“There are three British officers at the next table,” he said.  “We don’t want any more rows.  One too many, and God knows what next.”

Stevens subsided, but Alexander’s nostrils expanded.  Even the mental atmosphere of this brilliant North was full of electricity.

The next day he presented to Dr. Rogers and Dr. Mason the letters which Hugh Knox had given him.  He interested them at once, and when he asked their advice regarding the first step he should take toward entering college, they recommended Francis Barber’s Grammar School, at Elizabethtown, New Jersey.  Stevens had suggested the same institution, and so did other acquaintances he made during his brief stay in the city which was one day to be christened by angry politicians, “Hamiltonopolis.”  Early in the following week he crossed to New Jersey and rode through the forests to the village, with its quaint streets and handsome houses, “the Burial Yard Lot,” beside the main thoroughfare of the proud little hamlet, and Mr. Barber’s Grammar School at its upper end.  Hamilton was accepted immediately, but where to lodge was a harassing question.  The only rooms for hire were at the tavern, where permanent lodgement would be intolerable.  When he presented a letter to Mr. Boudinot, which Mr. Cruger had given him, the problem was solved at once.  Mr. Boudinot, one of the men of his time, had a spacious and elegant house, set amidst gardens, lawns, and forest trees; there were many spare bedrooms, and he invited Hamilton to become a member of his family.  The invitation was given as a matter of course, and Hamilton accepted it as frankly.  All the pupils who were far from home visited in the neighbourhood.  Liberty Hall, on the Springfield turnpike, was finishing when Hamilton arrived.  When the family was installed and he presented his letter to its owner, William Livingston, he received as pressing an invitation as Mr. Boudinot’s, and divided his time between the two houses.

Mr. Boudinot was a large man, with a long nose and a kindly eye, who was deeply attached to his children.  Susan was healthy, pretty, lively, and an ardent young patriot.  The baby died, and Hamilton, having offered to sit up with the little body, entertained himself by writing an appropriate poem, which was long treasured by Mr. Boudinot.

At Liberty Hall life was even more interesting.  William Livingston was one of the ablest lawyers, most independent thinkers, and ardent republicans of the unquiet times.  Witty and fearless, he had for years made a target of kingly rule; his acid cut deep, doing much to weaken the wrong side and encourage the right.  His wife was as uncompromising a patriot as himself; his son, Brockholst, and his sprightly cultivated daughters had grown up in an atmosphere of political discussion, and in constant association with the best intellects of the day.  Sarah, the beauty, was engaged to John Jay, already a distinguished lawyer, notoriously patriotic and high-minded.