inhuman threats that the "rebel should not even have the rest of the grave." After she had found men brave enough to aid her in carrying the body home, she was obliged to protect the beloved lifeless form from desecration, and by its side she watched constantly until it was deposited in the earth through a midnight burial.
Margaret Gaston was now left alone in a foreign land—both her brothers and her eldest son having died before the tragic taking of her husband. A boy three years of age and an infant daughter demanded all the care and protection she could get for them in the pioneer country. Many women possessed of her sensibility and shrinking nature would have been overwhelmed, but the severe trials only served to develop the admirable energy of her character. She never laid aside the habiliments of sorrow; the anniversary of her husband's murder was kept as a day of fasting and prayer; and to the great object of her life—the support and education of her children, she devoted herself with a firmness and constancy which wrested success despite the most adverse conditions.
When she had finally sent her son to Princeton College, where he was soon bearing away the first honors, it happened that her house and furniture were destroyed by fire, yet her letters to him breathe not one word of the calamity which, with her slender resources must have been severely felt, because she feared he might feel called to abandon his studies and rally to her support. The fact that this son, William Gaston, became a distinguished citizen of the country, was to his mother a sufficient reward for all she had borne with deep piety and stoic reserve.
Those who spoke of Margaret Gaston invariably named her as the most dignified as well as the most devout woman they had ever seen. She survived the husband she had seen murdered thirty-one years, in which time she never made a visit save to the suffering poor. Her home life was yet one of great activity, attending the sick and indigent, and the poor sailors who came to New-bern looked to her as a ministering angel. She passed away in this town where she had stepped from the convent to become a bride.
SARAH BACHE.
Perhaps the best estimate of a woman who might otherwise shine only in the reflected glory of a distinguished father, may be obtained by a private view of her and her work through the eyes of a contemporary. The Marquis de Chastellux in a letter wrote the following description of Mrs. Bache, the daughter of Benjamin Franklin: "After a slight repast, we went to visit the ladies, agreeable to the Philadelphia custom, where morning is the most proper hour for paying visits. We began by Mrs. Bache. She merited all the anxiety we had to see her, for she is the daughter of Dr. Franklin. Simple in her manners, like her respected father she also possesses his benevolence. She conducted us into a room filled with work, lately finished by the ladies of Philadelphia. This work consisted neither of embroidered tambour waistcoats nor of artwork edging, nor gold and silver brocade. It was a quantity of shirts for the soldiers of Pennsylvania. The ladies bought the linen from their own private purses, and took a pleasure in cutting them out and sewing them themselves. On each shirt was the name of the married or
