Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 26, September, 1880

"I have been looking everywhere for you," cried Colonel Pinckney; and he seized both her hands: "no one seemed to know where you had gone."

The bright color rose in her cheeks, and in spite of her resolve her eyes beamed with delight. She murmured inarticulately that she had told Adèle, then relapsed into silence.

"I have to implore your forgiveness for neglecting to obey as to the advertisement, but the truth is–" and he hesitated—"I have a plan. It may not meet with your concurrence," he added, "but I wished to submit it before you made other and irrevocable arrangements."

"You have thought of some position for me?" she forced herself to say, all the bloom and delight vanishing from her face.

"Yes. I know an individual who wants precisely such a person as you are, for—a wife."

"Colonel Pinckney!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Do forgive me, dear Miss Featherstone. I am such a confounded poltroon"—and he seized her hands again—"that I dare not risk my fate; but that person is"—and he looked down upon her, his heart beating so violently that he could scarcely speak—"that person is—myself!"

Of what happened then Mrs. Pinckney, roused by her brother-in-law's return, was cognizant, for actually, in the open air, with her blue eyes bent eagerly upon them, he clasped the governess in his arms. "It is a fact accomplished!" cried the fair widow with a sigh, and sank back upon her pillows.

THE HOME OF THE GENTIANS

There is a lonesome hamlet of the dead
Spread on a high ridge, up above a lake—
A quiet meadow-slope, unfrequented,
Where in the wind a thousand wild flowers shake.

But most of all, the delicate gentian here,
Serenely blue as the sweet eyes of Hope,
Doth prosper in th' untroubled atmosphere,
Where wide its fringèd eyelids love to ope.

You cannot set a foot upon the ground
On warm September noons, in this old croft,
But there some satiny blossom crushed is found,
Swift springing up to look again aloft.

Prized! sung of poets! sought for singly where
Adventurous feet may hardly dare to climb!
Here, scattered lavishly and without care,
In all the sweet luxuriance of their prime.

Ah! how the yellow-thighed, brown-coated bee
Dives prodigally into those blue deeps
Of glistening, odorless satin fair to see,
And soon forgetting wherefore, trancèd, sleeps!

And how the golden butterflies skim over,
And poise, all fondly, on these lifted lips,
Leaving the riches of the sweet red clover
For the blue gentians' fine and fairy tips!

Beautiful wildlings, proud, refined and shy!
Mysteries ye are, have been, and yet shall be:
The secrets of your being in ye lie,
And no man yet hath found their hidden key.

Might we not laugh at our world's vaunted lore,
For ever boasting, "This, and this, I know"?
Not all the science of its hard-won store
Can make one single fringèd gentian grow.

                                                  —HOWARD GLYNDON.

NEWPORT A HUNDRED YEARS AGO

There is a magnetism in places which has as strong and subtle a potency as that which belongs to certain persons. Newport, Rhode Island, is not an inapt example of the class of which I speak. The wonderful mildness of the air, coupled with its exhilarating qualities; the fertility of the soil, which throws tropical vegetation over the stern realism of crag and precipice; the mixture of the wildest features of Nature with its softest and most intoxicating influences,—all these anomalies, unexplained even by the proximity of the itself inexplicable Gulf Stream, combine to form a perfect and most desirable whole. Nor is this description over-colored or the offshoot of the latter-day caprice that has made of the place a fashionable resort. The very name of the State suggests that of a classic island famed for its atmosphere; and as Verrazano, writing in 1524, compares Block Island to Rhodes, it is possible that hence arose its title. Neal in 1717, and the Abbé Robin in 1771, both speak of Newport as the Paradise of New England, and endorse its Indian appellation, Aquidneck, or the Isle of Peace. Berkeley, dean of Derry, who came here in 1729 full of zealous but utopian plans of proselytism, writes of it that "the climate is warmer than Italy, and far preferable to Bermuda" (his original destination). Indeed, it is to the good man's enthusiasm for Newport that we owe his burst of poetical prophecy, "Westward the course of empire takes its way."

If the staid and reverend Berkeley, he whom Swift, writing to Lord Carteret, recommends as "one of the first men in the kingdom for learning and virtue," and of whom Pope exclaims, "To Berkeley every virtue under heaven," found here this fascination, what wonder that more excitable pilgrims of Latin blood made of it a Mecca? The French particularly came often to Newport in early colonial days, and have left jottings of their stay and the pleasure it afforded them. Monsieur de Crèvecoeur visited it in 1772, and found delight in its natural beauties. He notes the bay and harbor, the approach to which he considers remarkably fine, and admires the acacia and plane trees which line the roads, all of which, unfortunately, were destroyed during the Revolution. The young attaché of the French legation of to-day, who chafes at the diplomatic duties which delay his shaking off the dust of Washington for the delights of Newport, hardly comprehends how much heredity has to do with his appreciation of it. He does not stop to think, as he sips his post-prandial coffee at Hartman's window, of the line of French chivalry that a century ago made their favorite promenade by the spot where he now sits. His mind, running on Mrs. A–'s ball or Mrs. B–'s lawn-tennis, is far from dreaming of the irresistible De Lauzun, the gallant De Fersen, a fugitive from the love of a queen, but destined to serve her as lackey in her need, the two handsome Viosmenils, the baron Cromot du Bourg, the duc de Deux-Ponts, or any of the brilliant cortége of a bygone day. But what memories the mere enumeration of their names brings up! Rank and valor were the heritage of all of them, an heroic but unhappy end the fate of most. Who can say that the aroma of their presence does not still linger round the old town, up and down the narrow streets where they passed with gay jests and clanking sword, or in the quaint mansions, still peeping out from behind century-old hedges, where they left the record of their graces in the heart of their host and of their loves on his window-pane? What can be pleasanter than for the American pen to linger over the page of history that chronicles the generous sympathy which brought this fine flower of France to our shores? Where is the heart, even in our cynical nineteenth century, which holds enthusiasm an anachronism, that does not thrill at the recollection of the chivalry that quitted the luxury and revels of Versailles to dare the dangers of an ocean-voyage (then no ten-day pleasure-trip) for a cause that still hung in the balances of success? Viewed practically, the help offered was even more deserving of praise. The French are not an adventurous nation: they are not fond of travelling. Hugo says Paris is the world, and to the average Frenchman it embodies the world it comprises: it is the world. Expatriated, he would rather dwell, like the poet, on a barren island within sight of the shores of France than seek or find new worlds to conquer. It must therefore be conceded that the sentiment which brought us our allies in 1780 was a hearty one, nor had they encouragement from the example of others; for, although La Fayette, young and full of ardor, had fired the hearts of his compatriots, and made it the fashion to help us even before the alliance in 1778, yet the expedition of that year under the comte d'Estaing had been an utter failure. There was, however, a strong incentive which brought the young nobles of the time to us, and that was the one which the old philosopher declared to be at the bottom of every case—a woman. In this particular instance the prestige was heightened by the fact that she was also a queen. Marie Antoinette was then at the zenith of her beauty and power. The timid, shrinking dauphiness, forced to the arms of an unwilling husband, himself a mere cipher, had expanded into a fascinating woman, reigning triumphantly over the court and the affections of her vacillating spouse. The birth, after years of wedlock, of several children completed her conquest and gave her the dominion she craved, and she now threw her influence unreservedly into the balance for the American colonies, little dreaming she was therein laying the first stone toward her own ruin.

On the 6th of February, 1778, the treaty between the United States and France was signed, followed in July of the same year by a declaration from the king protecting neutral ships, although bound for hostile ports and carrying contraband goods. Meanwhile, on the 13th of April, the French fleet had sailed from Toulon under the command of D'Estaing, who had with him on the Languedoc, his flagship, a regularly appointed envoy, Girard de Rayneville, who had full power to recognize the independence of the States, Silas Deane, one of the American commissioners, and such well-known officers as the comte de la Motte-Piquet, the Bailli de Suffren, De Guichen, D'Orvilliers, De Grasse and others. The history of this first expedition is a short and disastrous one. The voyage was long, owing to the ships being unequally matched in speed, and it was ninety days after leaving Toulon before they anchored in Delaware Bay. D'Estaing had hoped to surprise Lord Howe, who was guarding the mouth of the Delaware to strengthen the position of Sir Henry Clinton at Philadelphia, but when the fleet arrived Clinton had evacuated Philadelphia, and was in the harbor of New York. Here the French admiral followed him, but, finding no pilots at Sandy Hook willing to take him over the bar, he on Washington's recommendation proceeded to Rhode Island to co-operate with Sullivan, who was in command of the army there, which was divided into two brigades under Generals Greene and La Fayette. On the 29th of July, 1778, the French fleet appeared off Newport, to the delight of the inhabitants, who were suffering from the English occupation, and saw in prospect an end to their troubles. But, alas! their joy was premature. Sullivan was so slow in moving that the moment for action was lost. Lord Howe, having received reinforcements, appeared off Point Judith, where D'Estaing tried to meet and give him battle; but a hurricane coming up, both fleets were obliged to spend their energies in saving themselves from destruction, and before the storm passed the French ships were so scattered that all hope of success had to be abandoned. D'Estaing found himself on the 13th of August separated from his convoy, and his ship, Le Languedoc, bereft of rudder and masts, forced to an encounter with three English vessels. His fleet rallied round him, but it was too late after a disastrous action to do anything but repair damages: in fact, Lord Howe had already reached Sandy Hook. D'Estaing appeared off Newport on the 20th to announce that he should be obliged by instructions to go to Boston for provisions and water, and thus ended the first visit of the French to Newport, to the dismay of the inhabitants. Sullivan criticised D'Estaing severely, but was obliged by La Fayette to retract: indeed, it is a question whether the fault of failure lay in Sullivan's procrastination or in want of judgment on the part of the French commander, who nevertheless, on his return to France, interested himself to induce the government to send out twelve thousand men to America. La Fayette also, through his friendship with Vergennes, exerted himself toward the same end, the proposition being not unfavorably received by the government, which merely demurred as to the number of troops required. Before leaving France, however, La Fayette had secured full consent to the expedition, and on him devolved the grateful task of bearing to Congress and Washington the news of the co-operation of that country. The fleet was prepared at Brest, and was placed under Admiral de Ternay, the command of the troops being given to the comte de Rochambeau, not through court favor, but in consideration of the affection of the army for him.

Jean Baptiste de Vimeur, comte de Rochambeau and marshal of France, was born in Vendôme in 1725. At sixteen he served under the maréchal de Broglie, was afterward aide to the duc d'Orléans, and distinguished himself in the battles of Crevelt, Minden, Closterkamp and Corbach, being seriously wounded several times. A thorough soldier, Rochambeau possessed not only courage, but a clear, practical eye, accompanied by foresight and judgment. His memoirs show him to have taken more kindly to the camp than the court, and outside of war to have been fond of the sports of a country gentleman. His appearance in Trumbull's picture of the surrender of Cornwallis shows us more of a Cincinnatus than of an Alexander. He was reserved in his manner, even with his officers, and De Fersen, writing to his father, complains of it, acknowledging, however, that it was shown less with him than with others. Later on he does Rochambeau justice, and says: "His example had its effect on the army, and the severe orders he gave restrained everybody and enforced that discipline which was the admiration of the Americans and of the English who witnessed it. The wise, prudent and simple conduct of M. de Rochambeau has done more to conciliate America to us than the gain of four battles."

With this representative soldier of his time came so fine a showing of the noblesse of France, fresh from the most brilliant court of Europe, that they are worth a short description. They are interesting, if from nothing else, from the fact that they are the men who appear on the page of history one day steeped in the enervating luxury and intrigue of Versailles and Marly, the next fighting and dying with the courage of the lionhearted Henri de la Rochejaquelin in Vendée, leaving as an epitaph on their whole generation the words of the Chouan chief, "Allons chercher l'ennemi! Si je recule, tuez moi; si j'avance, suivez moi; si je meurs, vengez moi!" Never even in Napoleon's campaigns, where each man had as incentive a name and fortune to carve, was there such a race of soldiers as these same aristocrats.

First and foremost, let us mention Armand Louis de Gontaut, duc de Lauzun, the duc de Biron of the Vendée. He was the gayest gallant of the time, and whether with the Polish princess Czartoriski, the beautiful Lady Sarah Bunbury—George III.'s admiration as he saw her making hay at Holland House—Mesdames de Stainville and de Coig and the rollicking actresses of the Comédie Française, or Mrs. Robinson (the prince of Wales's "Perdita,"), seems to have had universal success. We except the record that gives him the love of Marie Antoinette. To him was entrusted in this expedition the legion that bore his name, with Count Arthur Dillon as coadjutor. The maréchals-de-camp were the two brothers Viosmenil, celebrated for their beauty, and the marquis de Chastelleux, a member of the Institute and possessed of some literary merit. He had written a piece called La Félicité publique, which drew from the wits of the day the following epigram:

À Chastelleux la place académique:
Qu' a-t-il donc fait? Un livre bien conçu.
Vous l'appelez La Félicité publique;
Le public fut heureux, car il n'en a rien su.

He printed twenty-four impressions of his travels in America by the aid of a printing-press on the squadron, the first record of a book having been published privately in the colonies. The aides of De Rochambeau were the handsome Swede Count de Fersen, the marquis de Vauban, Charles de Lamette (who fought a famous duel in the Bois de Boulogne with the duc de Castries), De Dumas and De Laubedières: De Tarli was intendant. The list of officers comprised such historic names as those of the marquis de Laval-Montmorenci, the duc de Deux-Ponts (colonel of the regiment raised in Alsace that bore his name), his two brothers, Vicomte de Chartres, De Custine, D'Olonne, De Montesquieu and the vicomte de Noailles. The last named had, as ambassador to England, the task entrusted to him of bearing to Lord Weymouth the news of the French alliance with America.

The fleet which appeared off Newport on the 11th of July, 1780, comprised seven ships of the line—the Duc de Bourgogne, Neptune, Conquérant, Provence, Eveillé, Jason and Ardent—the frigates Surveillante, Amazone and Gentille, the corvette Fantasque (which was a hospital-ship) and the cutter La Guêpe. There were thirty-two transports with the expeditionary corps of five thousand men. Admiral de Ternay, wisely profiting by D'Estaing's experience, lost no time in reaching his destination. He was welcomed by the sight of the French flag planted both on Point Judith and Newport Point, this being the signal agreed on with La Fayette that all was well. Only a few days later he would have been intercepted by an English squadron, Admiral Graves having sailed from Portsmouth early in the season, intending to prevent the French reaching Newport, but his plans were deranged by the bad weather. The squadron entered the beautiful harbor of Newport with flying flags and pennons bright with the golden fleur-de-lys of France.

From the earliest days of the colony Newport had taken a prominent place in its history. Its natural advantages had early singled it out for both commercial and social distinction. One of the first governors, Coddington, was its original settler. An openly-avowed freedom from prejudice was among the first declared principles of Rhode Island. Quakers and Jews were gladly received, and while the former brought with them the temperance and moderation peculiar to their tenets, the latter grafted on Newport commerce the spirit of enterprise which made the town celebrated in colonial annals for its prosperity and importance. The Jewish merchants were men of good origin, fine presence and character. They were many of them of high birth in Spain and Portugal, and they have bequeathed to posterity a record of stately hospitality and unblemished integrity. The names of Lopez, Riviera, Seixas and Touro are honored and respected still in their former home, and the fine arch that towers over the gay promenade of to-day gives entrance to their last resting-place, so solemn and so majestic a home of the dead that it drew from the Nestor of American poets a stirring apostrophe to the manes of the dead sons of Israel. The fine harbor and bay of Newport soon attracted commerce from all nations, which heaped its wharves with riches and made princes and magnates of its merchants—a position they seemed born to sustain. The Overings, Bannisters, Malbones and Redwoods kept open house and exercised lavish hospitality—witness, as told by the Newport Herald of June 7, 1766, the story of Colonel Godfrey Malbone's feast on the lawn of his burning mansion, so fine an edifice that its cost had been a hundred thousand dollars in 1744; but the house taking fire at the time he had invited guests to dinner, he thus feasted rather than disappoint them, and all through the long summer night they held high revel and pledged each other in jovial toasts while the flames of the burning building illumined these Sardanapalian orgies. Year after year added to the importance of this city by the sea: year after year the Indies poured into its warehouses the riches with which Newport, out of its abundance, dowered New York, Boston and Hartford and ornamented and enriched the stately homes of its merchants. There is, however, one blot on its scutcheon—one which darkens the picture of this prosperity and the means that helped make it—and that is the slave-trade. Yes, the town which was to give birth to William Ellery Channing was one of the first to become interested in this baleful traffic. It is true it was denounced by the Legislature, which as early as 1652 made it penal to hold slaves, yet statistics show that between 1730 and 1752 the return cargoes of all ships from the West Indies consisted of them. The slave-trade of Newport bore fruit in other evils. At this time there were no less than forty distilleries at work, and this rum, exported to Africa, bought and brought home the human freight. However, in 1774 the importation was prohibited, and all male children born after 1784 were declared to be free.

Nowhere was there a more courtly and elegant society than in Newport. The rules of etiquette were rigorously adhered to, and there was no jesting on so sacred a topic as the honor and respect due to those whom the good rector of Trinity was wont to allude to as moving in higher spheres. De Ségur a year or two later says of it: "Other parts of America were only beautiful by anticipation, but Rhode Island was complete. Newport, well and regularly built, contained a numerous population, whose happiness was indicated by its prosperity. It offered delightful circles composed of enlightened men and modest and handsome women, whose talents heightened their personal attractions." To-day, Newport is the rendezvous of the best society of the land. Handsome women and clever men meet and greet there, but can the society be more distinguished than, from this description, it must have been a century ago? We wonder if the stately dames who in the eighteenth century held court here would quite approve of the laissez-aller of modern intercourse. The youth of to-day, whose highest praise for his fair partner of the cotillon is often that she is "an awfully good fellow," has little kinship with his ancestor, who used to wait at the street-corner to see the object of his devotion go by under the convoy of her father and mother and a couple of faithful colored footmen, thinking himself happy meanwhile if his divinity gave him a shy glance. The gay girl of the period, who scampers in her pony chaise down the avenue from one engagement to the other, and whose most sacred confidence is apt to be that she adores horses and loves "pottering about the stable," is, with all her charms, quite different from the blushing little beauty of 1780, who in powdered hair, quilted petticoat and high, red-heeled shoes gave her lover a modest little glance at the street-corner, thinking it a most delicious and unforeseen bit of romance to have a lover at all. But other times other manners, and nineteenth-century men and women are no doubt as charming in their way as were our pretty ancestresses and their gallants of a century ago.

The prosperity of Newport received a check from the Revolution. The English occupation resulted in a vandalism that destroyed the fine mansions, turned public buildings, and even Trinity Church, into barracks for the soldiers and stables for their horses, laid waste the country, cut down the trees and obliterated the landmarks. Thus the French found it, and they were welcomed as possible deliverers and defenders from the English rule. Rochambeau and his staff reached Newport in the frigate Hermione on the afternoon of the 11th of July, and the next day the troops were landed, many of them being ill and all in need of rest after the long voyage and cramped quarters. The forts were put in possession of the French, who proceeded to remodel them into a better condition to resist a siege. General Heath, hearing at Providence the news of the arrival of the fleet, came down to Newport to greet Rochambeau, whom he met on shore, going afterward on board the Duc de Bourgogne to see the admiral, who in return saluted the town with thirteen guns. On the evening of the 12th Rochambeau dined with General Heath, a grand illumination of the town taking place afterward, and each day saw some new festivity to welcome the guests who had made the American cause their own. The army had been stationed across the island guarding the town, the right toward the ships and the left upon the sea, Rochambeau thus carefully covering the position of his vessels by the batteries. Everything was en fête. The people were delighted with the manners and courtly polish of the French. Robin says of the discipline insisted on at Newport, "The officers employed politeness and amenity, the common soldiers became mild, circumspect and moderate." The French at Newport were no longer the frivolous race, presumptuous, noisy, full of fatuity, they were reputed to be. They lived quietly and retired, limiting their society to their hosts, to whom every day they became dearer. These young nobles of birth and fortune, to whom a sojourn at court must have given a taste for dissipation and luxury, were the first to set an example of frugality and simplicity of life. They showed themselves affable, popular, as if they had never lived but with men who were on an equality. Every one was won, even the Tories, and their departure saddened even more than their arrival had alarmed. Rochambeau also alludes to the discipline of the army, and says: "It was due to the zeal of the generals and superior officers, and above all to the goodwill of the soldiers. It contributed not a little to make the State of Rhode Island acquiesce in the proposition I made it, to repair at our expense the mansions which the English had mutilated, so that they might serve as barracks for the soldiers if the inhabitants would lodge the officers. We spent twenty thousand crowns in repairing the houses, and left in the place many marks of the generosity of France toward its allies."

We have before us an old plan of Newport in 1777, and a list of the officers' hosts. We find the general quartered at 302 New lane, corner of Clark and Mary streets. Its proprietor, William Hunter, was president of the Eastern Navy Board at Boston and an earnest upholder of the rights of the colonies. The gallant and all-conquering Lauzun was at the widow Deborah Hunter's, No. 264 Thames street. Mrs. Hunter was the mother of two charming daughters, whom Lauzun eulogizes in his journal. His praise has been often quoted, yet it is worth repeating, as it shows this Lovelace in a new and pleasing light. He says: "Mrs. Hunter is a widow of thirty-six who has two daughters, whom she has well brought up. She conceived a friendship for me, and I was treated like one of the family. I passed my time there. I was ill, and she took care of me. I was not in love with the Misses Hunter, but had they been my sisters I could not have been fonder of them." The two Viosmenils and their aides were at Joseph Wanton's, in Thames street. The Wantons had been governors of Rhode Island from 1732: Joseph Wanton was the last governor under the Crown. He is described as wearing a large white wig with three curls—one falling down his back and one forward over each shoulder. De Chastelleux lodged with Captain Maudsly, at No. 91 Spring street; De Choisy at Jacob Riviera's in Water street; the marquis de Laval and the vicomte de Noailles at Thomas Robinson's, in Water street; the marquis de Custine, the commander of the regiment Saintonge, at Joseph Durfey's, 312 Griffin street; Colonel Malbone entertained Lieutenant-Colonel de Querenel at No. 83 Thames street; while Colonel John Malbone was the host of the commandant Desandrouins, the colonel of the engineers, at No. 28 of the same street; William Coggeshall of No. 135 Thames street had the baron de Turpin and De Plancher for guests; De Fersen and the marquis de Darnas were at the house of Robert Stevens, and De Laubedières and Baron de Closen at that of Henry Potter, both in New lane; Madame McKay, 115 Lewis street, quartered De Lintz and Montesquieu; Joseph Antony, at 339 Spring street, Dumas; and Edward Hazard, of 271 Lewis street, the two D'Olonnes. Admiral de Ternay was much on his ship, but lodged at Colonel Wanton's in Water street; his captains, De la Chaise and Destouches, were at Abraham Redwood's, 78 Thames street.

On the 21st of July, Admirals Graves and Arbuthnot arrived off the harbor with eleven vessels—one of ninety, six of seventy-four, three of sixty-four, and one of fifty guns. The following day the number was increased to nineteen, and from this time the French squadron was effectually blockaded in Newport. Although doubt seems to have been felt by some as to the good intentions of the French army, the general feeling on their arrival was one of joy. On Sunday, the 15th, the intelligence became known in Philadelphia, where Congress was then sitting. Washington ordered the soldiers to wear a black-and-white cockade as a symbol of the alliance, the American cockade being black and the French white, but seems withal to have felt nervous and impatient for some decisive action. He sent La Fayette to Newport to urge Rochambeau to make an attack on New York, but the latter replied that he expected from the admiral de Guichen, who commanded the West India squadron, five ships of war, and declined to take any steps until his army was in better condition. La Fayette, who was young and full of ardor, was hardly pleased with Rochambeau's caution, but apologized for his impetuosity on the ground of disliking to see the French troops shut up in Newport while there was so much to be done. To this Rochambeau replied that he had an experience of forty years, and that of fifteen thousand men who had been killed and wounded under his orders he could not reproach himself with the loss of a single person killed on his account. He desired, however, a personal interview with Washington—a request which from some reason the commander-in-chief did not seem anxious to grant. There was at times a coolness in the relations between Rochambeau and Washington, arising perhaps from a different estimate of La Fayette; but the cloud, if there was any, was never very perceptible or of any long duration. On the 21st of August a committee of the General Assembly of the State, at that time in session at Newport, presented Rochambeau and De Ternay with a formal address of welcome. De Rochambeau's reply was full of manliness and good-will. He said, "The French troops are restrained by the strictest discipline, and, acting under General Washington, will live with the Americans as their brethren. I assure the General Assembly that as brethren not only my life, but the lives of the troops under my command, are entirely devoted to their service." This frank avowal dissipated a fear felt by some that the French might have some ulterior motive in coming to the assistance of the colonies.

It is not to be supposed that the belles of Newport were indifferent to the advent of these fascinating French paladins, or that the gallant Gauls were unmoved by the beauty and grace of the Newport women. With one accord they joined in admiration of their fair hostesses, not only for their charms of face and figure, but for the purity and innocence of their characters, which made a deep impression on these Sybarites, accustomed as they were to the atmosphere of intrigue and vice peculiar to the French court of the day. We find the record of this enthusiasm in the letters and journals of the officers, but for a picture of the special belles of the time there is none more correct than that furnished by the prince de Broglie and the comte de Ségur, who visited Newport the following year. They note particularly Miss Champlin, the daughter of a rich merchant who lived at No. 119 Thames street. Mr. Champlin had large shipping interests, which he managed with great enterprise. At his house De Broglie was introduced by De Vauban, who as aide to De Rochambeau had met all the Newport notables, and the prince writes: "Mr. Champlin was known for his wealth, but more for the lovely face of his daughter. She was not in the room when we entered, but appeared a moment after. She had beautiful eyes, an agreeable mouth, a lovely face, a fine figure, a pretty foot, and the general effect was attractive. She added to these advantages that of being charmingly coiffée in the Paris style, besides which she spoke and understood our language." Of the Hunters, Lauzun's hostesses, De Broglie says: "The elder, without being regularly handsome, had a noble appearance and an aristocratic air. She was graceful, intellectual and refined. Her toilette was as finished as Miss Champlin's, but she was not as fresh, in spite of what De Fersen said. The younger, Nancy Hunter, is not so modish, but a perfect rosebud. Her character is gay: she is always laughing, and has beautiful teeth—a thing not common in America." But Vauban, who on this occasion acted as master of ceremonies, promised the prince a greater treat for the morrow, and took him on that day to a house on the corner of Touro street and the Park, where they found a serious and silent old gentleman, who received them without compliment or raising his hat and answered their questions in monosyllables. The lively Frenchmen would have made a short visit had not the door opened and a young girl entered; and here De Broglie's own raptures must speak: "It was Minerva herself who had exchanged her warlike vestments for the charms of a simple shepherdess. She was the daughter of a Shaking Quaker. Her headdress was a simple cap of fine muslin plaited and passed round her head, which gave Polly the effect of the Holy Virgin." Yes, this was Polly Lawton (or Leighton), the very pearl of Newport beauties, of whom the prince says in continuation: "She enchanted us all, and, though evidently a little conscious of it, was not at all sorry to please those whom she graciously called her friends. I confess that this seductive Lawton appeared to me a chef-d'oeuvre of Nature, and in recalling her image I am tempted to write a book against the finery, the factitious graces and the coquetry of many ladies whom the world admires." Ségur says: "She was a nymph rather than a woman, and had the most graceful figure and beautiful form possible. Her eyes appeared to reflect as in a mirror the meekness and purity of her mind and the goodness of her heart." Polly chides the count, according to the rules of her faith, for coming in obedience to the king, against the command of God, to make war. "What could I reply to such an angel?" says the entranced Frenchman, "for she seemed to me a celestial being. Certainly, had I not been married and happy in my own country I should, while coming to defend the liberty of the Americans, have lost my own at the feet of Polly Lawton." We fear the comtesse de Ségur would hardly have relished her lord's raptures over the pretty Quakeress, and would have quite approved of Rochambeau's order which sent him back to his post.

Among this bevy of Continental beauties, to whom we may add the names of the lovely Miss Redwood—to whose charms sailors in the street would doff their hats, holding them low till she had passed—the two Miss Ellerys, Miss Sylven, Miss Brinley, Miss Robinson and others, it is not wonderful that the French officers bore patiently the enforced blockade. They indulged in constant festivities, to which they invited their fair enslavers. A deputation of Indians, numbering nineteen and consisting of members of the Tuscarora, Caghnawgas and Oneida tribes, visited the camp on the 2d of August. They were cordially received by Rochambeau, who gave them a dinner at which they were reported to have behaved well. After dining with General Heath they performed their war-dance, which was a novel and interesting sight to the French officers. As a return for this entertainment the French army gave a grand review, preceded by firing of cannon. The sight must have been a fine one. The regiments were among the flower of European chivalry, some of them of historical celebrity, such as the regiment of Auvergne, whose motto was "Sans tache" and one of whose captains, the famous D'Assas, is said to have saved a whole brigade at the expense of his life, crying, as he saw the enemy approaching on his unsuspecting comrades, "À moi Auvergne! voilà les ennemis!" and fell dead. The uniforms of the troops were most effective. The officers wore white cockades and the colors of their regiments faced with white cloth. The Bourbonnais regiment was in black and red, Saintonge in white and green, Deux-Ponts in white; the Soissonnais wore pink facings and grenadier caps with pink and white plumes, while the artillery were in blue with red facings. The savages were delighted with the pageant, but in spite of its splendor expressed more astonishment at seeing trees loaded with fruit hanging over tents which the soldiers had occupied for months than at anything else. They took their departure in September, being presented with blankets and other gifts by Rochambeau.

Perhaps the finest display was that which celebrated the French king's birthday on Friday, the 25th of August. The ships were decorated with the flags of all nations during the day and brilliantly illuminated at night. High mass was celebrated on the flag-ship, after which a number of salutes were fired. The town joined in the festivity. The bells of Trinity were rung and the inhabitants decorated their houses with flags. The autumn was spent in agreeable pastimes, but with the approach of winter it became necessary to put the army into comfortable quarters. The houses which Rochambeau had offered to repair were ready, and the regiments were installed in them; the State-House, which had been used as a hospital by the English, was put to the same use by the French; and an upper room in it was fitted up as a chapel, where masses were said for the sick and dying by the ábbe de Glesnon, the chaplain of the expedition. The list of the dead was soon to include no less a person than Admiral de Ternay. He was taken ill of a fever early in December, and brought on shore to the Hunter house, where he died on the 15th, being buried with great pomp in Trinity churchyard on the following day. The coffin was carried through the streets by sailors: nine priests followed, chanting a requiem for the departed hero. The tomb placed over the remains by order of Louis XVI. in 1785 having become injured by the ravages of time, the United States government in 1873, with the co-operation of the marquis de Noailles, then French minister, had it moved into the vestibule of the church, placing a granite slab over the tomb. One of Rochambeau's aides ascribes the admiral's death to chagrin at having let five English ships escape him in an encounter.

The winter passed slowly. Rochambeau ordered a large hall to be built as a place of meeting for his officers, but it was not completed until nearly spring. Meanwhile, the Frenchmen gave occasionally a handsome ball to the American ladies, such as that of which, in January, the officers of the regiment De Deux-Ponts were the hosts, and one given by the handsome Viosmenils on the anniversary of the signing of the treaty of alliance, February 6, 1781. But the crowning festivity of the French stay in Newport took place in March, when Washington visited it for the purpose of witnessing the departure of an expedition comprising part of the French fleet under Destouches, which was to co-operate with La Fayette on the Chesapeake. The barge of the French admiral was sent for the American chief, and he crossed the bay from the Connecticut shore, landing at Barney's Ferry on the corner of Long Wharf and Washington street. The sight must have been an imposing one—the beautiful harbor of Newport full of stately ships of war and gay pleasure-craft, the French troops drawn up in a close line, three deep, on either side from the ferry-house up Long Wharf and Washington street to Clarke street, where it turned at a right angle and continued to Rochambeau's head-quarters, while the inhabitants, wild with enthusiasm, crowded the wharves and quays to see the two commanders meet. Both were men of fine and stately presence: Washington was in the full prime of his imposing manhood, the very picture of a nation's chief; the French marshal was covered with brilliant decorations, and stood with doffed hat to welcome the hero of Valley Forge. In the evening the town was brilliantly illuminated, and, as at that time many of the people were very poor, the town council ordered that candles should be distributed to all who were not well off enough to buy them, so that every house might have lights in its windows. The procession on this occasion was led by thirty boys bearing candles fixed on staffs: Washington and De Rochambeau followed, and behind them came a concourse of citizens. The night was clear and there was not a breath to fan the torches. The brilliant cortége marched through the principal streets, and then returned to the Vernon house, corner of Clarke and Mary streets, where Washington and Rochambeau were quartered. Washington waited on the door-step until all the officers and his friends had entered the house, and then turning to the boys who had acted as torch-bearers thanked them for their services. It may be believed that these young patriots felt well repaid. The French officers were much impressed with the looks and bearing of the American chief. De Fersen, writing to his father, says: "His fine and majestic countenance, at the same time honest and sweet, answers perfectly to his moral qualities. He has the air of a hero. He is very reserved and speaks little, but is polite and frank. There is an air of sadness about him which is not unbecoming, but renders him more interesting." A few evenings after the French gave a grand ball to Washington, which he opened with the beautiful Miss Champlin, at whose house he had taken tea on that evening. The gallant Frenchmen seized the instruments from the band and themselves played the music of the minuet "A Successful Campaign" for a couple representing so much beauty and valor. The entertainment was given in Mrs. Cowley's assembly-rooms in Church street, and Desoteux, aide-de-camp to Baron Viosmenil, had charge of the decorations. An eye-witness says of the ball: "The room was ornamented in an exceeding splendid manner, and the judicious arrangement of the various decorations exhibited a sight beautiful beyond expression, and showed the great taste and delicacy of M. de Zoteux, one of Viosmenil's aides. A superb collation was served, and the ceremonies of the evening were conducted with so much propriety and elegance that they gave the highest satisfaction."