the British marauders, and early in the morning, while his wife was handing him a cup of coffee, which he drank as he sat on horseback, he saw the gleam of British arms in the distance, and he put spurs to his horse. What followed is best given in the simple terrible account of the crime. Mrs. Caldwell herself felt no alarm. She placed several articles of value in a bucket and let it down into the well, and filled her pockets with silver and jewelry. She saw that the house was put in order and then dressed herself with care that, should the enemy enter her dwelling, she might, to use her own expression, "receive them as a lady." She then took the infant in her arms, retired to her chamber, the window of which commanded a view of the road, and seated herself upon the bed. The alarm was given that the soldiers were at hand. But she felt confident that no one could
have the heart to do injury to the helpless inmates of her house. Again and again
she said: "They will respect a mother." She had just nursed the infant and given it to the maid. A soldier left the road and, crossing a space of ground diagonally to reach the house, came to the window of the room, put his gun close to it and fired. Two balls entered the breast of Mrs. Caldwell; she fell back on the bed and in a moment expired.
After the murder Mrs. Caldwell's dress was cut open and her pockets were rifled by the soldiers. Her remains were conveyed to a house on the other side of the road, the dwelling was then fired and reduced to ashes with all the furniture, but the ruthless soldiers evidently desired her death to be known, that such a fate might intimidate the countryside.
Some attempts were made by the Royalist party to escape the odium of the frightful outrage by pretending that Mrs. Caldwell had been killed by a chance shot. The actual evidence, however, sets beyond question the fact that one of the enemy was the murderer and there is much reason to believe that the deed was deliberately ordered by those high in authority.
It seems peculiarly sad that such an end should have been the fate of a woman known as Hannah Caldwell was for her benevolence, serenity and sweetness of disposition, but the memory of this martyr to American liberty will long be revered by the inhabitants of the land, with whose soil her blood has mingled.
REBECCA BARLOW.
Rebecca Barlow was the daughter of Eli Nathan Sanford of Reading, Connecticut. By her marriage to Aaron Barlow she became the sister-in-law of Joel Barlow, the poet, philosopher and politician who, it is believed, owed much of the formation of his mind and character to this wife of his elder brother. Much of his time in early life was spent in the society of this sister-in-law, who was a woman of strong mind, and he has admitted that he wrote the "Columbiad" and other works under her inspiration.
When the stirring scenes of the Revolution began, both brothers felt called upon to act their part. The husband of Rebecca Barlow entering the service of his country was in a short time promoted to the rank of colonel. His military duties requiring long absences from home, the young wife was left in the entire charge of their estate and of their helpless little ones. At one time a rumor came
