tic inspiration, were the props on which my brother thought
proper to repose. Pleyel was the champion of intellectual liberty, and
rejected all guidance but that of his reason. Their discussions were
frequent, but, being managed with candour as well as with skill, they
were always listened to by us with avidity and benefit.

Pleyel, like his new friends, was fond of music and poetry. Henceforth
our concerts consisted of two violins, an harpsichord, and three voices.
We were frequently reminded how much happiness depends upon society.
This new friend, though, before his arrival, we were sensible of no
vacuity, could not now be spared. His departure would occasion a void
which nothing could fill, and which would produce insupportable regret.
Even my brother, though his opinions were hourly assailed, and even the
divinity of Cicero contested, was captivated with his friend, and laid
aside some part of his ancient gravity at Pleyel's approach.

Chapter IV

Six years of uninterrupted happiness had rolled away, since my brother's
marriage. The sound of war had been heard, but it was at such a distance
as to enhance our enjoyment by affording objects of comparison. The
Indians were repulsed on the one side, and Canada was conquered on the
other. Revolutions and battles, however calamitous to those who occupied
the scene, contributed in some sort to our happiness, by agitating our
minds with curiosity, and furnishing causes of patriotic exultation.
Four children, three of whom were of an age to compensate, by their
personal and mental progress, the cares of which they had been, at a
more helpless age, the objects, exercised my brother's tenderness. The
fourth was a charming babe that promised to display the image of her
mother, and enjoyed perfect health. To these were added a sweet girl
fourteen years old, who was loved by all of us, with an affection more
than parental.

Her mother's story was a mournful one. She had come hither from England
when this child was an infant, alone, without friends, and without
money. She appeared to have embarked in a hasty and clandestine
manner. She passed three years of solitude and anguish under my aunt's
protection, and died a martyr to woe; the source of which she could, by
no importunities, be prevailed upon to unfold. Her education and manners
bespoke her to be of no mean birth. Her last moments were rendered
serene, by the assurances she received from my aunt, that her daughter