I can bring proofs of having kept this oath on a very delicate occasion, and it will be confessed (at least I should suppose so) that this moderation was of some worth.
But I had not yet arrived at that fermentation of patriotism which the first sight of Geneva in arms has since excited in my heart, as may be conjectured by a very grave fact that will not tell to my advantage, which I forgot to put in its proper place, but which ought not to be omitted.
My uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some years in the building of Charles Town, which he had formed the plan of.

My poor cousin, too, died in the Prussian service; thus my aunt lost, nearly at the same period, her son and husband.

These losses reanimated in some measure her affection for the nearest relative she had remaining, which was myself.

When I went to Geneva, I reckoned her house my home, and amused myself with rummaging and turning over the books and papers my uncle had left.

Among them I found some curious ones, and some letters which they certainly little thought of.