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. Chapter XXVI DEPARTURE FROM ALBANY ORIGIN OF A FTER quitting the Flats we were to stay for 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. 1 Duncan MacVicar was a staff-officer of the 55th Scotch Highlanders of the rank of lieutenant. As such officer he was entitled to 2,000 acres of land, and by the purchases which Mrs. Grant speaks of, became the proprietor of 4,000 more, all of which he located in a body, partly in the town of Shaftsbury and partly in what is now White Creek, N. Y., the twenty-mile line running exactly through the centre of it. This property he called a township, and gave it the name of Clarendon, and anticipated, as Mrs. Grant says, great enjoyment of a baronial estate. Becoming disgusted with the surroundings of his property, unable to obtain a suitable tenantry, and alarmed at the spread of republicanism and disloyalty, he embarked in the summer of 1770, with his daughter, then about fifteen years old, for his native Scotland. See Hiland "Hall's History of Vermont," p. 80, note. Mrs. Annie Laggan Dewar, a member of Mrs. Grant's family, writes from Dunfermline, Scotland, under date of 20 Sept., 1901: "I am 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 anything; which was a state of mind so new to me that I could not understand it. Everywhere 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. unable to tell you much of my great-grandfather MacVicar: he held a commission in the 77th Fort under Col. Archibald Montgomerie, afterwards Earl of Eglinton, and I imagine he was a Captain. Later he was transferred to the 55th regiment, and retired on half pay in 1765." 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 protégé, 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.1 My voyage down the river, which was by contrary winds protracted to a whole week, would have been very pleasant, could anything 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 1 Peter Schuyler, fourth of the name, married his cousin, Gertrude Lansing, and Miss W. married John Johnson. The widow and children of Cortlandt Schuyler until they returned to Ireland lived much of the time in the house with Aunt Schuyler on State Street, Albany. VOL. II. — 13 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 everywhere 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 turned 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 broke loose. The fermentation was begun that had not yet ended. And at midnight, bands of intoxicated electors, who were then choosing a |