INTRODUCTION.

I HAVE been induced to publish the following extracts to gratify the wishes of dear and partial friends, and, I will frankly confess, a secret desire of my own, until of late scarcely acknowledged by myself, to follow in the train of my beloved children, and maintain, while I live, that close companionship with their minds, which has hitherto formed the chief happiness of my life: these motives impel me onward.

The story of the Stanley family is a simple narrative of facts, which occurred in 1814; the names only are fictitious. Every person who has read the remains of my daughter Margaret, by Irving, will recognize in Mrs. Stanley the original of Mrs. Mentraville in the unfinished romance, the characters of which were drawn from real life, although the tale is a fiction interwoven with many circumstances which actually took place at different periods of time. Dear to my heart, and deeply cherished there, is the remembrance of every individual connected with the events I am about to relate. The detail requires more firmness and self-command than I at all times possess, and calls up a host of sweet and bitter memories which nearly unfits me for my task. Dear and beloved beings! with whom my very heart of hearts was entwined; they have long since burst asunder the ties which bound them to life, and soared to join that angelic band, in that wide field of intellectual im

provement, to which their young hearts, while still on earth, so ardently aspired.

The six books of Fingal are the fruits of an odd whim of mine, to while away time, when languishing under a distressing illness in 1827-which confined me to the sick room and bed for more than eighteen months. On my recovery it was rescued from the flames by the intercession of a friend, and consigned to my common-place book, from whence it is now withdrawn by the same magic influence, to make its way in the world in company with the fugitive poems, with which it has so long held companionship. It is with diffidence I venture to appear before the public. I do not-I cannot anticipate the same warmth of feeling-the unqualified approbation with which the remains of my lamented daughters were welcomed. I only hope, as their mother, to escape the severe ordeal of the critic;-although sanguine in this hope, tremblingly I venture forth.

M. M. D.

THE EVENTS

OF A

FEW, EVENTFUL DAYS IN 1814.

CHAPTER I.

ABOUT the last of August, 1814, General Brisbane, the British commander, encamped with the advance guard of the enemy on the north side of the great Chazy. Sir George Provost following with all his combined forces, amounting to 15,000 well disciplined troops, on the first of September threw himself into the little village of Champlain. Immediately on his arrival there, he endeavoured to disaffect the minds of the inhabitants towards their own government, and draw them over to the enemy; failing in this, he proceeded to impress wagons and teams in the vicinity, for the purpose of transporting their baggage and military stores. From these movements, General Macomb, the American commander, was convinced that an attack was speedily meditated upon Plattsburgh. General Macomb had just returned from the lines, where he had commanded a fine brigade which was broken up by the march of General Izard, to the assistance of General Brown at Sackett's Harbor; this movement left the northern frontier comparatively defenceless; at least weak-handed, for our brave officers and men were resolved neither to know weakness or danger while the safety of that post was

at hazard. Four companies of organized troops were all that remained to defend the post of Plattsburgh. The garrison was chiefly composed of recruits and invalids; every thing was in confusion from the sudden march of General Izard. Our brave commander had much upon his hands. The works were not even in a state of defence, and fifteen hundred men were all he could command to compete with as many thousands. In order to stimulate his men to industry, and give them an interest in completing the works, General Macomb divided them into parties, placing them near the several forts; declaring, in general orders, that each detachment should garrison the fort at which they laboured, and the men were bound to defend it with their lives. This view of the subject awakened all their enthusiasm; they worked day and night, and swore to conquer or die.* The deliberation with which the enemy advanced gave time for the necessary preparations; and the activity and zeal of our officers and men, placed matters in a tolerable state of defence when the enemy made his descent upon the place. The enemy was expected in two columns, one by the way of the Lake, crossing Dead-Creek, where an advanced guard with arms and a fieldpiece had been stationed, in order to skirmish with, and annoy them in every possible way. The other column was on the western or Beekmantown road, and from the fourth inst, until

*The above statement I received from General Macomb himself, who also remarked, that the patriotism manifested by his officers and soldiers to a man on that occasion, had for ever riveted his esteem. He said that when they threw themselves into that fort, he told them they were to defend or perish with it, and that if there was a man there who was not willing to make this sacrifice for the general good he was at liberty to leave the regiment; that his own determination was to sustain the siege, or blow up the fort with all its military stores:-not a man moved to go,-they were unanimous in the high resolve to conquor or die. General Macomb related these circumstances to me a few weeks after the battle. The tears of a soldier filled his eyes as he spoke of the magnanimity of his officers and men.

the eleventh, there was constant skirmishing between the British advance guards and our militia and Vermont volunteers, which caused great alarm in the minds of the peaceable inhabitants. I will not here attempt a regular description of the movements of the contending armies; I merely wish the reader to understand their relative position, that he may the more readily comprehend the situation of those who were engaged in the scenes I am about to relate. My notes fail me with regard to the exact date of the general alarm throughout the village. According to the best of my recollection, however, the town was deserted by the inhabitants on or about the fourth of September,

1814.

CHAPTER II.

Ir was a lovely day, and notwithstanding the warlike preparations I have described above, all nature wore the aspect of peace and tranquillity. The rich foliage of the landscape was in full beauty; the early autumn shrubbery seemed the very perfection of nature. The river Saranac was winding its serpentine course between the banks, (on each side of which, the little village of Plattsburgh rose in picturesque beauty,) and as it fell, sparkling and foaming over the mill-dam, pursued its devious way under the bridge and gently rolled along to pour its waters into the beautiful Bay of Cumberland, which stretched before the eye in the distance. The waves of the lake were laving the variegated shrubbery which adorned its banks. The beautiful islands were peacefully reclining upon its bosom, and the blue mountains rising in grand succession beyond, lent a degree of sublimity to the scene.