cle of those to whom she was known, she had too many objects of importance in view to squander time upon imbecility and insignificance. Neither could she find leisure for the routine of ordinary visits, nor inclination for the insipidity of ordinary chitchat."

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.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Madame's adopted children.-Anecdote of sister Susan.

YEARS passed away in this manner, varied only by the extension of protection and education, 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 rear; 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; and 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, to the best of my recollection, having 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

favorite 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 favorite, and continued to be so, in some measure, when he grew up.

There were other children in the house at the same time, whose names and relationship to my friends I do not remember; but none stayed 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 connections in New York, who passed part of every summer with them. This connection, 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 one daughter.

I saw the mother of this large family, after outliving 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 bedridden 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 favorite, 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 wo, will hear! and how affecting is 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-inlaw 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 have 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 8

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 ner 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 she 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 much 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 among whom she lived, she might in her adversity have met with more attention; but, too conscious of her attainments, lively, regardless, and perhaps