His style of living was plain, yet genteel. His property, at death, was somewhat over twenty thousand dollars. Something had been made, and something lost, by adventures of various kinds; on the whole, it was mainly the long and moderate accumulation of the surplus of income.

We have incidentally spoken of his partner; we have now to take up her story more particularly, and follow her also to the final resting-place. AMY Hunter, born at Greenwich, Cumberland County, N. J. the 20th January, 1751, was the fourth child of Maskell and Mary Ewing. She received the name of the wife of their pastor; the worthy and childless couple would have gladly adopted her as their own; but, after a trial of a year or more, the little girl deploring the lonesomeness of her lot, was rejoiced to be taken back again, where there was a house-full of brothers and sisters. Her early education would have been better attended to, if she had continued at the parsonage; but who can blame her choice? However, as she belonged to a reading family, and was herself eager in the pursuit of knowledge, the loss was in a good measure repaired. History and geography were her favourite studies; English classic literature was hardly less familiar. But it was also a working family; Maskell Ewing, at that part of his life, was rich only in children; the clothing department of a large household kept the seven daughters in employment; and they had to devise ways to learn, while the needle was plying, or even while the spinning-wheel was in motion. By day, a book was posted up somewhere near the wheel; and it was usual of a winter's evening, for the girls to be at work around the table, while the father, with book in hand, afforded them matter for improvement.

Having stated what was Amy's natural turn, and what her opportunities in her father's house, we have only to superadd the fact of her union, and its long continuance, with such a man as Robert Patterson, to account for that large and varied store of knowledge, which made her so entertaining and instructive, especially in her venerable widowhood. It was before intimated, that his reading was always done aloud; and she was a good listener. After her husband was taken, the entertainment of Mrs. Patterson's remaining years was still very much drawn from books; and when, after a faithful service of ninety years, her powers of vision declined, she had at hand a daughter, whose tastes in this

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respect were concurrent with her own, and who was "as eyes to the blind."

In other important particulars, the feelings and views of Dr. Patterson and his wife were just as much in unison. I can only take room to mention two. She was a pious woman; and her piety was fervent and consistent. There was evidently a real and habitual interest in religion; all her conduct and conversation proved that it was uppermost in her affections. On this point, it would be superfluous, however agreeable, to enlarge; and we may pass to another characteristic, namely, her generosity. In portraying a character, even of one who seems to be religious, it is sometimes necessary to conceal the want of this lineament, lest the picture should be spoiled. I am under no such necessity. For the advancement of the gospel, for the relief of the destitute, for the more delicate cases of assistance, there was an open purse, and an open heart. No more need be said, than that, in the disposal of superfluous income, it was her study to be impartial.

It would be looked upon as a serious omission, if I were not to say, that she was remarkable for an affectionate disposition, and tenderness and gentleness of manners. As a wife, she deserved, and received, strong proofs of unremitted love. As a mother, a grandmother, a great grandmother,—what shall we not say? her heart was a fountain of fondness, open to all of us. None of us will think of it without emotion.

Wherever there is a constitutional activity of feeling, we may expect to find some strong and habitual dislikes. The writer remembers but one or two, which she was accustomed to indulge. Keeping a constant eye upon the train of national affairs, she had not much mercy for the opposite side in politics. Still more solicitous about the spiritual interests of the country, she was every inch a Protestant; the dread of an adverse influence was much in her thoughts, and often in her conversation; the subject never grew stale; and in this particular she seemed the relic of a past generation, or possibly, the harbinger of one to come. Yet her antipathy was not directed against individuals, but against a system. Her personal kindness knew no difference between the Protestant and the Catholic servant.*

*This the writer had occasion to witness, while with her a boarder at Dr. Moore's.

I have inquired for faults; (the character of my book requires impartiality;) an ungrateful task, if it had been more fruitful. Can any one remember aught against her, unless it was, that she was too yielding, too deficient in parental firmness? And even this was perhaps not habitually true.

To resume the narrative. At her husband's decease, Mrs. Patterson was seventy-three years old, and alone. An early arrangement was made for giving up housekeeping, and she thenceforth boarded with her children; by a pleasant alternation, spending the cold season in town, with Dr. Moore's family; and the summer, either at Greenwood (Dr. Harris's residence), in Chester county, or at Doylestown, with my mother. We remember with what pleasure her visit was looked for, and how fully the anticipation was realized. Her cheerful presence gave new animation to the family group. A serene and steady routine filled up the days of her sojourn. In the morning, she had her chair and footstool in the entry of the house, where there was a current of air; conversation, or reading aloud by some member of the family, gave a zest to her favourite occupation of knitting, to which many a little foot owed its winter covering. After dinner, and just as essential, came a nap; then the unfinished stocking was resumed ; and the calls of friends, with perhaps a short walk, carried her through the long summer twilight, to an early bed-time.

But the time drew on, when this pleasant routine of change must be arrested. Her last summer spent in the country was that of 1836, at which time she had attained her 86th year. A protracted and serious attack of sickness, at Doylestown, convinced her that it would thereafter be most prudent to remain quietly, the year round, in the city, where she would be near her medical adviser, Dr. Harris.

As year was heaped upon year, without bringing with it the usual imbecilities of old age, she became increasingly the object of affectionate interest and admiration. Her rocking-chair, in the parlour, or in the chamber,-which ever one happened to be filled, —was a centre of attraction. Let the reader, who was not acquainted with her, imagine a rather short, stout, well-featured lady, whose appearance might indicate the age of seventy-five years, while really it was ninety; of courteous and polished manners, without affectation; communicative, without being talkative;

little impaired in bodily faculties, and in full vigour of mind; let him also consider the attainments of an inquiring, elevated mind, and the stores of a retentive memory, at the summing up of fourscore and ten years; let him add to these the qualities of heart, and the spiritual graces, by which she was adorned; and he must assent to the expression which we were accustomed to reiterate to each other, that our grandmother was a wonderful woman.

She continued to read, until past her ninety-first year; growing cataracts upon both eyes then obliged her to lay aside the book and newspaper; and it was affecting to observe how cheerfully she submitted to this capital privation. Whenever she spoke of it, her language was that of thanksgiving for the long-continued blessing, and never of pining at the loss. She could still welcome her friends and children by their respective tones of voice; and the little faces could be felt, and kissed, after they had ceased to be visible.

With all the comforts of her situation, she would occasionally confess that the time seemed long, and that the summons to depart would be welcome. That she did not deceive herself, was evident from all the particulars of her last hours. A brief sketch of these will conclude our notice of this most precious and interesting character.

On the 20th January, 1844, she entered upon her ninety-fourth, and last year. There were some indications of disease in her system; a rheumatic gout, manifesting itself in a swelling of the wrists, tried her powers of endurance for months. At length, about the 19th of May, this symptom disappeared, but an unusual expectoration immediately following, indicated that the disease had probably shifted its place to a more vital point. She immediately understood that the end was at hand; the great event, greatest that can befall a mortal, was anticipated with solemnity, but not with apprehension or regret. All her children living were about her, except two; Mrs. Du Bois was within reach of a message, and being immediately sent for, arrived in time; Mrs. Fisher was in France.

On Tuesday, May 22d, a painful struggle, caused by exceeding difficulty of respiration, gave as it were, the final warning. This passed, she felt quite comfortable; and some adjustment of her last will being judged proper, she gave attention to it, being, al

though within a few hours of her end, possessed of all the soundness of mind and memory required by the law. After this, Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Du Bois conversed with her awhile at the bed-side, until she said "I feel drowsy, and will take a little sleep." Her daughters then sat a little way off, and continued their conversation, while she slept. It was a falling asleep in a double sense. So quietly did the spirit leave its earthly abode, that those in the room knew nothing of it, and when Mrs. Moore, who had been for sometime absent, returned, she went to the bed and found only the lifeless body. The event took place at the house of Dr. Moore, in Spruce street above Third (No. 61,) on the 23d May, 1844. Her remains (with those of her husband, removed from the church-yard at the time) were deposited in the cemetery at Laurel Hill. The place is indicated by a single marble obelisk, with an appropriate inscription; a mural stone also remains, as a memorial, in the ground adjoining the Spruce street church, below Fourth street.

The children of this union were eight; six of whom lived to mature age, and five were married.

I. THOMAS E., born at Wilmington, March 4, 1775, was a healthy infant, but lived only till January 19, following.

II. The next child, MARY, was born at Greenwich, March 20, 1777. She soon after became a Philadelphian, and grew to womanhood in the city. She enjoyed the advantages of the best schools of the day; but French and music were less to her taste, than the more solid branches of knowledge; a fondness for reading distinguished her youth, and has not declined with age.

At the age of sixteen, a very precarious state of health induced a seriousness on the subject of religion; in the doctrines of which she had been carefully trained. After two years, this concern of mind eventuated in the profession of Christianity. The influence of this step, upon her own family, and in a larger sphere, remains for some other record.

At twenty-one years, she was married to SAMUEL MOORE, a young physician from West Jersey, who had boarded in the family. Dr. Moore was the son of David and Lydia Moore, and was born at Deerfield, Cumberland, the 8th February, 1774. Sprung from the Scotch-Irish stock, so ready to contend for right, his father engaged with alacrity in the cause of his country, and in the revolu