Death of Philip Schuyler—Account of his family, and of the society at
the Flats.
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,
“Without disguise or art, like flowers they grace the wild,
Their sweets they did impart, whene’er they spoke or smil’d.”
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.
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