n her journal with the utmost affection.

The journey from Albany to Boston was full of incident and hardship, but
of it the plucky wife writes only: "In the midst of all my trials God so
supported me that I lost neither my frolicsomeness nor my spirits...."
The contrast between the station of the Americans and of the Germans
who were their prisoners, is strikingly brought out in this passage of
the diary: "Some of the American generals who were in charge of us on
the march to Boston were shoemakers; and upon our halting days they made
boots for our officers, and also mended nicely the shoes of our
soldiers. They set a great value upon our money coinage, which with them
was scarce. One of our officers had worn his boots entirely into shreds.
He saw that an American general had on a good pair, and said to him,
jestingly, 'I will gladly give you a guinea for them.' Immediately the
general alighted from his horse, took the guinea, gave up his boots, put
on the badly-worn ones of the officer, and again mounted his horse."

The journey was at length successfully accomplished, however, and in
Massachusetts the baroness was on the whole very well treated, it would
seem.

"We remained three weeks in wretched quarters at Winter Hill," she
writes, "until they transferred us to Cambridge, where they lodged us in
one of the most beautiful houses of the place, which had formerly been
built by the wealth of the royalists. Never had I chanced upon any such
agreeable situation. Seven families, who were connected with each other
partly by the ties of relationship and partly by affection, had here
farms, gardens, and magnificent houses, and not far off plantations of
fruit. The owners of these were in the habit of meeting each other in
the afternoon, now at the house of one, and now at another, and making
themselves merry with music and the dance--living in prosperity united
and happy, until, alas! this ruinous war severed them, and left all
their houses desolate except two, the proprietors of which were also
soon obliged to flee....

"None of our gentlemen were allowed to go into Boston. Curiosity and
desire urged me, however, to pay a visit, to Madam Carter, the daughter
of General Schuyler, and I dined at her house several times. The city
throughout is pretty, but inhabited by violent patriots, and full of
wicked people. The women especially were so shameless, that they
regarded me with repugnance, and even spit at me when I passed