"I am, sir, your most obedient, PHILIP SCHUYLER, Major-General. "P.S.--I had almost forgotten to congratulate you on your merited advancement in military rank, for which you may thank our wise and good Governor Clinton. "I shall not pretend to offer you unasked advice upon this happy occasion, though it is an old man's temptation to do so, perhaps even his prerogative. However, there are younger colonels than you, sir, in our service--ay, and brigadiers, too. So be humble, and lay not this honor with too much unction to your heart. Your friend, "PH. SCHUYLER." I sat for a while staring at this good man's letter, then opened the next missive. "HEADQUARTERS, DEPARTMENT OF THE NORTH, STILLWATER, August 12, 1777. "Colonel George Ormond, on Scout: "SIR,--By order of Major-General Gates, commanding this department, you will, upon reception of this order, instantly repair to Varick Manor and report your arrival by express or a native runner to be trusted, preferably an Oneida. At nine o'clock, the day following your arrival at Varicks', you will leave on your journey to Stillwater, where you will report to General Gates for further orders. "Your small experience in military matters of organization renders it most necessary that you should be aided in the formation of your regiment of rangers by a detail from Colonel Morgan's Rifles, as well as by the advice of General Gates. "You will, therefore, retain the riflemen composing your scout, but attempt nothing towards enlisting your companies until you receive your instructions personally and in full from headquarters. "I am, sir, "Your very obedient servant, "WILKINSON, Adjutant-General. "For Major-General Gates, commanding." "Why, in Heaven's name, should I lose time by journeying to headquarters?" I said, aloud, looking up from my letter. Ah! There was the difference between Schuyler, who picked his man, told him what he desired, and left him to fulfil it, and Gates, who chose a man, flung his inexperience into his face, and bade him twirl his thumbs and sit idle until headquarters could teach him how to do what he had been chosen to do, presumably upon his ability to do it! A helpless sensation of paralysis came over me--a restless, confused impression of my possible untrustworthiness, and of unfriendliness to me in high quarters, even of a thinly veiled hostility to me. What a letter! That was not the way to get work out of a subordinate--this patronizing of possible energy and enthusiasm, this cold dampening of ardor, as though ardor in itself were a reproach and zeal required reproof. Wondering why they had chosen me if they thought me a blundering and, perhaps, mischievous zealot, I picked up a parcel, undirected, and broke the string.