Sally Wister's Journal

Daniel Wister who married Lowry Jones, daughter of Owen Jones, sen., of Wynnewood, Lower Merion, and who was therefore connected with Caleb and Amos Foulke (whose wives, Jane and Hannah, were also daughters of Owen Jones), was a merchant of Philadelphia, and, a fortnight after the battle of Brandywine, removed his family to Gwynedd, in anticipation of the British occupancy of the city. On the 25th of September, 1777, the day on which Howe and Cornwallis reached Germantown, Miss Sally Wister, the eldest daughter of Daniel, a bright girl of fifteen years, began to keep a journal of her observations and experiences in the retreat at Gwynedd, which she continued, with some interruptions, until, in the following June, the British army left Philadelphia, and her family returned to their city home.

This journal was addressed by its author to her friend Deborah Norris, but it is remarkable that the apprehension intimated in its opening lest it should never reach the eye for which it was intended, came near to being realized: it was not until years after Miss Wister's death that it was given by Mr. Charles J. Wister, her brother, to her old friend, who had then become Mrs. Logan of Stenton. [Deborah Norris was the dau. of Charles and Mary Norris, born in 1761 and died 1839. Her father lived on Chestnut street, Philadelphia, where the Drexel Building now (1897) is, in 1776,vand she heard the public reading of the Declaration of Independence, in the grounds of the State-House (now Independence Square), on July 8th of that year. She married Dr. George Logan, of Stenton, and is buried in the family burying-ground, a little enclosure, at that historic place.]

Some extracts from the journal, but a small part only of its piquant and graphic details, are given by Watson in his Annals; it has been once published in full, in the rare edition of American Historical and Literary Curiosities, compiled by the late venerable John Jay Smith. Its descriptions, however, of persons and events and especially the view it gives us of social conditions in the very midst of some of the most important military operations of the revolutionary struggle, make it an extremely interesting historical document, aside from its charm as a naive and perfectly frank narrative of personal experiences. [(1896) It has been published in the Pennsylvania Magazine, since the text of this volume was first printed.]

In the nine months which the journal covers occurred the battle of Germantown, the siege and reduction of the forts below Philadelphia, the surrender of Burgoyne, the manoeuvres at Whitemarsh, the march to Valley Forge, the winter encampment there, the operation of the "Cabal" against Washington, the conclusion of the treaty with France, the gaieties of the British occupation of Philadelphia, and Lafayette's "affair" at Barren Hill. But a little distance away from the hills of Gwynedd, the greatest of the actors in the Revolutionary drama were playing their parts, --Washington, Greene, Lafayette, Wayne, Steuben, Kalb, and all the distinguished list. The Wisters were quartered in the old house at Penllyn, -- the Foulke mansion, where William Foulke had died two years before, and which was at this time the home of his widow, Hannah, and her unmarried children. The different members of the family are alluded to in various places in the journal, and the allusions explained by foot-notes. [JQ: I have placed these comments from Howard Jenkins in the text in brackets like this.]

JOURNAL

Though I have not the least shadow of an opportunity to send a letter, if I do write, I will keep a sort of journal of the time that may expire before I see thee: the perusal of it may some time hence give pleasure in a solitary hour to thee and our S.J.

Yesterday, which was the 24th of September, two Virginia officers called at our house, and informed us that the British army had crossed the Schuylkill. Presently after, another person stopped, and confirmed what they had said, and that General Washington and army were near Pottsgrove. [The battle of Brandywine had occurred September 11th, and the surprise and massacre at Paoli on the night of the 20th. Howe crossed at Gordon's Ford (now Phoenixville), and Fatland Ford, on the 23rd, to the east side of Schuykill, and moved down to Philadelphia. Washington was at Pottsgrove for several days, and then moved over to the Perkiomen.] Well, thee may be sure we were sufficiently scared; however, the road was very still till evening. About seven o'clock we heard a great noise. To the door we all went. A large number of waggons, with about three hundred of the Philadelphia militia. They begged for a drink, and several pushed into the house. One of those that entered was a little tipsy, and had a mind to be saucy. I then thought it time for me to retreat; so figure me (mightily scared, as not having presence of mind enough to face so many of the military), running in at one door, and out of another, all in a shake with fear; but after a little, seeing the officers appear gentlemanly, and the soldiers civil, I called reason to my aid. My fears were in some measure dispelled, tho' my teeth rattled, and my hand shook like an aspen leaf. They did not offer to take their quarters with us; so with many blessings, and as many adieus, they marched off. I have given the most material occurrence of yesterday faithfully.

[This date, presuming the day of the week to be accurately given, should be the 24th, and it may be here observed that the dates of the month are not for some time correctly given in the journal, being a while one day ahead, and then two days, until December 5th, when they become correct.]

This day, till twelve o'clock, the road was mighty quiet, when Hobson Jones came riding along. About that time he made a stop at our door, and said the British were at Skippack road; that we should soon see their light horse, and [that] a party of Hessians had actually turned into our lane. My dadda and mamma gave it the credit it deserved, for he does not keep strictly to the truth in all respects; but the delicate, chicken-hearted Liddy and I were wretchedly scared. [Lydia Foulke, who afterward married John Spencer. She was some six years the elder of Miss Sally.] We could say nothing but "Oh, what shall we do? What will become of us?" These questions only augmented the terror we were in. Well, the fright wore off. We saw no light horse or Hessians. O. Foulke [Owen Foulke, son of Caleb. He was Miss Sally's first cousin, their mothers being sisters.] came here in the evening, and told us that General Washington had come down as far as the Trap, and that General McDougle's brigade was stationed at Montgomery, consisting of about 16 hundred men. This he had from Dr. Edwards, Lord Stirling's aid-de-camp; so we expected to be in the midst of one army or t'other.

We were unusually silent all the morning; no passengers came by the house, except to the mill, and we don't place much dependence on mill news. About twelve o'clock, cousin Jesse [ Foulke, brother to Caleb and Amos, and therefore a "connection by marriage," but not of kin, at all; the term "cousin" is purely complimentary.] heard that General Howe's army had moved down towards Philadelphia. Then my dear, our hopes and fears were engaged for you. However, my advice is, summon up all your resolution, call Fortitude to your aid, don't suffer your spirits to sink, my dear; there's nothing like courage; 'tis what I stand in need of myself, but unfortunately have but little of it in my composition. I was standing in the kitchen about 12, when somebody came to me in a hurry, screaming, "Sally, Sally, here are the light horse!" It was the greatest fright I had endured; fear tack'd wings to my feet; I was at the house in a moment; at the porch I stopt, and it really was the light horse. I ran immediately to the western door, where the family were assembled, anxiously waiting for the event. They rode up to the door and halted, and enquired if we had horses to sell. We answered negatively. "Have you not sir," to my father, "two black horses?" -- "Yes, but have no mind to dispose of them." My terror had by this time nearly subsided. The officer and men behaved perfectly civil; the first drank two glasses of wine, rode away, bidding his men to follow, which after adieus in number, they did. The officer was Lieutenant Lindsay, of Bland's regiment, Lee's troop. The men, to our great joy, were Americans, and but 4 in all. What made us imagine them British, they wore blue and red, which with us is not common. It has rained all this afternoon, and to present appearances, will all night. In all probability the English will take possession of the city tomorrow or next day. What a change it will be! May the Almighty take you under His protection, for without His divine aid all human assistance is vain.

"May heaven's guardian arm protect my absent friends.

From danger guard them, and from want defend."

Nothing worth relating has occurred this afternoon. Now for trifles. I have set a stocking on the needles, and intend to be mighty industrious. This evening our folks heard a very heavy cannon. We supposed it to be fired by the English. The report seem'd to come from Philadelphia. We hear the American army will be within five miles of us tonight. The uncertainty of our position engrosses me quite. Perhaps to be in the midst of war, and ruin, and the clang of arms. But we must hope the best...[We are unfortunately given nothing in relation to the battle of Germantown, which occurred October 4th, in this interval. The omission is difficult to understand, because she alludes, later, to "the battle of Germantown, and the horrors of that day.]

Here, my dear, passes an interval of several weeks, in which nothing happend'd worth the time and paper it would take to write it. The English, however, in the interim, had taken possession of the city. [They had occupied the city September 26th, two days after first date in the journal.]

Now for new and uncommon scenes. As I was lying in bed, and ruminating on past and present events, and thinking how happy I should be if I could see you, Liddy came running into the room, and said there was the greatest drumming, fifing, and rattling of waggons that ever she had heard. What to make of this we were at a loss. We dress'd and down stairs in a hurry. Our wonder ceased. The British had left Germantown, and our army was marching to take possession. It was general opinion that they would evacuate the capital. [On this date the British withdrew from Germantown into Philadelphia, and the Americans moved down the Skippack Road, and the roads adjacent, to take a nearer position. Washington's headquarters, for some days, were at "James Morris's, on the Skippack road," and on the 2nd of November, at Whitemarsh, at the residence of George Emblen, here mentioned. It was the movement of troops down the Morris road, no doubt, -- "half a mile away," - that Miss Sally and her friends went to see.] Sister B. and myself, and G.E. [George Emblen] went about half a mile from home, where we cou'd see the army pass.[Sister B. is Miss "Betsy," -- Elizabeth -- the writer's sister.] Thee will stare at my going, but no impropriety in my opine, or I should not have gone. We made no great stay, but return'd with excellent appetites for our breakfast. Several officers call'd to get some refreshments, but none of consequence till the afternoon. Cousin P. [Priscilla Foulke, sister of Caleb, Amos and Jess; "Cousin" simply by courtesy as she was not of kin to Miss Sally.] and myself were sitting at the door; I in a green skirt, dark short gown, etc. Two genteel men of the military order rode up to the door: "Your servant, ladies," etc.; ask'd if they could have quarters for General Smallwood. Aunt F. thought she could accommodate them as well as most of her neighbors, -- said they could [Aunt F., wife of Amos Foulke, and sister to Miss Sally's mother.] One of the officers dismounted, and wrote "Smallwood's Quarters" over the door, which secured us from straggling soldiers. After this he mounted his steed and rode away. When we were alone, our dress and lips were put in order for conquest, and the hopes of adventures gave brightness to each before passive countenance. Thee must be told of a Dr. Gould, who, by accident, had made acquaintance with my father, - a sensible conversible man, a Carolinian, -- and had come to bid us adieu. Daddy had prevailed on him to stay a day or two with us. In the evening his Generalship came with six attendants, which compos'd his family. A large guard of soldiers, a number of horses and baggage-waggons, the yard and house in confusion, and glitter'd with military equipments. Gould was intimate with Smallwood, and had gone into Jesse's to see him. While he was there, there was great running up and down stairs, so I had an opportunity of seeing and being seen, the former the most agreeable, to be sure. One person, in particular, attracted my notice. He appear'd cross and reserv'd; but thee shall see how agreeably disappointed I was. Dr. Gould usher'd the gentleman into our parlour, and introduc'd them, -- "General Smallwood, Captain Furnival, Major Stodard, Mr. Prig, Captain Finley, and Mr. Clagan, Colonel Wood, and Colonel Line. These last two did not come with the General. They are Virginians, and both indispos'd. The General and his suite are Marylanders. [Maj. Stodard: This gentleman, frequently and fully spoken of in the journal is presumed to be Maj. Benjamin Stoddert of Maryland, who was Secretary of the Navy from 1798 to 1801 under Adams and Jefferson.] Be assur'd I did not stay long with so many men, but secur'd a good retreat, heart-safe, so far. Some sup'd with us, others at Jesse's. They retir'd about ten, in good order. How new is our siuation! I feel in good spirits, though surrounded by an army, the house full of officers, the yard alive with soldiers, -- very peaceable sort of people, tho'. They eat like other folks, talk like them, and behave themselves with elegance; so I will not be afraid of them, that I won't. Adieu. I am going to my chamber to dream, I suppose, of bayonets and swords, sashes, guns, and epaulets.

I dare say thee is impatient to know my sentiments of the officers; so, while Somnus embraces them, and the house is still, take their characters according to their rank. The Gen'l is tall, portly, well made: a truly martial air, the behaviour and manners of a gentleman, a good understanding, and great humanity of disposition, constitute the character of Smallwood. [He commanded Maryland troops in the Revolutionary army, from 1776 to 1780, and served with credit. He was Governor of Maryland from 1785 to 1788.] Col Wood, from what we hear of him, and what we see, is one of the most amiable of men; tall and genteel, an agreeable countenance and deportment. The following lines will more fully characterize him: --

"How skill'd he is in each obliging art,

The mildest of manners and the bravest heart."

The cause he is fighting for alone tears him from the society of an amiable wife and engaging daughter; with tears in his eyes he often mentions the sweets of domestic life. Col. Line is not married: so let me not be too warm in his praise, lest you suspect. He is monstrous tall and brown, but has a certain something in his face and conversation very agreeable; he entertains the highest notions of honour, is sensible and humane, and a brave officer; he is only seven and twenty years old, but, by a long indisposition and constant fatigue, looks vastly older, and almost worn to a skeleton, but very lively and talkative. Capt. Furnival, -- I need not say more of him than that he has, excepting one of two, the handsomest face I ever saw, a very fine person; fine light hair, and a great deal of it, adds to the beauty of his face. Well, here comes the glory, the Major, so bashful, so famous, etc., he should come before the Captain, but never mind. I at first thought the Major cross and proud, but I was mistaken; he is about nineteen, nephew to the Gen'l and acts as Major of brigade to him; he cannot be extoll'd for the graces of person, but for those of the mind he may justly be celebrated; he is large in his person, manly, and an engaging countenance and address. Finley is wretched ugly, but he went away last night, so I shall not particularize him. Nothing of any moment to-day; no acquaintance with the officers. Cols. Wood and Line, and Gould, dined with us. I was dress'd in my chintz, and looked smarter than night before.

I just now met the Major, very resrv'd; nothing but "Good morning," or "Your servant, madam;" but Furnival is most agreeable; he chats every opportunity; but luckily has a wife! I have heard strange things of the Major. With a fortune of thirty thousand pounds, independent of any body, the Major is vastly bashful; so much so he can hardly look at the ladies. (Excuse me, good sir; I really thought you were not clever; if 'tis bashfulness only, will drive that away.)

Fifth day, Sixth day, and Seventh day pass'd. The General still here; the Major still bashful.

Prepare to hear amazing things. The General was invited to dine, was engag'd; but Colonel Wood, Major Stodard, and Dr. Edwards din'd with us. [Dr. Enoch Edwards, brother of Major Evan Edwards, and after Revolution a prominent citizen and judge of the Philadelphia courts. He lived in Byberry, on a farm left him by his father, and died there in April, 1802. He served on the staff of Lord Stirling.] In the afternoon, Stodard, addressing himself to mamma, "Pray ma'am, do you know Miss Nancy Bond?" I told him of the amiable girl's death. This major had been at Philadelphia College. In the evening, I was diverting Johnny at the table, when he drew his chair to it, and began to play with the child. I ask'd him if he knew N. Bond. "No, ma'am, but I have seen her very often." One word brought on another one. We chatted a great part of the evening. He said he knew me directly as he seen me. Told me exactly where we liv'd. It rains, so adieu.

The General and officers drank tea with us, and stay'd part of the evening. After supper I went with aunt, where sat the General, Colonel Line, and Major Stodard. So Liddy and I seated ourselves at the table in order to read a verse-book. The Major was holding a candle for the General, who was reading a newspaper. He look'd at us, turn'd away his eyes, look'd again, put the candlestick down, up he jumps, out of the door he went. "Well," said I to Liddy, "he will join us when he comes in." Presently he return'd and seated himself on the table. "Pray, ladies, is there any songs in that book?" "Yes, many." "Can't you favor me with a sight of it?" "No, Major, 'tis a borrowed book." "Miss Sally, can't you sing?" "No." Thee may be sure I told the truth there. Liddy, saucy girl, told him I could. He beg'd and I deny'd; for my voice is not much better than the voice of a raven. We talk'd and laugh'd for an hour. He is clever, amiable, and polite. He has the softest voice, never pronounces the r at all. I must tell thee, to-day arriv'd Colonel Guest and Major Leatherberry; the former a smart widower, the latter a lawyer, a sensible young fellow, and will never swing for want of a tongue. [Guest is doubtless Col. Mordecai Gist, of Maryland, who was first a captain under Smallwood, and then rose to the command of a regiment. He was in the fight near Moorestown, in December, when Howe made the demonstration on Washington's lines at Whitemarsh.] Dr. Diggs came Second-day; a mighty disagreeable man. We were oblig'd to ask him to tea. He must needs pop himself between the Major and me, for which I did not thank him. After I had drank tea, I jump'd from the table, and seated myself at the fire. The Major follow'd my example, drew his chair close to mine, and entertain'd me very agreeably. Oh Debby; I have a thousand things to tell thee. I shall give thee so droll an account of my adventures, that thee will smile. "No occasion of that, Sally," methinks I hear thee say, "for thee tells me every trifle." But, child, thee is mistaken, for I have not told thee half the civil things that are said of us sweet creatures at "General Smallwood's Quarters." I think I might have sent the gentlemen to their chambers. I made my adieus, and home I went.

A polite, "good morning" from the Major, more sociable than ever. No wonder: a stoic cou'd not resist such affable damsels as we are.

We had again the pleasure of the General and suite at afternoon tea. He (the General) is most agreeable; so lively, so free, and chats so gaily, that I had quite an esteem for him. I must steel my heart! Captain Furnival is gone to Baltimore, the residence of his belov'd wife. The Major and I had a little chat to ourselves this eve. No harm, I assure thee: he and I are friends.

This eve came a parson belonging to the army. He is (how shall I describe him?) near seven feet high, thin, and meagre, not a single personal charm, and very few mental ones. He fell violently in love with Liddy at first sight; the first discover'd conquest that has been made since the arrival of the General. Come, shall we chat about Col. Guest? He's very pretty; a charming person; his eyes are exceptional; very stern; and he so rolls them about that mine always fall under them. He bears the character of a brave officer; another admirer of Liddy's, and she of him. When will Sally's admirers appear? Ah! that indeed. Why, Sally has not charms sufficient to pierce the heart of a soldier. But still I won't despair. Who knows what mischief I yet may do?

Well, Debby, here's Doctor Edwards come again. Now we shall not want clack; for he has a perpetual motion in his head, and if he were not so clever as he is, we should get tired.

I walked into aunt's this evening. I met the Major. Well, thee will think I am writing his history; but not so. Pleased with the rencounter. Betsy, Stodard, and myself, seated by the fire, chatted away an hour in lively and agreeable conversation. I can't pretend to write all he said; but he shone in every subject that was talk's of.

A most charming day. I walked to the door and received the salutation of the morn from Stodard and other officers. As often as I go to the door, so often have I seen the Major. We chat passingly, as, "A fine day, Miss Sally." "Yes, very fine, Major."

Another very charming conversation with the young Marylander. He seems possessed of very amiable manners; sensible and agreeable. He has bey his unexceptional deportment engaged my esteem.

Liddy, Betsy, and a Tory prisoner of state went to the mill. We made very free with some Continental flour. We powder'd mighty white, to be sure. Home we came. Col. Wood was standing at a window with a young officer. He gave him a push forward, as much as to say, "Observe what fine girls we have here." For all I do not mention Wood as often as he deserves, it is not because we are not sociable: we are very much so, and he is often at our house. Liddy and I had a kind of adventure with him this morn. We were in his chamber, chatting about our little affairs, and no idea of being interrupted: we were standing up, each an arm on a chest of drawers; the door bang'd open! - Col. Wood was in the room; we started, the colour flew into our faces and crimson'd us over; the tears flew into my eyes. It was very silly; but his coming was so abrupt. He was between us and the door. "Ladies, do not be scared, I only want something from my portmanteau; I beg you not to be disturbed." We ran bey him like two partridges, into mamma's room, threw ourselves into chairs, and reproach'd each other for being so foolish as to blush and look so silly. I was very much vex'd at myself, so was Liddy. The Colonel laugh'd at us, and it blew over.

The army had orders to march today; the regulars accordingly did. [This movement was to Whitemarsh.] General Smallwood had the command of militia at that time, and they being in the rear, were not to leave their encampment until Second day. Observe how militaryish I talk. No wonder, when I am surrounded by people of that order. The General, Colonels Wood, Guest, Crawford, and Line, Majors Stodard and Leatherberry, din'd with us today. After dinner, Liddy, Betsy and thy smart journalizer, put on their bonnets to take a walk. We left the house. I naturally look'd back; when, behold, the two majors seem'd debating whether to follow us or not. Liddy said, "We shall have their attendance." But I did not think so. They open'd the gate and came fast after us. They overtook us about ten poles from home, and beg'd leave to attend us. No fear of a refusal. They inquir'd when we were going to neighbor Roberts [John Robert's in Whitpain, a short distance away.] "We will introduce you to his daughters and to General Stevens." The affair was concluded, and we shortened the way with lively conversation. Our intention of going to Roberts' was frustrated; the rain that had fallen lately had raised the Wissahickon too high to attempt crossing it on foot. We alter'd the plan of our ramble, left the road, and walk'd near two miles thro' the woods. Mr. Leatherberry, observing my locket, repeated the lines:

"on her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,

That Jews might kiss, and infidels adore."

I repli'd my trinket bore no cross. "Tis something better, madam." 'Tis nonsense to repeat all that was said; my memory is not so obliging; but it is sufficient that nothing happen'd during our little excursion but what was very agreeable and entirely consistent with the strictest rules of politeness and decorum. I was vex'd a little at tearing my muslin petticoat. I had on my white dress, quite as nice as a First-day in town. We returned home safe. Smallwood, Wood, and Stodard drank tea with us, and spent the greater part of the evening. I declare this gentleman is very, very entertaining, so good natur'd, so good humor'd -- yes, so sensible; I wonder he is not married. Are there no ladies form'd to his taste? Some people, my dear, think that there's no difference between good nature and good humor; but according to my opinion, they differ widely. Good nature consists in a naturally amiable and even disposition, free from all peevishness and fretting. It is accompanied by a natural gracefulness, -- a manner of saying every thing agreeably; in short, it steals the senses, and captivates the heart. Good humor is a very agreeable companion for an afternoon; but give me good nature for life. Adieu.

[Second day, -- Monday -- was November 3rd. The dates here are two days wrong, and as the reader may perceive for himself, are inconsistent with those heretofore given, which were one day wrong.]

Today the militia marches, and the General and officers leave us. Heigh ho! I am very sorry; for when you have been with agreeable people, 'tis impossible not to feel regret when they bid you adieu, perhaps for ever. When they leave us we shall be immur'd in solitude. The Major looks dull.

About two o'clock the General and the Major came to bid us adieu. With daddy and mammy they shook hands very friendly; to us they bow'd politely. Our hearts were full. I thought the Major was affected. "Good-bye, Miss Sally," spoken very low. We stood at the door to take a last look, all of us very sober. The Major turn'd his horse's head, and rode back, dismounted. "I have forgot my pistols," pass'd us, and ran upstairs. He came swiftly back to us, as if wishing, through inclination, to stay; by duty compell'd to go. He remounted his horse. "Farewell, ladies, 'til I see you again," and cantered away. We look'd at him till the turn in the road hid him from our sight. "Amiable major," "Clever fellow," "Good young man," was echoed from one to the other. I wonder if we shall ever see him again. He has our wishes for his safety.

Well, here's Uncle Miles! Heartily glad of that am I. His family are well, and at Reading. [Colonel Samuel Miles, of the Pennsylvania troops in the Revolutionary army. His wife was Catherine Wister, sister of Miss Sally's father.]

Jesse, who went with the General, return'd. We had a compliment from the General and the Major. They are very well disposed of at Evan Meredith's, six miles from here. I wrote to P.F., by Uncle Miles, who waited on General Washington next morn. [Polly Fishbourn, a young lad representative of a well-known Philadelphia family, and an intimate friend of Miss Sally. She was at Whitemarsh.]

It seems strange not to see our house as it used to be. We are very still. No rattling of waggons, glittering of muskets. The beating of the distant drum is all we hear. Colonels Wood, Line, Guest, and Major Leatherberry are still here; the two last leave today. Wood and Line will soon bid us adieu. Amiable Wood; he is esteem'd by all that know him! Everybody has a good word for him. Here I skip a week or two, nothing of consequence occurring. (Wood and Line are gone.) Some time since arriv'd two officers, Lieutenant Lee and Warring, Virginians. I had only the salutations of the morn from them. Lee is not remarkable one way or the other; Warring an insignificant piece enough. Lee sings prettily, and talks a great deal; how good turkey hash and fried hominy is (a pretty discourse to entertain the ladies), extols Virginia, and execrates Maryland, which, by-the-by, I provok'd them to; for though I admire both Virginia and Maryland, I laugh'd at the former, and prais'd the latter. Ridiculed their manner of speaking. I took a great delight in teasing them. I believe I did it sometimes ill-natur'dly; but I don't care. They were not, I am certain almost, first-rate gentlemen. (How different from our other officers.) But they are gone to Virginia, where they may sing, dance, and eat fry'd hominy and turkey hash all day long, if they choose. Nothing scarcely lowers a man, in my opinion, more than talking of eating, what they love, and what they hate. Lee and Warring were proficients in that science. Enough of them!

Oh gracious! Debby, I am all alive with fear. The English have come out to attack (as we imagine) our army, three miles this side. [This was Howe's famous demonstration against Whitemarsh, which was fully expected to be a general battle. The British left the city on the afternoon of December 4th.] What will become of us, only six miles distant? We are in hourly expectation of an engagement. I fear we shall be in the midst of it. Heaven defend us from so dreadful a sight. The battle of Germantown, and the horrors of that day, are recent in my mind. It will be sufficiently dreadful, if we are only in hearing of the firing, to think how many of our fellow creatures are plung'd into the boundless ocean of eternity, few of them prepar'd to meet their fate. But they are summon'd before an all-merciful judge, from whom they have a great deal to hope.

I was much alarm'd just now, sitting in the parlour, indulging melancholy reflections, when somebody burst open the door. "Sally, here's Major Stodard!" I jumped. Our conjectures were various concerning his coming. The poor fellow, from great fatigue and want of rest, together with being expos'd to the night air, had caught cold, which brought on a fever. He cou'd scarcely walk, and I went into aunt's to see him. I was surpris'd. Instead of the lively, alert, blooming Stodard, who was on his feet the instant we enter'd, he look'd pale, thin, and dejected, too weak to rise, and "How are you, Miss Sally?" "How does thee do, Major?" I seated myself near him, inquir'd the cause of his indisposition, ask'd for the General, receiv'd his compliments. Not willing to fatigue him with too much chat, I bid him adieu. To-night Aunt H_ F_ [Hannah Foulke, widow of William], Sen'r, administer'd something. Jesse assisted him to his chamber. He had not lain down five minutes before he was fast asleep. Adieu.

I trip'd into aunt's. There sat the Major, rather more like himself. How natural it was to see him. "Good morning, Miss Sally," "Good morrow, Major, how does thee do to -day?" "I feel quite recover'd, Sally." "Well, I fancy this indisposition has sav'd thy head this time." Major:"No ma'am; for if I even hear a firing, I shall soon be with them." That was heroic. About eleven I dress'd myself, silk and cotton gown. It is made without an apron. I feel quite awkwardish, and prefer the girlish dress. [Though no firing seems to have been heard, it was on this day that two severe skirmishes occurred between the armies, --one at Edge Hill, near Moorestown, and the other in Cheltenham, probably near Shoemakerstown. There were a number killed, and many wounded.]

A Mr. Seaton and Stodard drank tea with us. He and I had a little private chat after tea. In the even, Seaton went into aunt's; mamma went to see Prissa, who is poorly; papa withdrew to talk with some strangers. Liddy just then came in, so we engag'd in an agreeable conversation. I beg'd him to come in and give us a circumstantial account of the battle, if there should be one. "I certainly will, ma'am, if I am favor'd with my life." Liddy, unluckily, took it into her head to blunder out something about a person being in the kitchen who had come from the army. Stodard, ever anxious to hear, jump'd up. "Good night to you ladies," was the word, and he disappeared, but not forever. "Liddy, thee hussy; what business had thee to mention a word of the army? Thee sees it sent him off. Thy evil genius prevail'd, and we all feel the effects of it." "Lord bless me," said Liddy, "I had not thought of his going, or for ten thousand words, I would not have spoke." But we cannot recall the past.

Well, we laugh'd and chatted at a noisy rate, till a summons for Liddy parted us. I sat negligently on my chair, and thought brought thought, and I got so low spirited that I cou'd hardly speak. The dread of an engagement, the dreadful situation (if a battle should ensue) we should be in, join'd to my anxiety for P.F. [Polly Fishbourn] and family, who would be in the midst of the scene, was the occasion. And yet I did not feel half so frighten'd as I expected to be. 'Tis amazing how we get reconciled to such things. Six months ago the bare idea of being within ten, ayes twenty miles, of a battle, wou'd almost have distracted me. And now, tho' two such large armies are within six miles of us, we can converse calmly of it. It verifies the old proverb. "Use is second nature."

I forgot one little piece of intelligence, in which the girls say I discover'd a particular partiality for our Marylanders, but I disclaim anything of the kind. These saucy creatures are forever finding out wonders, and forever metamorphosing mole-hills into mountains.

"Friendship I offer, pure and free;

And who, with such a friend as me,

Could ask or wish for more?"

"If they charg'd thee with vanity, Sally, it wou'd not be very unjust." Deb by Norris! Be quiet; no reflections, or I have done. "But the piece of intelligence, Sally!" [It] is just coming, Debby. In the afternoon we heard platoon firing. Everybody was at the door; I in the horrors. The armies, as we judg'd were engag'd. Very compos'dly says the Major to our servant, "Will you be kind enough to saddle my horse? I shall go!" Accordingly the horse was taken from the quiet, hospitable barn to plunge into the thickest ranks of war. Cruel change! Seaton insisted to the Major that the armies were still; "nothing but skirmishing with the flanking parties; do not go." We happen'd (we girls I mean) to be standing in the kitchen, the Major passing thro' in a hurry, and I, forsooth, discover'd a strong partiality by saying, "Oh! Major, thee is not going!" He turn'd round, "Yes I am, Sally," bow'd, and went into the road; we all pitied him; the firing rather decreased; and after persuasions innumerable from my father and Seaton, and the firing over, he reluctantly agreed to stay. Ill as he was, he would have gone. It show'd his bravery, of which we all believe him possess'd of a large share.

Rejoice with us, my dear. The British have return'd to the city. Charming this. May we ever be thankful to the Almighty Disposer of events for his care and protection of us while surrounded with dangers. Major went to the army. Nothing for him to do; so returned.

Third of fourth day, I forget which, he was very ill; kept his chamber most of the day. In the evening I saw him. I pity him mightily, but pity is a poor remedy.

[The British reached Philadelphia on the evening of this day, plundering the farms between Edge Hill and the city, as they marched in.]

Our army mov'd, as we thought, to go into winter quarters, but we hear there is a party of the enemy gone over Schuylkill; so our army went to look at them. I observ'd to Stodard, "So you are going to leave us to the English." "Yes, ha! ha! Ha! leave you for the English." He has a certain indifference about him, that, to strangers, is not very pleasing. He sometimes is silent for minutes. One of these silent fits was interrupted the other day by his clasping his hands and exclaiming aloud, "Oh my God, I wish this war was at and end!" [Early in the morning of this day, 11th December, the camp at Whitemarsh was broken up, and the Americans marched (doubtless down the Skippack Road to Broadaxe, and thence westward) to the ferry at Matson's Ford --now Conshohocken. The weather was cold, no snow had fallen, the roads were frozen, and those of the men who were barefoot left such crimson marks on the ground, that afterward Washington mad the statement which has passed into history: "You might have tracked the army from Whitemarsh to Valley Forge by the blood of their feet.]

The Major has gone to camp. I don't think we shall see him again. Well, strange creature that I am; here have I been going on without giving thee an account of two officers, -- one who will be a principal character; their names are Capt. Lipscomb and a Mr. Tilly; the former a tall, genteel man, very delicate from indisposition, and has a softness in his countenance that is very pleasing, and has the finest head of hair that I ever saw; 'tis a light shining auburn. The fashion of his hair was this -- negligently ty'd and waving down his back. Well may it be said, --

He has not hitherto shown himself a lady's man, tho' he is perfectly polite. Now let me attempt a character of Tilly. He seems a wild, noisy mortal, tho' I am not much acquainted with him. He appears bashful when with girls. We dissipated the Major's bashfulness; but I doubt we have not so good a subject now. He is above the common size, rather genteel, an extreme pretty, ruddy face, hair brown, and a sufficiency of it, a very great laugher, and talks so excessively fast that he often begins a sentence without finishing the last, which confuses him very much, and then he blushes and laughs; and in short, he keeps me in perpetual good humor; but the creature has not address'd one civil thing to me since he came. But I have not done with his accomplishments yet, for he is a musician, -that is, he plays on the German flute, and has it here.

The family retir'd; take the adventures of the afternoon as they occur'd. Seaton and Captain Lipscomb drank tea with us. While we sat at tea, the parlour door was open's and in came Tilly; his appearance was elegant; he had been riding; the wind had given the most beautiful glow to his cheeks, and blow'd his hair carelessly round his cheeks. Oh, my heart, thought I, be secure! The caution was needless, I found it without a wish to stray. When the tea equipage was remov'd, the conversation turned on politicks, a subject I avoid. I gave Betsy a hint. I rose, she followed, and we went to seek Liddy. We chatted a few moments at the door. The moon shone with uncommon splendour. our spirits were high. I proposed a walk; the girls agreed. When we reach'd the poplar tree, we stopp'd. Our ears were assailed by a number of voices. "A party of light horse," said one. "The English, perhaps; let's run home." "No,no," said I, "be heroines." At last two or three men on horseback came in sight. We walked on. The well-known voice of the Major saluted our hearing with, "How do you do, ladies." We turn'd ourselves about with one accord. He, not relishing the idea of sleeping on the banks of the Schuylkill, had return'd to the mill. We chatted along the road till we reach'd our hospitable mansion. Stodard dismounted, and went into Jesse's parlour. I sat there a half hour. He is very amiable. Lipscomb, Seaton, Tilly, and my father, hearing of his return, and impatient for the news, came in at one door, while I my exit at the other. I am vex'd at Tilly, who has his flute, and does nothing but play the fool. He begins a tune, plays a note or so, then stops. Well, after a while, he begins again; stops again. "Will that do, Seaton? Hah! hah! hah!" He has given us but two regular tunes since he arrived. I am passionately fond of music: How boyish he behaves.

I ran into aunt's this morning to chat with the girls. Major Stodard join'd us in a few minutes. I verily believe the man is fond of the ladies, and what to me is astonishing, he has not display'd the smallest degree of pride. Whether he is artful enough to conceal it under the veil of humility, or whether he has none, is a question; but I am inclined to think it the latter. I really am of the opinion that there are few of the young fellows of the modern age exempt from vanity, more especially those who are bless'd with exterior graces. If they have a fine pair of eyes, they are forever rolling them about; a fine set of teeth, mind, they are great laughers; a genteel person, forever changing their attitudes to show them to advantage. Oh vanity, vanity, how boundless is thy sway!

But to resume this interview with Major Stodard. We were very witty and sprightly. I was darning an apron, upon which he was pleas'd to compliment me. "Well, Miss Sally, what would you do if the British were to come here?" "Do," exclaimed I; "be frightened just to death." He laugh'd, and said he would escape their rage by getting behind the representation of a British grenadier that you have upstairs. "Of all things, I should like to frighten Tilly with it. Pray, ladies, let's fix it in his chamber to-night." "If thee will take all the blame, we will assist thee." "That I will", he replied, and this was the plan. We had brought some weeks ago a British grenadier from Uncle Miles's on purpose to divert us. It is remarkably well executed, six feet high, and makes a martial appearance. This we agreed to stand at the door that opens into the road (the house has four rooms on a floor, with a wide entry running through), with another figure, that would add to the deceit. One of our servants was to stand behind them, others were to serve as occasion offer'd. After half an hour's converse, in which we raised our expectations to the highest pitch, we parted. If our scheme answers, I shall communicate it in the eve. Till then, adieu.

Never did I more sincerely wish to possess a descriptive genius than I do now. All that I can write will fall infinitely short of the truly diverting scene that I have been witness of to-night. But, as I mean to attempt an account, I had as well shorten the preface, and begin the story. In the beginning of the evening I went to Liddy and beg'd her to secure the swords and pistols which were in their parlour. The Marylander, hearing our voices, joined us. I told him of our proposal. Whether he thought it a good one or not I can't say, but he approv'd of it, and Liddy went in and brought her apron full of swords and pistols. When this was done, Stodard join'd the officers. We girls went and stood at the first landing of the stairs. The gentlemen were very merry, and chatting on public affairs, when seaton's negro (observe that Seaton, being indisposed, was appriz'd of the scheme) open'd the door, candle in hand, and said, "There's somebody at the door that wishes to see you." "Who? All of us?" said Tilly. "Yes, sir," said the boy. They all rose (the Major, as he said afterwards, almost dying of laughter), and walked into the entry, Tilly first, in full expectation of news. The first object that struck his view was a British soldier. In a moment his ears were saluted, "Is there any rebel officers here?" in a thundering voice. Not waiting for a second word, he darted like lightning out of the front door, through the yard, bolted o'er the fence. Swamps, fences, thorn-hedges, and plough'd fields no way impeded his retreat. He was soon out of hearing. The woods echoed with, "Which way did he go? Stop him! Surround the house!" The amiable Lipscomb had his hand on the latch of the door, intending to make his escape; Stodard, considering his indisposition, acquainted him with the deceit. We females ran down stairs to join in the general laugh. I walked into Jesse's parlour. There sat poor Stodard (whose sore lips must have receiv'd no advantage from this), almost convuls'd with laughing, rolling in an arm-chair. He said nothing; I believe he could not have spoke. "Major Stodard," said I, "go call Tilly back. He will lose himself, -indeed he will;" every word interrupted with a "Ha! ha!" At last he rose and went to the door; and what a loud voice could avail in bringing him back; he tried. Figure to thyself this Tilly, of a snowy evening, no hat, shoes down at the heel, hair unty'd, flying across meadows, creeks, and mud-holes. Flying from what? Why, a bit of painted wood. But he was ignorant of what it was. The idea of being made a prisoner wholly engrossed his mind, and his last resource was to run.

After a while, we being in more composure, and our bursts of laughter less frequent, yet by no means subsided, -in full assembly of girls and officers, -Tilly enter'd. The greatest part of my risibility turn'd to pity. Inexpressible confusion had taken entire possession of his countenance, his fine hair hangind dishevell'd down his shoulders, all splashed with mud; yet his bright confusion and race had not divested him of his beauty. He smil'd as he trip'd up the steps; but 'twas vexation plac'd on his features. Joy at that moment was banished from his heart. He briskly walked five or six steps, then stop'd and took a general survey of us all. "Where have you been, Mr. Tilly" asked one officer. (We girls were silent) "I really imagin'd," said Major Stodard, "that you were gone for your pistols. I follow'd you to prevent danger," -an excessive laugh at each question, which it was impossible to restrain. "Pray, where were your pistols, Tilly?" he broke his silence by the following expression: "You may all go to the Devil." I never heard him utter an indecent expression before.

At last his good nature gain'd a complete ascendance over his anger, and he join'd heartily in the laugh. I will do him the justice to say that he bore it charmingly. No cowardly threats, no vengeance denounced. Stoadard acught hold of his coat. "Come look at what you ran away from," and drag'd him to the door. He gave it a look, said it was very natural, and by the singularity of his expressions, gave fresh cause for diversion. We all retir'd to our different parlours, for the rest of our faces, if I may say so. Well, certainly, these military folks will laugh all night. Such screaming I never did hear. Adieu to-night.

I am fearful they will yet carry the joke too far. Tilly certainly possesses an uncommon share of good nature, or he could not tolerate these frequent teazings. Ah, Deborah, the Major is going to leave us entirely - just going. I will see him first.

He has gone. I saw him pass the bridge. The woods which you enter immediately after crossing it, hinder'd us from following him further. I seem to fancy he will return in the evening.

Stodard not come back. We shall not, I fancy, see him again for months, perhaps for years, unless he should visit Philadelphia. We shall miss his agreeable company. But what shall we make of Tilly? No civil things yet from him. Adieu to-night, my dear.

The officers yet here. no talk of their departure. They are very lively. Tilly's retreat the occasion; the principal one, at least.

Captain Lipscomb, Seaton, and Tilly, with cousin H.M. [Hannah Miles, daughter of Col. Miles], dined with us to-day. Such an everlasting bore as Tilly I never knew. He caused us a good deal of diversion while we sat at table. He said not a syllable to one of us young ladies since Sixth-day eve. He tells Lipscomb that the Major had the assistance of the ladies in the execution of the scheme. He tells a truth.

About four o'clock I was standing at the door, leaning my head on my hand, when a genteel officer rode up to the gate and dismounted. "Your servant, ma'am" and gave me the compliment of his hat. Went into aunt's. I went into our parlour. Soon Seaton was call'd. Many minutes had not elapsed before he enter'd with the young fellow whom I had just seen. He introduced him by the name of Captain Smallwood. We seated ourselves. I then had an opportunity of seeing him. He is a brother ot General Smallwood. A very genteel, pretty fellow, very modest, and seems agreeable, but no personal resemblance between him and the Major. After tea, turning to Tilly, he said, "So, sir, I have heard you had like to have been taken prisoner last Friday night." "Pray sir, who informed you?" "Major Stodard was my author." "I fancy he made a fine tale of it. How far did he say I ran?" "Tow miles; and that you fell into the mill- pond!" "He rais'd his eyes and hands, and exclaimed, "What a compounded falsehood." The whole affair was again reviv'd. Our Tillian here gave a mighty droll account of his "retreat" as they call it. He told us that, after he had got behind our kitchen, he stop'd for company, as he expected the others would immediately follow. "But I heard them scream, "Which way did he go?" "Where is he?" "Aye," said I, to myself, "He is gone where you shan't catch him," and off I set again." "Pray," ask'd mamma, "did thee keep that lane between the meadows?" "Oh no, ma'am; that was a large road, and I might happen to meet some of them. When I got to your thorn hedge, I again stop'd. As it was a cold night, I thought I would pull up my shoe-heels, and tie my handkerchief around my head. I began to have a suspicion of a trick, and hearing the Major hollow, I came back." I think i did not laugh more at the very time than to-night at the rehearsal of it. He is so good-natured, and takes all their jokes with so good a grace, that I am quite charm'd with him. He laughingly denounces vengeance against Stodard. He will be even with him. He is in the Major's debt, but he will pay him, etc.

Smallwood has taken up his quarters with us. Nothing worth relating occur'd today.

We chatted a little with the officers. Smallwood not so chatty as his brother or nephew. Lipscomb is very agreeable; a delightful musical voice.

The officers, after the politest adieus, have left us. Smallwood and Tilly are going to Maryland, where they live; Seaton to Virginia; and Lipscomb to camp, to join his regiment. I feel sorry at this departure, yet 'tis a different kind from what I felt some time since. We had not contracted so great an intimacy with those last. [General Smallwood's brigade went to Wilmington, where they passed the winter.]

General Washington's army have gone into winter quarters at the Valley Forge. We shall not see many of the military now. We shall be very intimate with solitude. I am afraid stupidity will be a frequent guest. After so much company, I can't relish the idea of sequestation. [The army had been at Gulf Creek (near Conshohocken, but west of the Schuylkill), for a few days, but left there on the 19th, and marched to Valley Creek, to begin the winter encampment.]

A dull round of the same thing over again. I shall hang up my pen until something offers worth relating.