could only address her secret prayers, divided as she was from them, by
the wide waters of the Atlantic.

Her two little girls were about to be thrown upon the charity of
strangers, and as no one could foresee the issue of the expedition, in
which their beloved father was engaged, she could not but fancy them
orphans in a foreign land, far from every relative, and exposed to the
thousand mischances that lie in wait for unprotected infancy. These
distressing reflections would also seem to have been heightened by the
consideration that it was very uncertain whether the king's troops
would be able to maintain their position at New York. Anticipating the
confusion of a retreat, and the hurry of an embarkation increased by the
approach of danger, must she not have shuddered at the fate of these two
little innocents destitute of every claim to protection but that of
helplessness.

And then too, she was about to die in a foreign land! to mingle her
ashes with a soil neither kindred to her heart, nor consoling in its
associations. No gentle hand smoothed her dying pillow; no well known
voice responded to her last sighs. What a moment for such a young and
interesting woman. What agonies may we not imagine to have been her's?
Her career of life, of rank, of honour, closing with circumstances so
little befitting their proud claims. What horrors would we not naturally
attribute to that hour of accumulating anguish, to that child, to that
mother, to that wife? What wretchedness to that fatal moment which
was about to sever their purest, freshest, sweetest ties? _Quite
otherwise_. This admirable young woman, died with serenity and
resignation. Religion shed its light upon her heart, and faith "that
daughter of the skies," renewed her sinking spirit with life and hope.
She fearlessly committed her infants to their father in heaven, and in