romantic stories of his being landed on an island, and become a hermit; taken up into a ship when floating on the sea, into which he had accidentally fallen, and carried to some remote country, from which he was expected to return, fraught with experience and faith. I remember some of my earliest reveries to have been occupied by the mysterious disappearance of this hard-fated pastor.

In the mean while new events were unfolding more fully to the Albanians the characters of their lately acquired friends. Scandal of fifty years standing, must, by this time, have become almost pointless. The house where the young colonel, formerly mentioned, was billetted, and made his quarters good by every art of seductive courtesy, was occupied by a person wealthy, and somewhat vain and shallow, who had an only daughter; I am not certain, but I think she was his only child. She was young, lively, bold, conceited, and exceedingly well looking. Artless and fearless of consequences, this thoughtless creature saw every day a person who was no doubt as much pleased with her as one could be with mere youth, beauty, and kindness, animated by vivacity, and distinguished from her companions by all the embellishments which wealth could procure in that unfashioned quarter; his heart, however, was safe, as will appear from the sequel. Madame foresaw the consequences likely to result from an intimacy daily growing, where there was little prudence on the one side, and as little of that honour which should respect unsuspecting innocence on the other. She warned the family, but in vain; they considered marriage as the worst consequence that could ensue; and this they could not easily have been reconciled to, notwithstanding the family and fortune of the lover, had not his address and attentions charmed them into a kind of tacit acquiescence; for, as a Roman citizen, in the proud days of the republic, would have refused his daughter to a king, an Albanian, at one period, would rather have his daughter married to the meanest of his fellow-citizens, than to a person of the highest rank in the army, because they thought a young person, by such a marriage, was not only forever alienated from her family, but from those pure morals and plain manners, in which they considered the greatest possible happiness to exist. To return:

While these gaieties were going on, and the unhappy Domine embarking on the voyage which terminated his career, an order came for the colonel to march. This was the only commander who had ever been in town, who had not spent any time, or asked any counsel at the Flats. Meanwhile, his Calista, (for such she was,) tore her hair in frantic agonies at his departure; not that she in the least doubted of his returning soon to give a public sanction to their union, but lest he should prove a victim to the war then existing; and because, being very impetuous, and unaccustomed to control, the object of her wishes had been delayed to a future period. In a short time, things began to assume a more serious aspect; and her father came one day posting to the Flats, on his way to the lakes, seeking counsel too late, and requesting the aid of their influence to bring about a marriage, which should cover the disgrace of his family. They had little hopes of his success, yet he proceeded; and finding the colonel deaf to all his arguments, he had recourse to entreaty, and finally offered to divest himself of all but a mere subsistence, and give him such a fortune as was never heard of in that country. This, with an angel, as the fond father thought her, appeared irresistible; but no! heir to a considerable fortune in his own country, and, perhaps, inwardly despising a romp, whom he had not considered from the first as estimable, he was not to be soothed or bribed into compliance. The dejected father returned disconsolate; and the astonishment and horror this altogether novel occurrence occasioned in the town, was not to be described. Of such a circumstance there was no existing precedent; half the city were related to the fair culprit, for penitent she could hardly be called. This unexpected refusal threw the whole city into consternation. One would have thought there had been an earthquake; and all the insulted Domine’s predictions rose to remembrance, armed with avenging terrors.

Many other things occurred to justify the Domine’s caution, and the extreme reluctance which the elders of the land showed to all such associations. All this madame greatly lamented, yet could not acquit the parties concerned, whose duty it was, either to keep their daughters from that society for which their undisguised simplicity of heart unfitted them, or give them that culture and usage of life, which enables a young person to maintain a certain dignity, and to revolt at the first trespass on decorum. Her own protégés were instances of this; who, having their minds early stored with sentiments, such as would enable them truly to estimate their own value, and judge of the characters and pretensions of those who conversed with them; all conducted themselves with the utmost propriety, though daily mixing with strangers, and were solicited in marriage by the first people in the province, who thought themselves happy to select companions from such a school of intelligence and politeness, where they found beauty of the first order informed by mind, and graced by the most pleasing manners.

This year (1757) was marked by an event that not only clouded the future life of madame, but occasioned the deepest concern to the whole province. Colonel Schuyler was scarcely sensible of the decline of life, except some attacks of the rheumatism, to which the people of that country are peculiarly subject. He enjoyed sound health and equal spirits, and had, upon the whole, from the temperance of his habits, and the singular equanimity of his mind, a more likely prospect of prolonging his happy and useful life, than falls to the lot of most people. He had, however, in very cold weather, gone to town to visit a relation, then ill of a pleurisy; and having sat awhile by the invalid, and conversed with him both on his worldly and spiritual affairs, he returned very thoughtful. On rising the next morning, he began the day, as had for many years been his custom, with singing some verses of a psalm in his closet. Madame observed that he was interrupted by a most violent fit of sneezing; this returned again a little while after, when he calmly told her that he felt the symptoms of a pleuritic attack, which had begun in the same manner with that of his friend; that the event might possibly prove fatal; but that knowing, as she did, how long a period^[14] of more than common felicity had been granted to their mutual affection, and with what tranquillity he was enabled to look forward to that event which is common to all, and which would be earnestly desired if withheld; he expected of her that, whatever might happen, she would look back with gratitude, and forward with hope; and, in the mean time, honour his memory, and her own profession of faith, by continuing to live in the manner they had hitherto done, that he might have the comfort of thinking that his house might still be an asylum to the helpless and the stranger, and a desirable place of meeting to his most valued friends: this was spoken with an unaltered countenance, and in a calm and even tone. Madame, however, was alarmed: friends from all quarters poured in, with the most anxious concern for the event. By this time there was an hospital built at Albany for the troops, with a regular medical establishment. No human aid was wanting, and the composure of madame astonished every one. This, however, was founded on hope; for she never could let herself imagine the danger serious, being flattered both by the medical attendants, and the singular fortitude of the patient. He, however, continued to arrange all things for the change he expected. He left his houses in town and country, his plate, and, in short, all his effects, to his wife, at her sole disposal; his estates were finally left to the orphan son of his nephew, then a child in the family; but madame was to enjoy the rents during her life.

His negroes, for whom he had a great affection, were admitted every day to visit him; and with all the ardour of attachment peculiar to that kind-hearted race, implored heaven day and night for his recovery. The day before his death, he had them all called around his bed, and in their presence besought of madame that she would upon no account sell any of them. This request he would not have made could he have foreseen the consequences. On the fifth day of his illness he quietly breathed his last; having expressed, while he was able to articulate, the most perfect confidence, in the mercy of the God whom he had diligently served and entirely trusted; and the most tender attachment to the friends he was about to leave.

It would be a vain attempt to describe the sorrow of a family like his, who had all been accustomed from childhood to look up to him as the first of mankind, and the medium through which they received every earthly blessing; while the serenity of his wisdom, the sweet and gentle cast of his heartfelt piety, and the equable mildness of his temper, rendered him incapable of embittering obligations; so that his generous humanity and liberal hospitality, were adorned by all the graces that courtesy could add to kindness. The public voice was loud in its plaudits and lamentations. In the various characters of a patriot, a hero, and a saint, he was dear to all the friends of valour, humanity, and public spirit; while his fervent loyalty and unvaried attachment to the king, and the laws of that country by which his own was protected, endeared him to all the servants of government; who knew they never should meet with another equally able, or equally disposed to smooth their way in the paths of duty assigned to them.

To government this loss would have been irreparable, had not two singular and highly meritorious characters a little before this time made their appearance, and by superiority of merit and abilities, joined with integrity seldom to be met with any where, in some degree supplied the loss to the public. One of these was Sir William Johnson, the Indian superintendent, formerly mentioned; the other was Cadwallader Colder, for a very long period of years, lieutenant governor, (indeed, virtually governor,) of New-York; who, in point of political sagacity, and thorough knowledge of those he governed, was fully capable to supply that place. This shrewd and able ruler, whose origin, I believe, was not very easily traced, was said to be a Scotchman, and had raised himself solely by his merit to the station he held. In this he maintained himself by indefatigable diligence, rigid justice, and the most perfect impartiality. He neither sought to be feared nor loved, but merely to be esteemed and trusted, and thus fixed his power on the broad foundation of public utility. Successive governors, little acquainted with the country, and equally strangers to business, found it convenient to leave the management with him; who confessedly understood it better than any one else, and who had no friends but a few personal ones, and no enemies but a few public ones, who envied his station. It was very extraordinary to see a man rule so long and so steadily, where he was merely and coldly esteemed; with so few of the advantages that generally procure success in the world, without birth or alliance; he had not even the recommendation of a pleasing appearance or insinuating address. He was diminutive, and somewhat more than high-shouldered. The contrast betwixt the wealth of his mind and the poverty of his outward appearance, might remind one of Æsop, or rather of the faithful though ill-shaped herald of Ulysses:

Thus it was with Colden. Among the number of governors who succeeded each other in his time, if, by chance, one happened to be a man of ability, he estimated his merit at its just rate; and whatever original measure he might find it necessary to take for the public good, left the common routine of business in the hands of that tried integrity and experience in which he found them; satisfied with the state and popularity of governor, on which the other had not a wish to encroach. Colden, however, enriched his own family, in a manner, on the whole, not objectionable. He procured from the successive governors various grants of land, which, though valuable in quality, were not, from the remoteness of their situation, an object of desire to settlers; and purchased grants from many who had obtained the property of them, among which were different governors and military commanders. He allowed this mine of future wealth to lie quietly ripening to its value, till the lands near it were, in process of time, settled, and it became a desirable object to purchase or hold on lease.

The mind of our good aunt, which had never before yielded to calamity, seemed altogether subdued by the painful separation from her husband. Never having left her consort’s bedside, or known the refreshment of a quiet sleep, during his illness, she sunk at first into a kind of torpor, which her friends willingly mistook for the effects of resignation. This was soon succeeded by the most acute sorrow, and a dangerous illness, the consequence of her mental suffering. In spring she slowly recovered, and endeavoured to find consolation in returning to the regulation of her family, and the society of her friends, for both of which she had been for some months disqualified. Her nieces, the Miss Cuylers, were a great comfort to her, from their affectionate attention, and the pleasure she took in seeing them growing up to be all that her maternal affection could wish. In the social grief of Pedrom^[15] who gave all his time to her during the early part of her widowhood, she also found consolation; and whenever she was able to receive them, her friends came from all quarters to express their sympathy and their respect. The colonel’s heir and her own eldest nephew made, with one of her nieces, a part of her family; and the necessity of attending to such affairs as formerly lay within the colonel’s province, served further to occupy her mind; yet her thoughts continually recurred to that loss, which she daily felt more and more. She buried the colonel in a spot within a short distance of his own house, in which he had formerly desired to repose, that his remains might not quit a scene so dear to him; and that the place rendered sacred by his ashes, might in future be a common sepulchre to his family; that he might in death, as in life, be surrounded by the objects of his affection and beneficence. This consecrated spot, about the size of a small flower garden, was inclosed for this purpose, and a tombstone, with a suitable inscription, erected over the grave, where this excellent person’s relict proposed her ashes should mingle with his. In the mean time, though by continually speaking of her deceased friend, she passed the day without much visible agitation, she had fallen into a habit of vigilance—rarely sleeping till morning, and suffering through the silent hours from a periodical agony, for such it might be called, with which she was regularly visited. She had a confidante in this secret suffering; a decent and pious woman, who, on the death of her husband, a serjeant in the army, had been received into this family as a kind of upper domestic; and found herself so happy, and made herself so useful in teaching, reading, and needle-work to the children, that she still remained. This good woman slept in aunt’s room; and when all the family were at rest, she used to accompany her to a small distance from the tomb which contained those remains so dear to her. Madame, in the mean time, entered alone into the hallowed inclosure, and there indulged her unavailing sorrow. This she continued to do for some time, as she thought, unobserved; but being very tall, and become large as she advanced in life, her figure, arrayed in her night-clothes was very conspicuous, and was, on different occasions, observed by neighbours, who occasionally passed by at night; the consequence was, that it was rumoured that an apparition was seen every night near the colonel’s grave. This came to the ears of the people of the house, some of whom had the curiosity to watch at a distance, and saw the dreaded form appear, and, as they thought, vanish. This they carefully concealed from their revered patroness. Every one else in the house, however, heard it, and a pensive air of awe and mystery overspread the whole family. Her confidante, however, told her of it; and the consequence of this improper indulgence of sorrow greatly increased the dislike which madame had always expressed for mystery and concealment. She was unwilling to let a family, to whom she had always set such an example of self-command, know of her indulging a weakness so unsuitable to her character and time of life. At the same time, however, she was resolved not to allow the belief of a supernatural appearance to fasten on their minds: unwilling to mention the subject herself, she was forced to submit to the humiliation of having it revealed by her confidante, to quiet the minds of the children and domestics, and reconcile them to solitude and moonlight.

Her mind was at this time roused from her own peculiar sorrows, by an alarming event, which disturbed the public tranquillity, and awakened the fears of the whole province, by laying open the western frontier. This was the taking of Oswego by the French, which fortress was the only barrier, except the valour and conduct of Sir William Johnson and his Mohawk friends, by which the town was protected on that side. The poor people, who were driven by the terror of this event from the settlements in that quarter, excited the sympathy of liberal-minded persons; and the interest which she took in their distresses, was one of the first things that roused the attention of our good aunt to her wonted beneficent exertions. General Bradstreet, who had a high respect for her understanding, and consulted her on all emergencies, had a profound reverence for the colonel’s memory, and continued his intimacy in the family. The critical situation of things at this time occasioned Lord Loudon to be sent out as commander of the forces in America. Madame received this nobleman when he visited Albany, and gave him most useful information.—He was introduced to her by General Bradstreet, whose power and consequence might be said to increase with the disasters of the country; his department was a very lucrative one, and enabled him, first, greatly to enrich himself, and, in process of time, his friend Philip Schuyler, who, from his deputy, became, in a manner, his coadjutor. Albany now swarmed with engineers, planners, architects, and boat-builders. Various military characters, since highly distinguished, whose names I do not recollect, though once familiar to me, obtained introductions to madame, who began once more to occupy her mind with public matters, and to open her house to the more respected and well known characters among the military. Her brother-in-law, whom I have so often mentioned under the affectionate appellation of Pedrom, by which he was known in the family, being within less than half an hour’s walk, spent much of his time with her, and received her company. This he was well qualified to do, being a person of a comely dignified appearance, and frank, easy manners, inferior only to his late brother in depth of reflection, and comprehension of mind.

By this time matters had gradually assumed a new aspect on this great continent. The settlement at Albany was no longer an insulated region, ruled and defended by the wisdom and courage diffused through the general mass of the inhabitants; but begun, in the ordinary course of things, to incorporate with the general state. The Mohawk Indians were so engaged by treaties to assist the army, in its now regular operations to the westward, that they came less frequently to visit Albany. A line of forts had, at a prodigious expense, been erected, leading from Albany to Upper Canada, by the Mohawk river, and the lakes of Ontario, Niagara, &c. Many respectable engineers were engaged constructing these; some of them I remember were Swedes, persons of a graceful appearance, polished manners, and very correct conduct.—These strangers conducted matters better than our own countrymen; being more accommodating in their manners, and better accustomed to a severe climate, and inconveniences of every kind. They were frequent guests at the Flats, were a pleasing accession to the society, and performed their duty to the public with a degree of honour and fidelity that checked abuses in others, and rescued the service they were engaged in, from the reproach which it had incurred, in consequence of those fungi of society which had at first intruded into it.

By the advice of the Schuylers, there was now on the Mohawk river a superintendent of Indian affairs; the importance of which began to be fully understood. He was regularly appointed, and paid by government. This was the justly celebrated Sir William Johnson, who held an office difficult both to execute and define. He might indeed be called the tribune of the five nations; whose claims he asserted, whose rights he protected, and over whose minds he possessed a greater sway than any other individual had ever attained. He was indeed calculated to conciliate and retain the affections of this brave people; possessing in common with them many of those peculiarities of mind and manners, that distinguished them from others. He was an uncommonly tall, well made man: with a fine countenance; which, however, had rather an expression of dignified sedateness, approaching to melancholy. He appeared to be taciturn, never wasting words on matters of no importance: but highly eloquent when the occasion called forth his powers. He possessed intuitive sagacity, and the most entire command of temper, and of countenance. He did by no means lose sight of his own interest, but on the contrary raised himself to power and wealth, in an open and active manner; not disdaining any honourable means of benefiting himself: but at the same time the bad policy, as well as meanness of sacrificing respectability to snatching at petty present advantages, were so obvious to him, that he laid the foundation of his future prosperity on the broad and deep basis of honourable dealing, accompanied by the most vigilant attention to the objects he had in view; acting so as, without the least departure from integrity on the one hand, or inattention to his affairs on the other, to conduct himself in such a manner, as gave an air of magnanimity to his character, that made him the object of universal confidence. He purchased from the Indians (having the grant confirmed by his sovereign) a large and fertile tract of land upon the Mohawk river; where having cleared and cultivated the ground, he built two spacious and convenient places of residence: known afterwards by the names of Johnson castle, and Johnson hall. The first was on a fine eminence, stockaded round, and slightly fortified; the last was built on the side of the river, on a most fertile and delightful plain, surrounded with an ample and well cultivated domain: and that again encircled by European settlers; who had first come there as architects, or workmen, and had been induced by Sir William’s liberality, and the singular beauty of the district, to continue. His trade with the five nations was very much for their advantage; he supplying them on more equitable terms than any trader, and not indulging the excesses in regard to strong liquors, which others were too easily induced to do.—The castle contained the store in which all goods were laid up, which were meant for the Indian traffic, and all the peltry received in exchange. The hall was his summer residence, and the place round which his greatest improvements were made. Here this singular man lived like a little sovereign; kept an excellent table for strangers, and officers, whom the course of their duty now frequently led into these wilds, and by confiding entirely on the Indians, and treating them with unvaried truth and justice, without ever yielding to solicitation what he had once refused, he taught them to repose entire confidence in him: he, in his turn, became attached to them, wore in winter almost entirely their dress and ornaments, and contracted a kind of alliance with them; for becoming a widower in the prime of life, he connected himself with an Indian maiden, daughter to a sachem, who possessed an uncommonly agreeable person, and good understanding; and whether ever formally married to him according to our usage, or not, contrived to live with him in great union and affection all his life. So perfect was his dependence on those people, whom his fortitude and other manly virtues had attached to him, that when they returned from their summer excursions, and exchanged the last year’s furs for fire-arms, &c. they used to pass a few days at the castle; when his family and most of his domestics were down at the hall. There they were all liberally entertained by their friend; and five hundred of them have been known, for nights together, after drinking pretty freely, to lie around him on the floor, while he was the only white person in a house containing great quantities of every thing that was to them valuable, or desirable.

While Sir William thus united in his mode of life the calm urbanity of a liberal and extensive trader, with the splendid hospitality, the numerous attendance, and the plain though dignified manners of an ancient baron, the female part of his family were educated in a manner so entirely dissimilar from that of all other young people of their sex and station, that as a matter of curiosity, it is worthy a recital. These two young ladies inherited, in a great measure, the personal advantages and strength of understanding for which their father was so distinguished. Their mother dying when they were young, bequeathed the care of them to a friend. This friend was the widow of an officer who had fallen in battle. I am not sure whether she was devout, and shunned the world for fear of its pollutions, or romantic, and despised its selfish bustling spirit; but so it was, that she seemed utterly to forget it, and devoted herself to her fair pupils. To these she taught needle-work of the most elegant and ingenious kinds, reading and writing. Thus quietly passed their childhood; their monitress not taking the smallest concern in family management, nor, indeed, the least interest in any worldly thing but themselves; far less did she inquire about the fashions or diversions which prevailed in a world she had renounced, and from which she seemed to wish her pupils to remain for ever estranged. Never was any thing so uniform as their dress, their occupations, and the general tenor of their lives. In the morning they rose early, read their prayer-book, I believe, but certainly their bible, fed their birds, tended their flowers, and breakfasted; then were employed for some hours with unwearied perseverance, at fine needle-work, for the ornamental parts of dress, which were the fashion of the day, without knowing to what use they were to be put, as they never wore them; and had not at the age of sixteen ever seen a lady, excepting each other and their governess; they then read, as long as they chose, the voluminous romances of the last century, of which their friend had an ample collection, or Rollin’s Ancient History, the only books they had ever seen; after dinner, they regularly in summer took a long walk; or an excursion in the sleigh, in winter, with their friend, and then returned and resumed their wonted occupations, with the sole variation of a stroll in the garden in summer, and a game at chess or shuttle-cock in winter. Their dress was full as simple and uniform as every thing else; they wore wrappers of the finest chintz, and green silk petticoats—and this the whole year round without variation. Their hair, which was long and beautiful, was tied behind with a simple ribbon; a large calash shaded each from the sun, and in winter they had long scarlet mantles that covered them from head to foot. Their father did not live with them, but visited them every day in their apartment. This innocent and uniform life they led, till the death of their monitress, which happened when the eldest was not quite seventeen. On some future occasion I shall satisfy the curiosity which this short but faithful account of these amiable recluses has possibly excited.^[16]

I must now return to Albany, and to the projected expedition.

General Abercrombie, who commanded on the northern lakes, was a brave and able man, though rather too much attached to the military schools of those days. To accommodate himself to the desultory and uncertain warfare of the woods, where sagacity, ready presence of mind, joined with the utmost caution, and a condescension of opinion to our Indian allies, was of infinitely more consequence than rules and tactics, which were mere shackles and incumbrances in this contention, with difficulties and perplexities more harassing than mere danger. Indeed, when an ambuscade or sudden onset was followed by defeat here, (as in Braddock’s case,) the result reminded one of the route of Absalom’s army; where, we are told, the wood devoured more than the sword. The general was a frequent guest with madame, when the nature of his command would permit him to relax from the duties that occupied him. He had his men encamped below Albany, in that great field which I have formerly described, as the common pasture for the town. Many of the officers were quartered in the fort and town; but Lord Howe always lay in his tent, with the regiment which he commanded; and which he modelled in such a manner, that they were ever after considered as an example to the whole American army, who gloried in adopting all those rigid, yet salutary regulations, to which this young hero readily submitted, to enforce his commands by example.

Above the pedantry of holding up standards of military rules, where it was impossible to practise them, and the narrow spirit of preferring the modes of his own country, to those proved by experience, to suit that in which he was to act, Lord Howe laid aside all pride and prejudice, and gratefully accepted counsel from those whom he knew to be best qualified to direct him. Madame was delighted with the calm steadiness with which he carried through the austere rules which he found it necessary to lay down. In the first place, he forbade all displays of gold and scarlet, in the rugged march they were about to undertake, and set the example by wearing himself an ammunition coat, that is to say, one of the surplus soldier’s coats cut short. This was a necessary precaution, because in the woods, the hostile Indians, who started from behind the trees, usually caught at the long and heavy skirts then worn by the soldiers; and for the same reason he ordered the muskets to be shortened, that they might not, as on former occasions, be snatched from behind by these agile foes. To prevent the march of his regiment from being descried at a distance by the glittering of their arms, the barrels of their guns were all blackened; and to save them from the tearing of bushes, the stings of insects, &c. he set them the example of wearing leggins, a kind of buskin, made of strong woollen cloth, formerly described as a part of the Indian dress. The greatest privation to the young and vain yet remained. Hair well dressed, and in great quantity, was then considered as the greatest possible ornament, which those who had it took the utmost care to display to advantage, and to wear in a bag or queue, which ever they fancied. Lord Howe’s was fine and very abundant; he, however, cropped it, and ordered every one else to do the same. Every morning he rose very early, and, after giving his orders, rode out to the Flats, breakfasted, and spent some time in conversation with his friends there; and when in Albany, received all manner of useful information from the worthy magistrate, Cornelius Cuyler. Another point which this young Lycurgus of the camp wished to establish, was that of not carrying any thing that was not absolutely necessary. An apparatus of tables, chairs and such other luggage, he thought highly absurd, where people had to force their way with unspeakable difficulty, to encounter an enemy free from all such encumbrances. The French had long learnt how little convenience could be studied on such occasions as the present.

When his lordship got matters arranged to his satisfaction, he invited his officers to dine with him in his tent. They gladly assembled at the hour appointed, but were surprised to see no chairs or tables; there were, however, bear-skins spread like a carpet. His lordship welcomed them, and sat down on a small log of wood; they followed his example, and presently the servants set down a large dish of pork and pease. His lordship, taking a sheath from his pocket, out of which he produced a knife and fork, began to cut and divide the meat. They sat in a kind of awkward suspense, which he interrupted, by asking if it were possible that soldiers like them, who had been so long destined for such a service, should not be provided with portable implements of this kind? and finally relieved them from their embarrassment, by distributing to each a case the same as his own, which he had provided for the purpose. The austere regulations, and constant self-denial which he imposed upon the troops he commanded, were patiently borne, because he was not only gentle in his manners, but generous and humane in a very high degree, and exceedingly attentive to the health and real necessities of the soldiery. Among many instances of this, a quantity of powdered ginger was given to every man; and the sergeants were ordered to see, that when, in the course of marching, the soldiers arrived hot and tired at the banks of any stream, they should not be permitted to stoop to drink, as they generally inclined to do, but obliged to lift water in their canteens, and mix ginger with it. This became afterwards a general practice; and in those aguish swamps, through which the troops were forced to march, was the means of saving many lives. Aunt Schuyler, as this amiable young officer familiarly styled his maternal friend, had the utmost esteem for him; and the greatest hope that he would, at some future period, redress all those evils that had formerly impeded the service, and, perhaps, plant the British standard on the walls of Quebec. But this honour another young hero was destined to achieve; whose virtues were to be illustrated by the splendour of victory, the only light by which the multitude can see the merits of a soldier.

The Schuylers regarded this expedition with a mixture of doubt and dismay, knowing too well, from the sad retrospect of former failures, how little valour and discipline availed where regular troops had to encounter unseen foes, and with difficulties arising from the nature of the ground, for which military science afforded no remedy. Of General Abercrombie’s worth and valour they had the highest opinion; but they had no opinion of attacking an enemy so subtle and experienced on their own ground, in entrenchments, and this they feared he would have the temerity to attempt. In the meantime preparations were making for the attempt. The troops were marched in detachments past the Flats, and each detachment quartered for a night on the common, or in the offices. One of the first of these was commanded by Lee, of frantic celebrity, who afterwards, in the American war, joined the opponents of government, and was then a captain in the British service. Captain Lee had neglected to bring the customary warrants for impressing horses and oxen, and procuring a supply of various necessaries, to be paid for by the agents of government on showing the usual documents; he, however, seized every thing he wanted where he could most readily find it, as if he were in a conquered country; and not content with this violence, poured forth a volley of execrations on those who presumed to question his right of appropriating for his troops every thing that could be serviceable to them: even madame, accustomed to universal respect, and to be considered as the friend and benefactress of the army, was not spared; and the aids which she never failed to bestow on those whom she saw about to expose their lives for the general defence, were rudely demanded, or violently seized. Never did the genuine christianity of this exalted character shine more brightly than in this exigency; her countenance never altered, and she used every argument to restrain the rage of her domestics, and the clamour of her neighbours, who were treated in the same manner. Lee marched on after having done all the mischief in his power, and was the next day succeeded by Lord Howe, who was indignant on hearing what had happened, and astonished at the calmness with which madame bore the treatment she had received. She soothed him by telling him, that she knew too well the value of protection from a danger so imminent, to grow captious with her deliverers on account of a single instance of irregularity, and only regretted that they should have deprived her of her wonted pleasure, in freely bestowing whatever could advance the service, or refresh the exhausted troops. They had a long and very serious conversation that night. In the morning his lordship proposed setting out very early; but when he rose was astonished to find madame waiting, and breakfast ready: he smiled and said he would not disappoint her, as it was hard to say when he might again breakfast with a lady. Impressed with an unaccountable degree of concern about the fate of the enterprise in which he was embarked, she again repeated her counsels and her cautions; and when he was about to depart, embraced him with the affection of a mother, and shed many tears, a weakness which she did not often give way to.

Meantime, the best prepared and disciplined body of forces that had ever been assembled in America, were proceeding on an enterprise, that, to the experience and sagacity of the Schuylers, appeared a hopeless, or, at least a very desperate one. A general gloom overspread the family; this, at all times large, was now augmented by several of the relations both of the colonel and madame, who had visited them at that time, to be nearer the scene of action, and get the readiest and most authentic intelligence; for the apprehended consequence of a defeat was, the pouring in of the French troops into the interior of the province; in which case Albany might be abandoned to the enraged savages attending the French army.

In the afternoon a man was seen coming on horseback from the north, galloping violently, without his hat. Pedrom, as he was familiarly called, the colonel’s only surviving brother, was with her, and ran instantly to inquire, well knowing he rode express. The man galloped on, crying out that Lord Howe was killed. The mind of our good aunt had been so engrossed by her anxiety and fears for the event impending, and so impressed by the merit and magnanimity of her favourite hero, that her wonted firmness sunk under this stroke, and she broke out into bitter lamentations. This had such an effect on her friends and domestics, that shrieks and sobs of anguish echoed through every part of the house. Even those who were too young or too old to enter into the public calamity, were affected by the violent grief of aunt, who, in general, had too much self-command to let others witness her sorrows.—Lord Howe was shot from behind a tree, probably by some Indian; and the whole army were inconsolable for a loss they too well knew to be irreparable. This stroke, however, they soon found to be “portent and pain, a menace and a blow;” but this dark prospect was cheered for a moment by a deceitful gleam of hope, which only added to the bitterness of disappointment.

The next day they heard the particulars of the skirmish, for it could scarcely be called a regular engagement, which had proved fatal to the young warrior, whose loss was so deeply felt. The army had crossed lake George in safety, on the 5th of July, and landed without opposition. They proceeded in four columns to Ticonderoga, and displayed a spectacle unprecedented in the New World. An army of sixteen thousand men, regulars and provincials, with a train of artillery, with all the necessary provisions for an active campaign or regular siege, followed by a little fleet of bateaux, pontons, &c. They set out wrong however, by not having Indian guides, who are alone to be depended on in such a place. In a short time the columns fell in upon each other, and occasioned much confusion. While they marched on in this bewildered manner, the advanced guard of the French, which had retired before them, were equally bewildered, and falling in with them in this confusion, a skirmish ensued, in which the French lost above three hundred men, and we, though successful, lost as much as it was possible to lose, in one; for here it was that Lord Howe fell.

The fort is a situation of peculiarly natural strength; it lies on a little peninsula, with lake George on one side, and a narrow opening, communicating with lake Champlain, on the other. It is surrounded by water on three sides; and in front there is a swamp, very easily defended: and where it ceased the French had made a breast-work above eight feet high; not content with this, they had felled immense trees on the spot, and laid them heaped on each other, with their branches outward, before their works. In fine, there was no place on earth where aggression was so difficult, and defence so easy, as in these woods; especially when, as in this case, the party to be attacked had great leisure to prepare their defence. On this impenetrable front they had also a line of cannon mounted; while the difficulty of bringing artillery through this swampy ground, near enough to bear upon the place, was very great. This garrison, almost impregnable from situation, was defended by between four and five thousand men. An engineer, sent to reconnoitre, was of opinion that it might be attacked without waiting for the artillery. The fatal resolution was taken without consulting those best qualified to judge. An Indian or native American were here better skilled in the nature of the ground, and probabilities of success. They knew better, in short, what the spade, hatchet, or musket, could or could not do, in such situations, than the most skilful veteran from Europe, however replete with military science. Indeed when system usurps the province of plain sound sense in unknown exigencies, the result is seldom favourable; and this truth was never more fatally demonstrated than in the course of the American war, where an obstinate adherence to regular tactics, which do not bend to time or place, occasioned, from first to last, an incalculable waste of blood, of treasure, and of personal courage. The resolution then was to attack the enemy without loss of time, and even without waiting for artillery. Alas! “what have not Britons dared?”

I cannot enter into the dreadful detail of what followed; certainly never was infatuation equal to this. The forty-second regiment was then in the height of deserved reputation; in which there was not a private man that did not consider himself as rather above the lower class of people, and peculiarly bound to support the honour of the very singular corps to which he belonged. This brave hard-fated regiment was then commanded by a veteran of great experience and military skill, Colonel Gordon Graham, who had the first point of attack assigned to him; he was wounded at the first onset. How many this regiment, in particular, lost of men and officers, I cannot now exactly say; but there were very many. What I distinctly remember, having often heard of it since, is, that, of the survivors, every officer retired wounded off the field. Of the fifty-fifth regiment, to which my father had newly been attached, ten officers were killed, including all the field officers. No human beings could show more determined courage than this brave army did. Standing four hours under a constant discharge of cannon and musketry from barricades, on which it was impossible for them to make the least impression, General Abercrombie saw the fruitless waste of blood that was every hour increasing, and ordered a retreat, which was very precipitate, so much so, that they crossed the lake, and regained their camp on the other side, the same night. Two thousand men were killed, wounded, or taken, on this disastrous day. On the next, those most dangerously wounded were sent forward in boats, and reached the Flats before evening; they in a manner brought (at least confirmed) the news of the defeat. Madame had her barn instantly fitted up into a temporary hospital, and a room in her house allotted for the surgeon who attended the patients: among these was Lee, the same insolent and rapacious Lee, who had insulted this general benefactress, and deprived her of one of her greatest pleasures, that of giving a share of every thing she had to advance the service. She treated him with compassion, without adverting, by the least hint, to the past. She tore up her sheets and table linen for bandages; and she and her nieces were constantly employed in attending and cheering the wounded, while all her domestics were busied in preparing food and every thing necessary for those unhappy sufferers. Even Lee felt and acknowledged the resistless force of such generous humanity. He swore, in his vehement manner, that he was sure there would be a place reserved for madame in heaven, though no other woman should be there, and that he should wish for nothing better than to share her final destiny. The active, industrious beneficence she exercised at this time, not only towards the wounded, but the wretched widows and orphans who had remained here, and had lost their all in their husbands and parents, was beyond praise. Could I clearly recollect and arrange the anecdotes of this period, as I have often heard them, they would of themselves fill a volume; suffice it, that such was the veneration in which she was held in the army after this period, that I recollect, among the earliest impressions received in my mind, that of a profound reverence for madame, as these people were wont to call her. Before I ever saw her, I used to think of her as a most august personage, of a majestic presence; sitting on an elevated seat, and scattering bounty to wounded soldiers, and poor women and children.

Aunt found consolation for all her sorrows in the family of her favourite sister. The promise of uncommon merit, which appeared in the rising branches of that singularly fine family, was to her a peculiar gratification; for no mother could love her own children more tenderly than she did them. The two daughters, which were amongst the eldest, passed, by turns, much of their time with her, and were, from their beauty and their manners, the ornaments of her society; while their good sense, ripened by being called early into action, made these amiable and elegant young women more a comfort and assistance than a care or charge to their aunt, at a very early period. They had four brothers; three of whom are still living, and have, through life, done honour by their virtues, their manners, and their conduct, in the most trying exigencies, to the memory and example of their excellent parents, as well as to that collateral school of pure morality, and sound and genuine policy, of which they shared the benefit.

The history of this family, in the after vicissitudes in which the political changes in their country involved them, would furnish a very interesting detail, were it allowable to offend the delicacy of modest worth, or eligible to expose the depravity and fury of enraged factions. Of the brothers I shall only mention, that the third, in his childhood, showed uncommon fire and vivacity; not seeming to retain the smallest portion of that hereditary phlegm which could still be easily traced through many of the settlers of this peculiar colony. He could scarce be called an unlucky boy, for he never did harm designedly; yet he was so volatile, eccentric, and original, in the frolicksome excursions of his fancy, that many ludicrous and some serious consequences resulted from them. He showed, however, amidst all these gaieties, from a very early age, a steady and determined predilection towards a military life, which, in due time, was indulged, and has been since the means of leading him onto rank and distinction in the British service.^[17] Of the eldest brother I shall have occasion to speak hereafter; the second and youngest were zealous partisans of government at the time of the revolution. Their loyalty occasioned the loss of their fortunes and their homes; but their worth and bravery procured them confidence and important commands in that painful service which was carried on during the American war, at the end of which they were partially rewarded by grants of land in Upper Canada. Loyalty and courage seems hereditary in this family. Many sons of those expatriated brothers are now serving their country in different parts of the empire, undeterred by the losses and sufferings of their parents in the royal cause. It was a marked distinction of character to be observed in the conduct of aunt’s protégéses, that though she was equally attached to the children of her husband’s relations and her own, these latter only adopted her political sentiments, with a single exception, which shall be mentioned in its place.

The defeat at Ticonderoga bore very hard upon the mind of madame; public spirit was always an active principle in her strong and reflecting mind; and from the particular circumstances in which she had always been involved, her patriotism gained strength by exercise. The same ardent concern for the public good, which could produce no other effect but fruitless anxiety, would be as unavailing as unnecessary, in our secure and tranquil state; but with her it was an exercised and useful virtue. Her attachment to the British nation, which was to the very last a ruling principle both of her actions and opinions, contributed to embitter this blow to her and her family. The taking of Frontinac on the western lakes, and the reestablishment of our power in that important quarter, were achieved by General Bradstreet, whom Abercrombie dispatched at the head of three thousand provincials. This was a cordial much wanted by all, and more particularly gratifying to the family at the Flats, as the colonel’s nephew, Philip Schuyler, though his was not exactly a warlike department, had evinced much spirit, prudence, and resolution, during that expedition; in which, without publicly arrogating command, he, under Bradstreet (who was indeed a very able man) directed most of the operations. In the mind of this extraordinary person, qualities, suited to all occasions, lay dormant and unsuspected, till called forth by the varying events of his busy, though not bustling life; for he seemed to carry on the plans, public and private, which he executed with superior ability and success, by mere volition. No one ever saw him appear hurried, embarrassed, or agitated. The success of this expedition, and the rising distinction of her nephew Philip, was some consolation to madame for the late disaster, still friendly and hospitable, she was as kindly disposed towards the British as ever, and as indefatigable in promoting a good understanding between them and the natives; but the army was now on a larger scale. It was in a manner regularly organized, and more independent of such aid as individuals could bestow; and the many children educated by her, or left orphans to her care, became from their number, their marriages, and various pursuits, objects of more earnest solicitude.

At this period Aunt Schuyler, now every where spoken of by that affectionate designation, met with a severe affliction in the death of a sister, whom she had always loved with more than common tenderness, and whose family she considered in a manner as her own. This was Mrs. Cuyler, the wife of that able and upright magistrate, Cornelius Cuyler, of whose family I have just been giving some account. Mrs. Cuyler, with a character more gentle and retiring, possessed the good sense and benevolence for which aunt was distinguished, though her sphere of action being entirely within the limits of her own family, she could not be so well known, or so much celebrated. The colonel had always had a great attachment to this valuable person; which still more endeared her to his widow. She however always found new duties resulting from her afflictions, so that she could not afford to sink under them. She now was at pains to console her sister’s husband, who really seemed borne down by this stroke; and the exertions she made for the good of his singularly promising family, kept her mind occupied.

The conquest of Oswego, which was this year (1759) retaken from the French by General Bradstreet, contributed to revive the drooping spirits of the army and the patriots; and it was quickly succeeded by the dear-bought conquest of Quebec. Though madame had never seen General Wolfe, she shared the general admiration of his heroism, and the general sorrow for his loss, in a very high degree. She, too, was conscious that the security and tranquillity purchased by the conquest of Quebec, would, in a manner, loosen the bonds which held the colonists attached to a government which they only endured while they required its protection. This led to consequences which she too clearly foresaw.

The mind of Mrs. Schuyler, which had been greatly agitated by the sad events at Ticonderoga, now began, in consequence of the late successes, to become more composed, and to turn itself to objects of utility, as formerly. What she had done, and made others do for the orphans and widows that had become such in consequence of the attack on the lines, could scarce be credited. No one would suppose a moderate fortune, like hers, could possibly be equal to it. She had at this time too much satisfaction in seeing the respective churches (in all which she was deeply interested) filled with persons who did honour to their profession. A young clergyman named Westerloe, succeeded Domine Freylinghausen, after an interval of three or four years, during which the charge was irregularly filled. This young man had learning, talent, and urbanity; he had all the sanctity of life and animated eloquence of his predecessor, without his love of power, his bustling turn, or his eagerness for popularity; he was, indeed, a person of very singular merit, but studious and secluded, and unwilling to mix with strangers. To madame, however, he was open and companionable, and knew and valued the attractions of her conversation. Dr. Ogilvie was the English Episcopal minister, who, under the name of Indian missionary, and with a salary allowed him as such, had the charge of performing duty in a church erected for that purpose in town, to strangers, and such of the military as chose to attend. The Christian Indians, who were her particular charge, lived at too great a distance to benefit by his labours. The province, however, allowed a salary to a zealous preacher, who laboured among them with apostolic fervour, and with the same disregard to the things of this world. Dr. Ogilvie was highly respected, and indeed much beloved by all who were capable of appreciating his merit. His appearance was singularly prepossessing: his address and manners entirely those of a gentleman. His abilities were respectable, his doctrine was pure and scriptural, and his life exemplary, both as a clergyman and in his domestic circle, where he was peculiarly amiable; add to all this a talent for conversation, extensive reading, and a thorough knowledge of life. The Doctor was indeed a man after madame’s own heart: and she never ceased regretting his departure to New-York, where he was settled two years after. For Stuart^[18] she had the utmost veneration. Perfectly calculated for his austere and uncourtly duties, he was wholly devoted to them, and scarce cast a look back to that world which he had forsaken. Yet he was, on various accounts, highly valued by madame; for since the appointment of the superintendent, and more particularly since the death of the colonel, he became more important to her, as the link which held her to the Mohawks, whom she now saw so much more seldom, but always continued to love. The comprehension of her mind was so great, and her desire for knowledge so strong, that she found much entertainment in tracing the unfoldings of the human mind in its native state, and the gradual progress of intellect when enlightened by the gentle influence of pure religion; and this good father of the deserts gratified her more by the details he was enabled to give of the progress of devotion and of mind among his beloved little flock, than he could have done by all that learning or knowledge of the world can bestow. Again the Flats began to be the resort of the best society. She had also her nephews in succession; one, a brother of that Philip so often mentioned, since better known to the world by the appellation of General Schuyler, had been long about the family. He was a youth distinguished for the gracefulness of his person, and the symmetry of his features. He was a perfect model of manly beauty, though almost as dark as an Indian. Indeed, both in looks and character, he greatly resembled the aborigines of the country. He seemed perfectly unconscious of the extraordinary personal advantages which he possessed; was brave, honourable, and possessed a very good understanding, but collected within himself; silent, yet eloquent when he chose to interest himself, or was warmed by the occasion; and had such stainless probity, that every one respected and trusted him. Yet he was so very indifferent to the ordinary pleasures and pursuits of life, and so entirely devoted to the sports of the field, that when his aunt afterwards procured, him a commission in a marching regiment, hoping thus to tame and brighten him, he was known in Ireland by the name of the handsome savage. This title did not belong to him in the sense we most often use it; for his manners were not rude or harsh in the least, though an air of cold austerity, which shaded his fine countenance, with his delight in solitary amusements, led the gay and social inhabitants of the country in which he resided, to consider him as unwillingly rescued from his native forests. This youth was named Cortland, and will be more particularly mentioned hereafter. That eccentric and frolicsome boy, whose humorous sallies and playful flights were a continual source of amusement, was also a frequent guest, but did not stay so long as his elder brother, who certainly was, of all aunt’s adopted, the greatest favourite, and became more endeared to her, from being less successful in life than the rest of his family.

In a council held between their relations and madame, it was decided that both Cortlandt and Cornelius should try their fortune in arms. Cortlandt was made an ensign in an old regiment, and went over to Ireland. Cornelius, a year after, got a commission in the fifty-fifth, then commanded by that singularly worthy and benevolent character, Sir Adolphus Oughton. The mayor was highly respected for his wisdom; yet his purchasing a commission for so mere a boy, and laying out for it a sum of money which appeared large in a country where people contrived to do very well with wonderfully little of that article, astonished all his countrymen. Conscious, however, of his son’s military genius, and well knowing that the vivacity that filled his grave kinsman with apprehension, was merely a lambent flame of youthful gaiety, which would blaze without scorching, he fearlessly launched him into a profession in which he hoped to see him attain merited distinction; while the excellent patroness of all these young people had the satisfaction of seeing every one brought up under her auspices, (and, by this time, they were not a few,) do honour to her instructions, and fill up their different stations in a manner the most creditable and prosperous; and she was often surrounded by the children of those who had engaged her earliest cares.

It was at this time, when she was in the very acme of her reputation, and her name never mentioned without some added epithet of respect or affection, that her house, so long the receptacle of all that was good or intelligent, and the asylum of all that was helpless and unfortunate, was entirely consumed before her eyes.

In the summer of this year, as General Bradstreet was riding by the Flats one day, and proposing to call on madame, he saw her sitting in a great chair, under the little avenue of cherry-trees that led from her house to the road. All the way as he approached, he saw smoke, and at last flames, bursting out from the top of her house. He was afraid to alarm her suddenly; but when he told her, she heard it with the utmost composure; pointed out the likeliest means to check the fire; and ordered the neighbours to be summoned, and the most valuable goods first removed, without ever attempting to go over the house herself, when she knew she could be of no service; but with the most admirable presence of mind, she sat still with a placid countenance, regulating and ordering every thing in the most judicious manner, and with as much composure as if she had nothing to lose. When evening came, of that once happy mansion not a single beam was left, and the scorched brick walls were all that remained to mark where it had stood.

Madame could not be said to be left without a dwelling, having a house in Albany rather larger than the one thus destroyed. But she was fondly attached to the spot which had been the scene of so much felicity, and rendered more dear to her by retaining within its bounds the remains of her beloved partner. She removed to Pedrom’s house for the night. The news of what had happened spread every where; and she had the comfort of knowing, in consequence of this misfortune, better than she could by any other means, how great a degree of public esteem and private gratitude she had excited. The next day people came from all quarters to condole, and ask her directions where and how she would choose to have another house built: and in a few days the ground was covered with bricks, timber, and other materials, brought there by her friends in voluntary kindness. It is to be observed, that the people in the interior of New-York, were so exceedingly skilful in the use, not only of the axe, but all ordinary tools used in planing and joining timber, that, with the aid of a regular carpenter or two to carry on the nicer parts of the work, a man could build an ordinary house, if it were a wooden one, with very little more than his own domestics. It can scarce be credited that this house, begun in August, was ready for aunt’s reception against winter, which here begins very early. But General Bradstreet had sent some of the king’s workmen, considering them as employed for the public service, while carrying on this building. The most unpleasant circumstance about this new dwelling was, the melancholy hiatus which appeared in front, where the former large house had stood, and where the deep and spacious cellars still yawned in gloomy desolation. Madame, who no longer studied appearances, but merely thought of a temporary accommodation for a life which neither she nor any one expected to be a long one, ordered a broad wooden bridge, like those we see over rivers. This bridge was furnished with seats like a portico, and this, with the high walls of the burnt house, which were a kind of screen before the new one, gave the whole the appearance of some ancient ruin.

Madame did not find the winter pass comfortably. That road, now that matters were regularly settled, was no longer the constant resort of her military friends. Her favourite nieces were too engaging, and too much admired, to leave room to expect they should remain with her. She found her house comparatively cold and inconvenient, and the winter long and comfortless. She could not now easily go the distance to church. Pedrom, that affectionate and respected brother, was now, by increasing deafness, disqualified from being a companion; and sister Susan, infirm and cheerless, was now, for the most part, confined to her chamber. Under these circumstances, she was at length prevailed on to remove to Albany. The Flats she gave in lease to Pedrom’s son Stephen. The house and surrounding grounds were let to an Irish gentleman, who came over to America to begin a new course of life, after spending his fortune in fashionable dissipation. On coming to America, he found that there was an intermediate state of hardship and self-denial to be encountered, before he could enter on that fancied Arcadia which he thought was to be found in every wood. He settled his family in this temporary dwelling, while he went to traverse the provinces in search of some unforfeited Eden, where the rose had no thorn, and the course of ceaseless labour had not begun to operate. Madame found reason to be highly satisfied with the change. She had mills which supplied her with bread; her slaves cut and brought home fire-wood; she had a good garden and fruit, and every other rural dainty came to her in the greatest abundance. All her former protégés and friends, in different quarters, delighted to send their tribute; and this was merely an interchange of kindness.

Soon after this removal, her eldest niece, a remarkably fine young woman, was married to Mr. C. of C. manor, which was accounted one of the best matches, or rather the very best in the province. She was distinguished by a figure of uncommon grace and dignity, a noble and expressive countenance, and a mind such as her appearance led one to expect. This very respectable person is, I believe, still living, after witnessing, among her dearest connections, scenes the most distressing, and changes the most painful. She has ever conducted herself, so as to do honour to the excellent examples of her mother and aunt, and to be a pattern of steadfast truth and generous friendship, in exigencies the most trying. Her younger sister, equally admired, though possessing a different style of beauty, more soft and debonair, with the fairest complexion, and most cheerful simplicity of aspect, was the peculiar favourite of her aunt, above all that ever she took charge of; she, too, was soon after married to that highly esteemed patriot, the late Isaac L., revered through the whole continent for his sound good sense and genuine public spirit. He was, indeed, “happily tempered, mild, and firm;” and was finally the victim of steadfast loyalty.

It now remains to say how the writer of these pages became so well acquainted with the subject of these memoirs.

My father was, at this time, a subaltern in the fifty-fifth regiment. That body of men were then stationed at Oswego; but during the busy and warlike period I have been describing, my mother and I were boarded, in the country below Albany, with the most worthy people imaginable, with whom we ever after kept up a cordial friendship. My father, wishing to see his family, was indulged with permission, and at the same time ordered to take the command of an additional company, who were to come up, and to purchase for the regiment all the stores they should require for the winter, which proved a most extensive commission. In the month of October he set out on this journey, or voyage rather, in which it was settled that my mother and I should accompany him. We were, I believe, the first females, above the very lowest ranks, who had ever penetrated so far into this remote wilderness. Certainly never was joy greater than that which lulled my childish mind on setting out on this journey. I had before seen little of my father, and the most I knew of him was from the solicitude I had heard expressed on his account, and the fear of his death after every battle. I was, indeed, a little ashamed of having a military father, brought up, as I had mostly been, in a Dutch family, and speaking that language as fluently as my own; yet, on the other hand, I had felt so awkward at seeing all my companions have fathers to talk and complain to, while I had none, that I thought, upon the whole, it was a very good thing to have a father of any kind. The scarlet coat, which I had been taught to consider as the symbol of wickedness, disgusted me in some degree; but then, to my great comfort, I found my father did not swear; and again, to my unspeakable delight, that he prayed. A soldier pray! was it possible? and should I really see my father in heaven! How transporting! By a sudden revolution of opinion, I now thought my father the most charming of all beings; and the overflowings of my good will reached to the whole company, because they wore the same colour, and seemed to respect and obey him. I dearly loved idleness, too, and the more, because my mother, who delighted in needle-work, confined me too much to it. What joys were mine! to be idle for a fortnight, seeing new woods, rivers, and animals, every day; even then the love of nature was, in my young bosom, a passion productive of incessant delight. I had, too, a primer, two hymns, and a ballad, and these I read over and over with great diligence. At intervals, my attention was agreeably engaged by the details the soldiers gave my father of their manner of living and fighting in the woods, &c. and with these the praises of madame were often mingled. I thought of her continually; every great thing I heard about her, even her size, had its impression. She became the heroine of my childish imagination; and I thought of her as something both awful and admirable. We had the surgeon of the regiment, and another officer with us; they talked, too, of madame, of Indians, of battles, and of ancient history. Sitting from morning to night musing in the boat, contemplating my father, who appeared to me a hero and a saint, and thinking of aunt Schuyler, who filled up my whole mind with the grandeur with which my fancy had invested her; and then having my imagination continually amused with the variety of noble wild scenes which the beautiful banks of the Mohawk afforded, I am convinced I thought more in that fortnight, that is to say, acquired more ideas, and took more lasting impressions, than ever I did, in the same space of time, in my life. This, however foreign it may appear to my subject, I mention, as so far connecting with it, that it accounts, in some measure, for that development of thought which led me to take such ready and strong impressions from aunt’s conversation, when afterwards I knew her.

Never, certainly, was a journey so replete with felicity. I luxuriated in idleness and novelty; knowledge was my delight, and it was now pouring in on my mind from all sides. What a change from sitting pinned down to my sampler by my mother till the hour of play, and then running wild with children, as young, and still simpler than myself. Much attended to by all my fellow-travellers, I was absolutely intoxicated with the charms of novelty, and the sense of my new-found importance. The first day we came to Schenectady, a little town, situated in a rich and beautiful spot, and partly supported by the Indian trade. The next day we embarked, proceeded up the river with six bateaux, and came early in the evening to one of the most charming scenes imaginable, where fort Hendrick was built; so called, in compliment to the principal Sachem, or king of the Mohawks. The castle of this primitive monarch stood at a little distance, on a rising ground, surrounded by pallisades. He resided, at the time, in a house which the public workmen, who had lately built this fort, had been ordered to erect for him in the vicinity. We did not fail to wait upon his majesty: who, not choosing to depart too much from the customs of his ancestors, had not permitted divisions of apartments, or modern furniture to profane his new dwelling. It had the appearance of a good barn, and was divided across by a mat hung in the middle. King Hendrick, who had indeed a very princely figure, and a countenance that would have not dishonoured royalty, was sitting on the floor beside a large heap of wheat, surrounded with baskets of dried berries of different kinds; beside him, his son, a very pretty boy, somewhat older than myself, was caressing a foal, which was unceremoniously introduced into the royal residence. A laced hat, a fine saddle and pistols, gifts of his good brother the great king, were hung round on the cross beams. He was splendidly arrayed in a coat of pale blue, trimmed with silver; all the rest of his dress was of the fashion of his own nation, and highly embellished with beads and other ornaments. All this suited my taste exceedingly, and was level to my comprehension. I was prepared to admire King Hendrick by hearing him described as a generous warrior, terrible to his enemies, and kind to his friends; the character of all others calculated to make the deepest impression on ignorant innocence, in a country where infants learned the horrors of war from its vicinity. Add to all this, that the monarch smiled, clapped my head, and ordered me a little basket, very pretty, and filled by the officious kindness of his son, with dried berries. Never did princely gifts, or the smiles of royalty, produce more ardent admiration and profound gratitude. I went out of the royal presence overawed and delighted, and am not sure but that I have liked kings all my life the better for this happy specimen, to which I was so early introduced. Had I seen royalty, properly such, invested with all the pomp of European magnificence, I should possibly have been confused and over-dazzled. But this was quite enough, and not too much for me; and I went away, lost in a reverie, and thought of nothing but kings, battles, and generals for days after.

This journey, charming my romantic imagination by its very delays and difficulties, was such a source of interest and novelty to me, that above all things I dreaded its conclusion, which I well knew would be succeeded by long tasks and close confinement. Happily for me we soon entered upon Wood-creek, the most desirable of all places for a traveller who loves to linger, if such another traveller there be. This is a small river, which winds irregularly through a deep and narrow valley of the most lavish fertility. The depth and richness of the soil here was evinced by the loftiness and the nature of the trees, which were, hiccory, butter-nut, chestnut, and sycamores of vast circumference as well as height. These became so top heavy, and their roots were so often undermined by this insidious stream, that in every tempestuous night, some giants of the grove fell prostrate, and very frequently across the stream, where they lay in all their pomp of foliage, like a leafy bridge, unwithered, and formed an obstacle almost invincible to all navigation. The Indian lifted his slight canoe, and carried it past the tree; but our deep loaded bateaux could not be so managed. Here my orthodoxy was shocked, and my anti-military prejudices revived by the swearing of the soldiers; but then again my veneration for my father was if possible increased, by his lectures against swearing provoked by their transgression. Nothing remained for our heroes but to attack these sylvan giants axe in hand, and make way through their divided bodies. The assault upon fallen greatness was unanimous and unmerciful, but the resistance was tough, and the process tedious; so much so, that we were three days proceeding fourteen miles, having, at every two hours at least, a new tree to cut through.

It was here, as far as I recollect the history of my own heart, that the first idea of artifice ever entered my mind. It was, like most female artifices, the offspring of vanity. These delays were a new source of pleasure to me. It was October; the trees we had to cut through were often loaded with nuts, and while I ran lightly along the branches, to fill my royal basket with their spoils, which I had great pleasure in distributing, I met with multitudes of fellow plunderers in the squirrels of various colours and sizes, which were numberless. This made my excursions amusing; but when I found my disappearance excited alarm, they assumed more interest. It was so fine to sit quietly among the branches, and hear concern and solicitude expressed about the child.

I will spare the reader the fatigue of accompanying our little fleet through

only observing, that the munificent solitude through which we travelled was much relieved by the sight of Johnson hall, beautifully situated in a plain by the river; while Johnson castle, a few miles further up, made a most respectable appearance on a commanding eminence at some distance.

We travelled from one fort to another; but in three or four instances, to my great joy, they were so remote from each other, that we found it necessary to encamp at night on the bank of the river. This, in a land of profound solitude, where wolves, foxes, and bears abounded, and were very much inclined to consider and treat us as intruders, might seem dismal to wiser folks. But I was so gratified by the bustle and agitation produced by our measures of defence, and actuated by the love which all children have for mischief that is not fatal, that I enjoyed our night encampments exceedingly. We stopped early wherever we saw the largest and most combustible kind of trees. Cedars were great favourites, and the first work was to fell and pile upon each other an incredible number, stretched lengthwise, while every one who could was busied in gathering withered branches of pine, &c. to fill up the interstices of the pile, and make the green wood burn the faster. Then a train of gunpowder was laid along to give fire to the whole fabric at once, which blazed and crackled magnificently. Then the tents were erected close in a row before this grand conflagration. This was not merely meant to keep us warm, though the nights did begin to grow cold, but to frighten wild beasts and wandering Indians. In case any such Indians, belonging to hostile tribes, should see this prodigious blaze, the size of it was meant to give them an idea of a greater force than we possessed.

In one place, where we were surrounded by hills, with swamps lying between them, there seemed to be a general congress of wolves, who answered each other from opposite hills, in sounds the most terrific. Probably the terror which all savage animals have at fire was exalted into fury, by seeing so many enemies, whom they durst not attack. The bull frogs, the harmless, the hideous inhabitants of the swamps, seemed determined not to be outdone, and roared a tremendous bass to this bravura accompaniment. This was almost too much for my love of the terrible sublime; some women, who were our fellow travellers, shrieked with terror; and finally, the horrors of that night were ever after held in awful remembrance by all who shared them.

The last night of this eventful pilgrimage, of which I fear to tire my readers by a farther recital, was spent at fort Bruerton, then commanded by Captain Mungo Campbell,^[19] whose warm and generous heart, whose enlightened and comprehensive mind, whose social qualities and public virtues I should delight tA commemorate did my limits permit; suffice it, that he is endeared to my recollection by being the first person who ever supposed me to have a mind capable of culture, and I was ever after distinguished by his partial notice. Here we were detained two days by a premature fall of snow. Very much disposed to be happy any where, I was here particularly so. Our last day’s journey, which brought us to lake Ontario and fort Oswego, our destined abode, was a very hard one; we had people going before, breaking the ice with paddles all the way.

All that I had foreboded of long tasks, confinement, &c. fell short of the reality. The very deep snow confined us all; and at any rate the rampart or the parade would have been no favourable scene of improvement for me. One great source of entertainment I discovered here, was no other than the Old Testament, which during my confinement I learned to read; till then having done so very imperfectly. It was an unspeakable treasure as a story book, before I learnt to make any better use of it, and became, by frequent perusal, indelibly imprinted on my memory. Wallace Wight, and Welwood’s memoirs of the history of England, were my next acquisitions. Enough of egotism, yet all these circumstances contributed to form that taste for solid reading, which first attracted the attention of my invaluable friend.

I cannot quit Ontario without giving a slight sketch of the manner in which it was occupied and governed while I was there and afterwards, were it but to give young soldiers a hint how they may best use their time and resources, so as to shun the indolence and ennui they are often liable to in such situations. The 55th had by this time acquired several English officers; but with regard to the men, it might be considered as a Scotch regiment, and was indeed originally such, being raised but a very few years before in the neighbourhood of Stirling. There were small detachments in other forts; but the greatest part were in this, commanded by Major (afterwards Colonel) Duncan, of Lundie, elder brother of the late Lord Duncan of Camperdown. He was an experienced officer, possessed of considerable military science, learned, humane, and judicious, yet obstinate, and somewhat of an humourist withal. Wherever he went, a respectable library went with him. Though not old, he was gouty and war-worn, and therefore allowably carried about many comforts and conveniences that others could not warrantably do. The fort was a large place, built entirely of earth and great logs: I mean the walls and ramparts, for the barracks were of wood, and cold and comfortless. The cutting down the vast quantity of wood used in this building had, however, cleared much of the fertile ground by which the fort was surrounded. The lake abounded with excellent fish and varieties of waterfowl, while deer and every kind of game were numerous in the surrounding woods. All these advantages, however, were now shut up by the rigours of winter. The officers were all very young men, brought from school or college to the army, and after the dreadful specimen of war which they had met with on their first outset, at the lines of Ticonderoga, they had gone through all possible hardships. After a march up the St. Lawrence, and then through Canada here, a march indeed, considering the season and the new road, worthy the hero of Pultowa, they were stationed in this new built garrison, far from every trace of civilization. These young soldiers were, however, excellent subjects for the forming hand of Major Duncan. As I have said on a former occasion of others, if they were not improved, they were not spoiled, and what little they knew was good.

The major, by the manner in which he treated them, seemed to consider them as his sons or pupils; only one might call him an austere parent, or a rigid instructor. But this semblance of severity was necessary to form his pupils to habitual veneration. Partaking every day of their convivial enjoyments, and showing every hour some proof of paternal care and kindness; all this was necessary to keep them within due limits. Out of regard to their own welfare he wanted no more of their love than was consistent with salutary fear; and yet made himself so necessary to them, that nothing could be so terrible to them as, by any neglect or imprudence, to alienate him. He messed with them, but lived in a house of his own. This was a very singular building divided into two apartments; one of which was a bed-room, in which many stores found place, the other, a breakfasting parlour, and, at the same time, a library. Here were globes, quadrants, mathematical instruments, flutes, dumb-bells, and chess-boards; here, in short, was a magazine of instruction and amusement for the colonel’s pupils, that is, for all the garrison. (Cornelius Cuyler, who had now joined the regiment, as youngest ensign, was included in this number.) This Scythian dwelling, for such it seemed, was made entirely of wood, and fixed upon wheels of the same material, so that it could be removed from one part of the parade to another, as it frequently was. So slight a tenement, where the winters were intensely cold, was ill calculated for a gouty patient; for this, however, he found a remedy; the boards, which formed the walls of his apartment, being covered with deer-skins, and a most ample bear-skin spread on the floor by way of a carpet. When once the winter set fully in, Oswego became a perfect Siberia; cut off even from all intelligence of what was passing in the world. But the major did not allow this interval to waste in sloth or vacancy: he seemed rather to take advantage of the exclusion of all exterior objects. His library was select and soldier like. It consisted of numerous treatises on the military art, ancient and modern history, biography, &c. besides the best authors in various sciences, of which I only recollect geography and the mathematics. All the young men were set to read such books as suited their different inclinations and capacities. The subalterns breakfasted with their commander in rotation every day, three or four at a time; after breakfast he kept them, perhaps two hours, examining them on the subject of their different studies. Once a week he had a supper party for such of the captains as were then in the fort; and once a week they entertained him in the same manner. To these parties such of the subalterns, as distinguished themselves by diligence and proficiency, were invited. Whoever was negligent, he made the subject of sarcasms so pointed at one time, and at another so ludicrous, that there was no enduring it. The dread of severe punishment could not operate more forcibly. Yet he was so just, so impartial, so free from fickleness and favouritism, and so attentive to their health, their amusements, and their economy, that every individual felt him necessary to his comfort, and looked up to him as his “guide, philosopher, and friend.”

Unspeakable benefit and improvement was derived from the course of reading I have described, which, in the absence of other subjects, furnished daily topics of discussion, thus impressing it more forcibly on the mind.

The advantages of this course of social study, directed by a mentor so respected, were such, that I have often heard it asserted that these unformed youths derived more solid improvement from it than from all their former education. Reading is one thing; but they learned to think and to converse. The result of these acquirements served to impress on my mind what I formerly observed with regard to madame, that a promiscuous multitude of books always within reach retards the acquisition of useful knowledge. It is like having a great number of acquaintances and few friends; one of the consequences of the latter is to know much of exterior appearances, of modes and manners, but little of nature and genuine character. By running over numbers of books without selection, in a desultory manner, people, in the same way, get a general superficial idea of the varieties and nature of different styles, but do not comprehend or retain the matter with the same accuracy as those who have read a few books, by the best authors, over and over with diligent attention. I speak now of those one usually meets with; not of those commanding minds, whose intuitive research seizes on every thing worth retaining, and rejects the rest as naturally as one throws away the rind when possessed of the kernel.

Our young students got through the winter pretty well; and it is particularly to be observed that there was no such thing as a quarrel heard of among them. Their time was spent in a regular succession of useful pursuits, which prevented them from risking the dangers that often occur in such places; for in general, idleness and confinement to the same circle of society, produce such a fermentation in the mind, and such neglect of ceremonial observances, which are the barriers of civility, that quarrels and duels more readily occur in such situations than in any other. But when spring drew near, this paternal commander found it extremely difficult to rein in the impatience of the youths to plunge into the woods to hunt. There were such risks to encounter, of unknown morasses, wolves, and hostile Indians, that it was dangerous to indulge them. At last, when the days began to lengthen, in the end of February, a chosen party, on whose hardihood and endurance the major could depend, were permitted to go on a regular hunting excursion in the Indian fashion. This was become desirable on different accounts, the garrison having been, for some time before, entirely subsisting on salt provision. Sheep and cows were out of the question, there not being one of either within forty miles. A captain Hamilton, who was a practised wood ranger, commanded this party, who were clad almost like Indians, and armed in the same manner. They were accompanied by a detachment of ten men; some of whom, having been prisoners with the Indians, were more particularly qualified to engage in this adventure. They were allowed four or five days to stay, and provided with a competent supply of bear-skins, blankets, &c. to make their projected wigwams comfortable. The allotted time expired, and we all began to quarrel with our salt provisions, and to long for the promised venison. Another, and yet another day passed, when our longing was entirely absorbed in the apprehensions we began to entertain. Volunteers now presented themselves to go in search of the lost hunters; but those offers were, for good reasons, rejected; and every countenance began to lengthen with fears we were unwilling to express to each other. The major, conjecturing the hunters might have been bewildered in those endless woods, ordered the cannon to be fired at noon, and again at midnight, for their direction. On the eighth day, when suspense was wound up to the highest pitch, the party were seen approaching—and they entered in triumph, loaded with sylvan spoils, among which were many strange birds and beasts. I recollect, as the chief objects of my admiration, a prodigious swan, a wild turkey, and a young porcupine. Venison abounded, and the supply was both plentiful and seasonable.

“Spring returned with its showers,” and converted our Siberia, frozen and forlorn, and shut out from human intercourse, into an uncultured Eden, rich in all the majestic charms of sublime scenery, and primeval beauty and fertility. It is in her central retreat, amidst the mighty waters of the west, that nature seems in solitary grandeur, to have chosen her most favoured habitation, remote from the ocean, whose waves bear the restless sons of Europe on their voyages of discovery, invasion, and intrusion. The coasts of America are, indeed, comparatively poor, except merely on the banks of great rivers, though the universal veil of evergreens conceals much sterility from strangers. But it is in the depth of those forests, and around those sea-like lakes, that nature has been profusely kind, and discovers more charms the more her shady veil is withdrawn from her noble features. If ever the fond illusions of poets and philosophers—that Atalantis, that new Arcadia, that safe and serene Utopia, where ideal quiet and happiness have so often charmed in theory; if ever this dream of social bliss, in some new planted region, is to be realized, this unrivalled scene of grandeur and fertility bids fairest to be the place of its abode. Here the climate is serene and equal; the rigorous winters that brace the frame, and call forth the powers of mind and body to prepare for its approach, are succeeded by a spring so rapid, the exuberance of vernal bloom bursts forth so suddenly after the disappearance of those deep snows which cherish and fructify the earth, that the change seems like a magical delusion.

The major saw every one enraptured, like people suddenly let out of prison; and the whole garrison seemed ripe for running wild through the woods, in pursuit of innumerable birds of passage, which had come on the wings of the genial south to resume their wonted abodes by the great lakes, where they hatch among swamps and islands without number.

The major rejoiced in their joy without having the least intention of indulging them either in the gay idleness, or the wild sports which the season inspired. He had been their mentor all winter, and was now about to commence their agricola.

When giving an account of the garrison I should have mentioned a company or two, I do not remember which, of engineers, the officers of which, from their superior intelligence, were a great acquisition to the society. To these friendly coadjutors the major communicated his plans, which they readily adopted. Among his concealed stores were Indian corn, peas, and beans in abundance, and all kinds of garden seeds. Before the season opened he had arranged with these engineers the plan of a large garden, bowling green, and enclosed field, for the use of these and all succeeding troops. This was a bold attempt when one considers you might as well look for a horse in Venice as in Oswego. No such animal had ever penetrated so far. A single cow, belonging to the suttler, was the only tame creature, dogs and cats excepted, to be seen here. But there was a great stock of palisadoes, which had been cut for the garrison, lying ready; and their pioneers and workmen still remaining there, the new erection being scarce complete. The new project was received with “curses not loud but deep.” Were they to go all out to plod and drudge for others, who would neither pay nor thank them; for, the most, they argued they should stay only a year, and reap very little indeed of the fruit of their labours.

The major’s plans, however, were deep laid; matters wore a peaceable aspect; and there was no knowing how long they might remain there. Except shooting in the woods, or fishing, they were without business, pleasures, or varied society. He feared the men would degenerate into savage wildness, and their officers into that sordid indifference, which is, too often, the consequence of being, at the early season of life, without an aim or a pursuit. He wished to promote a common interest, and habits social and domestic. He wished, too, that they might make some advantage of this temporary banishment, to lay by a little store to eke out their pittance when they returned to more expensive places; in short, he wished to give them habits of regular economy, which should be useful to them ever after. He showed them his plans; gave each of them a department in overseeing the execution of them; and, for that purpose, each had so many men allotted to his command. He made it obvious to them, that as the summer was merely to be occupied in gardening and the chase, the parade of military dress was both expensive and unnecessary. In the store was a great surplus of soldiers’ coats. These had been sent from Europe to supply the regiment, which had been greatly diminished in number by the fatal lines, and succeeding hard march. The major ordered the regimental tailor to fit these as a kind of short undress frock to the officers, to whom correspondent little round hats, very different from the regimental ones, were allotted. Thus equipped, and animated by the spirit of him who ruled their minds with unconscious yet unlimited sway, these young Cincinnati set out, nothing loth, on their horticultural enterprise. All difficulties soon vanished before them; and, in a very few days, they became enthusiastic in the pursuit of this new object. That large and fertile portion of ground, which had been cleared of the timber with which the garrison was built, was given in charge to a sagacious old serjeant, who knew something of husbandry, and who very soon had it enclosed in a palisade, dug up and planted with beans, peas, and Indian corn, the food of future pigs and poultry. To the officers more interesting tasks were allotted. There was more than one gardener found in the regiment; and here the engineers and pioneers were particularly useful. The major who had predestined a favourite spot for his ample garden, had it partially cleared, by cutting the winter firing of the garrison from it. Where a mulberry, a wild plum, or cherry tree was peculiarly well shaped or large, he marked to remain, as well as some lofty planes and chesnuts; and when the shrubs were grubbed up in spring, he left many beautiful ones peculiar to the country. To see the sudden creation of this garden, one would think the genius of the place obeyed the wand of an enchanter; but it is not every gardener who can employ some hundred men. A summer house in a tree, a fish-pond, and a gravel-walk, were finished before the end of May, besides having committed to the earth great quantities of every vegetable production known in our best gardens. These vegetables throve beyond belief or example. The size of the cabbages, the cucumbers, and melons, produced here, was incredible. They used, in the following years, to send them down to astonish us at Albany. On the continent they were not equalled, except in another military garden, which emulation had produced at Niagara. The major’s economical views were fully answered. Pigs and poultry in abundance were procured, and supported by their Indian corn crop; they even procured cows, and made hay in the islands to feed them. The provisions allowed them by the public afforded a sufficiency of flour, butter, and salt meat, as also rice. The lake afforded quantities of excellent fish, much of which the soldiers dried for winter consumption; and fruit and vegetables they had in profusion from their gardens. In short, they all lived in a kind of rough luxury, and were enabled to save much of their pay. The example spread to all the line of forts; such is the power of one active liberal mind pursuing its object with undeviating steadiness.

We are now about to leave Ontario; but perhaps the reader is not willing to take a final farewell of Colonel Duncan. The Indian war then, which broke out after the peace of 1762, occasioned the detention of the regiment in America till 1765; and during all that time this paternal commander continued with six companies of the regiment at Ontario, improving both the soil and the inhabitants. He then returned with the regiment, of which he was become lieutenant-colonel, to Ireland. Soon after he retired from the army, and took up his residence on the family estate of Lundie, having previously married the woman of his heart, who had engaged his early affections, and corresponded with him during his long absence. Here he was as happy as a shattered invalid could be, highly respected by the neighbourhood, and frequently visited by his old pupils, who still regarded him with warm attachment. He died childless, and was succeeded by the admiral, on whose merit it is needless to expatiate; for who has forgotten the victor of Camperdown?

A company of the 55th was this summer ordered to occupy the fort at Albany. This was commanded by a sagacious veteran called Winepress. My father did not exactly belong to this company, but he wished to return to Albany, where he was known and liked; and the colonel thought, from his steadiness and experience, he would be particularly useful in paying the detached parties, and purchasing for the regiment such stores as they might have occasion for. We set out in our bateaux; and I consoled myself for not only leaving Oswego, but what was nearer my heart, a tame partridge, and six pigeons, by the hopes of wandering through Woodcreek, and sleeping in the woods. In both these particulars I was disappointed. Our boats being lighter, made better way, and we were received in new settlements a little distance from the river. The most important occurrence to me, happened the first day. On that evening we returned to fort Bruerton; I found Capt. Campbell delighted with my reading, my memory, and my profound admiration of the friendship betwixt David and Jonathan. We staid most of the next day. I was much captivated with the copperplates in an edition of Paradise Lost, which, on that account, he had given me to admire. When I was coming away, he said to me, “keep that book, my dear child; I foretell that the time will come when you will take pleasure in it.” Never did a present produce such joy and gratitude. I thought I was dreaming, and looked at it a hundred times, before I could believe any thing so fine was really my own. I tried to read it; and almost cried with vexation when I found I could not understand it. At length I quitted it in despair; yet always said to myself I shall be wiser next year.

The next year (1762) came, and found me at Albany; if not wiser, more knowing. Again I was shut up in a fort, solemn and solitary; I had no companion, and was never allowed to go out, except with my mother, and that was very seldom, indeed. All the fine forenoons I sat and sewed; and when others went to play in the evening, I was very often sent up to a large waste room, to get a long task by heart of something very grave and repulsive. In this waste room, however, lay an old tattered dictionary, Bailey’s I think, which proved a treasure to me; the very few books we had, being all religious or military. I had returned to my Milton, which I conned so industriously, that I got it almost by heart, as far as I went; yet took care to go no further than I understood. To make out this point, when any one encouraged me by speaking kindly to me, I was sure to ask the meaning of some word or phrase; and when I found people were not at all willing or able to gratify me, I at length had recourse to my waste room and tattered dictionary, which I found a perpetual fountain of knowledge. Consequently the waste room, formerly a gloomy prison, which I thought of with horror, became now the scene of all my enjoyments; and the moment I was dismissed from my task, I flew to it with anticipated delight; for there were my treasures, Milton and the ragged dictionary, which had become the light of my eyes. I studied the dictionary with indefatigable diligence; which I began now to consider as very entertaining. I was extremely sorry for the fallen angels, deeply interested in their speeches, and so well acquainted with their names, that I could have called the roll of them with all the ease imaginable. Time run on, I was eight years old, and quite uneducated, except reading and plain-work; when company came I was considered as in the way, and sent up to my waste room; but here lay my whole pleasure, for I had neither companions nor amusement. It was, however, talked of, that I should go to a convent, at Trois Rivières], in Canada, where several officers had sent their daughters to be educated.

The fame of Aunt Schuyler every now and then reached my ears, and sunk deep in my mind. To see her I thought was a happiness too great for me; and I was continually drawing pictures of her to myself. Meanwhile the 17th regiment arrived; and a party of them took possession of the fort. During this interim, peace had been proclaimed; and the 55th regiment were under orders for Britain.

My father, not being satisfied with the single apartment allotted to him by the new comers, removed to the town; where a friend of his, a Scotch merchant, gave him a lodging in his own house, next to that very Madame Schuyler who had been so long my daily thoughts and nightly dreams. We had not been long there when aunt heard that my father was a good, plain, upright man, without pretensions, but very well principled. She sent a married lady, the wife of her favourite nephew, who resided with her at the time, to ask us to spend the evening with her. I think I have not been on any occasion more astonished, than when, with no little awe and agitation, I came into the presence of madame. She was sitting; and filled a great chair, from which she seldom moved. Her aspect was composed, and her manner, such as was at first more calculated to inspire respect, than conciliate affection. Not having the smallest solicitude about what people thought of her, and having her mind generally occupied with matters of weighty concern, the first expression of her kindness seemed rather a lofty courtesy, than attractive affability: but she shone out by degrees; and she was sure eventually to please every one worth pleasing, her conversation was so rich, so varied, so informing; every thing she said bore such a stamp of reality: her character had such a grasp in it. Her expressions, not from art and study, but from the clear perceptions of her sound and strong mind, were powerful, distinct, and exactly adapted to the occasion. You saw her thoughts as they occurred to her mind, without the usual bias rising from either a fear to offend, or a wish to please. This was one of the secrets in which lay the singular power of her conversation. When ordinary people speak to you, your mind wanders in search of the motives that prompt their discourse, or the views and prejudices which bias it; when those who excite (and perhaps solicit) admiration talk, you are secretly asking yourself whether they mean to inform, or dazzle you. All this interior canvass vanished before the evident truth and unstudied ease of aunt’s discourse. On a nearer knowledge, too, you found she was much more intent to serve, than please you, and too much engrossed by her endeavours to do so, to stop and look round for your gratitude, which she heeded just as little as your admiration. In short, she informed, enlightened, and served you, without levying on you any tribute whatever, except the information you could give in return. I describe her appearance as it then struck me; and, once for all, her manners and conversation, as I thought of them when I was older and knew better how to distinguish and appreciate. Every thing about her was calculated to increase the impression of respect and admiration; which, from the earliest dawn of reflection, I had been taught to entertain for her. Her house was the most spacious and best furnished I had ever entered. The family pictures, and scripture paintings, were to me particularly awful and impressive. I compared them to the models which had before existed in my imagination, and was delighted or mortified, as I found they did or did not resemble them.

The family with which she was then surrounded, awakened a more than common interest. Her favourite nephew, the eldest son of her much beloved sister, had, by his father’s desire, entered into partnership in a great commercial house in New-York. Smitten with the uncommon beauty of a young lady of seventeen, from Rhode-Island, he had married her without waiting for the consent of his relations. Had he lived in Albany, and connected himself with one of his fellow citizens, bred up in frugal simplicity, this step might have been easily got over. But an expensive and elegant style of living begun already to take place in New-York; which was, from the residence of the governor and commander in chief, become the seat of a little court. The lady, whom Philip had married, was of a family originally Scotch; and derived her descent at no great distance from one of the noblest families in that country.^[20] Gay, witty, and very engaging, beloved and indulged, beyond measure, by a fond husband, who was generous and good natured to excess, this young beauty became “the glass of fashion, and the mould of form.” And the house of this amiable couple was the resort of all that was gay and elegant, and the centre of attraction to strangers. The mayor, who was a person singularly judicious, and most impartial in the affection which he distributed amongst his large family, saw clearly that the young people trusted too much to the wealth he was known to possess, and had got into a very expensive style of living; which, on examining their affairs, he did not think likely to be long supported by the profits of the business in which his son was engaged. The probable consequence of a failure, he saw, would so far involve him as to injure his own family: this he prevented. Peace was daily expected; and the very existence of the business in which he was engaged, depended on the army; which his house was wont to furnish with every thing necessary. He clearly foresaw the withdrawing of this army; and that the habits of open hospitality and expensive living would remain, when the sources of their present supplies were dried up. He insisted on his son entirely quitting this line, and retiring to Albany. He loaded a ship on his own account for the West-Indies, and sent the young man as supercargo, to dispose of the lading. As house-keeping was given up in New-York, and not yet resumed in Albany, this young creature had only the option of returning to the large family she had left, or going to her father-in-law’s. Aunt Schuyler, ever generous and considerate, had every allowance to make for the high spirit and fine feelings of this inexperienced young creature; and invited her, with her little daughter, to remain with her till her husband’s return. Nothing could be more pleasing than to witness the maternal tenderness and delicate confidence, which appeared in the behaviour of madame to this new inmate; whose fine countenance seemed animated with the liveliest gratitude, and the utmost solicitude to please her revered benefactress. The child was a creature not to be seen with indifference. The beauty and understanding that appeared full blown in her mother, seemed budding with the loveliest promise in the young Catalina; a child, whom to this day, I cannot recollect without an emotion of tenderness. She was then about three years old. Besides these interesting strangers, there was a grand niece whom she had brought up. Such was her family when I first knew it. In the course of the evening, dreams began to be talked of; and every one in turn gave their opinion with regard to that wonderful mode, in which the mind acts independent of the senses, asserting its immaterial nature in a manner the most conclusive. I mused and listened, till at length the spirit of quotation (which very early began to haunt me) moved me to repeat, from Paradise Lost,

I sat silent when my bolt was shot; but so did not madame. Astonished to hear her favourite author quoted readily, by so mere a child, she attached much more importance to the circumstance than it deserved. So much, indeed, that long after she used to repeat it to strangers in my presence, by way of accounting for the great fancy she had taken to me. These partial repetitions of hers fixed this lucky quotation indelibly in my mind. Any person who has ever been in love, and has unexpectedly heard that sweetest of all music, the praise of his beloved, may judge of my sensations when madame began to talk with enthusiasm of Milton. The bard of Paradise was indeed “the dweller of my secret soul;” and it never was my fortune before to meet with any one who understood or relished him. I knew very well that the divine spirit was his Urania. But I took his invocation quite literally, and had not the smallest doubt of his being as much inspired as ever Isaiah was. This was a very hopeful opening; yet I was much too simple and humble to expect that I should excite the attention of madame. My ambition aimed at nothing higher than winning the heart of the sweet Catalina; and I thought if heaven had given me such another little sister, and enabled me to teach her, in due time, to relish Milton, I should have nothing left to ask.

Time went on; we were neighbours, and became intimate in the family. I was beloved by Catalina, caressed by her charming mother, and frequently noticed by aunt, whom I very much inclined to love, were it not that it seemed to me as if, in so doing, I should aspire too high. Yet, in my visits to her, where I had now a particular low chair in a corner assigned me, I had great enjoyment of various kinds. First, I met there with all those strangers or inhabitants who were particularly respectable for their character or conversation. Then I was witness to a thousand acts of beneficence that charmed me, I could not well say why, not having learned to analyze my feelings. Then I met with the Spectator and a few other suitable books, which I read over and over with unwearied diligence, not having the least idea of treating a book as a plaything, to be thrown away when the charm of novelty was past. I was by degrees getting into favour with aunt Schuyler, when a new arrival for awhile suspended the growing intimacy. I allude to the colonel of my father’s regiment, who had removed from Crown Point to Albany.

The colonel was a married man, whose wife, like himself, had passed her early days in a course of frivolous gaiety. They were now approaching the decline of life, and finding nothing pleasing in the retrospect nor flattering in prospect, time hung on their hands. Where nothing round them was congenial to their habits, they took a fancy to have me frequently with them as matter of amusement. They had had children, and when they died, their mutual affection died with them. They had had a fortune, and when it was spent, all their pleasures were exhausted. They were by this time drawing out the vapid dregs of a tasteless existence, without energy to make themselves feared, or those gentle and amiable qualities which attract love; yet they were not stained with gross vices, and were people of character, as the world goes.

What a new world was I entered into! from the quiet simplicity of my home, where I heard nothing but truth, and saw nothing but innocence; and from my good friend’s respectable mansion, where knowledge reflected light upon virtue, and where the hours were too few for their occupation; to be a daily witness of the manner in which these listless ghosts of departed fashion and gaiety drank up the bitter lees of misused time, fortune, and capacity. Never was lesson more impressive; and young as I was, I did not fail to mark the contrast, and draw the obvious inference. From this hopeful school I was set free the following summer (when I had entered on my ninth year) by the colonel’s return to England. They were indeed, kind to me; but the gratitude I could not but feel was a sentiment independent of attachment, and early taught me how difficult it is, nay, how painful, to disjoin esteem from gratitude.

At this time (1765) peace had been for some time established in Europe; but the ferment and agitation which even the lees and sediments of war kept up in the northern colonies, and the many regulations requisite to establish quiet and security in the new acquired Canadian territory, required all the care and prudence of the commander in chief, and no little time. At this crisis, for such it proved, Sir Jeffery, afterwards Lord Amherst, came up to Albany. A mutiny had broke out among the troops on account of withholding the provisions they used to receive in time of actual war; and this discontent was much aggravated by their finding themselves treated with a coldness, amounting to aversion, by the people of the country; who now forgot past services, and showed in all transactions a spirit of dislike bordering on hostility to their protectors, on whom they no longer felt themselves dependent.

Sir Jeffery, however, was received like a prince at Albany, respect for his private character conquering the anti-military prejudices. The commander in chief was in those days a great man on the continent, having, on account of the distance from the seat of government, much discretionary power entrusted to him. Never was it more safely lodged than in the hands of this judicious veteran, whose comprehension of mind, impartiality, steadiness, and close application to business, peculiarly fitted him for his important station. At his table all strangers were entertained with the utmost liberality; while his own singular temperance, early hours, and strict morals, were peculiarly calculated to render him popular among the old inhabitants. Here I witnessed an impressive spectacle: the guard-house was in the middle of the street, opposite to madame’s; there was a guard extraordinary mounted in honour of Sir Jeffery; at the hour of changing it all the soldiery in the fort assembled there, and laid down their arms, refusing to take them up again. I shall never forget the pale and agitated countenances of the officers; they being too well assured that it was a thing pre-concerted; which was actually the case, for at Crown Point and Quebec the same thing was done on the same day. Sir Jeffery came down, and made a calm dispassionate speech to them, promising them a continuance of their privileges till further orders from home, and offering pardon to the whole, with the exception of a few ringleaders, whose lives, however, were spared. This gentle dealing had its due effect; but at Quebec the mutiny assumed a most alarming aspect, and had more serious consequences, though it was in the end quelled. All this time Sir Jeffery’s visits to madame had been frequent, both out of respect to her character and conversation, and to reap the benefit of her local knowledge on an approaching emergency. This was a spirit of disaffection, then only suspected, among the Indians on the Upper Lakes, which soon after broke suddenly out into open hostility. In consequence of her opinion he summoned Sir W. Johnson to concert some conciliatory measures. But the commencement of the war at this very crisis, detained him longer to arrange with General Bradstreet and Sir William, the operations of the ensuing campaign.

This war broke out very opportunely in some respects. It afforded a pretext for granting those indulgences to the troops which it would otherwise have been impolitic to give and unsafe to withhold. It furnished occupation for an army too large to lie idle so far from the source of authority; which could not yet be safely withdrawn till matters were on a more stable footing; and it made the inhabitants once more sensible of their protection. Madame had predicted this event, knowing better than any one how the affections of these tribes might be lost or won. She well knew the probable consequences of the negligence with which they were treated, since the subjection of Canada made us consider them as no longer capable of giving us trouble. Pontiac, chief of those nations who inhabited the borders of the great lakes, possessed one of those minds which break through all disadvantages to assert their innate superiority.

The rise and conduct of this war, were I able to narrate them distinctly, the reader would perhaps scarce have patience to attend to; indistinct as they must appear retraced from my broken recollections. Could I however do justice to the bravery, the conduct, and magnanimity in some instances, and the singular address and stratagem in others, which this extraordinary person displayed in the course of it, the power of untutored intellect would appear incredible to those who never saw man but in an artificial or degraded state, exalted by science, or debased by conscious ignorance and inferiority. During the late war, Pondiac occupied a central situation, bounded on each side by the French and English territories. His uncommon sagacity taught him to make the most of his local advantages, and of that knowledge of the European character which resulted from this neighbourhood. He had that sort of consequence which in the last century raised the able and politic princes of the house of Savoy to the throne they have since enjoyed. Pondiac held a petty balance between two great contending powers. Even the privilege of passing through his territories was purchased with presents, promises, and flatteries. While the court which was paid to this wily warrior, to secure his alliance, or at least his neutrality, made him too sensible of his own consequence, as it gave him a near view of our policy and modes of life. He often passed some time, on various pretexts, by turns at Montreal and in the English camp. The subjection of Canada proved fatal to his power, and he could no longer play the skilful game between both nations which had been so long carried on. The general advantage of his tribe is always the uppermost thought with an Indian. The liberal presents which he had received from both parties, afforded him the means of confederating with distant nations, of whose alliance he thought to profit in his meditated hostilities.

There were at that time many tribes, then unknown to Europeans, on the banks of lake Superior, to whom fire-arms and other British goods were captivating novelties. When the French insidiously built the fort at Detroit, and the still more detached one at Michilimackinac, on bounds hitherto undefined, they did it on the footing of having secure places of trade, not to overawe the natives, but to protect themselves from the English. They amply rewarded them for permission to erect these fortresses, and purchased at any expense that friendship from them without which it would have been impossible to have maintained their ground in these remote regions. All this liberality and flattery, though merely founded on self-interest, had its effect; and the French, who are ever versatile and accommodating, who wore the Huron dress, and spoke the Huron language when they had any purpose to serve, were without doubt the favoured nation. We, too apt to despise all foreigners, and not over complaisant even when we have a purpose to serve, came with a high hand to occupy those forts which we considered as our right after the conquest of Canada, but which had been always held by the more crafty French as an indulgence. These troops without ceremony, appropriated, and, following major Duncan’s example, cultivated all the fertile lands around Detroit, as far as fancy or convenience led them. The lands round Ontario were in a different predicament, being regularly purchased by Sir William Johnson. In consequence of the peace which had taken place the year before, all the garrisons were considered as in a state of perfect security.

Pondiac, in the meantime, conducted himself with the utmost address, concealing the indignation which brooded in his mind under the semblance of the greatest frankness and good humour. Master of various languages, and most completely master of his temper and countenance, he was at home every where, and paid frequent friendly visits to Detroit, near which, in the finest country imaginable, was his abode. He frequently dined with the mess, and sent them fish and venison. Unlike other Indians, his manner appeared frank and communicative, which opened the minds of others and favoured his deep designs. He was soon master, through their careless conversation, of all he wished to know relative to the stores, resources, and intentions of the troops. Madame, who well knew the Indian character in general, and was no stranger to the genius and abilities of Pondiac, could not be satisfied with the manner in which he was neglected on the one hand, nor his easy admission to the garrison on the other. She always said they should either make him their friend, or know him to be their foe.

In the meantime no one could be more busy than this politic warrior. While the Indians were in strict alliance with the French, they had their wigwams and their Indian corn within sight of the fort, lived in a considerable kind of village on the border of the lake, and had a daily intercourse of traffic and civility with the troops. There was a large esplanade before the garrison, where the Indians and soldiers sometimes socially played at ball together. Pondiac had a double view in his intended hostility. The Canadian priests, with the wonted restless intriguing spirit of their nation, fomented the discontents of the Indians. They persuaded them, and perhaps flattered themselves, that if they (the Indians) would seize the chain of forts, the Grand Monarchy would send a fleet to re-conquer Canada, and guarantee all the forts he should take to Pondiac. Upon this he did not altogether depend: yet he thought if he could surprise Detroit, and seize a vessel which was expected up from Oswego with ammunition and stores, he might easily take the other small vessels, and so command the lake. This would be shut up by ice for the winter, and it would take no little time to build on its banks another fleet, the only means by which an army could again approach the place. I will not attempt to lead my reader through all the intricacies of an Indian war (entirely such), and therefore of all wars the most incomprehensible in its progress, and most difficult in its terms. The result of two master-strokes of stratagem, with which it opened, are such as are curious enough, however, to find a place in this detail.

All the distant tribes were to join on hearing Pondiac was in possession of the fort. Many of those nearest, in the meanwhile, were to lie in the neighbouring woods, armed and ready to rush out on the discharge of a cannon, on that day which was meant to be fatal to the garrison. Out of the intended massacre, however, the artillery were to be spared that they might work the guns. Near the fort lived a much admired Indian beauty, who was known in the garrison by the name, or title rather, of the Queen of Hearts. She not only spoke French, but dressed not inelegantly in the European manner, and being sprightly and captivating, was encouraged by Pondiac to go into the garrison on various pretexts. The advantage the Indian chief meant to derive from this stratagem was, that she might be a kind of spy in the fort, and that by her influence over the commander, the wonted caution with regard to Indians might be relaxed, and the soldiers permitted to go out unarmed and mingle in their diversions. This plan in some degree succeeded. There was at length a day fixed, on which a great match of foot-ball was to be decided between two parties of Indians, and all the garrison were invited to be spectators. It was to be played on the esplanade opposite the fort. At a given signal the ball was to be driven over the wall of the fort, which, as there was no likelihood of its ever being attacked by cannon, was merely a palisade and earthen breast-work. The Indians were to run hastily in, on pretence of recovering the ball, and shut the gates against the soldiers, whom Pondiac and his people were to tomahawk immediately.

Pondiac, jealous of the Queen of Hearts, gave orders, after she was let into the secret of this stratagem, that she should go no more into the fort. Whether she was offended with this want of confidence; whether her humanity revolted at the intended massacre, or whether she felt a particular attachment prevailing over her fidelity to her countrymen, so it was; her affection got the better of her patriotism. A soldier’s wife who carried out to her the day before some article of dress she had made for her, was the medium she made use of to convey a hint of the intended treachery. The colonel was unwilling, from the dark hint conveyed, to have recourse to any violent measures; and was, indeed, doubtful of the fact. To kindle the flames of war wantonly, surrounded as he was, by hostile nations, who would carry their vengeance into the defenceless new settlements, was a dreadful expedient. Without betraying his informer, he resolved to convince himself. The men were ordered to go out to see the ball played, but to keep under shelter of the fort; and if they saw the ball driven in, immediately to return and shut the gates. I cannot distinctly remember the exact mode in which this manœuvre was managed, but the consequence I know was, first, the repulsing of the Indians from the gate, and then the commencing of open hostilities on their side, while the garrison was for some time in a state of blockade.

Meantime the Indians had concerted another stratagem, to seize a vessel loaded with stores, which was daily expected from Niagara. Commodore Grant, a younger brother of the Glenmoriston family in Invernesshire, was, and I believe still is, commander of the lakes; an office which has now greatly risen in importance. At that time his own vessel and two or three smaller were employed in that navigation. This little squadron was very interesting on a double account. It carried stores, troops, &c. which could not otherwise be transported, there being no way of proceeding by land; and again, the size of the vessels and a few swivels or small cannon they carried enabled them to command even a fleet of canoes, should the Indians be disposed to attack them. Of this there was at the time not the least apprehension; and here I must stop to give some account of the first victim to this unlooked for attack.

Sir Robert D. was the representative of an ancient English family, of which he was originally the sixth brother. At a certain time of life, somewhere betwixt twenty-five and thirty, each was, in turn, attacked with a hypochondriac disorder, which finally proved fatal. Sir Robert, in turn, succeeded to the estate and title, and to the dreadful apprehension of being visited by the same calamity. This was the more to be regretted, as he was a person of very good abilities, and an excellent disposition. The time now approached when he was to arrive at that period of life at which the fatal malady attacked his brothers. He felt, or imagined he felt, some symptoms of the approaching gloom. What should he do? Medicine had not availed. Should he travel? Alas! his brothers had travelled, but the blackest despair was their companion. Should he try a sea voyage, one of them commanded a ship, and fate overtook him in his own cabin. It occurred to him that, by living among a people who were utter strangers to this most dreadful of all visitations, and adopting their manner of life, he might escape its influence. He came over to America, where his younger brother served in a regiment then in Canada. He felt his melancholy daily increasing, and resolved immediately to put in execution his plan of entirely renouncing the European modes of life, and incorporating himself in some Indian tribe, hoping the novelty of the scene, and the hardships to which it would necessarily subject him, might give an entire new turn to his spirits. He communicated his intention to Sir William Johnson, who entirely approved of it, and advised him to go up to the great lake, among the Hurons, who were an intelligent and sensible race, and inhabited a very fine country, and among whom he would not be liable to meet his countrymen, or be tempted back to the mode of life he wished for a while entirely to forsake. This was no flight of caprice, but a project undertaken in the most deliberate manner, and with the most rational views. It completely succeeded. The Hurons were not a little flattered to think that an European of Sir Robert’s rank was going to live with them, and be their brother. He did not fail to conciliate them with presents, and still more by his ready adoption of their dress and manners. The steadiness he showed in adhering to a plan where he had not only severe hardships but numberless disgusts to encounter, showed him possessed of invincible patience and fortitude; while his letters to his friends, with whom he regularly corresponded, evinced much good sense and just observation. For two years he led this life, which habit made easy, and the enjoyment of equal spirits agreeable. Convinced that he had attained his desired end, and conquered the hereditary tendency so much dreaded, he prepared to return to society, intending, if his despondency should recur, to return once more to his Indian habit, and rejoin his Huron friends. When the intention was formed by Pondiac and his associates, of attacking the commodore’s vessel, Sir Robert, who wished now to be conveyed to some of the forts, discerned the British ship from the opposite shore of the great lake, and being willing to avail himself of that conveyance, embarked in a canoe with some of his own Indian friends, to go on board the commodore. Meanwhile, a very large canoe, containing as many of Pondiac’s followers as it could possibly hold, drew near the king’s ship, and made a pretext of coming in a friendly manner, while two or three others, filled with warriors, hovered at a distance.—They had fallen short of their usual policy; for they were painted red, and had about them some of those symbols of hostility, which are perfectly understood amongst each other. Some friendly Indians, who happened to be by accident on board the commodore’s vessel, discerned these, and warned him of the approaching danger. On their drawing near the vessel, they were ordered to keep off. Thinking they were discovered, and that things could be no worse, they attempted to spring on board, armed with their tomahawks and scalping-knives, but were very soon repulsed. The other canoes, seeing all was discovered, drew near to support their friends, but were soon repulsed by a discharge of the six-pounder. At this crisis, the canoe, containing Sir Robert, began to advance in another direction. The Indians who accompanied him, had not been apprised of the proposed attack; but being Hurons, the commodore never doubted of their hostility. Sir Robert sat in the end of the canoe, dressed in all the costume of a Huron, and wrapt up in his blanket. He ordered his companions to approach the ship immediately, not deterred by their calling to them to keep off, intending, directly, to make himself known; but in the confusion he was accidentally shot.

To describe the universal sorrow diffused over the province in consequence of this fatal accident, would be impossible. Nothing since the death of Lord Howe had excited such general regret. The Indians carried the body to Detroit, and delivered it up to the garrison for interment. He had kept a journal during his residence on the lakes, which was never recovered, and must certainly have contained (proceeding from such a mind so circumstanced) much curious matter. Sir Charles, his younger brother, then a captain in the 17th, succeeded him, but had no visitation of the depression of mind so fatal to his brothers.

Rumours, enlarged by distance, soon reached Albany of this unlooked-for attack of the Indians. Indeed, before they had any authentic details, they heard of it in the most alarming manner from the terrified back settlers, who fled from their incursions. Those who dwell in a land of security, where only the distant rumour of war can reach them, would know something of the value of safety could they be but one day transported to a region where this plague is let loose; where the timorous and the helpless are made to

by restless rumour, cruel suspense, and anticipated misery. Many of the regiments employed in the conquest of Canada had returned home, or gone to the West-Indies. Had the Canadians had spirit and cohesion to rise in a body and join the Indians, ’tis hard to say what might have been the consequence. Madame, whose cautions were neglected in the day of prosperity, became now the public oracle, and was resorted to and consulted by all. Formerly she blamed their false security and neglect of that powerful chief, who, having been accustomed to flattery and gifts from all sides, was all at once made too sensible that it was from war he derived his importance. Now she equally blamed the universal trepidation, being confident in our resources, and well knowing what useful allies the Mohawks, ever hostile to the Canadian Indians, might prove.

Never was our good aunt more consulted and more respected. Sir Jeffery Amherst planned at Albany an expedition to be commanded by General Bradstreet, for which both New-York and New-England raised corps of provincials.

Meantime an express arrived with the afflicting news of the loss of a captain and twenty men of the 55th regiment. The name of this lamented officer was Dalziel, of the Carnwath family. Colonel Beckwith had sent for a reinforcement. This Major Duncan hesitated to send, till better informed as to the mode of conveyance. Captain Dalziel volunteered going. I cannot exactly say how they proceeded; but, after having penetrated through the woods till they were in sight of Detroit, they were discovered and attacked by a party of Indians, and made their way with the utmost difficulty, after the loss of their commander and the third part of their number.

Major Duncan’s comprehensive mind took in every thing that had any tendency to advance the general good, and cement old alliances. He saw none of the Hurons, whose territories lay far above Ontario, but those tribes whose course of hunting or fishing led them to his boundaries, were always kindly treated. He often made them presents of ammunition or provision, and did every thing in his power to conciliate them. Upon hearing of the outrage which the Hurons^[21] had been guilty of, the heads of the tribe, with whom the major had cultivated the greatest intimacy, came to assure him of their good wishes, and hearty co-operation. He invited them to come with their tribe to celebrate the birth-day of their new king (his present majesty) which occurred a few days after, and there solemnly renew, with the usual ceremonies, the league offensive and defensive made between their fathers and the late king. They came accordingly in their best arms and dresses, and assisted at a review, and at a kind of feast given on the occasion, on the outside of the fort. The chief and his brother, who were two fine noble looking men, were invited to dine with the major and officers. When they arrived, and were seated, the major called for a glass of wine to drink his sovereign’s health; this was no sooner done, than the sachem’s brother fell lifeless on the floor. They thought it was a fainting fit, and made use of the usual applications to recover him, which, to their extreme surprise, proved ineffectual. His brother looked steadily on while all those means were using; but when convinced of their inefficacy, sat down, drew his mantle over his face, sobbed aloud, and burst into tears. This was an additional wonder. Through the traces of Indian recollection no person had been known to fall suddenly dead without any visible cause, nor any warrior to shed tears. After a pause of deep silence, which no one felt inclined to break, the sachem rose with a collected and dignified air, and thus addressed the witnesses of this affecting incident: “Generous English, misjudge me not; though you have seen me for once a child, in the day of battle you will see a man, who will make the Hurons weep blood. I was never thus before. But to me my brother was all. Had he died in battle, no look of mine would change. His nation would honour him, but his foes should lament him. I see sorrow in your countenances; and I know you were not the cause of my brother’s death. Why, indeed, should you take away a life that was devoted to you? Generous English, ye mourn for my brother, and I will fight your battles.” This assurance of his confidence was very necessary to quiet the minds of his friends; and the concern of the officers was much aggravated by the suspicious circumstances attending his death so immediately after the drinking of the wine they had given him. The major ordered this lamented warrior to be interred with great ceremony. A solemn procession, mournful music, the firing of cannon, and all other military honours, evinced his sympathy for the living, and his respect for the dead; and the result of this sad event, in the end, rather tended to strengthen the attachment of those Indians to the British cause.

I have given this singular occurrence a place in these memoirs, as it serves to illustrate the calm good sense and steady confidence which made a part of the Indian character, and added value to their friendship, when once it was fairly attained.

The fifty-fifth, which had been under orders to return home, felt a severe disappointment in being, for two years more, confined to their sylvan fortresses. These, however, they embellished, and rendered comfortable, with gardens and farm grounds, that, to reside in them, could no longer be accounted a penance. Yet, during the Indian war, they were, from motives of necessary caution, confined to very narrow limits; which, to those accustomed to pursue their sports with all that wild liberty and wide excursion peculiar to savage hunters, was a hardship of which we can have no idea. Restrained from this unbounded license, fishing became their next favourite pursuit, to which the lakes and rivers on which these forts were built, afforded great facility. Tempted by the abundance and excellence of the productions of these copious waters, they were led to endanger their health by their assiduity in this amusement. Agues, the disease of all new establishments, became frequent among them, and were aggravated by the home sickness. To this they were more peculiarly liable, as the regiment, just newly raised before they embarked for America, had quitted the bosom of their families, without passing through the gradation of boarding-schools and academies, as is usual in other countries.

What an unspeakable blessing to the inhabitants were the parish schools of the north, and how much humble worth and laborious diligence has been found among their teachers. In those lowly seminaries, boys not only attained the rudiments of learning, but the principles of loyalty and genuine religion, with the abatement of a small tincture of idolatry, of which their household gods were the only objects. Never, surely, was a mode of education so calculated to cherish attachment to those tutelar deities. Even the laird’s son had often a mile or two to walk to his day school; a neighbouring tenant’s son carried the basket which contained his simple dinner; and still as they went along they were joined by other fellow travellers in the paths of learning. How cordial were those intimacies, formed in the early period of life, and of the day while nature smiled around in dewy freshness! How gladdening to the kind and artless heart were these early walks through the wild varieties of a romantic country, and among the peaceful cottages of simple peasants, from whence the incense of praise, “in sounds by distance made more sweet,” rose on the morning breeze!^[22] How cheering was the mid-day sport, amid their native burns and braes, without the confinement of a formal play-ground! How delightful the evening walk homeward, animated by the consciousness of being about to meet all that was dearest to the artless and affectionate mind! Thus the constitution was improved with the understanding; and they carried abroad into active life, the rigid fibre of the robust and hardy frame, and the warm and fond affections of the heart, uncorrupted and true to its first attachments. Never sure were youth’s first glowing feelings more alive than in the minds of those young soldiers. From school they were hurried into the greatest fatigues and hardships, and the horrors of the most sanguinary war; and from thence transported to the depth of those central forests, where they formed to themselves a little world, whose greatest charm was the cherished recollection of the simple and endeared scenes of their childhood, and of the beloved relations whom they had left behind, and to whom they languished to return. They had not gone through the ordeal of the world, and could not cheer their exile by retracing its ways, its fashions, or its amusements. It is this domestic education, that unbroken series of home joys and tender remembrances, that render the natives of the north so faithful to their filial and fraternal duties and so attached to a bleak and rugged region, excelled in genial warmth of climate and fertility of soil, in every country to which the spirit of adventure leads them.

I was now restored to my niche at Aunt Schuyler’s and not a little delighted with the importance which, in this eventful crisis, seemed to attach to her opinions. The times were too agitated to admit of her paying much attention to me; but I, who took the deepest interest in what was going on, and heard of nothing, abroad or at home, but Indians, and sieges, and campaigns, was doubly awake to all the conversation I heard at home.

The expedition proceeded under General Bradstreet, while my father, recommended to his attention by madame, held some temporary employment about mustering the troops. My friend had now the satisfaction of seeing her plans succeed in different instances.

Philip, since known by the title of General Schuyler, whom I have repeatedly mentioned, had now, in pursuance of the mode she pointed out to him, attained to wealth and power, both of which were rapidly increasing. His brother Cortlandt, (the handsome savage,) who had, by her advice, gone into the army, had returned from Ireland, the commander of a company, and married to a very pleasing and estimable woman, whose perpetual vivacity and good humour threw a ray of light over the habitual reserve of her husband, who was amiable in domestic life, though cold and distant in his manner. They settled near the general, and paid a degree of attention to madame, that showed the filial tie remained in full force.

The colonel, as he was then called, had built a house near Albany, in the English taste, comparatively magnificent, where his family resided, and where he carried on the business of his department. Thirty miles or more above Albany, in the direction of the Flats, and near the far-famed Saratoga, which was to be the scene of his future triumph, he had another establishment. It was here that the colonel’s political and economical genius had full scope. He had always the command of a great number of those workmen who were employed in public buildings, &c. Those were always in constant pay—it being necessary to engage them in that manner; and were, from the change of seasons, the shutting of the ice, and other circumstances, months unemployed. All these seasons, when public business was interrupted, the workmen were employed in constructing squares of buildings in the nature of barracks, for the purpose of lodging artisans and labourers of all kinds. Having previously obtained a large tract of very fertile lands from the crown, on which he built a spacious and convenient house; he constructed those barracks at a distance, not only as a nursery for the arts which he meant to encourage, but as the materials of a future colony, which he meant to plant out around him. He had here a number of negroes well acquainted with felling of trees and managing saw-mills, of which he erected several. And while these were employed in carrying on a very advantageous trade of deals and lumber, which were floated down on rafts to New-York, they were at the same time clearing the ground for the colony the colonel was preparing to establish.

This new settlement was an asylum for every one who wanted bread and a home: from the variety of employments regularly distributed, every artisan and every labourer found here lodging and occupation; some hundreds of people, indeed, were employed at once. Those who were in winter engaged at the saw-mills, were in summer equally busied at a large and productive fishery. The artisans got lodging and firing for two or three years, at first, besides being well paid for every thing they did. Flax was raised and dressed, and finally spun and made into linen there; and as artisans were very scarce in the country, every one sent linen to weave, flax to dress, &c. to the colonel’s colony. He paid them liberally; and having always abundance of money in his hands, could afford to be the loser at first, to be amply repaid in the end. It is inconceivable what dexterity, address, and deep policy were exhibited in the management of this new settlement; the growth of which was rapid beyond belief. Every mechanic ended in being a farmer, that is, a profitable tenant to the owner of the soil; and new recruits of artisans from the north of Ireland chiefly supplied their place, nourished with the golden dews which this sagacious projector could so easily command. The rapid increase and advantageous result of this establishment were astonishing. It is impossible for my imperfect recollection to do justice to the capacity displayed in these regulations. But I have thus endeavoured to trace to its original source that wealth and power which became, afterwards, the means of supporting an aggression so formidable.

In the front of Madame’s house was a portico, towards the street. To this she was supported, in fine evenings, when the whole town were enjoying themselves on their respective seats of one kind or other. To hers there were a few steps of ascent, on which we used humbly to seat ourselves; while a succession of the “elders of that city” paid their respects to madame, and conversed with her by turns. Never was levee better attended. “Aunt Schuyler is come out,” was a talismanic sentence that produced pleasure in every countenance, and set every one in motion who hoped to be well received; for, as I have formerly observed, aunt knew the value of time much too well to devote it to every one. We lived all this time next door to her, and were often of these evening parties.

The Indian war was now drawing to a close, after occasioning great disquiet, boundless expense, and some bloodshed. Even when we had the advantage which our tactics and artillery in some instances gave, it was a warfare of the most precarious and perplexing kind. It was something like hunting in a forest at best; could you but have supposed the animals you pursued armed with missile weapons, and ever ready to start out of some unlooked-for place. Our faithful Indian confederates, as far as I can recollect, were more useful to us on this occasion than all the dear-bought apparatus which we collected for the purpose of destroying an enemy too wise and too swift to permit us to come in sight of them; or, if determined to attack us, sufficiently dexterous to make us feel before we saw them. We said, however, that we conquered Pondiac, at which, no doubt, he smiled; for the truth of the matter was, the conduct of this war resembled a protracted game of chess. He was as little able to take our forts without cannon, as we were able without the feet, the eyes, and the instinctive sagacity of Indians, to trace them to their retreats. After delighting ourselves for a long while with the manner in which we were to punish Pondiac’s presumption, “could we but once catch him,” all ended in our making a treaty, very honourable for him, and not very disadvantageous to ourselves. We gave both presents and promises, and Pondiac gave permission to the mothers of those children who had been taken away from the frontier settlements, to receive them back again, on condition of delivering up the Indian prisoners.

The joyful day when the congress was held for concluding peace I never shall forget. Another memorable day is engraven in indelible characters upon my memory. Madame being deeply interested in the projected exchange, brought about a scheme for having it take place at Albany, which was more central than any other place, and where her influence among the Mohawks could be of use in getting intelligence about the children, and sending messages to those who had adopted them, and who, by this time, were very unwilling to part with them. In the first place, because they were grown very fond of them; and again, because they thought the children would not be so happy in our manner of life, which appeared to them both constrained and effeminate. This exchange had a large retrospect. For ten years back there had been every now and then, while these Indians were in the French interest, ravages upon the frontiers of the different provinces. In many instances, these children had been snatched away while their parents were working in the fields, or after they were killed. A certain day was appointed, on which all who had lost their children, or sought those of their relations were to come to Albany in search of them; where, on that day, all Indians possessed of white children, were to present them. Poor women, who had travelled some hundred miles from the back settlements of Pennsylvania and New-England, appeared here, with anxious looks and aching hearts, not knowing whether their children were alive, or how exactly to identify them if they should meet them. I observed these apprehensive and tender mothers were, though poor people, all dressed with peculiar neatness and attention, each wishing the first impression her child should receive of her might be a favourable one. On a gentle slope near the fort, stood a row of temporary huts, built by retainers to the troops: the green before these buildings was the scene of these pathetic recognitions, which I did not fail to attend. The joy of even the happy mothers was overpowering, and found vent in tears; but not like the bitter tears of those who, after long travel, found not what they sought. It was affecting to see the deep and silent sorrow of the Indian women, and of the children, who knew no other mother, and clung fondly to their bosoms, from whence they were not torn without the most piercing shrieks; while their own fond mothers were distressed beyond measure at the shyness and aversion with which these long-lost objects of their love received their caresses. I shall never forget the grotesque figures and wild looks of these young savages; nor the trembling haste with which their mothers arrayed them in the new clothes they had brought for them, as hoping that with the Indian dress, they would throw off their habits and attachments. It was, in short, a scene impossible to describe, but most affecting to behold. Never was my good friend’s considerate liberality and useful sympathy more fully exerted than on this occasion, which brought so many poor travellers from their distant homes on this pilgrimage to the shrine of nature. How many traders did she persuade to take them gratis in their boats! How many did she feed and lodge! and in what various ways did she serve or make others serve them all. No one, indeed, knew how to refuse a request of aunt Schuyler, who never made one for herself.

The fifty-fifth now left their calm abodes amidst their lakes and forests, with the joy of children breaking up from their school; little aware that they were bidding adieu to quiet, plenty, and freedom, and utter strangers to the world into which they were about to plunge. They all came down to Albany. Captain Mungo Campbell was charmed to find me so familiar with his Milton; while I was equally charmed to find him a favourite with aunt Schuyler, which was with me the criterion of merit. Colonel Duncan, for such he was now, marched proudly at the head of his pupils, whom he had carried up raw youths, but brought back with all the manly and soldierly openness of manner and character that could be wished, and with minds greatly improved. Meanwhile, madame’s counsels had so much influence on my father, that he began seriously to think of settling in America. To part with his beloved fifty-fifth was very trying; yet his prospects of advantage in remaining among a people by whom he was esteemed, and to whom he had really become attached, were very flattering; for by the aid of aunt and the old inhabitants, and friendly Indians, who were at her powerful bidding, he could expect to get advantageously some lands which he, in common with other officers who served in America, was entitled to. He having a right to apply for the allotted quantity wherever he found it vacant, that is, in odd unoccupied places, between different patents, which it required much local knowledge of the country to discover, had greatly the advantage of strangers; because he could get information of those secluded spots here and there, that were truly valuable; whereas other officers belonging to regiments disbanded in the country, either did not find it convenient to go to the expense of taking out a patent, and surveying the lands, and so sold their rights for a trifle to others; or else half a dozen went together, and made a choice, generally an injudicious one, of some large tract of ground, which would not have been so long unsolicited had it been of real value. My father bought the rights of two young officers who were in a hurry to go to Europe, and had not, perhaps, wherewithal to go through the necessary forms used to appropriate a particular spot, the expense of that process being considerable. Accordingly, he became a consequential landholder, and had half his pay to boot.

The fifty-fifth were now preparing to embark for that home which they regarded with enthusiasm; this extended to the lowest ranks, who were absolutely home-sick. They had, too, from the highest to the lowest, been enabled, from their unexpensive mode of living, to lay up some money. Never was there a body of men more uncorrupted and more attached to each other. Military men contract a love of variety in their wandering manner of life, and always imagine they are to find some enjoyment in the next quarters that they have not had in this; so that the order for march is generally a joyful summons to the younger officers at least. To these novices, who, when they thought the world of variety, glory, and preferment was open before them, were ordered up into the depth of unexplored forests, to be kept stationary for years together, without even the amusement of a battle, it was sufficiently disappointing. Yet afterwards I have been told that, in all the changes to which this hapless regiment was subjected, they looked back on the years spent on the lakes as the happiest of their lives.

My father parted with them with extreme regret, but he had passed the rubicon—that is to say, taken out his patent, and stay he must. He went, however, to New-York with them, and here a very unexpected scene opened. Many of the soldiers who had saved little sums, had deposited them in my father’s hands, and, when he gave every one his own at New-York, he had great pleasure in seeing their exultation, and the purchases they were making. When, all of a sudden, a thunderbolt burst among these poor fellows, in the shape of an order to draft the greatest part of them to Pensacola, to renew regiments who, placed on a bar of burning sand, with a salt marsh before and a swamp behind, were lingering out a wretched and precarious existence, daily cut short by disease in some new instance. Words are very inadequate to give an idea of the horror that pervaded this band of veterans. When this order was most unexpectedly read at the head of the regiment, it was worse to most of them than a sentence of immediate death. They were going to a dismal and detested quarter, and they were going to become part of a regiment of no repute; whom they themselves had held in the utmost contempt when they had formerly served together. The officers were not a little affected by this cruel order; to part with brave well-disciplined men, who, by their singular good conduct, and by the habits of sharing with their officers in the chase, and in their agricultural amusements, fishing parties, &c. had acquired a kindly nearness to them, not usually subsisting between those who command and they who must implicitly obey. What ties were broken! what hopes were blasted by this fatal order! These sad exiles embarked for Pensacola at the same time that their comrades set out for Ireland. My father returned, sunk in the deepest sadness, which was increased by our place of abode; for we had removed to the forsaken fort, where there was no creature but ourselves and three or four soldiers, who chose to stay in the country, and for whom my father had procured their discharge.

I was, in the mean time, more intimate than ever at aunt Schuyler’s; attracted not only by her kindness, but my admiration for Mrs. Cuyler, and attachment for her lovely little girl. The husband of the former was now returned from his West-India voyage, and they retired to a house of their own, meaning to succeed to that business which the mayor, now wealthy and infirm, was quitting. Cortlandt Schuyler, the general’s brother, and his sprightly agreeable wife, were now, as well as the couple formerly mentioned, frequent visitors at aunt’s, and made a very pleasing addition to her familiar circle. I began to be considered as almost a child of the family, and madame took much pains in instructing me, hoping that I would continue attached to her, and knowing that my parents were much flattered by her kindness, and fully conscious of the advantages I derived from it. With her aid, my father’s plan of proceeding was fully digested. He was to survey and locate his lands, (that was the phrase used for such transactions,) and at leisure, (as the price of lands was daily rising,) to let them out on lease. He was to reserve a good farm for himself, but not to reside upon it till the lands around it were cultivated, and so many settlers gone up as would make the district, in a degree, civilized and populous; a change which was like to take place very rapidly, as there were daily emigrations to that neighbourhood, which was become a favourite rallying point, on account of a flourishing and singularly well-conducted settlement which I have already mentioned, under the auspices of Colonel Schuyler in this quarter.

My father went up in summer with a retinue of Indians and disbanded soldiers, &c. headed by a land surveyor. In that country, men of this description formed an important and distinct profession. They were provided with an apparatus of measuring-chains, tents, and provision. It was, upon the whole, an expensive expedition; but this was the less to be regretted, as the object proved fully adequate. Never was a location more fertile or more valuable, nor the possessor of an estate more elated with his acquisition. A beautiful stream passed through the midst of the property; beyond its limits, on one side, rose a lofty eminence, covered with tall cedar, which being included in no patent, would be a common good, and offered an inexhaustible supply of timber and firing, after the lands should be entirely cleared. This sylvan scene appeared, even in its wild state, to possess singular advantages; it was dry lying land, without the least particle of swamp; great part of it was covered with chesnuts, the sure indication of good wheat land, and the rest with white oak, the never-failing forerunner of good Indian corn and pasture. The ground, at the time of the survey, was in a great measure covered with strawberries, the sure sign of fertility; and better and better still, there was, on a considerable stream which watered this region of benediction, a beaver-dam, that was visibly of at least fifty years standing. What particular addition our over-flowing felicity was to derive from the neighbourhood of these sagacious builders, may not be easily conjectured. It was not their society, for they were much too wise to remain in our vicinity, nor yet their example, which, though a very good one, we were scarce wise enough to follow. Why then did we so much rejoice over the dwelling of these old settlers? Merely because their industry had saved us much trouble; for in the course of their labours, they had cleared above thirty acres of excellent hay land; work which we should take a long time to execute, and not perform near so well; the truth was, this industrious colony, by whose previous labour we were thus to profit, were already extirpated, to my unspeakable sorrow, who had been creating a beaver Utopia ever since I heard of the circumstance. The protection I was to afford them, the acquaintance I was to make with them, after conquering the first shyness, and the delight I was to have in seeing them work, after convincing them of their safety, occupied my whole attention, and helped to console me for the drafting of the fifty-fifth, which I had been ever since lamenting. How buoyant is the fancy of childhood! I was mortified to the utmost to hear there were no beavers remaining; yet the charming, though simple description my father gave us of this “vale of bliss,” which the beavers had partly cleared, and the whole “township of Clarendon,” (so was the new laid out territory called,) consoled me for all past disappointments. It is to be observed, that the political and economical regulations of the beavers, make their neighbourhood very desirable to new settlers. They build houses and dams with unwearied industry, as every one that has heard of them must needs know; but their unconquerable attachment to a particular spot is not so well known; the consequence is, that they work more, and of course clear more land in some situations than in others. When they happen to pitch upon a stream that overflows often in spring, it is apt lo carry away the dam, formed of large trees laid across the stream, which it has cost them unspeakable pains to cut down and bring there. Whenever these are destroyed, they cut down more trees and construct another; and as they live all winter on the tender twigs from the underwood and bark which they strip from poplar and alder, they soon clear these also from the vicinity. In the day-time they either mend their houses, lay up stores in them, or fish, sitting upon their dams made for that purpose. The night they employ in cutting down trees, which they always do so as to make them fall towards the stream, or in dragging them to the dam. Meanwhile they have always sentinels placed near to give the alarm, in case of any intrusion. It is hard to say when these indefatigable animals refresh themselves with sleep. I have seen those that have been taken young and made very tame, so that they followed their owner about; even in these the instinct which prompts their nocturnal labours was apparent. When all was quiet, they began to work. Being discontented and restless, if confined, it was usual to leave them in the yard. They seemed in their civilized, or rather degraded state, to retain an idea that it was necessary to convey materials for building to their wonted habitation. The consequence was, that a single one would carry such quantities of wood to the back door, that you would find your way blocked up in the morning, to a degree almost incredible.

Being very much inclined to be happy, and abundant in resources, the simple felicity which was at some future period to prevail among the amiable and innocent tenants we were to have at Clarendon, filled my whole mind. Before this flattering vision, all painful recollections, and even all the violent love which I had persuaded myself to feel for my native Britain, entirely vanished.

The only thing that disturbed me, was aunt Schuyler’s age, and the thoughts of outliving her, which sometimes obtruded among my day dreams of more than mortal happiness. I thought all this could scarce admit of addition; yet a new source of joy was opened, when I found that we were actually going to live at the Flats. That spot, rendered sacred by the residence of aunt, where I should trace her steps wherever I moved, dwell under the shadow of her trees, and, in short, find her in every thing I saw. We did not aspire to serious farming, reserving that effort for our own estate, of which we talked very magnificently, and indeed had some reason, it being as valuable as so much land could be: and from its situation in a part of the country which was hourly acquiring fresh inhabitants, its value daily increased, which consideration induced my father to refuse several offers for it; resolved either to people it with Highland emigrants, or retain it in his own hands till he should get his price.

Sir Henry Moore, the last British governor of New-York that I remember, came up this summer to see Albany, and the ornament of Albany—aunt Schuyler; he brought Lady Moore and his daughter with him. They resided for some time at General Schuyler’s, I call him so by anticipation; for sure I am, had any gifted seer foretold then what was to happen, he would have been ready to answer, “Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?” Sir Harry, like many of his predecessors, was a mere show governor, and old Cadwallader Colden, the lieutenant governor, continued to do the business, and enjoy the power in its most essential branches, such as giving patents for lands, &c. Sir Harry, in the meantime, had never thought of business in his life: he was honourable, as far as a man could be so, who always spent more than he had; he was, however, gay, good natured, and well bred, affable and courteous in a very high degree, and if the business of a governor was merely to keep the governed in good humour, no one was fitter for that office than he, the more so, as he had sense enough to know two things of great importance to be known: one was, that a person of tried wisdom and good experience like Colden, was fitter to transact the business of the province, than any dependent of his own; the other, that he was totally unfit to manage it himself. The government house was the scene of frequent festivities and weekly concerts, Sir Henry being very musical, and Lady Moore peculiarly fitted for doing the honours of a drawing-room or entertainment. They were too fashionable, and too much hurried to find time for particular friendships, and too good natured and well bred to make invidious distinctions, so that, without gaining very much either of esteem or affection, they pleased every one in the circle around them; and this general civility of theirs, in the storm which was about to arise, had its use. In the beginning, before the tempest broke loose in all its fury, it was like oil poured on agitated waters, which produces a temporary calm immediately round the ship. As yet the storm only muttered at a distance, but madame was disturbed by anxious presages. In her case,

But it was not new to her to prophecy in vain. I, for my part, was charmed with the manners of these exalted visitors of aunt’s, and not a little proud of their attention to her, not knowing that they showed pretty much the same attention to every one.

While I was dancing on air with the thoughts of going to live at the Flats, of the beauties of Clarendon, and many other delights which I had created to myself, an event took place that plunged us all in sorrow; it was the death of the lovely child Catalina, who was the object of much fondness to us all, for my parents, bating the allowance to be made for enthusiasm, were as fond of her as I was. Madame had set her heart very much on this engaging creature; she mustered up all her fortitude to support the parents of her departed favourite, but suffered much notwithstanding. Here began my acquaintance with sorrow. We went, however, to the Flats in autumn. Our family consisted of a negro girl, and a soldier, who had followed my father’s fortunes from Scotland, and stuck to him through every change. We did not mean to farm, but had merely the garden, orchard, and enclosure for hay, two cows, a horse for my father, and a colt, which, to my great delight, was given me as a present. Many sources of comfort and amusement were now cut off from madame; her nephew and his lively and accomplished wife had left her; Dr. Ogilvie was removed to New-York, and had a successor no way calculated to supply his place. This year she had lost her brother-in-law Cornelius Cuyler,^[23] whose sound sense and intelligence made his society of consequence to her, independent of the great esteem and affection she had for him. The army, among whom she always found persons of information and good breeding, in whose conversation she could take pleasure which might be truly called such, were gone. Nothing could compensate, in her opinion, for the privation of that enjoyment; she read, but then the people about her had so little taste for reading, that she had not her wonted pleasure in that, for want of some one with whom she could discuss the topics suggested by her studies. It was in this poverty of society, such as she was accustomed to enjoy, that she took a fancy to converse much with me, to regret my want of education, and to take a particular interest in my employments and mental improvement. That I might more entirely profit by her attention, she requested my parents to let me pass the winter with her: this invitation they gladly complied with.

The winter at the Flats was sufficiently melancholy, and rendered less agreeable by some unpleasant neighbours we had. These were a family from New-England, who had been preparing to occupy lands near those occupied by my father. They had been the summer before recommended to aunt’s generous humanity, as honest people, who merely wanted a shelter in a room in her empty house, till they should build a temporary hut on those new lands which they were about to inhabit. When we came, the time permitted to them had long elapsed, but my father, who was exceedingly humane, indulged them with a fortnight more after our arrival, on the pretence of the sickness of a child; and there they sat, and would not remove for the winter, unless coercion had been used for that purpose. We lived on the road side. There was at that time a perpetual emigration going on from the provinces of New England to our back settlements. Our acquaintance with the family who kept possession beside us, and with many of even the better sort, who came to bargain with my father about his lands, gave us more insight than we wished into the prevalent character of those people, whom we found conceited, litigious, and selfish beyond measure. My father was told that the only safe way to avoid being overreached by them in a bargain, was to give them a kind of tacit permission to sit down on his lands, and take his chance of settling with them when they were brought into some degree of cultivation; for if one did bargain with them, the custom was to have it three years free for clearing, at the end of which, the rents or purchase money was paid. By that time, any person who had expended much labour on land, would rather pay a reasonable price or rent for it, than be removed.

In the progress of his intercourse with these very vulgar, insolent, and truly disagreeable people, my father began to disrelish the thoughts of going up to live among them. They flocked indeed so fast, to every unoccupied spot, that their malignant and envious spirit, their hatred of subordination, and their indifference to the mother country, began to spread like a taint of infection.

These illiberal opinions, which produced manners equally illiberal, were particularly wounding to disbanded officers, and to the real patriots, who had consulted in former times the happiness of the country, by giving their zealous co-operation to the troops sent to protect it. These two classes of people began now to be branded as the slaves of arbitrary power, and all tendencies to elegance or refinement were despised as leading to aristocracy. The consequence of all this was, such an opposition of opinions, as led people of the former description to seek each other’s society exclusively. Winter was the only time that distant friends met there, and to avoid the chagrin resulting from this distempered state of society, veterans settled in the country were too apt to devote themselves to shooting and fishing, taking refuge from languor in these solitary amusements.

We had one brave and royal neighbour, however, who saw us often, and was “every inch a gentleman;” this was Pedrom, aunt’s brother-in-law, in whom lived the spirit of the Schuylers, and who was our next neighbour and cordial friend. He was now old, detached from the world, and too hard of hearing to be an easy companion; yet he had much various information, and was endeared to us by similarity of principle.

Matters were beginning to be in this state the first winter I went to live with aunt. Her friends were much dispersed; all conversation was tainted with politics, Cromwellian politics too, which of all things, she disliked. Her nephew, Courtlandt Schuyler, who had been a great Nimrod ever since he could carry a gun, and who was a man of strict honour and nice feelings, took such a melancholy view of things, and so little relished that Stamp Act, which was the exclusive subject of all conversation, that he devoted himself more and more to the chase, and seemed entirely to renounce a society which he had never greatly loved. As I shall not refer to him again, I shall only mention here, that this estimable person was taken away from the evil to come two years after, by a premature death, being killed by a fall from his horse in hunting. What sorrows were hid from his eyes by this timely escape from scenes which would have been to him peculiarly wounding!

If madame’s comforts in society were diminished, her domestic satisfactions were not less so. By the time I came to live with her, Mariamat and Dianamat were almost superannuated, and had lost, in a great measure, the restraining power they used to exercise over their respective offspring. Their woolly heads were snow white, and they were become so feeble, that they sat each in her great chair, at the opposite side of the fire; their wonted jealousy was now embittered to rancour, and their love of tobacco greater than ever. They were arrived at that happy period of ease and indolence, which left them at full liberty to smoke and scold the whole day long; this they did with such unwearied perseverance, and in a manner so ludicrous, that to us young people they were a perpetual comedy.

Sorely now did aunt lament the promise she had kept so faithfully, never to sell any of the Colonel’s negroes. There was so little to do for fourteen persons, except the business they created for each other, and it was so impossible to keep them from too freely sharing the plenty of her liberal house, that idleness and abundance literally began to corrupt them.

All these privations and uneasinesses will in some measure account for such a person as madame taking such pleasure in the society of an overgrown child. But then she was glad to escape from dark prospects and cross politics, to the amusement derived from the innocent cheerfulness natural to that time of life. A passion for reading, and a very comprehensive memory too, had furnished my mind with more variety of knowledge, than fell to the lot of those, who, living in large families, and sharing the amusements of childhood, were not, like me, driven to that only resource. All this will help to account for a degree of confidence and favour daily increasing, which ended in my being admitted to sleep in a little bed beside her, which never happened to any other. In the winter nights, our conversation often encroached on the earlier hours of morning. The future appeared to her dubious and cheerless, which was one reason, I suppose, that her active mind turned solely on retrospection. She saw that I listened with delighted attention to the tales of other times, which no one could recount so well. These, too, were doubly interesting, as, like the sociable angel’s conversation with our first father, they related to the origin and formation of all I saw around me; they afforded food for reflection, to which I was very early addicted, and hourly increased my veneration for her whom I already considered as my polar star. The great love I had for her first gave interest to her details; and again, the nature of these details increased my esteem for the narrator. Thus passed this winter of felicity, which so much enlarged my stock of ideas, that in looking back upon it, I thought I had lived three years in one.

Summer came, and with it visitors, as usual, to madame, from New-York and other places; among whom, I remember, were her nieces, Mrs. L. and Mrs. C. I went to the Flats, and was, as usual, kept very close to my needle-work; but though there was no variety to amuse me, summer slid by very fast. My mind was continually occupied with aunt, and all the passages of her life. My greatest pleasure was to read over again the books I had read to her, and recollect her observations upon them. I often got up and went out to the door to look at places where particular things had happened. She spent the winter’s nights in retrospections of her past life; and I spent the summer days in retrospections of these winter nights. But these were not my only pleasures. The banks of the river and the opposite scenery delighted me; and, adopting all aunt’s tastes and attachments, I made myself believe I was very fond of Pedrom and Susannah Muet, as the widow of Jeremiah was called. My attention to them excited their kindness; and the borrowed sentiment, on my part, soon became a real one. These old friends were very amusing. But then I had numberless young friends, who shared my attention, and were, in their own way, very amusing too. These were the objects of my earliest cares in the morning, and my needless solicitude all day. I had marked down in a list between thirty and forty nests of various kinds of birds. It was an extreme dry summer, and I saw the parent birds, whom I diligently watched, often panting with heat, and, as I thought, fatigued. After all I had heard and seen of aunt, I thought it incumbent on me to be good and kind to some being that needed my assistance. To my fellow-creatures, my power did not extend; therefore I wisely resolved to adapt my mode of beneficence to the sphere of action assigned to me, and decided upon the judicious scheme of assisting all these birds to feed their young. My confederate Marian, (our negro girl,) entered heartily into this plan; and it was the business of the morning, before tasks commenced, to slaughter innumerable insects, and gather quantities of cherries and other fruit for that purpose. Portions of this provision we laid beside every nest, and then applauded ourselves for saving the poor birds fatigue. This, from a pursuit, became a passion. Every spare moment was devoted to it, and every hour made new discoveries of the nature and habits of our winged friends, which we considered as amply recompensing our labours.

The most eager student of natural philosophy could not be more attentive to those objects, or more intent on making discoveries. One sad discovery we made, that mortified us exceedingly. The mocking-bird is very scarce and very shy in this northern district. A pair came, however, to our inexpressible delight, and built a nest in a very high tree in our garden. Never was joy like ours. At the imminent risk of our necks, we made shift to ascend to this lofty dwelling during the absence of the owners: birds we found none; but three eggs of a colour so equivocal, that, deciding the point whether they were green or blue, furnished matter of debate for the rest of the day. To see these treasures was delightful, and to refrain from touching them impossible. One of the young we resolved to appropriate, contrary to our general humane procedure; and the next weighty affair to be discussed, was the form and size of the cage, which was to contain this embryo warbler. The parents, however, arrived. On examining the premises, by some mysterious mode of their own, they discovered that their secret had been explored, and that profane hands had touched the objects of all their tenderness. Their plaintive cries we too well understood. That whole evening and all the next day they were busied in the orchard; while their loud lamentations, constantly reiterated, pierced us with remorse. We soon saw the garden next forsaken; and a little further examination soon convinced us that the violated eggs had been transported to another, where, however, they were not hatched; the delicate instincts which directed these creatures to form a new nest, and carry off their eggs, on finding they had been handled, did not, at the same time inform them that eggs carried away, and shaken by that motion, during the process of incubation, cannot produce any thing.

The great barn, which I formerly described, afforded scope for our observations of this nature; and here we remarked a phenomenon, that I am still at a loss to account for. In the highest part of that spacious and lofty roof, multitudes of swallows, of the martin species, made their nests. These were constructed of mud or clay, as usual, and in the ordinary course of things, lasted, with some repairs, from year to year. This summer, however, being unusually hot and dry, the nests, in great numbers, cracked and fell down on the floor, with the young ones in them. We often found them in this situation, but always found the birds in them alive and unhurt; and saw the old ones come to feed them on the floor, which they did with such eager confidence, that they often brushed so near as to touch us. Now we could no other way account for the nests always coming down with the birds unhurt in them, but by supposing that the swallows watched the fracture of the nests, and when they saw them about to fall, came round the descending fabric, and kept it in a kind of equilibrium. Of these birds we stood in such profound awe, that we never profited by the accident which put them in our power; we would not, indeed, for any consideration, have touched them, especially after the sad adventure of the mocking-birds, which hung very heavy upon our consciences. Autumn came, and aunt came at the appointed day, the anniversary of his death, to visit the tomb of her beloved consort. This ceremony always took place at that time. She concluded it with a visit to us, and an earnest request for my returning with her, and remaining the winter.

The conversations between my father and aunt assumed a melancholy cast. Their hopes of a golden age in that country, (now that the flames of war were entirely quenched,) grew weaker. The repeal of the stamp act, occasioned excessive joy, but produced little gratitude. The youth of the town, before that news arrived, had abandoned their wonted sports, and began to amuse themselves with breaking the windows and destroying the furniture of two or three different people, who had, in succession, been suspected of being stamp-masters in embryo. My father grew fonder than ever of fishing and shooting, because birds and fish did not talk of tyranny or taxes. Sometimes we were refreshed by a visit from some of aunt’s nephews, the sons of the mayor. They always left us in great good humour, for they spoke respectfully of our dear king, and dearer country. But this sunshine was transient; they were soon succeeded by Obadiah or Zephaniah, from Hampshire or Connecticut, who came in without knocking; sat down without invitation; and lighted their pipes without ceremony; then talked of buying land; and finally, began a discourse on politics, which would have done honour to Praise God Barebones, or any of the members of his parliament. What is very singular is, that though the plain spoken and manly natives of our settlement had a general dislike to the character of these litigious and loquacious pretenders, such are the inconsistencies into which people are led by party, that they insensibly adopted many of their notions. With madame I was quite free from this plague. None of that chosen race ever entered her door. She valued time too much to devote it to a set of people whom she considered as greatly wanting in sincerity. I speak now of the Hampshire and Connecticut people. In towns and at sea-ports the old leaven had given way to that liberality which was produced by a better education, and an intercourse with strangers. Much as aunt’s loyal and patriotic feelings were hurt by the new mode of talking which prevailed, her benevolence was not cooled, nor her mode of living changed.

I continued to grow in favour with aunt this winter, for the best possible reasons; I was the only one of the family that would sit still with her. The young people in the house were by no means congenial with her; and each had a love affair in hand, fast ripening into matrimony, that took up all their thoughts. Mr. H. our chaplain, was plausible, but superficial, vain, and ambitious. He, too, was busied in hatching a project of another kind. On pretence of study, he soon retired to his room after meals, dreading, no doubt, that aunt might be in possession of Ithuriel’s spear, or to speak without a figure, might either fathom his shallowness, or detect his project. One of these discoveries he knew would sink him in her opinion, and the other exclude him from her house. For my part, I was always puzzling myself to consider why I did not more love and reverence Mr. H. who I took it for granted must needs be good, wise, and learned; for I thought a clergyman was all but inspired. Thus thinking, I wondered why I did not feel for Mr. H. what I felt for aunt in some degree; but unfortunately, Mr. H. was a true bred native of Connecticut, which, perhaps, helped more than any intuitive penetration into character, to prevent any excess of veneration. Aunt and I read Burnet’s memoirs and some biography this winter, and talked at least over much geography and natural history. Here, indeed, I was in some degree obliged to Mr. H. I mean for a few lessons on the globe. He had, too, an edition of Shakspeare. I have been trying, but in vain, to recollect what aunt said of this. Not much, certainly; but she was much pleased with the Essay on Man, &c. Yet I somehow understood that Shakspeare was an admired author, and was not a little mortified when I found myself unable to appreciate his merits. I suppose my taste had been vitiated by bombast tragedies I had read at Colonel E’s. I thought them grossly familiar, and very inferior to Cato, whom aunt had taught me to admire; in short, I was ignorant, and because I could read Milton, did not know my own ignorance. I did not expect to meet nature in a play, and therefore did not recognise her. It is not to be conceived how I puzzled over Hamlet, or how his assumed madness and abuse of Ophelia confounded me. Othello’s jealousy, and the manner in which he expressed it, were quite beyond my comprehension.

I mention these things as a warning to other young people not to admire by rote, but to wait the unfolding of their own taste, if they would derive real pleasure from the works of genius. I rather imagine I was afraid aunt would think I devoted too much time to what I then considered as a trifling book. For I remember reading Hamlet the third or fourth time, in a frosty night, by moonlight, in the back porch. This, reiterated perusal was not in consequence of any great pleasure it afforded me; but I was studiously labouring to discover the excellence I thought it must needs contain, yet with more diligence than success. Madame was at this time, I imagine, foreseeing a storm, and trying to withdraw her mind as much as possible from earthly objects.

Forty years before this period, a sister of the deceased colonel had married a very worthy man by the name of Wendell. He being a person of an active, enterprising disposition, and possessing more portable wealth than usually fell to the share of the natives there, was induced to join some great commercial company near Boston, and settled there. He was highly prosperous, and much beloved, and for a while cultivated a constant commerce with the friends he left behind. When he died, however, his wife, who was a meek, benevolent woman, without distrust, and a stranger to business, was very ill treated. Her sons, who had been married in the country, died. Their connexions secured the family property for their children. In the primitive days of New-York, a marriage settlement was an unheard-of thing. Far from her native home, having outlived her friends, helpless and uncomplaining, this good woman, who had lived all her days in the midst of deserved affluence and affection, was now stripped by chicanery of all her rights, and sinking into poverty without a friend or comforter. Aunt immediately upon hearing this, set on foot a negotiation to get Mrs. Wendell’s affairs regulated, so that she might have the means of living with comfort in a country in which long residence had naturalized her; or that failing, to bring her home to reside with herself. Perhaps in the whole course of her life she had not experienced so much of the depravity of human nature, as this inquiry unfolded to her. The negotiation, however, cheered and busied her at a time when she greatly needed some exertion of mind to check the current of thought produced by the rapid and astonishing change of manners and sentiments around her. But in our province there were two classes of people who absolutely seemed let loose by the demon of discord, for the destruction of public peace and private confidence. One of these was composed of lawyers, who multiplied so fast that one would think they rose like mushrooms from the earth. For many years one lawyer was sufficient for the whole settlement. But the swarm of these, which had made so sudden and portentous an appearance, had been encouraged to choose that profession, because a wide field was open for future contention, merely from the candour and simplicity of the last generation.

Not in the least distrusting each other, nor aware of the sudden rise of the value of lands, these primitive colonists got large grants from government, to encourage their efforts in the early stages of cultivation; these lands being first purchased, for some petty consideration, from the Indians, who alone knew the land-marks of that illimitable forest.

The boundaries of such large grants, when afterwards confirmed by government, were distinguished by the terms used by the Indians, who pointed them out; and very extraordinary marks they were. For instance, one that I recollect. “We exchange with our brother Cornelius Rensselear, for so many strouds, guns, &c. the lands beginning at the beaver creek, going on northward, to the great fallen plane tree, where our tribe slept last summer; then eastward, to the three great cedars on the hillock; then westward, strait to the wild duck swamp; and strait on from the swamp to the turn in the beaver creek where the old dam was.”

Such are the boundaries, seriously described in this manner, in one of the earliest patents. The only mode, then existing, of fixing these vague limits was to mark large trees which grew at the corners of the property, with the owner’s name deeply cut, along with the date of the patent, &c. after blazing, that is to say, cutting deeply into the tree, for a plain space to hold this inscription.

In this primitive manner were all the estates in the province bounded. Towards the sea this did very well, as the patents in a manner, bounded each other; and every one took care to prevent the encroachments of his neighbour. But in the interior, people took great stretches of land here and there, where there were not patented lands adjoining; there being no continuity of fertile ground, except on the banks of streams. The only security the public had against these trees being cut down, or others at a greater distance marked in their stead, was a law which made such attempts penal. This was a very nugatory threat; it being impossible to prove such an offence. Crimes of this nature, encroaching on the property of individuals, I believe, rarely happened; but to enlarge one’s boundary, by taking in a little of king George’s ground, to use a provincial phrase, was considered as no great harm; and, besides, many possessed extensive tracts of land unquestioned, merely on the strength of Indian grants, unsanctioned by government. One in particular, the proudest man I ever knew, had a law-suit with the king, for more land than would form a German principality. Now that the inundation of litigious new settlers, from Massachusetts’ bounds, had awakened the spirit of inquiry, to call it no worse, every day produced a fresh law-suit, and all of the same nature, about ascertaining boundaries. In one instance, where a gentleman was supposed to be unfairly possessed of a vast tract of fine land, a confederacy of British officers, I must confess, questioned his right; applying before hand for a grant of such lands as they could prove the possessor entitled to; and contributing among them a sum of money to carry on this great law-suit, which having been given against them in the province, they appealed to the Board of Trade and Plantations at home. Here the uncertainty of the law was very glorious indeed; and hence, from the gainful prospect opening before them, swarms of petulant, half-educated young men, started one knew not whence. And as these great law-suits were matter of general concern, no one knowing whose turn might be next, all conversation begun to be infected with litigious cant; and every thing seemed unstable and perplexed.

Another class of people contributed their share to destroy the quiet and order of the country. While the great army, that had now returned to Britain, had been stationed in America, the money they spent there, had, in a great measure centered in New-York, where many ephemeral adventurers begun to flourish as merchants, who lived in a gay and even profuse style, and affected the language and manners of the army on which they depended. Elated with sudden prosperity, those people attempted every thing that could increase their gains; and, finally, at the commencement of the Spanish war, fitted out several privateers, which, being sent to cruise near the mouth of the Gulf of Florida, captured several valuable prizes. Money so easily got was as lightly spent, and proved indeed ruinous to those who shared it; they being thus led to indulge in expensive habits, which continued after the means that supplied them were exhausted. At the departure of the army trade languished among these new people; their British creditors grew clamorous: the primitive inhabitants looked cold upon them; and nothing remained for them but that self banishment, which, in that country, was the usual consequence of extravagance and folly, a retreat to the woods. Yet, even in these primeval shades, there was no repose for the vain and the turbulent. It was truly amusing to see these cargoes of rusticated fine ladies and gentlemen going to their new abodes, all lassitude and chagrin; and very soon after, to hear of their attempts at finery, consequence, and pre-eminence, in the late invaded residence of bears and beavers. There, no pastoral tranquillity, no sylvan delights awaited them. In this forced retreat to the woods they failed not to carry with them those household gods which they had worshipped in town; the pious Eneas was not more careful of his Penates, nor more desirous of establishing them in his new residence. These are the persons of desperate circumstances, expensive habits, and ambitious views; who, like the “tempest-loving raven,” delight in changes, and anticipate, with guilty joy, the overturn of states in which they have nothing to lose, and have hopes of rising on the ruins of others. The lawyers, too, foresaw that the harvest they were now reaping from the new mode of inquiry into disputed titles, could not be of long duration. They did not lay a regular plan for the subversion of the existing order of things; but they infected the once plain and primitive conversation of the people with law jargon which spread like a disease, and was the more fatal to elegance, simplicity, and candour, as there were no rival branches of science, the cultivation of which might have divided people’s attention with this dry contentious theme.

The spirit of litigation, which narrowed and heated every mind, was a great nuisance to madame, who took care not to be much troubled with it in conversation, because she discountenanced it at her table, where, indeed, no petulant upstarts were received. She was, however, persecuted with daily references to her recollections with regard to the traditionary opinions relative to boundaries, &c. While she sought refuge in the peaceable precincts of the gospel, from the tumultuous contests of the law which she always spoke of with dislike, she was little aware that a deserter from her own camp was about to join the enemy. Mr. H. our chaplain, became, about this time, very reserved and absent; law and politics were no favourite topics in our household, and these alone seemed much to interest our divine. Many thought aunt was imposed on by this young man, and took him to be what he was not; but this was by no means the case. She neither thought him a wit, a scholar, or a saint; but merely a young man, who, to very good intentions and a blameless life, added the advantages of a better education than fell to the lot of laymen there; simplicity of manners, and some powers of conversation, with a little dash of the coxcomb, rendered tolerable by great good nature.

Vanity, however, was the rock on which our chaplain split: he found himself, among the circle he frequented, the one-eyed king in the kingdom of the blind; and thought it a pity such talents should be lost in a profession where, in his view of the subject, bread and peace were all that were to be expected. The first intelligence I heard was, that Mr. H. on some pretence or other, often went to the neighbouring town of Schenectady now rising into consequence, and there openly renounced his profession, and took out a license as a practising lawyer. It is easy to conjecture how madame must have considered this wanton renunciation of the service of the altar for a more gainful pursuit, aggravated by simulation at least; for this seeming open and artless character took all the benefit of her hospitality, and continued to be her inmate the whole time that he was secretly carrying on a plan he knew she would reprobate. She, however, behaved with great dignity on the occasion; supposing, no doubt, that the obligations she had conferred upon him, deprived her of a right to reproach or reflect upon him. She was never after heard to mention his name; and when others did, always shifted the conversation.

All these revolutions in manners and opinions helped to endear me to aunt, as a pupil of her own school; while my tenacious memory enabled me to entertain her with the wealth of others’ minds, rendered more amusing by the simplicity of my childish comments. Had I been capable of flattery, or rather, had I been so deficient in natural delicacy, as to say what I really thought of this exalted character, the awe with which I regarded her would have deterred me from such presumption; but as I really loved and honoured her, as virtue personified, and found my chief happiness in her society and conversation, she could not but be aware of this silent adulation, and she became indeed more and more desirous of having me with her. To my father, however, I was now become, in some degree, necessary, from causes somewhat similar. He, too, was sick of the reigning conversation; and being nervous and rather inclined to melancholy, begun to see things in the darkest light, and made the most of a rheumatism, in itself bad enough, to have a pretext for indulging the chagrin that preyed upon his mind, and avoiding his Connecticut persecutors, who attacked him every where but in bed. A fit of chagrin was generally succeeded by a fit of home sickness, and that by a paroxysm of devotion exalted to enthusiasm; during which all worldly concerns were to give way to those of futurity. Thus melancholy and thus devout I found my father; whose pure and upright spirit was corroded with the tricks and chicanery he was forced to observe in his new associates, with whom his singular probity and simplicity of character rendered him very unfit to contend. My mother, active, cheerful, and constantly occupied with her domestic affairs, sought pleasure no where, and found content every where. I had begun to taste the luxury of intellectual pleasures with a very keen relish. Winter, always severe, but this year armed with tenfold vigour, checked my researches among birds and plants, which constituted my summer delights; and poetry was all that remained to me. While I was, “in some diviner mood,” exulting in these scenes of inspiration, opened to me by the “humanizing muse,” the terrible decree went forth, that I was to read no more “idle books or plays.” This decree was merely the result of a momentary fit of sickness and dejection, and never meant to be seriously enforced. It produced, however, the effect of making me read so much divinity that I fancied myself got quite “beyond the flaming bounds of space and time;” and thought I could never relish light reading any more. In this solemn mood, my greatest relaxation was a visit now and then to aunt’s sister-in-law, now entirely bed-ridden, but still possessing great powers of conversation, which were called forth by the flattering attention of a child to one whom the world had forsaken. I loved, indeed, play, strictly such, thoughtless, childish play, and next to that, calm reflection and discussion. The world was too busy and too artful for me. I found myself most at home with those who had not entered, or those who had left it.

My father’s illness was much aggravated by the conflict which begun to arise in his mind regarding his proposed removal to his lands, which were already surrounded by a new population, consisting of these fashionable emigrants from the gay world at New-York, whom I have been describing, and a set of fierce republicans, if any thing sneaking and drawling may be so called, whom litigious contention had banished from their native province, and who seemed let loose, like Samson’s foxes, to carry mischief and conflagration wherever they went. Among this motley crew there was no regular place of worship, nor any likely prospect that there should, for their religions had as many shades of difference as the leaves in autumn; and every man of substance who arrived, was preacher and magistrate to his own little colony. To hear their people talk, one would think time had run back to the days of the levellers. The settlers from New-York, however, struggled hard for superiority, but they were not equal in chicane to their adversaries, whose power lay in their cunning. It was particularly hard for people who acknowledged no superior, who had a thorough knowledge of law and scripture, ready to wrest to every selfish purpose, it was particularly hard, I say, for such all-sufficient personages to hold their lands from such people as my father and others, of “king George’s red coats,” as they elegantly styled them. But they were fertile in expedients. From the original establishment of these provinces, the Connecticut River had been accounted the boundary, to the east, of the province of New-York, dividing it from the adjoining one; this division was specified in old patents, and confirmed by analogy. All at once, however, our new tenants at will made a discovery, or rather had a revelation, purporting, that there was a twenty mile line, as they called it, which, in old times, had been carried thus far beyond the Connecticut River, into the bounds of what had ever been esteemed the province of New-York. It had become extremely fashionable to question the limits of individual property, but for so bold a stroke at a whole province, people were not prepared. The consequence of establishing this point was, that thus the grants made by the province of New-York, of lands not their own, could not be valid; and thus the property which had cost the owners so much to establish and survey, reverted to the other province, and was no longer theirs. This was so far beyond all imagination, that though there appeared not the smallest likelihood of its succeeding, as the plea must, in the end, be carried to Britain, people stood aghast, and saw no safety in living among those who were capable of making such daring strides over all established usage, and ready, on all occasions, to confederate where any advantage was in view, though ever engaged in litigious contentions with each other in their original home. This astonishing plea, during its dependence, afforded these dangerous neighbours a pretext to continue their usurped possession, till it should be decided to which province the lands really belonged. They even carried their insolence so far, that when a particular friend of my father’s, a worthy, upright man, named Munro, who possessed a large tract of land adjoining to his; when this good man, who had established a settlement, saw-mills, &c. came to fix some tenants of his on his lands, a body of these incendiaries came out, armed, to oppose them, trusting to their superior numbers and the peaceable disposition of our friend. Now, the fatal twenty mile line ran exactly through the middle of my father’s property. Had not the revolution followed so soon, there was no doubt of this claim being rejected in Britain; but in the mean time it served as a pretext for daily encroachment and insolent bravadoes. Much of my father’s disorder was owing to the great conflict in his mind. To give up every prospect of consequence and affluence, and return to Britain, leaving his property afloat among these ungovernable people, (to say no worse of them,) was very hard. Yet to live among them, and by legal coercion, force his due out of their hands, was no pleasing prospect. His good angel, it would seem in the sequel, whispered to him to return. Though, in human prudence, it appeared a fatal measure to leave so valuable a property in such hands, he thought, first, that he would stay two or three years; and then, when others had vanquished his antagonists, and driven them off the lands, which they, in the mean time, were busily clearing, he should return with a host of friends and kinsmen, and form a chosen society of his own. He, however, waited to see what change for the better another twelvemonth might produce. Madame, who was consulted on all his plans, did not greatly relish this; he, at length, half promised to leave me with her, till he should return from this expedition.

Returning for a short time to town in spring, I found aunt’s house much enlivened by a very agreeable visitor; this was Miss W. daughter to the Honourable Mr. W. of the council. Her elder sister was afterwards Countess of Cassilis, and she herself was not long afterwards married to the only native of the continent, I believe, who ever succeeded to the title of baronet. She possessed much beauty, understanding, and vivacity. Her playful humour exhilarated the whole household. I regarded her with admiration and delight; and her fanciful excursions afforded great amusement to aunt, and were like a gleam of sunshine amidst the gloom occasioned by the spirit of contention which was let loose among all manner of people.

The repeal of the stamp act having excited new hopes, my father found all his expectations of comfort and prosperity renewed by this temporary calm, and the proposed return to Britain was deferred for another year. Aunt, to our great joy, as we scarce hoped she would again make so distant a visit, came out to the Flats with her fair visitor, who was about to return to New-York. This lady, after going through many of the hardships to which persecuted loyalists were afterwards exposed, with her husband, who lost an immense property in the service of Government, is now with her family settled in upper Canada, where Sir J. J—n has obtained a large grant of lands, as a partial retribution for his great losses and faithful service.

Aunt again requested and again obtained permission for me to pass some time with her; and golden dreams of felicity at Clarendon again began to possess my imagination. I returned however, soon to the Flats, where my presence became more important, as my father became less eager in pursuit of field sports.

I brought out some volumes of Shakspeare with me, and remembering the prohibition of reading plays promulgated the former winter, was much at a loss how to proceed. I thought rightly that it was owing to a temporary fit of spleen. But then I knew my father was, like all military men, tenacious of his authority, and would possibly continue it merely because he had once said so. I recollected that he said he would have no plays brought to the house; and that I read them unchecked at madame’s, who was my model in all things. It so happened that the river had been higher than usual that spring, and in consequence, exhibited a succession of very amusing scenes. The settlers, whose increase above towards Stillwater, had been, for three years past, incredibly great, set up saw-mills on every stream, for the purpose of turning to account the fine timber which they cleared in great quantities off the new lands. The planks they drew in sledges to the side of the great river; and when the season arrived that swelled the stream to its greatest height, a whole neighbourhood assembled, and made their joint stock into a large raft, which was floated down the river with a man or two on it, who with long poles were always ready to steer it clear of those islands or shallows which might impede its course. There is something serenely majestic in the easy progress of those large bodies on the full stream of this copious river. Sometimes one sees a whole family transported on this simple conveyance; the mother calmly spinning, the children sporting about her, and the father fishing on one end, and watching its safety at the same time. These rafts were taken down to Albany and put on board vessels there for conveyance to New-York; sometimes, however, it happened that, as they proceeded very slowly, dry weather came on by the time they reached the Flats, and it became impossible to carry them further; in that case they were deposited in great triangular piles opposite our door. One of these, which was larger than ordinary, I selected for a reading closet. There I safely lodged my Shakspeare; and there in my play hours I went to read it undisturbed, with the advantage of fresh air, a cool shade, and a full view of the road on one side, and a beautiful river on the other. While I enjoyed undisturbed privacy, I had the prohibition full in my mind, but thought I should keep to the spirit of it by only reading the historical plays, comforting myself that they were true. These I read over and over with pleasure ever new; it was quite in my way, for I was familiarly acquainted with the English history; now, indeed, I began to relish Shakspeare, and to be astonished at my former blindness to his beauties. The contention of the rival roses occupied all my thoughts, and broke my rest. “Wind-changing Warwick” did not change oftener than I; but at length my compassion for holy Henry, and hatred to Richard, fixed me a Lancastrian. I began to wonder how any body could exist without reading Shakspeare, and at length resolved, at all risks, to make my father a sharer in my new-found felicity. Of the nature of taste I had not the least idea; so far otherwise, that I was continually revolving benevolent plans to distribute some of the poetry I most delighted in among the Bezaleels and Habakkuks of the twenty mile line. I thought this would make them happy as myself; and that when they once felt the charm of “musical delight,” the harsh language of contention would cease, and legal quibbling give way before the spirit of harmony. How often did I repeat Thomson’s description of the golden age, concluding,

At home, however, I was in some degree successful. My father did begin to take some interest in the roses, and I was happy, yet kept both my secret and my closet, and made more and more advances in the study of these “wood notes wild.” As you like it, and the Midsummer Night’s Dream enchanted me; and I thought the comfort of my closet so great, that I dreaded nothing so much as a flood, that should occasion its being once more set in motion. I was one day deeply engaged in compassionating Othello, sitting on a plank, added on the outside of the pile, for strengthening it, when happening to lift my eyes, I saw a long serpent on the same board, at my elbow, in a threatening attitude, with its head lifted up. Othello and I ran off together with all imaginable speed; and as that particular kind of snake seldom approaches any person, unless the abode of its young is invaded, I began to fear I had been studying Shakspeare in a nest of serpents. Our faithful servant examined the place at my request. Under the very board on which I sat, when terrified by this unwished associate, was found a nest with seven eggs. After being most thankful for my escape, the next thing was to admire the patience and good humour of the mother of this family, who permitted such a being as myself so long to share her haunt with impunity. Indeed, the rural pleasures of this country were always liable to those drawbacks; and this place was peculiarly infested with the familiar garter-snake, because the ruins of the burnt house afforded shelter and safety to these reptiles.

This adventure made me cautious of sitting out of doors, yet I daily braved a danger of the same nature, in the woods behind the house, which were my favourite haunts, and where I frequently saw snakes, yet was never pursued or annoyed by them. In this wood, half a mile from the house, was a swamp, which afforded a scene so totally unlike any thing else, that a description of it may amuse those who have never seen nature in that primitive state.

This swamp then, was in the midst of a pine wood, and was surrounded on two sides by little hills, some of which were covered with cedar, and others with the silver fir, very picturesque, and finely varied with shrubs, and every gradation of green. The swamp sunk into a hollow, like a large basin, exactly circular; round half of it, was a border of maple, the other half was edged with poplar. No creature ever entered this place in summer; its extreme softness kept it sacred from every human foot, for no one could go without the risk of being swallowed up. Different aquatic plants grew with great luxuriance in this quagmire, particularly bullrushes, and several beautiful species of the Iris, and the alder and willow; much of it, however, was open, and in different places the water seemed to form stagnant pools; in many places large trees had fallen of old, which were now covered with moss, and afforded a home to numberless wild animals. In the midst of this aquatic retreat, were two small islands of inconceivable beauty, that rose high above the rest, like the oasis of the deserts, and were dry and safe, though unapproachable. On one of these, I remember, grew three apple trees, an occurrence not rare here; for if a squirrel, for instance, happens to drop the seeds of an apple in a spot at once sheltered and fertile, at a lucky season they grow and bear, though with less vigour and beauty than those which are cultivated. That beautiful fruit, the wild plum, was also abundant on these little sanctuaries, as they might be called, for, conscious of impunity, every creature that flies the pursuit of man, gamboled in safety here, and would allow one to gaze at them from the brink of this natural fortress. One would think a congress of birds and animals had assembled here; never was a spot more animated and cheerful. There was nothing like it in the great forests; creatures here, aware of their general enemy, man, had chosen it as their last retreat. The black, the large silver grey, the little striped, and nimble flying squirrel, were all at home here, and all visible in a thousand fantastic attitudes. Pheasants and woodpeckers in countless numbers, displayed their glowing plumage, and the songsters of the forest, equally conscious of their immunity, made the marsh resound with their blended music, while the fox, here a small auburn coloured creature, the martin, and racoons occasionally appeared and vanished through the foliage. Often, on pretence of bringing home the cows in the morning, (when in their own leisurely way they were coming themselves,) I used to go, accompanied by my faithful Marian, to admire this swamp, at once a menagerie and aviary, and might truly say with Burns,

Not content, however, with the contemplation of animated nature, I began to entertain a fancy, which almost grew into a passion, for explaining

The ordinary plants of that country differ very much from those most frequent here; and this thirst for herbalizing, for I must dignify my humble researches with the name of botanical ones,) was a pleasing occupation. I made some progress in discovering the names and natures of these plants, I mean their properties; but unfortunately they were only Indian or Dutch names. This kind of knowledge, in that degree, is easily acquired there, because every one possesses it in some measure. Nothing surprised me so much, when I came to Britain, as to see young people so incurious about nature.

The woods behind our dwelling had been thinned to procure firing, and were more open and accessible than such places generally are. Walking one fine summer’s evening, with my usual attendant, a little further into the wood than usual, but far from any known inhabitant, I heard peals of laughter, not joyous only, but triumphant, issue from the bottom, as it seemed, of a large pine. Silence succeeded, and we looked at each other with a mixture of fear and wonder, for it grew darkish. At last we made a whispered agreement to glide nearer among the bushes, and explore the source of all this merriment. Twilight, solemn every where, is awful in these forests; our awe was presently increased by the appearance of a light that glimmered and disappeared by turns. Loud laughter was again reiterated, and at length a voice cried, “How pretty he is!” while another answered in softer accents, “See how the dear creature runs!” We crept on, cheered by these sounds, and saw a handsome good natured looking man, in a ragged provincial uniform, sitting on the stump of a tree. Opposite, on the ground, sat a pretty little brunette woman, neatly, though meanly clad, with sparkling black eyes, and a countenance all vivacity and delight. A very little, very fair boy, with his mother’s brilliant black eyes contrasting his flaxen hair, and soft infantine complexion, went with tottering steps, that showed this was his first essay, from one to the other, and loud laughter gratulated his safe arrival in the arms of either parent. We had now pretty clearly ascertained the family, the next thing was to discover the house; this point was more difficult to establish; at last, we found it was barely a place to sleep in, partly excavated from the ground, and partly covered with a slight roof of bark and branches: never was poverty so complete or so cheerful. In that country, every white person had inferiors, and therefore being merely white, claimed a degree of respect, and being very rich, or very fine, entitled you to very little more. Simplicity would be a charming thing, if one could strain it from grossness, but that, I believe, is no easy operation. We now with much consideration and civility, presented ourselves; I thought the cows would afford a happy opening for conversation. “Don’t be afraid of noise, we are driving our three cows home; have you any cows?” “Och no, my dare child, not one, young miss,” said the soldier. “O, but then mamma will give milk to the child, for we have plenty, and no child.” “O dear, pretty miss, don’t mind that at all, at all.” “Come,” said the mistress of the hovel, “we have got fine buttermilk here from Stephen’s; come in and take a drink.” I civilly declined this invitation, being wholly intent on the child, who appeared to me like a smiling love, and at once seized on my affection. Patrick Coonie, for such was the name of our new neighbour, gave us his history in a very few words. He had married Kate in Pennsylvania, who, young as she looked, had three children, from ten to fourteen, or thereabouts; he had some trade which had not thriven, he listed in the provincials, spent what he had on his family, hired again, served another campaign, came down pennyless, and here they had come for a temporary shelter, to get work among their neighbours. The excavation existed before, Patrick happily discovered it, and added the ingenious roof which now covered it. I asked for their other children—they were in some mean service. I was all anxiety for Patrick, so was not he; the lilies of the field did not look gayer, or more thoughtless of to-morrow, and Kate seemed equally unconcerned.

Hastily were the cows driven home that night, and to prevent reproaches for delay, I flew to communicate my discovery; eager to say how ill off we often were for an occasional hand to assist with our jobs, and how well we could spare a certain neglected log-house on our premises, &c. This was treated as very chimerical at first, but when Patrick’s family had undergone a survey, and Kate’s accomplishments of spinning, &c. were taken into consideration, to my unspeakable joy, the family were accommodated as I wished, and their several talents made known to our neighbours, who kept them in constant business. Kate spun and sung like a lark; little Paddy was mostly with us, for I taught every one in the house to be fond of him.

I was at the utmost loss for something to cherish and caress, when this most amusing creature, who inherited all the gaiety and good temper of his parents, came in my way, as the first of possible play-things. Patrick was, of all beings, the most handy and obliging; he could do every thing, but then he could drink too, and the extreme cheapness of liquor was a great snare to poor creatures addicted to it. Patrick, however, had long lucid intervals, and I had the joy of seeing them comparatively happy. To this was added, that of seeing my father recover his spirits, and renew his usual sports, and moreover, I was permitted to return to aunt Schuyler’s. I did not fail to entertain her with the history of my discovery, and its consequences, and my tale was not told in vain. Aunt weighed and balanced all things in her mind, and drew some good out of every thing.

White servants, whom very few people had, were very expensive here; but there was a mode of meliorating things. Poor people, who came adventurers from other countries, and found a settlement a slower process than they were aware of, had got into a mode of apprenticing their children. No risk attended this in Albany; custom is all-powerful; and lenity to servants was so much the custom, that to ill-use a defenceless creature in your power was reckoned infamous, and was, indeed, unheard of. Aunt recommended the young Coonies, who were fine, well looking children, for apprentices to some of the best families in town, where they were well bred and well treated, and we all contributed decent clothing for them to go home in. I deeply felt this obligation, and little thought how soon I was to be deprived of all the happiness I owed to the friendship of my dear benefactress. This accession occupied and pleased me exceedingly; my attachment to the little boy grew hourly, and I indulged it to a degree I certainly would not have done, if I had not set him down for one of the future inhabitants of Clarendon; that region of fancied felicity, where I was building log-houses in the air perpetually, and filling them with an imaginary population, innocent and intelligent beyond all comparison. These visions, however, were soon destined to give way to sad realities. The greatest immediate tribulation I was liable to, was Patrick’s coming home, now and then, gay beyond his wonted gaiety; which grieved me both on Kate’s account and that of little Paddy. But in the fertile plains of Clarendon, remedies were to be found for every passing evil; and I had not the least doubt of having influence enough to prevent the admission of spirituous liquors into that “region of calm delights.” Such were the dreams from which I was awakened, (on returning from a long visit to aunt,) by my father’s avowing his fixed intention to return home.

A very worthy Argyleshire friend of his, in the mean time, came and paid him a visit of a month, which month was occupied in the most endearing recollections of Lochawside, and the hills of Morven. When I returned, I heard of nothing but the alpine scenes of Scotland, of which I had not the smallest recollection, but which I loved with borrowed enthusiasm; so well, that they at times balanced with Clarendon. My next source of comfort was, that I was to return to the land of light and freedom, and mingle, as I flattered myself I should, with such as those whom I had admired in their immortal works. Determined to be happy, with the sanguine eagerness of youth, the very opposite materials served for constructing another ideal fabric.

Aunt was extremely sorry when the final determination was announced. She had now her good sister-in-law, Mrs. Wendell, with her, and seemed much to enjoy the society of that meek pious woman, who was as happy as any thing earthly could make her. As to public affairs their aspect did not please her; and therefore she endeavoured, as far as possible, to withdraw her attention from them. She was too well acquainted with the complicated nature of human affairs, to give a rash judgment on the political disputes then in agitation. She saw indeed reason for apprehension whatever way she turned. She knew the prejudices and self-opinion fast spreading through the country too well, to expect quiet submission, and could see nothing on all hands but a choice of evils. Were the provinces to set up for themselves, she thought they had not cohesion nor subordination enough among them to form, or to submit to any salutary plan of government. On the other hand she saw no good effect likely to result from a reluctant dependence on a distant people, whom they already began to hate, though hitherto nursed and protected by them. She clearly foresaw that no mode of taxation could be invented to which they would easily submit; and that the defence of the continent from enemies, and keeping the necessary military force to protect the weak and awe the turbulent, would be a perpetual drain of men and money to Great Britain, still increasing with the increased population. In short, she held all the specious plans that were talked over very cheap; while her affection for Britain made her shudder at the most distant idea of a separation; yet not as supposing such a step very hurtful to this country, which would be thus freed of a very costly incumbrance. But the dread of future anarchy, the horrors of civil war, and the dereliction of principle which generally results from tumultuary conflicts, were the spectres with which she was haunted.

Having now once for all given (to the best of my recollection) a faithful sketch of aunt’s opinions on this intricate subject, I shall not recur to them, nor by any means attempt to enter into any detail of the dark days that were approaching. First, because I feel unspeakable pain in looking back upon occurrences that I know too well, though I was not there to witness: in which the friends of my early youth were greatly involved, and had much indeed to endure, on both sides. Next, because there is little satisfaction in narrating transactions where there is no room to praise either side. That waste of personal courage and British blood and treasure, which were squandered to no purpose on one side in that ill-conducted war, and the insolence and cruelty which tarnished the triumph of the other, form no pleasing subject of retrospection; while the unsuccessful and often unrewarded loyalty of the sufferers for government, cannot be recollected without the most wounding regret. The years of madame, after I parted with her, were involved in a cloud raised by the conflicts of contending arms, which I vainly endeavoured to penetrate. My account of her must therefore, in a great measure, terminate with this sad year. My father taking in spring decided measures for leaving America, entrusted his lands to the care of his friend John Munro, Esq. then residing near Clarendon, and chief magistrate of that newly peopled district; a very worthy friend and countryman of his own, who was then in high triumph on account of a fancied conquest over the supporters of the twenty mile line; and thought, when that point was fully established, there would be no further obstruction to their realizing their property to great advantage, or colonizing it from Scotland, if such should be their wish. Aunt leaned hard to the latter expedient, but my father could not think of leaving me behind to await the chance of his return; and I had been talked into a wish for revisiting the land of my nativity.

I left my domestic favourites with great pain, but took care to introduce them to aunt, and implored her, with all the pathos I was mistress of, to take an interest in them when I was gone; which she very good naturedly promised to do. Another very kind thing she did. Once a year she spent a day or two at General Schuyler’s. I call him by his latter acquired title, to distinguish him from the number of his namesakes I have had occasion to mention. She now so timed her visit (though in dreadful weather) that I might accompany her, and take my last farewell of my young companions there: yet I could not bring myself to think it a final one. The terrible words no more, never passed my lips. I had too buoyant a spirit to encounter a voluntary heartache by looking on the dark side of any thing, and always figured myself returning, and joyfully received by the friends with whom I was parting.

Soon after this I witnessed, for the last time, the sublime spectacle of the ice breaking up on the river; an object that fills and elevates the mind with ideas of power, and grandeur, and, indeed, magnificence; before which all the triumphs of human art sink into insignificance. This noble object of animated greatness, for such it seemed, I witnessed; its approach being announced, like a loud and long peal of thunder, the whole population of Albany were down at the river side in a moment; and if it happened, as was often the case, in the morning, there could not be a more grotesque assemblage. No one who had a night-cap on waited to put it off; as for waiting for one’s cloak, or gloves, it was a thing out of the question; you caught the thing next you, that could wrap round you, and run. In the way you saw every door left open, and pails, baskets, &c. without number, set down in the street. It was a perfect saturnalia. People never dreamt of being obeyed by their slaves, till the ice was past. The houses were left quite empty: the meanest slave, the youngest child, all were to be found on the shore. Such as could walk, ran; and they that could not, were carried by those whose duty would have been to stay and attend them. When arrived at the show place, unlike the audience collected to witness any spectacle of human invention, the multitude, with their eyes all bent one way, stood immoveable, and silent as death, till the tumult ceased, and the mighty commotion was passed by; then every one tried to give vent to the vast conceptions with which his mind had been distended. Every child, and every negro, was sure to say, ‘Is not this like the day of judgment?’ and what they said every one else thought. Now to describe this is impossible; but I mean to account in some degree for it. The ice, which had been all winter very thick, instead of diminishing, as might be expected in spring, still increased, as the sunshine came, and the days lengthened. Much snow fell in February; which, melted by the heat of the sun, was stagnant, for a day, on the surface of the ice; and then by the night frosts, which were still severe, was added, as a new accession to the thickness of it, above the former surface. This was so often repeated, that in some years the ice gained two feet in thickness, after the heat of the sun became such, as one would have expected should have entirely dissolved it. So conscious were the natives of the safety this accumulation of ice afforded, that the sledges continued to drive on the ice, when the trees were budding and every thing looked like spring; nay, when there was so much melted on the surface that the horses were knee deep in water, while travelling on it; and portentous cracks, on every side, announced the approaching rupture. This could scarce have been produced by the mere influence of the sun, till midsummer. It was the swelling of the waters under the ice, increased by rivulets, enlarged by melted snows, that produced this catastrophe; for such the awful concussion made it appear. The prelude to the general bursting of this mighty mass was a fracture lengthwise, in the middle of the stream, produced by the effort of the imprisoned waters, now increased too much to be contained within their wonted bounds. Conceive a solid mass, from six to eight feet thick, bursting for many miles in one continued rupture, produced by a force inconceivably great, and, in a manner, inexpressibly sudden. Thunder is no adequate image of this awful explosion, which roused all the sleepers, within reach of the sound, as completely as the final convulsion of nature, and the solemn peal of the awakening trumpet might be supposed to do. The stream in summer was confined by a pebbly strand, overhung with high and steep banks, crowned with lofty trees, which were considered as a sacred barrier against the encroachments of this annual visitation. Never dryads dwelt in more security than those of the vine-clad elms, that extended their ample branches over this mighty stream. Their tangled nets laid bare by the impetuous torrents, formed caverns ever fresh and fragrant; where the most delicate plants flourished, unvisited by scorching suns or nipping blasts; and nothing could be more singular than the variety of plants and birds that were sheltered in these intricate and safe recesses. But when the bursting of the crystal surface set loose the many waters that had rushed down, swollen with the annual tribute of dissolving snow, the islands and low lands were all flooded in an instant; and the lofty banks, from which you were wont to overlook the stream, were now entirely filled by an impetuous torrent, bearing down, with incredible and tumultuous rage, immense shoals of ice; which, breaking every instant by the concussion of others, jammed together in some places, in others erecting themselves in gigantic heights for an instant in the air, and seeming to combat with their fellow-giants crowding on in all directions, and falling together with an inconceivable crash, formed a terrible moving picture, animated and various beyond conception; for it was not only the cerulean ice, whose broken edges combatting with the stream, refracted light into a thousand rainbows, that charmed your attention; lofty pines, large pieces of the bank torn off by the ice with all their early green and tender foliage, were driven on like travelling islands, amid the battle of breakers, for such it seemed. I am absurdly attempting to paint a scene, under which the powers of language sink. Suffice it, that this year its solemnity was increased by an unusual quantity of snow, which the last hard winter had accumulated, and the dissolution of which now threatened an inundation.

Solemn, indeed, it was to me, as the memento of my approaching journey, which was to take place whenever the ice broke, which is here a kind of epoch. The parting with all that I loved at the Flats was such an affliction, as it is even yet a renewal of sorrows to recollect. I loved the very barn and the swamp I have described so much that I could not see them for the last time without a pang. As for the island and the bank of the river, I know not how I should have parted with them, if I had thought the parting final. The good kind neighbours, and my faithful and most affectionate Marian, to whom of all others, this separation was most wounding, grieved me not a little. I was always sanguine in the extreme, and would hope against hope; but Marian, who was older, and had more common sense, knew too well how little likelihood there was of my ever returning. Often with streaming eyes and bursting sobs, she begged to know if the soul of a person dying in America could find its way over the vast ocean to join that of those who rose to the abodes of future bliss from Europe; her hope of a reunion being now entirely referred to that in a better world. There was no truth I found it so difficult to impress upon her mind as the possibility of spirits being instantaneously transported from one distant place to another; a doctrine which seemed to her very comfortable. Her agony at the final parting I do not like to think of. When I used to obtain permission to pass a little time in town, I was transported with the thoughts of the enjoyments that awaited me in the society of my patroness, and the young friends I most loved.

After quitting the Flats we were to stay some days at madame’s, till we should make a circular visit, and take leave. Having lulled my disappointment with regard to Clarendon, and filled all my dreams with images of Clydesdale and Tweedale, and every other vale or dale that were the haunts of the pastoral muse in Scotland, I grew pretty well reconciled to my approaching journey, thinking I should meet piety and literature in every cottage, and poetry and music in every recess, among the sublime scenery of my native mountains. At any rate, I was sure I should hear the larks sing, and see the early primrose deck the woods, and daisies enamel the meadows; on all which privileges I had been taught to set the due value; yet I wondered very much how it was that I could enjoy nothing with such gay visions opening before me: my heart, I supposed, was honester than my imagination, for it refused to take pleasure in any thing, which was a state of mind so new to me that I could not understand it. Every where I was caressed, and none of these caresses gave me pleasure; at length the sad day came that I was to take the last farewell of my first best friend, who had often in vain urged my parents to leave me till they should decide whether to stay or return. About this they did not hesitate; nor, though they had, could I have divested myself of the desire now waked in my mind, of seeing once more my native land, which I merely loved upon trust, not having the faintest recollection of it.

Madame embraced me tenderly with many tears, at parting; and I felt a kind of prelusive anguish, as if I had anticipated the sorrows that awaited: I do not mean now the painful vicissitudes of after life, but merely the cruel disappointment that I felt in finding the scenery and its inhabitants so different from the Elysian vales and Arcadian swains that I had imagined.

When we came away, by an odd coincidence, aunt’s nephew Peter was just about to be married to a very fine young creature, whom his relations did not, for some reason that I do not remember, think suitable; while, at the very same time, her niece, Miss W. had captivated the son of a rich but avaricious man, who would not consent to his marrying her, unless aunt gave a fortune with her; which being an unusual demand, she did not choose to comply with. I was the proud and happy confidant of both these lovers; and before we left New-York we heard that each had married without waiting for the withheld consent. And thus for once madame was left without a protégée, but still she had her sister W., and soon acquired a new set of children, the orphan sons of her nephew, Cortlandt Schuyler, who continued under her care for the remainder of her life.

My voyage down the river, which was, by contrary winds, protracted to a whole week, would have been very pleasant, could any thing have pleased me. I was at least soothed by the extreme beauty of many scenes on the banks of this fine stream, which I was fated never more to behold.

Nothing could exceed the soft grateful verdure that met the eye on every side as we approached New-York. It was in the beginning of May; the great orchards which rose on every slope were all in bloom, and the woods of poplar beyond them, had their sprouting foliage tinged with a lighter shade of the freshest green. Staten Island rose gradual from the sea, in which it seemed to float, and was so covered with innumerable fruit-trees in full blossom, that it looked like some enchanted forest. I shall not attempt to describe a place so well known as New-York, but merely content myself with saying that I was charmed with the air of easy gaiety and social kindness that seemed to prevail every where among the people, and the cheerful animated appearance of the place altogether. Here I fed the painful longings of my mind, which already began to turn impatiently towards madame, by conversing with young people whom I had met at her house on their summer excursions. These were most desirous to please and amuse me; and, though I knew little of good breeding, I had good nature enough to try to seem pleased, but, in fact, I enjoyed nothing, though I saw there was much to enjoy, had my mind been tuned as usual to social delight. Fatigued with the kindness of others, and my own simulation, I tried to forget my sorrows in sleep; but night, that was wont to bring peace and silence in her train, had no such companions here. The spirit of discord had broken loose. The fermentation was begun that was not yet ended. And at midnight, bands of intoxicated electors, who were then choosing a member for the assembly, came thundering to the doors, demanding a vote for their favoured candidate. An hour after, another party equally vociferous, and not more sober, alarmed us, by insisting on our giving our votes for their favourite competitor. This was mere play; but before we embarked, there was a kind of prelusive skirmish, that strongly marked the spirit of the times. These new patriots had taken it in their heads that Lieutenant Governor Colden sent home intelligence of their proceedings, or in some other way betrayed them, as they thought, to government. In one of these fits of excess and fury, which are so often the result of popular elections, they went to his house, drew out his coach, and set fire to it. This was the night before we embarked, after a week’s stay in New-York.

My little story being no longer blended with the memoirs of my benefactress, I shall not trouble the reader with the account of our melancholy and perilous voyage. Here, too, with regret, I must close the account of what I knew of aunt Schuyler; I heard very little of her till the breaking out of that disastrous war which every one, whatever side they may have taken at the time, must look back on with disgust and horror.

To tell her history during the years that her life was prolonged to witness scenes abhorrent to her feelings and her principles, would be a painful task indeed; though I were better informed than I am, or wish to be, of the transactions of those perturbed times. Of her private history I only know, that, on the accidental death formerly mentioned, of her nephew, Captain Cortlandt Schuyler, she took home his two eldest sons, and kept them with her till her own death, which happened in 1778 or 1779. I know, too, that like the Roman Atticus, she kept free from the violence and bigotry of party, and like him too, kindly and liberally assisted those of each side, who, as the tide of success ran different ways, were considered as unfortunate. On this subject I do not choose to enlarge, but shall merely observe, that all the colonel’s relations were on the republican side, while every one of her own nephews adhered to the royal cause, to their very great loss and detriment; though some of them have now found a home in Upper Canada, where, if they are alienated from their native province, they have at least the consolation of meeting many other deserving people, whom the fury of party had driven there for refuge.^[24]

Though unwilling to obtrude upon my reader any further particulars irrelevant to the main story I have endeavoured to detail, he may, perhaps, be desirous to know how the township of Clarendon was at length disposed of. My father’s friend, Captain Munro, was engaged for himself and his military friends, in a litigation, or I should rather say, the provinces of New-York and Connecticut continued to dispute the right to the boundary within the twenty mile line, till a dispute still more serious gave spirit to the new settlers from Connecticut to rise in arms, and expel the unfortunate loyalists from that district, which was bounded on one side by the Green Mountain, since distinguished, like Rome in its infancy, as a place of refuge to all the lawless and uncontrollable spirits who had banished themselves from general society.

It was a great mortification to speculative romance and vanity, for me to consider that the very spot which I had been used fondly to contemplate as the future abode of peace, innocence, and all the social virtues, that this very spot should be singled out from all others as a refuge for the vagabonds and banditti of the continent. They were, however, distinguished by a kind of desperate bravery and unconquerable obstinacy. They, at one time, set the States and the mother country equally at defiance, and set up for an independence of their own; on this occasion they were so troublesome, and the others so tame, that the last mentioned were fain to purchase their nominal submission by a most disgraceful concession. There was a kind of provision made for all the British subjects who possessed property in the alienated provinces, provided that they had not borne arms against the Americans; these were permitted to sell their lands, though not for their full value, but at a limited price. My father came precisely under this description; but the Green Mountain boys, as the irregular inhabitants of the disputed boundaries were then called, conscious that all the lands they had forcibly usurped were liable to this kind of claim, set up the standard of independence. They, indeed, positively refused to confederate with the rest, or consent to the proposed peace, unless the robbery they had committed should be sanctioned by a law, giving them a full right to retain, unquestioned, this violent acquisition.

It is doubtful, of three parties, who were most to blame on this occasion. The depredators, who, in defiance of even natural equity, seized and erected this little petulant state. The mean concession of the other provinces, who, after permitting this one to set their authority at defiance, soothed them into submission by a gift of what was not theirs to bestow; or the tame acquiescence of the then ministry, in an arrangement which deprived faithful subjects, who were at the same time war-worn veterans, of the reward assigned them for their services.

Proud of the resemblance which their origin bore to that of ancient Rome, they latinized the common appellation of their territory, and made wholesome laws for its regulation. Thus begun the petty state of Vermont, and thus ends the history of an heiress.

I hope my readers will share the satisfaction I feel, in contemplating, at this distance, the growing prosperity of Albany, which is, I am told, greatly increased in size and consequence, far superior, indeed, to any inland town on the continent, and so important from its centrical situation, that it has been proposed as the seat of congress, which, should the party attached to Britain ever gain the ascendency over the southern states, would, very probably, be the case. The morality, simple manners, and consistent opinions of the inhabitants, still bearing evident traces of that integrity and simplicity which once distinguished them. The reflections which must result from the knowledge of these circumstances are so obvious, that it is needless to point them out.

A reader that has patience to proceed thus far, in a narration too careless and desultory for the grave, and too heavy and perplexed for the gay; too minute for the busy, and too serious for the idle: such a reader must have been led on by an interest in the virtues of the leading characters, and will be sufficiently awake to their remaining defects.

Very different, however, must be the reflections that arise from a more general view of the present state of our ancient colonies.

would speak terror to those whose delight is in change and agitation; to those who wantonly light up the torch of discord, which many waters will not extinguish. Even when peace succeeds to the breathless fury of such a contest, it comes too late to restore the virtues, the hopes, the affections that have perished in it. The gangrene of the land is not healed, and the prophets vainly cry, “peace! peace!” where there is no peace.

However upright the intentions may be of the first leaders of popular insurrections, it may be truly said of them, in the end, instruments of cruelty are in their habitations; nay, must be, for when they have proceeded a certain length, conciliation or lenity would be cruelty to their followers, who are gone too far to return to the place from which they set out. Rectitude, hitherto upheld by laws, by custom, and by fear, now walks alone, in unaccustomed paths, and like a tottering infant, falls at the first assault, or first obstacle it meets; but falls to rise no more. Let any one who has mixed much with mankind, say what would be the consequence if restraint were withdrawn, and impunity offered to all those whose probity is not fixed on the basis of real piety, or supported by singular fortitude, and that sound sense which, discerning remote consequences, preserves integrity as armour of proof against the worst that can happen.

True it is, that amidst these convulsions of the moral world, exigencies bring out some characters that sweep across the gloom like meteors in a tempestuous night, which would not have been distinguished in the sunshine of prosperity. It is in the swell of the turbulent ocean that the mightiest living handiworks of the author of nature are to be met with. Great minds, no doubt, are called out by exigencies, and put forth all their powers. Though Hercules slew the Hydra, and cleansed the Augæan stable, all but poets and heroes must have regretted that any such monsters existed. Seriously, beside the rancour, the treachery, and the dereliction of every generous sentiment and upright motive, which are the rank production of the blood-manured field of civil discord, after the froth and feculence of its cauldron have boiled over, still the deleterious dregs remain. Truth is the first victim to fear and policy; when matters arrive at that crisis, every one finds a separate interest; mutual confidence, which cannot outlive sincerity, dies next, and all the kindred virtues drop in succession. It becomes a man’s interest that his brothers and his father should join the opposite party, that some may be applauded for steadiness or enriched by confiscations. To such temptations the mind, fermenting with party hatred, yields with less resistance than could be imagined by those who have never witnessed such scenes of horror, darkened by duplicity. After so deep a plunge in depravity, how difficult, how near to impossible is a return to the paths of rectitude! This is but a single instance of the manner in which moral feeling is undermined in both parties. But as our nature, destined to suffer and to mourn, and to have the heart made better by affliction, finds adversity a less dangerous trial than prosperity, especially where it is great and sudden, in all civil conflicts, the triumphant party may, with moral truth, be said to be the greatest sufferers. Intoxicated as they often are with power and affluence, purchased with the blood and tears of their friends and countrymen, the hard task remains to them of chaining up and reducing to submission the many-headed monster, whom they have been forced to let loose and gorge with the spoils of the vanquished. Then, too, comes on the difficulty of dividing power where no one has a right, and every one a claim: of ruling those whom they have taught to despise authority; and of reviving that sentiment of patriotism, and that love of glory, which faction and self-interest have extinguished.

When the white and red roses were the symbols of faction in England, and when the contest between Baliol and Bruce made way for invasion and tyranny in Scotland, the destruction of armies and of cities, public executions, plunder and confiscations, were the least evils that they occasioned. The annihilation of public virtue and private confidence; the exasperation of hereditary hatred; the corrupting the milk of human kindness, and breaking asunder every sacred tie by which man and man are held together: all these dreadful results of civil discord are the means of visiting the sins of civil war on the third and fourth generation of those who have kindled it. Yet the extinction of charity and kindness in dissensions like these, is not to be compared to that which is the consequence of an entire subversion of the accustomed form of government. Attachment to a monarch or line of royalty, aims only at a single object, and is at worst loyalty and fidelity misplaced: yet war once begun on such a motive, loosens the bands of society, and opens to the ambitious and the rapacious the way to power and plunder. Still, however, the laws, the customs, and the frame of government stand where they did. When the contest is decided, and the successful competitor established, if the monarch possesses ability, and courts popularity, he, or at any rate, his immediate successor, may rule happily, and reconcile those who were the enemies, not of his place, but of his person. The mighty image of sovereign power may change its “head of gold” for one of silver; but still it stands firm on its basis, supported by all those whom it protects: but when thrown from its pedestal by an entire subversion of government, the wreck is far more fatal and the traces indelible. Those who on each side support the heirs claiming a disputed crown, mean equally to be faithful and loyal to their rightful sovereign; and are thus, though in opposition to each other, actuated by the same sentiment. But when the spirit of extermination walks forth over prostrate thrones and altars, ages cannot efface the traces of its progress. A contest for sovereignty is a whirlwind, that rages fiercely while it continues, and deforms the face of external nature. New houses, however, replace those it has demolished; trees grow up in the place of those destroyed; the landscape laughs, the birds sing, and every thing returns to its accustomed course. But a total subversion of a long established government is like an earthquake, that not only overturns the works of man, but changes the wonted course and operation of the very elements; makes a gulf in the midst of a fertile plain, casts a mountain into a lake, and in line, produces such devastation as it is not in the power of man to remedy. Indeed, it is too obvious that, even in our own country, that fire which produced the destruction of the monarchy, still glows among the ashes of extinguished factions; but that portion of the community who carried with them across the Atlantic, the repugnance to submission, which grew out of an indefinite love of liberty, might be compared to the Persian Magi. Like them, when forced to fly from their native country, they carried with them a portion of the hallowed fire, which continued to be the object of their secret worship. Those who look upon the revolution, of which this spirit was the prime mover, as tending to advance the general happiness, no doubt consider these opinions as a rich inheritance, productive of the best effects. Many wise and worthy persons have thought and still continue to think so. There is as yet no room for decision, the experiment not being completed. Their mode of government, anomalous, and hitherto inefficient, has not yet acquired the firmness of cohesion, or the decisive tone of authority.

The birth of this great empire is a phenomenon in the history of mankind. There is nothing like it in reality or fable, but the birth of Minerva, who proceeded full armed and full grown out of the head of the thunderer. Population, arts, sciences, and laws, extension of territory, and establishment of power, have been gradual and progressive in other countries, where the current of dominion went on increasing as it flowed, by conquests or other acquisitions, which it swallowed like rivulets in its course; but here it burst forth like a torrent, spreading itself at once into an expanse, vast as their own Superior lake, before the eyes of the passing generation which witnessed its birth. Yet it is wonderful how little talent or intellectual pre-eminence of any kind has appeared in this new-born world, which seems already old in worldly craft, and whose children are indeed “wiser in their generation than the children of light.” Self-interest, eagerly grasping at pecuniary advantages, seems to be the ruling principle of this great continent.

Love of country, that amiable and noble sentiment, which by turns exalts and softens the human mind, nourishes enthusiasm, and inspires alike the hero and sage, to defend and adorn the sacred land of their nativity, is a principle which hardly exists there. An American loves his country, or prefers it rather, because its rivers are wide and deep, and abound in fish; because he has the forests to retire to, if the god of gainful commerce should prove unpropitious on the shore. He loves it because if his negro is disrespectful or disobedient, he can sell him and buy another; while if he himself is disobedient to the laws of his country, or disrespectful to the magistracy appointed to enforce them, that shadow of authority, without power to do good, or prevent evil, must possess its soul in patience.

We love our country because we honour our ancestors; because it is endeared to us not only by early habit, but by attachments to the spots hallowed by their piety, their heroism, their genius, or their public spirit. We honour it as the scene of noble deeds, the nurse of sages, bards, and heroes. The very aspect and features of this blest asylum of liberty, science, and religion, warm our hearts, and animate our imaginations. Enthusiasm kindles at the thoughts of what we have been, and what we are. It is the last retreat, the citadel, in which all that is worth living for is concentrated. Among the other ties which were broken, by the detachment of America from us, that fine ligament, which binds us to the tombs of our ancestors, (and seems to convey to us the spirit and the affections we derive from them) was dissolved: and with it perished all generous emulation. Fame,

has no votaries among the students of Poor Richard’s almanack, the great Pharos of the states. The land of their ancestors, party hostility has taught them to regard with scorn and hatred. That in which they live calls up no images of past glory or excellence. Neither hopeful nor desirous of that after-existence, which has been most coveted by those who do things worth recording, they not only live, but thrive; and that is quite enough. A man no longer says of himself with exultation, “I belong to the land where Milton sung the song of seraphims, and Newton traced the paths of light; where Alfred established his throne in wisdom, and where the palms and laurels of renown shade the tombs of the mighty and the excellent.” Thus dissevered from recollections so dear, and so ennobling, what ties are substituted in their places? Can he regard with tender and reverential feelings, a land that has not only been deprived of its best ornaments, but become a receptacle for the outcasts of society from every nation in Europe? Is there a person whose dubious or turbulent character has made him unwelcome or suspected in society, he goes to America, where he knows no one, and is of no one known; and where he can with safety assume any character. All that tremble with the consciousness of undetected crimes, or smart from the consequence of unchecked follies; fraudulent bankrupts, unsuccessful adventurers, restless projectors, or seditious agitators, this great Limbus Patrum has room for them all; and too it they fly in the day of their calamity. With such a heterogeneous mixture a transplanted Briton of the original stock, a true old American, may live in charity, but never can assimilate. Who can, with the cordiality due to that sacred appellation, “my country,” apply it to that land of Hivites and Girgashites, where one cannot travel ten miles, in a stretch, without meeting detachments of different nations, torn from their native soil and first affections, and living aliens in a strange land, where no one seems to form part of an attached connected whole.

To those enlarged minds, who have got far beyond the petty consideration of country and kindred, to embrace the whole human race, a land, whose population is like Joseph’s coat, of many colours, must be a peculiarly suitable abode. For in the endless variety of the patchwork, of which society is composed, a liberal philosophic mind might meet with the specimens of all those tongues and nations which he comprehends in the wide circle of his enlarged philanthropy.

That some of the leaders of the hostile party in America acted upon liberal and patriotic views, cannot be doubted. There were many, indeed, of whom the public good was the leading principle; and to these the cause was a noble one: yet even these little foresaw the result. Had they known what a cold selfish character, what a dereliction of religious principle, what furious factions, and wild unsettled notions of government, were to be the consequence of this utter alienation from the parent state, they would have shrunk back from the prospect. Those fine minds who, nurtured in the love of science and of elegance, looked back to the land of their forefathers for models of excellence, and drank inspiration from the production of the British muse, could not but feel this rupture as “a wrench from all we love, from all we are.” They, too, might wish, when time had ripened their growing empire, to assert that independence which, when mature in strength and knowledge, we claim even of the parents we love and honour. But to snatch it, with a rude and bloody grasp, outraged the feelings of those gentler children of the common parent. Mildness of manners, refinement of mind, and all the softer virtues that spring up in the cultivated paths of social life, nurtured by generous affections, were undoubtedly to be found on the side of the unhappy royalists; whatever superiority in vigour and intrepidity might be claimed by their persecutors. Certainly, however necessary the ruling powers might find it to carry their system of exile into execution, it has occasioned to the country an irreparable privation.

When the edict of Nantz gave the scattering blow to the protestants of France, they carried with them their arts, their frugal regular habits, and that portable mine of wealth which is the portion of patient industry. The chasm produced in France, by the departure of so much humble virtue, and so many useful arts, has never been filled.

What the loss of the Huguenots was to commerce and manufactures in France, that of the loyalists was to religion, literature, and amenity, in America. The silken threads were drawn out of the mixed web of society, which has ever since been comparatively coarse and homely. The dawning light of elegant science was quenched in universal dullness. No ray has broke through the general gloom except the phosphoric lightnings of her cold-blooded philosophers, the deistical Franklin, the legitimate father of the American ‘age of calculation.’ So well have “the children of his soul” profited by the frugal lessons of this apostle of Plutus, that we see a new empire blest in its infancy with all the saving virtues which are the usual portion of cautious and feeble age; and we behold it with the same complacent surprise which fills our minds at the sight of a young miser.

Forgive me, shade of the accomplished Hamilton^[25], while all that is lovely in virtue, all that is honourable in valour, and all that is admirable in talent, conspire to lament the early setting of that western star; and to deck the tomb of worth and genius with wreaths of immortal bloom.

fain would I add,

but alas!

His character was a bright exception; yet, after all, an exception that only confirms the rule. What must be the state of that country where worth, talent, and the disinterested exercise of every faculty of a vigorous and exalted mind, were in vain devoted to the public good; where, indeed, they only marked out their possessor for a victim to the shrine of faction? Alas! that a compliance with the laws of false honour, (the only blemish of a stainless life,) should be so dearly expiated!

Yet the deep sense expressed by all parties of this general loss, seems to promise a happier day at some future period, when this chaos of jarring elements shall be reduced by some pervading and governing mind into a settled form.

But much must be done, and suffered, before this change can take place. There never can be much improvement till there are union and subordination; till those strong local attachments are formed, which are the basis of patriotism, and the bonds of social attachment. But, while such a wide field is open to the spirit of adventure; and, while the facility of removal encourages that restless and ungovernable spirit, there is little hope of any material change. There is in America a double principle of fermentation, which continues to impede the growth of the arts and sciences, and of those gentler virtues of social life, which were blasted by the breath of popular fury. On the sea-side there was a perpetual importation of lawless and restless persons, who have no other path to the notoriety they covet, but that which leads through party violence; and of the want of that local attachment, I have been speaking of, there can be no stronger proof, than the passion for emigration so frequent in America.

Among those who are neither beloved in the vicinity of their place of abode, nor kept stationary by any gainful pursuit, it is incredible how light a matter will afford a pretext for a removal.

Here is one great motive, for good conduct and decorous manners, obliterated. The good opinion of his neighbours is of little consequence to him, who can scarce be said to have any. If a man keeps free of those crimes which a regard for the public safety compels the magistrate to punish, he finds shelter in every forest from the scorn and dislike incurred by petty trespasses on society. There all who are unwilling to submit to the restraints of law and religion, may live unchallenged, at a distance from the public exercise of either. There all whom want has made desperate, whether it be the want of abilities, of character, or the means to live, are sure to take shelter. This habit of removing furnishes, however, a palliation for some evils, for the facility with which they change residence, becomes the means of ridding the community of members too turbulent or too indolent to be quiet or useful. It is a kind of voluntary exile, where those whom government want power and efficiency to banish, very obligingly banish themselves; thus preventing the explosion which might be occasioned by their continuing mingled in the general mass.

It is owing to this salutary discharge of peccant humours that matters go on so quietly as they do, under a government which is neither feared nor loved, by the community it rules. These removals are incredibly frequent; for the same family, flying as it were before the face of legal authority and civilization, are often known to remove farther and farther back into the woods, every fifth or sixth year, as the population begins to draw nearer. By this secession from society, a partial reformation is in some cases effected. A person incapable of regular industry and compliance with its established customs, will certainly do least harm, when forced to depend on his personal exertions. When a man places himself in the situation of Robinson Crusoe, with the difference of a wife and children for that solitary hero’s cats and parrots, he must of necessity make exertions like his, or perish. He becomes not a regular husbandman, but a hunter, with whom agriculture is but a secondary consideration. His Indian corn, and potatoes, which constitute the main part of his crop, are, in due time, hoed by his wife and daughters; while the axe and the gun are the only implements he willingly handles.

Fraud and avarice are the vices of society, and do not thrive in the shade of the forest. The hunter, like the sailor, has little thought of coveting or amassing. He does not forge, nor cheat, nor steal; as such an unprincipled person must have done in the world, where, instead of wild beasts, he must have preyed upon his fellows; and he does not drink much, because liquor is not attainable. But he becomes coarse, savage, and totally negligent of all the forms and decencies of life. He grows wild and unsocial. To him a neighbour is an encroacher. He has learnt to do without one; and he knows not how to yield to him in any point of mutual accommodation. He cares neither to give nor take assistance, and finds all the society he wants in his own family. Selfish from the overindulged love of ease and liberty, he sees in a new comer merely an abridgment of his range, and an interloper in that sport on which he would much rather depend for subsistence than on the habits of regular industry. What can more flatter an imagination warm with native benevolence, and animated by romantic enthusiasm, than the image of insulated self-dependant families, growing up in those primeval retreats, remote from the corruptions of the world, and dwelling amidst the prodigality of nature. Nothing, however, can be more anti-Arcadian. There no crook is seen, no pipe is heard, no lamb bleats, for the best possible reason, because there are no sheep. No pastoral strains awake the sleeping echoes, doomed to sleep on till the bull-frog, the wolf, and the Quackawarry^[26] begin their nightly concert. Seriously, it is not a place that can, in any instance, constitute happiness. When listless indolence or lawless turbulence fly to shades the most tranquil, or scenes the most beautiful, they degrade nature instead of improving or enjoying her charms. Active diligence, a sense of our duty to the source of all good, and kindly affections towards our fellow-creatures, with a degree of self-command and mental improvement, can alone produce the gentle manners that insure rural peace, or enable us, with intelligence and gratitude, to “rejoice in nature’s joys.”

Fain would I turn from this gloomy and uncertain prospect, so disappointing to philanthropy, and so subversive of all the flattering hopes and sanguine predictions of the poets and philosophers, who were wont to look forward to a new Atalantis,

in this western world. But I cannot quit the fond retrospect of what once was in one favoured spot, without indulging a distant hope of what may emerge from this dark disordered state.

The melancholy Cowley, the ingenious bishop of Cloyne, and many others, alike eminent for virtue and for genius, looked forward to this region of liberty as a soil, where peace, science, and religion could have room to take root and flourish unmolested. In those primeval solitudes, enriched by the choicest bounties of nature, they might (as these benevolent speculators thought) extend their shelter to tribes no longer savage, rejoicing in the light of evangelic truth, and exalting science. Little did these amiable projectors know how much is to be done before the human mind, debased by habitual vice, and cramped by artificial manners in the old world, can wash out its stains and resume its simplicity in a new; nor did they know through how many gradual stages of culture the untutored intellect of savage tribes must pass before they become capable of comprehending those truths which to us habit has rendered obvious, or which at any rate we have talked of so familiarly, that we think we comprehend them. These projectors of felicity were not so ignorant of human nature, as to expect change of place could produce an instantaneous change of character; but they hoped to realize an Utopia, where justice should be administered on the purest principles; from which venality should be banished, and where mankind should, through the paths of truth and uprightness, arrive at the highest attainable happiness in a state not meant for perfection. They “talked the style of gods,” making very little account of “chance and sufferance.” Their speculations of the result remind me of what is recorded in some ancient writer, of a project for building a magnificent temple to Diana in some one of the Grecian states. A reward was offered to him who should erect, at the public cost, with most taste and ingenuity, a structure which should do honour both to the goddess and her worshippers. Several candidates appeared. The first that spoke was a self-satisfied young man, who, in a long florid harangue, described the pillars, the porticoes, and the proportions of this intended building, seeming all the while more intent on the display of his elocution, than on the subject of his discourse. When he had finished, a plain elderly man came from behind him, and leaning forwards, said in a deep hollow voice, “All that he has said, I will do.”

William Penn was the man, born to give “a local habitation and a name,” to all that had hitherto only floated in the day-dreams of poets and philosophers.

To qualify him for the legislator of a new-born sect, with all the innocence and all the helplessness of infancy, many circumstances concurred, that could scarce ever be supposed to happen at once to the same person. Born to fortune and distinction, with a mind powerful and cultivated, he knew, experimentally, all the advantages to be derived from wealth or knowledge, and could not be said ignorantly to despise them. He had, in his early days, walked far enough into the paths of folly and dissipation, to know human character in all its varieties, and to say experimentally, all is vanity. With a vigorous mind, an ardent imagination, and a heart glowing with the warmest benevolence, he appears to have been driven, by a repulsive abhorrence of the abuse of knowledge, of pleasure, and pre-eminence, which he had witnessed, into the opposite extreme; into a sect, the very first principles of which, clip the wings of fancy, extinguish ambition, and bring every struggle for superiority, the result of uncommon powers of mind, down to the dead level of tame equality; a sect that reminds one of the exclusion of poets from Plato’s fancied republic, by stripping off all the many-coloured garbs with which learning and imagination have invested the forms of ideal excellence, and reducing them to a few simple realities, arrayed as soberly as their votaries.

This sect, which brings mankind to a resemblance of Thomson’s Laplanders,

might be supposed the last to captivate, nay, to absorb, such a mind as I have been describing. Yet so it was: even in the midst of all this cold humility, dominion was to be found. That rule, which of all others, is most gratifying to a mind conscious of its own power, and directing it to the purposes of benevolence, the voluntary subjection of mind, the homage which a sect pays to its leader, is justly accounted the most gratifying species of power; and to this lurking ambition, every thing is rendered subservient by those who have once known this native and inherent superiority. This man, who had wasted his inheritance, alienated his relations, and estranged his friends; who had forsaken the religion of his ancestors, and in a great measure, the customs of his country; whom some charged with folly, and others with madness, was, nevertheless, destined to plan with consummate wisdom, and execute with indefatigable activity and immovable firmness, a scheme of government, such as has been the wish, at least, of every enlarged and benevolent mind, (from Plato downwards,) which has indulged speculations of the kind. The glory of realizing, in some degree, all these fair visions, was, however, reserved for William Penn alone.

Imagination delights to dwell on the tranquil abodes of plenty, content, and equanimity, that so quickly rose like an exhalation in the domains of this pacific legislator. That he should expect to protect the quiet abodes of his peaceful and industrious followers, merely with a fence of olive, (as one may call his gentle institutions,) is wonderful; and the more so, when we consider him to have lived in the world, and known too well, by his own experience, of what discordant elements it is composed. A mind so powerful and comprehensive as his, could not but know, that the wealth which quiet and blameless industry insensibly accumulates, proves merely a lure to attract the armed spoiler to the defenceless dwellings of those, who do not think it a duty to protect themselves.

he could no otherwise execute his plan of utility, than by the agency of a people who were bound together by a principle, at once adhesive and exclusive, and who were too calm and self-subdued, too benignant and just, to create enemies to themselves among their neighbours. There could be no motive but the thirst of rapine, for disturbing a community so inoffensive; and the founder, no doubt, flattered himself that the parent country would not fail to extend to them that protection, which their useful lives and helpless state both needed and deserved.

Never, surely, were institutions better calculated for nursing the infancy of a sylvan colony, from which the noisy pleasures, and more bustling varieties of life were necessarily excluded. The serene and dispassionate state, to which it seems was the chief aim of this sect to bring the human mind, is precisely what is requisite to reconcile it to the privations that must be encountered, during the early stages of the progression of society, which necessarily excluded from the pleasures of refinement, should be guarded from its pains.

Where nations, in the course of time, become civilized, the process is so gradual from one race to another, that no violent effort is required to break through settled habits, and acquire new tastes and inclinations, fitted to what might be almost styled a new mode of existence. But when colonies are first settled in a country so entirely primitive as that to which William Penn led his followers, there is a kind of retrograde movement of the mind, requisite to reconcile people to the new duties and new views that open to them, and to make the total privation of wonted objects, modes, and amusements, tolerable.

Perfect simplicity of taste and manners, and entire indifference to much of what the world calls pleasure, were necessary to make life tolerable to the first settlers in a trackless wilderness. These habits of thinking and living, so difficult to acquire, and so painful when forced upon the mind by inevitable necessity, the quakers brought with them, and left, without regret, a world from which they were already excluded by that austere simplicity which peculiarly fitted them for their new situation. A kindred simplicity, and a similar ignorance of artificial refinements and high seasoned pleasures, produced the same effect in qualifying the first settlers at Albany to support the privations, and endure the inconveniences of their novitiate in the forests of the new world. But to return to William Penn: the fair fabric he had erected, though it speedily fulfilled the utmost promise of hope, contained within itself the principle of dissolution, and from the very nature of the beings which composed it, must have decayed, though the revolutionary shock had not so soon shaken its foundations. Sobriety and prudence lead naturally to wealth, and wealth to authority, which soon strikes at the root of the short lived principle of equality. A single instance may occur here and there, but who can ever suppose nature running so contrary to her bias, that all the opulent members of a community should acquire or inherit wealth for the mere purpose of giving it away? Where there are no elegant arts to be encouraged, no elegant pleasures to be procured, where ingenuity is not to be rewarded, or talent admired or exercised; what is wealth but a cumbrous load, sinking the owner deeper and deeper into grossness and dulness, having no incitement to exercise the only faculties permitted him to use, and few objects to relieve in a community from which vice and poverty are equally excluded by their industry, and their wholesome rule of expulsion. We all know that there is not in society a more useless and disgusting character than what is formed by the possession of great wealth, without elegance or refinement; without, indeed, that liberality which can only result from a certain degree of cultivation. What then would a community be, entirely formed of such persons, or supposing such a community to exist, how long would they adhere to the simple manners of their founder, with such a source of corruption mingled with their very existence? Detachment from pleasure and from vanity, frugal and simple habits, and an habitual close adherence to some particular trade or employment, are circumstances that have a sure tendency to enrich the individuals who practise them. This, in the end, is “to give humility a coach and six,” that is, to destroy the very principle of adhesion which binds and continues the sect.

Highly estimable as a sect, these people were respectable and amiable in their collective capacity as a colony. But then it was an institution so constructed, that, without a miracle, its virtues must have expired with its minority. I do not here speak of the necessity of its being governed and protected by those of different opinions, but merely of wealth stagnating without its proper application. Of this humane community it is but just to say, that they were the only Europeans in the new world who always treated the Indians with probity like their own, and with kindness calculated to do honour to the faith they professed. I speak of them now in their collective capacity. They, too, are the only people that, in a temperate, judicious, (and, I trust, successful) manner, have endeavoured and still endeavour to convert the Indians to Christianity; for them, too, was reserved the honourable distinction of being the only body who sacrificed interest to humanity, by voluntarily giving freedom to those slaves whom they held in easy bondage. That a government so constituted could not, in the nature of things, long exist, is to be regretted; that it produced so much good to others, and so much comfort and prosperity to its subjects while it did exist, is an honourable testimony of the worth and wisdom of its benevolent founder.

However discouraging the prospect of society on this great continent may at present appear, there is every reason to hope that time, and the ordinary course of events, may bring about a desirable change; but in the present state of things, no government seems less calculated to promote the happiness of its subjects, or to ensure permanence to itself, than that feeble and unstable system which is only calculated for a community comprising more virtue and more union than such a heterogeneous mixture can be supposed to have attained. States, like individuals, purchase wisdom by suffering, and they have probably much to endure before they assume a fixed and determinate form.

Without partiality it may be safely averred, that notwithstanding the severity of the climate, and other unfavourable circumstances, the provinces of British America are the abode of more present safety and happiness, and contain situations more favourable to future establishments, than any within the limits of the United States.

To state all the grounds upon which this opinion is founded, might lead me into discussions, narratives, and description, which might swell into a volume, more interesting than the preceding one. But being at present neither able nor inclined to do justice to the subject, I shall only briefly observe first, with regard to the government, it is one to which the governed are fondly attached, and which like religion, becomes endeared to its votaries, by the sufferings they have endured for their adherence to it. It is consonant to their earliest prejudices, and sanctioned by hereditary attachment. The climate is, indeed, severe, but it is steady and regular; the skies in the interior are clear, the air is pure. The summer, with all the heat of warm climates to cherish the productions of the earth, is not subject to the drought that in such climates scorches and destroys them. Abundant woods afford shelter and fuel, to mitigate the severity of winter; and streams rapid and copious, flow in all directions to refresh the plants and cool the air, during their short but ardent summer.

The country, barren at the sea side, does not afford an inducement for those extensive settlements which have a tendency to become merely commercial from their situation. It becomes more fertile as it recedes further from the sea; thus holding out an inducement to pursue nature into her favourite retreats, where on the banks of mighty waters, calculated to promote all the purposes of social traffic among the inhabitants, the richest soil, the happiest climate, and the most complete detachment from the world, promise a safe asylum to those who carry the arts and the literature of Europe, hereafter to grace and enlighten scenes where agriculture has already made rapid advances.

In the dawning light which already begins to rise in these remote abodes, much may be discovered of what promises a brighter day. Excepting the remnant of the old Canadians, who are a very inoffensive people, patient and cheerful, attached to monarchy, and much assimilated to our modes of thinking and living, these provinces are peopled, for the most part, with inhabitants possessed of true British hearts and principles. Veterans who have shed their blood, and spent their best days in the service of the parent country, and royalists who have fled here for a refuge, after devoting their property to the support of their honour and loyalty; who adhere together, and form a society graced by that knowledge and those manners which rendered them respectable in their original state, with all the experience gained from adversity; and that elevation of sentiment which results from the consciousness of having suffered in a good cause. Here, too, are clusters of emigrants who have fled, unacquainted with the refinements, and uncontaminated by the old world, to seek for that bread and peace, which the progress of luxury and the change of manners denied them at home. Here they come in kindly confederation, resolved to cherish in those kindred groups, which have left with social sorrow their native mountains, the customs and traditions, the language and the love of their ancestors, and to find comfort in that religion which has ever been their support and their shield, for all that they have left behind.^[27]

It is by tribes of individuals intimately connected with each other by some common tie, that a country is most advantageously settled, to which the obvious superiority in point of principle and union that distinguishes British America from the United States, is chiefly owing. Our provinces afford no room for wild speculations, either of the commercial or political kind; regular, moderate trade, promising little beyond a comfortable subsistence, and agriculture, requiring much industry and settled habits, are the only paths open to adventurers; and the chief inducement to emigration is the possibility of an attached society of friends and kindred, finding room to dwell together, and meeting, in the depth of these fertile wilds, with similar associations. Hence, solitary and desperate adventurers, the vain, the turbulent, and the ambitious, shun these regulated abodes of quiet industry, for scenes more adapted to their genius.

I shall now conclude my recollections, which circumstances have often rendered very painful; but will not take upon me to enlarge on those hopes that stretch a dubious wing into temporal futurity, in search of a brighter day, and a better order of things. Content if I have preserved some records of a valuable life; thrown some glimmering light upon the progress of society in that peculiar state, which it was my fate to witness and to share, and afforded some hours of harmless amusement to those lovers of nature and of truth, who can patiently trace their progress through a tale devoid alike of regular arrangement, surprising variety, and artificial embellishment.