portraits of revolutionary heroes on the walls. As they sat down to
dinner, an old lady, bowed with years and with a restless, yet serene
look, entered and took a seat beside Mr. Verplanck. A servant adjusted a
napkin under her chin and the dinner proceeded. A steamer was passing up
the river and a band on board struck up a martial air. The old lady
trembled, clasped her hands, and, raising her eyes, exclaimed, "Ah! all
intercession is vain. Andre must die." Mr. Verplanck made a sign to the
company to listen, and calling the lady Aunt, addressed her with some kind
inquiry, on which she went on to speak of the events and personages of the
Revolution as matters of the present day. She repeated rapidly the names
of the English officers whom she had known, "described her lofty
head-dress of ostrich feathers, which caught fire at the theatre, and
repeated the verses of her admirer who was so fortunate as to extinguish
it." She dwelt upon the majestic bearing of Washington, the elegance of
the French, the dogmatism of the British officers; the by-words, the names
of gallants, belles and heroes; the incidents, the questions, the
etiquette of those times seemed to live again in her tremulous accents,
which gradually became feeble, until she fell asleep! "It was," continued
the narrator, "like a voice from the grave." This old lady was a Miss
Walton, a sister of Judge Verplanck's second wife.

When he found time for the studies by which his mind was kept so full of
useful and curious knowledge, I cannot well conceive. He loved to protract
an interesting conversation into the small hours of the night, and he was
by no means, as it is said most long-lived men are, an early riser. An
anecdote related by a gentleman of the New York bar will serve to
illustrate, in some degree, his desultory habits during that part of his
time which was passed in New York. This gentleman gave a dinner at
Delmonico's, then in William Street, to a professional brother from
another city, who was in town only for the day. Mr. Verplanck, Judge