Chapter 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,

“For music held the whole in perfect peace.”

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.

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CHAP. LIX.

The Swamp—A discovery.

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,

“My heart rejoic’d in nature’s joy.”

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

“Every herb that sips the dew.”

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.

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CHAP. LX.

Mrs. Schuyler’s View of Continental Politics.

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.

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CHAP. LXI.

Description of the Breaking up of the Ice on Hudson’s river.

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.

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CHAP. LXII.

Departure from Albany—Origin of the state of Vermont.

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]

Footnote 24:

Since writing the above, the author of this narrative has heard many
particulars of the latter years of her good friend, by which it
appears, that to the last her loyalty and public spirit burned with a
clear and steady flame. She was by that time too venerable as well as
respectable, to be insulted for her principles; and her opinions were
always delivered in a manner firm and calm, like her own mind, which
was too well regulated to admit the rancour of party, and too
dignified to stoop to disguise of any kind. She died full of years,
and honoured by all who could or could not appreciate her worth; for
not to esteem aunt Schuyler, was to forfeit all pretensions to
estimation.

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_.

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CHAP. LXIII.

General reflections.