ends and fondest of brothers accompanied me to my boat,
which lay waiting at the riverside. We exchanged an embrace at parting,
and his hand held mine yet for a moment ere I stepped into the barge
which bore me rapidly down the stream. "Shall I see thee once more,
dearest and best companion of my youth?" I thought. "Amongst our cold
Englishmen, can I ever hope to meet with a friend like thee? When hadst
thou ever a thought that was not kindly and generous? When a wish, or
a possession, but for me you would sacrifice it? How brave are you,
and how modest; how gentle, and how strong; how simple, unselfish, and
humble; how eager to see others' merit; how diffident of your own!" He
stood on the shore till his figure grew dim before, me. There was that
in my eyes which prevented me from seeing him longer.

Brilliant as Sir Henry's success had been, it was achieved, as usual,
too late: and served but as a small set-off against the disaster of
Burgoyne which ensued immediately, and which our advance was utterly
inadequate to relieve. More than one secret messenger was despatched to
him who never reached him, and of whom we never learned the fate. Of
one wretch who offered to carry intelligence to him, and whom Sir
Henry despatched with a letter of his own, we heard the miserable
doom. Falling in with some of the troops of General George Clinton, who
happened to be in red uniform (part of the prize of a British ship's
cargo, doubtless, which had been taken by American privateers), the spy
thought he was in the English army, and advanced towards the sentries.
He found his mistake too late. His letter was discovered upon him, and
he had to die for bearing it. In ten days after the success at the Forts
occurred the great disaster at Saratoga, of which we carried the dismal
particulars in the fleet which bore us home. I am afraid my wife was
unable to mourn for it. She had her children, her father, her sister to
revisit, and daily and nightly thanks to pay to Heaven that had brought
her husband safe out of danger.

CHAPTER XCII. Under Vine and Fig-Tree

Need I describe, young folks, the delights of the meeting at home,
and the mother's happiness with all her brood once more under her fond
wings? It was wrote in her face, and acknowledged on her knees. Our
house was large enough for all, but Aunt Hetty would not stay in it. She
said, fairly, that to resign her motherhood over the elder children, who
had been hers for nea