How different was his younger brother!--no longer "little Tom" (though
of but middle height and slim build), but always gay-hearted,
affectionate, innocent, and a gentleman. He was a handsome lad,
without and within--yes, "lad" I must call him, for, though he came to
manly years, he always seemed a boy to me. He followed in our steps,
in his time, through Mr. Cornelius's school, and into King's College,
too, but the coming of the war cut short his studies there.
It must have been in the year 1772--I remember Margaret spoke of her
being seventeen years old, in which case I was nineteen--when I got
(and speedily forgot) my first glimpse of Margaret's inmost mind. We
were at the play--for New York had had a playhouse ever since Mr.
Hallam had brought thither his company, with whom the great Garrick
had first appeared in London. I cannot recall what the piece was that
night; but I know it must have been a decent one, or Margaret would
not have been allowed to see it; and that it purported to set forth
true scenes of fashionable life in London. At one side of Margaret her
mother sat, at the other was myself, and I think I was that time their
only escort.
"What a fright!" said Margaret in my ear, as one of the actresses came
upon the stage with an affected gait, and a look of thinking herself
mighty fine and irresistible. "'Tis a slander, this."
"Of whom?" I asked.
"Of the fine ladies these poor things pretend to represent.
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