1,125 º CO - O ſº º, - º º º * * 8 U. º ſº. As I 0. THE I R W T N G G IF T : BEING ( ; m i t t (5 t iſ 5 FROM THE WRITINGS OF WAS H IN GT ON IF WIN G. ILLUSTRATED. B U E FAI, O : PUBLISHED BY PHINNEY & CO. 1853. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by G E O R. G. E. P. PU T N A M, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern - T)istrict of New York. - Plj BL IS H E R S NOT E. THIS selection of Gems from a writer universally recognized as an American model of pure, elegant, and attractive English, is offered by the Publishers, as a valuable substitute for the ephemeral and trashy pro- ductions so plentifully put forth as Annuals and Gift Books. - All of the pieces, though of moderate length, are complete, and adapted to the tastes of those whose leis- ure or means may not allow them the possession and reading of the complete works of this favorite author. It is due to Mr. Irving to state, that although the publication of this volume is permitted, through an arrangement with Mr. Putnam, the publisher of the revised edition of Irving's works, the author has had nothing to do with its preparation, and waives all pe- cuniary interest in it. The selection was made in England. C O N T E N T S. - Page The Inn Kitchen, . . . . . - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ..9 The Spectre Bridegroom, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11 A Wet Sunday in a Country Inn, ..... tº - - - - - - - - - - . .24 An Obedient Hen-pecked Husband, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ...27 A Desirable Match, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31 A Rival,............................ . . . . . . . . . . .33 An Invitation, ..... --------------------- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35 A Dutch Entertainment,... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .36 War,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .39 English Stage Coachmen, . . . . . . . . . . - - - - - - - - - . . . . . .40 The Waltz, . . . . . . ------ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - s - s - - - - - . .41 Dutch Tea-parties, . . . . . . . . . . . - - - - - - - - . . . . . . . . . . . .42 Cosmogony, ............... ------------- --------- . . . . . . . . .44 Dutch Legislators, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .51 The Little Man in Black, ... . . . . . . . . . . . * - - - - - - - . . . .54 My Aunt Charity, . . . . . . . . . . . - - - - - - - . . . . . . . . . . . . .60 Will Wizard,.................... ............... 65 Style, . . . . . . . . - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 69 Frenchmen, ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .72 The Wife, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ---------- ..?3 To Anthony Evergreen, Gent,....... . . . . . ......... 79 Showing the Nature of History in General—further- more, the Universal Acquirements of William the wi CONTENTS. Page Testy, and how a man may learn so much as to render himself good for nothing, . . . . . . . - - - - - - - - ,80 Dirk Schuiler and the Valiant Peter, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 Description of the powerful Army that assembled at the City of New-Amsterdam—together with the in- terview between Peter the Headstrong and General Von Poffenburgh, and Peter's sentiments respecting unfortunate great men, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ...91 Of Peter Stuyvesant's Expedition into the East Coun- try, showing that though an Old Bird, he did not un- derstand Trap, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .96 How the People of New-Amsterdam were thrown into a great Panic by the news of a threatened Invasion, and the manner in which they fortified themselves,...103 The troubles of New-Amsterdam appear to thicken, showing the bravery in time of Peril of a People who defend themselves by Resolutions,. . . . . . . . . . . . 106 The Widow and her Son, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 Storm at Sea,..................... - - - - - - - - - - - - - 119 John Bull, . . . . . . . . . . . ------------------------------ . . . . . 120 Consequence,.... . a - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -------------- . . 130 The Cockloft family, ........... - - - - - - - - - - - - . . . . . 131 Conversion of the Americans, ....'....... ----------- 139 Tom Straddle,.................... tº---------------------- . 142 Sleepy Hollow, . . . . . ------------- .................... . 147 Ichabod Crane, ...... ---------------- - - - - - - - . . . . . . . . . . . 149 Superstition,................ * * * * * * * * * * * * . . . . . . . . 152 The Broken Heart............................. . 154 A Wreck at Sea,........................... . . . . . 161 Land,................ .........................162 Genius, .......... - - --------- - - - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ...163 A Contrast,....... --- - - - ---------------- . . . . . . . . . ... 164 Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to Asem Hacchem, Principal Slave-Driver to his Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli,......................... 168 CONTENTS. vli Page A warlike Portrait of the Great Peter, . . . . . -------- ... 173 Mutability of Literature, . . . . . . . ------------ . . . . . . . . . .182 Book-Making, --------- ----------------- • - - - - - - - • - - - - ........184 A Dutch Settler's Dream, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .188 The Pride of the Village, . . . . . . . . . . . .............. 189 Domestic Scene, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196 Master Simon, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .197 Perseverance, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198 Doleful Disaster of Anthony the Trumpeter,..........ib The Grief of Peter Stuyvesant,... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .200 The Dignified Retirement and Mortal surrender of Peter the Headstrong,.............................ib Morning,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ................ .205 The Author's Account of his History of New-York,..206 - Westminister Abbey, ............................207 Master Henry Hudson,........................ . .208 Master Robert Juet,.............................209 A Dutch Voyage of Discovery,....................210 Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to Asem Hacchem, Principal Slave-Driver to his Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli..........................211 Autumnal Reflections,.......................... .216 The Family of the Lambs, ........................220 Blindmans'-Buff. The Angler,......................................#5 Rural Life in England,...........................225 Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to Muley Helim al Raggi, surnamed the Agreeable Ragamuf. fin, chief Mountebank and Buffo-dancer to his Highness...................................228 James I. of Scotland,............................236 How Peter Stuyvesant relieved the Sovereign People from the burden of taking care of the Nation—with sundry particulars of his conduct in time of peace, ....ib. • - - - - - - - - , . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .223 - - Will CONTENTS. * Showing the great difficulty Philosophers have had in Page peopling America—and how the Aborigenes came to be begotten by Accident, to the great relief and satis- faction of the Author,. ... .................... .244 Wouter Van Twiller, ...........................250 The Grand Council of New-Amsterdam—with rea- sons why an Alderman should be Fat,............254 - Ichabod Crane and the Galloping Hessian,..........258 ſ THE I R W IN G. G. I.F.T. THE INN KITCHEN. DURING a journey that I once made through the Ne- therlands, I had arrived one evening at the Pomme d'Or, the principal inn of a small Flemish village. It was after the hour of the table d'hote, so that I was obliged to make a solitary supper from the reliques of its ampler board. The weather was chilly; I was seated alone in one end of a great gloomy dining-room, and my repast being over, I had the prospect before me of a long dull evening, with- out any visible means of enlivening it. I summoned mine host, and requested something to read; he brought me the whole literary stock of his household, a Dutch family-bible, an almanack in the same language, and a number of old Paris newspapers. As I sat dozing over one of the latter, reading old news and stale criticisms, my ear was now and then struck with bursts of laughter which seemed to proceed from the kitchen. Every one that has travelled on the continent must know how fa- vourite a resort the kitchen of a country inn is to the middle and inferior order of travellers; particularly in that equivocal kind of weather, when a fire becomes agree- able towards evening. I threw aside the newspaper, and explored my way to the kitchen, to take a peep at the group that appeared to be so merry. It was composed partly of travellers who had arrived some hours before in a diligence, and partly of the usual attendants and hangers- on of inns. They were seated round a great burnished stove, that might have been mistaken for an altar, at which they were worshipping. It was covered with various kitchen vessels of resplendent brightness; among 10 THE IRWING GIFT. which steamed and hissed a huge copper tea-kettle. A large lamp threw a strong mass of light upon the group bringing out many odd features in strong relief. Its yellow rays partially illumined the spacious kitchen, dy- ing duskily away into remote corners; except where they settled, into mellow radiance on the broad side of a flitch of bacon, or were reflected back from well-scoured utensils, that gleamed from the midst of obscurity. A strapping Flemish lass, with long golden pendants in her ears, and a necklace with a golden #. suspended to it, was the pre- siding priestess of the temple. Many of the company were furnished with pipes, and most of them with some kind of evening potation. I found their mirth was occasioned by anecdotes, which a little swarthy Frenchman, with a dry weazen face and large whiskers, was giving of his love adventures; at the end of each of which, there was one of those bursts of honest un- ceremonious laughter, in which a man indulges in that temple of true liberty, an inn. As I had no better mode of getting through a tedious blustering evening, I took my seat near the stove, and listened to a variety of travellers' tales, some very extra- vagant, and most very dull. All of them, however, have faded from my treacherous memory except one, which I will endeavour to relate. I fear, however, it derived its chief zest from the manner in which it was told, and the peculiar air and appearance of the narrator. He was a corpulent old Swiss, who had the look of a veteran tra- veller. He was dressed in a tarnished green travelling- jacket, with a broad belt round his waist, and a pair of overalls, with buttons from the hips to the ancles. He was of a full rubicund countenance, with a double chin, aquiline nose, and a pleasant twinkling eye. His hail was light, and curled from under an old green velvet tra, welling cap stuck on one side of his head. He was in- terrupted more than once by the arrival of guests, or the remarks of his auditors; and paused now and then to re- plenish his pipe; at which times he had generally a ro- guish leer, and a sly joke for the buxom kitchen maid. I wish my reader could imagine the old fellow lolling in a huge arm-chair, one arm a-kimbo, the other holding a curiously twisted tobacco pipe, formed of genuine e'eume de mer, decorated with silver chain and silken tassel—his head cocked on one side, and a whimsical cut of the eye occasionally, as he related the following story. THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM, il THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. ON the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, a wild and romantic tract of Upper Germany, that lies not far from the confluence of the Main and the Rhine, there stood, many, many years since, the Castle of the . Baron Won Landshort. It is now quite fallen to decay, º and almost buried among beech trees and dark firs; above which, however, its old watch-tower may still be seen || , struggling, like the former possessor I have mentioned, to carry a high head and look down upon the neighbour- º ing country. The Baron was a dry branch of the great family of Katzenellenbogen,* and inherited the reliques of the pro- perty, and all the pride of his ancestors. Though the warlike disposition of his predecessors had much impaired the family possessions, yet the Baron still endeavoured to keep up some show of former state. The times were peaceable, and the German nobles, in general, had aban- doned their inconvenient old castles, perched like eagles' nests among the mountains, and had built more conve- nient residences in the valleys; still the Baron remained }. drawn up in his little fortress, cherishing with ereditary inveteracy, all the old family feuds; so that he was on ill terms with some of his nearest neighbours, on account of disputes that had happened between their great great grandfathers. - The Baron had but one child, a daughter: but nature, when she grants, but one child, always compensates by making it a prodigy; and so it was with the daughter of the Baron. All the nurses, gossips, and country cousins, assured her father that she had not her equal for beauty in all Germany; and who should know better than they? She had, moreover, been brought up with great care un- der the superintendence of two maiden aunts, who had spent some years of their early life at one of the little German courts, and were skilled in all the branches of knowledge necessary to the education of a fine lady. Un- der their instructions, she became a miracle of accomplish- * : e. Cat's-Elbow. The name of a family of those parts very powerful in former times. The appellation, we are told, was given in compliment to a peerless dame of the family;celebrated for a fine arm. U--- 12 THE IRWING GIFT, ments. By the time she was eighteen, she could em- broider to admiration, and had worked whole histories of the saints in tapestry, with such strength of expression in their countenances, that they looked like so many souls in purgatory. She could read without great difficulty, and had spelled her way through several church legends, and almost all the chivalric wonders of the Heldenbuch. She had even made considerable proficiency in writing; could sign her own name without missing a letter, and so legibly that her aunts could read it without spectacles. She excelled in making little elegant good-for-nothing lady-like knicknacks of all kinds; was versed in the most abstruse dancing of the day; played a number of airs on the harp and guitar; and knew all the tender ballads of the Minnielieders by heart. Her aunts, too, having been great flirts and coquettes in their younger days, were admirably calculated to be vigilant guardians and strict censors of the conduct of their niece; for there is no duenna so rigidly prudent and inexorably decorous, as a superannuated coquette. She was rarely suffered out of their sight; never went be- yond the domains of the castle, unless well attended, or rather well watched; had continual lectures read to her about strict decorum and implicit obedience; and, as to the men—pah! she was taught to hold them at such distance, and in such absolute distrust, that, unless pro- perly authorised she would not have cast a glance upon the handsomest cavalier in the world—no, not if he were even dying at her feet. - The good effects of this system were wonderfully ap- parent. The young lady was a pattern of docility and correctness. While others were wasting their sweetness in the glare of the world, and liable to be plucked and thrown aside by every hand; she was coyly blooming into fresh and lovely womanhood under the protection of those immaculate spinsters, like a rose-bud blushing forth among guardian thorns. Her aunts looked upon her with pride and exultation, and vaunted that though all the other young ladies in the world might go astray, yet, thank Heaven, nothing of the kind could happen to the heiress of Katzenellenbogen. - But, however scantily the Baron Von Landshort might be provided with children; his household was by no means, a small one; for Providence had enriched him with abundance of poor relations. They, one and all, THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM, 13 w possessed the affectionate disposition common to humble relatives; were wonderfully attached to the Baron, and took every possible occasion to come in swarms and en- liven the castle. All family festivals were commemorated by these good people at the Baron's expense; and when they were filled with good cheer, they would declare that there was nothing on earth so delightful as these family meetings, these jubilees of the heart. The Baron, though a small man, had a large soul, and it swelled with satisfaction at the consciousness of being the greatest man in the little world about, him. He loved to tell long stories about the stark old warriors whose portraits looked grimly down from the walls around, and he found no listeners equal to those who fed : at his expense. He was much given to the marvellous, and a firm believer in all those supernatural tales with which every mountain and valley in Germany abounds. The faith of his guests exceeded even his own: they lis- tened to every tale of wonder with open eyes and mouth, and never failed to be astonished, even though repeated for the hundredth time. Thus lived the Baron Von Landshort, the oracle of his table, the absolute monarch of his little territory, and happy, above all things, in the persuasion that he was the wisest man of the age. At the time of which my story treats there was a great family gathering at the castle, on an affair of the utmost importance. It was to receive the destined bride- groom of the Baron's daughter. A negociation had been Carried on between the father and an of nobleman of Éa. varia, to unite the dignity of the two houses by the mar- riage of their children. The preliminaries had been con- ducted with proper punctilio. The young people were betrothed without seeing each other; and the time was appointed for the marriage ceremony. The young Count Von Altenburgh had been recalled from the army for the purpose, and was actually on his way to the Baron's to receive his bride. Missives had even been received from him from Wurtzburg, where he was accidentally detained, mentioning the day and hour when he might be expected to arrive. - The castle was in a tumult of preparation to give him a suitable welcome. The fair bride had been decked out with uncommon care. The two aunts had superin- tended her toilet, and quarrelled the whole morning about every article of her dress. The young lady had ta- 14 THE IRWING GIFT, ken the advantage of their contest to follow the bent of her own taste; and fortunately it was a good one. She looked as lovely as youthful bridegroom could desire; and the flutter of expectation heightened the lustre of her charms. - The suffusions that mantled her face and neck, the gentle heaving of the bosom, the eye, now and then lost in reverie, all betrayed the soft tumult that was going on in her little heart. The aunts were continually hover- - ing around her; for maiden aunts are apt to take great - interest in affairs of this nature. They were giving her a world of staid council how to deport herself, what to - Say, and in what manner to receive the expected lover. - The Baron was no less buried in preparations. He - had, in truth nothing exactly to do; but he was natu- º rally a fuming bustling little man, and could not re- - main passive when all the world was in a hurry. He worried from top to bottom of the castle with an air of infinite anxiety; he continually called the servants from their work to exhort them to be diligent; and buzzed about every hall and chamber, as idly restless and importunate - as a blue-bottle fly on a warm summer's day. || . . In the mean time the fatted calf had been killed, the 'forests had rung with the clamour of the huntsman; the - kitchen was crowded with good cheer; the cellars had || yielded up whole oceans of Rhein-wine and Ferne-wein; and even the great Heidelburg tun had been laid under contribution. Every thing was ready to receive the dis- tinguished guests with Saus und Braus in the true spirit of German hospitality—but the guest delayed to make his appearance. Hour rolled after hour. The sun that poured his downward rays upon the rich forest of the Odenwald, now just gleamed along the summits of the mountains. The Baron mounted the highest tower, and strained his eyes in hopes of catching a distant sight of the Count and his attendants. Once he thought he be- Aeld them; the sound of horns came floating from the valley, prolonged by the mountain echoes. A number of horsemen were seen far below, slowly advancing along the road; but when they had nearly reached the foot of the mountain, they suddenly struck off in a different di- rection. The last ray of sunshine departed—the bats began to flit by in the twilight—the road grew dimmer and dimmer to the view; and nothing appeared stirring THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM, 15 in it, but now and then a peasant lagging homeward from his labour. - While the old castle of Landshort was in this state of perplexity, a very interesting scene was transacting in a different part of the Odenwald. The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly pur suing his route in that sober jog-trot way, in which a man travels towards matrimony when his friends have taken all the trouble and uncertainty of courtship off his hands, and a bride is waiting for him, as certainly as a dinner at the end of his journey. He had encountered at Wurtzburg, a youthful companion in arms, with whom he had seen some service on the frontiers; Hermon Von Starkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands, and worthiest hearts, of German chivalry, who was now returning from the army. His father's castle was not far distant from the old fortress of Landshort, although an hereditary . rendered the families hostile, and strangers to each Other. In the warm-hearted moment of recognition, the youn friends related all their past adventures and fortunes, an the Count gave the whole history of his intended nuptials with a young lady whom he had never seen, but of whose charms he had received the most enrapturing descrip- tions. As the route of the friends lay in the same direction, they agreed to perform the rest of their journey together; and that they might do it the more leisurely, set off from Wurtzburg, at an early hour, the Count having given di- rections for his retinue to follow and overtake him. They beguiled their wayfaring with recollections of their military scenes and adventures; but the Count was apt to be a little tedious, now and then, about the re- puted charms of his bride, and the felicity that awaited him. In this way they had entered among the mountains of the Odenwald, and were traversing one of its most lone- ly and thickly wooded passes. It is well known that the forests of Germany have always been as much in- fested by robbers as its castles by spectres; and at this time, the former were particularly numerous, from the hordes of disbanded soldiers wandering about the coun- try. It will not appear extraordinary, therefore, that the Cavaliers were attacked by a gang of these stragglers, in the depth of the forest. They defended themselves 16 THE IRWING GIFT, with bravery, but were nearly overpowered, when the Count's retinue arrived to their assistance. At sight of them the robbers fled, but not until the Count had re- ceived a mortal wound. He was slowly and carefully conveyed back to the city of Wurtzburg, and a friar sum- moned from a neighbouring convent, who was famous for his skill in administering to both soul and body; but half of his skill was superfluous; the moments of the unfortunate Count were numbered. With his dying breath he entreated his friend to re- pair instantly to the castle of Landshort, and explain the fataſ cause of his not keeping his appointment with his bride. Though not the most ardent of lovers, he was one of the most punctilious of men, and appeared earnest- ly solicitous that this mission should be speedily, and cour- teously executed. “Unless this is done;” said he, “I shall not sleep quietly in my grave!” He repeated these last words with peculiar solemnity. A request, at a moment so impressive, admitted no hesitation. Stark- enfaust endeavoured to soothe him to calmness; pro- mised faithfully to execute his wish, and gave him his hand in solemn pledge. The dying man pressed it in ac- knowledgment, but soon lapsed into delirium—raved a- bout his bride—his engagements——his plighted word; ordered his horse, that he might ride to the castle of Landshort; and expired in the fancied act of vaulting into the saddle. a Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh, and a soldier's tear, on the untimely fate of his comrade; and then pondered on the awkward mission he had undertaken. His heart was heavy, and his head perplexed; for he was to present himself an unbidden guest among hostile people, and to damp their festivity with tidings fatal to their hopes. Still there were certain whisperings of curiosity in his bosom to see this far-famed beauty of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut up from the world; for he was a pas- sionate admirer of the sex, and there was a dash of eccen- tricity and enterprise in his character that made him fond of all singular adventures. Previous to his departure he made all due arrange- ments with the holy fraternity of the convent for the funeral solemnities of his friend, who was to be buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg, near some of his illustri- ous relatives; and the mourning retinue of the Count took charge of his remains. THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 17 It is now high time that we should return to the an- cient family of Katzenellenbogen, who were impatient for their guest, and still more for their dinner; and to the worthy little Baron, whom they left airing himself on thº watch-tower. Night closed in, but still no guest arrived. The Ba- ron descended from the tower in despair. The banquet, which had been delayed from hour to hour, could no longer be postponed. The meats were already overdone; the cook in agony; and the whole household had the look of a garrison that had been reduced by famine. The Baron was obliged reluctantly to give orders for the feast without the presence of the guest. All were seated at table, and just on the point of commencing, when the sound of a horn from without the gate gave notice of the approach of a stranger. Another long blast filled the old court of the castle with its echoes, and were answered by the warder from the walls. The Baron hastened to re- ceive his future soll-in-law. - The drawbridge had been let down, and the stranger was before the gate. He was a tall gallant cavalier, mounted on a black steed. His countenance was pale, but he had a beaming, romantic eye, and an air of state- ly melancholy. The Baron was a little mortified that he should have come in this simple, solitary style. His dignity for a moment was ruffled, and he felt disposed to consider it a want of proper respect for the important oc- casion, and the important family with which he was to be connected. He pacified himself, however, with the conclusion that it must have been youthful impatience which had induced him thus to spur on sooner than his attendants. “I am sorry,” said the stranger, “to break in upon you thus unseasonably—” - Here the Baron interrupted him with a world of com- pliments and greetings; for to tell the truth, he prided him- self upon his courtesy and his eloquence. The stranger attempted, once or twice, to stem the torrent of words, but in vain, so he bowed his head and suffered it to flow on. By the time the Baron had come to a pause, they had reached the inner court of the castle; and the stram- ger was again about to speak, when he was once mºre interrupted by the appearance of the female part of the family, leading forth the shrinking and blushing bride. He gazed on her for a moment as one entranced; it seem- IS THE IRWING GIFT, ed as if his whole soul beamed forth in the gaze, and rested upon that lovely form. One of the maiden aunts whispered something in her ear; she made an effort to speak; her moist blue eye was timidly raised; gave a shy glance of inquiry on the stranger; and was cast gain on the ground. The words died away; but there was a sweet smile playing about her lips, and a soft dimpling of the cheek that showed her glance had not been unsa- tisfactory. It was impossible for a girl at the fond age of eighteen, highly predisposed for love and matrimony, not to be pleased with so gallant a cavalier. The late hour at which the guest had arrived left no time for parley. The Baron was peremptory, and de- ferred all particular conversation until the morning, and led the way to the untasted banquet. It was served up in the great hall of the castle. A- round the walls hung the hard favoured portraits of the heroes of the house of Katzenellenbogen and the trophies which they had gained in the field and in the chase. Hacked corslets, splintered jousting spears, and tattered banners, were mingled with the spoils of sylvan warfare; the jaws of the wolf, and the tusks of the boar, grinned horribly among cross-bows, and battle-axes, and a huge pair of antlers branched accidentally over the head of the youthful bridegroom. - The cavalier took but little notice of the company or the entertainment. He scarcely tasted the banquet, but seemed absorbed in admiration of his bride. He con- versed in a low tone that could not be overheard—for the language of love is never loud; but where is the fe- male ear so dull that it cannot catch the softest whisper of the lover? There was a mingled tenderness and gra- vity in his manner, that appeared to have a powerful ef. fect upon the young lady. Her colour came and went as she listened with deep attention. Now and then she made some blushing reply, and when his eye was turned away, she would steal a side-long glance at his romantic countenance, and heave a gentle sigh of tender happiness. It was evident that the young couple were completely enamoured. The aunts, who were deeply versed in the mysteries of the heart, declared that they had fallen in love with each at first sight. - - - The feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, for the guests were all blessed with those keen appetites that at- tend upon light purses and mountain air. The Baron THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 19 told his best and longest stories, and never had he told them so well, or with such great effect. If there was any thing marvellous, his auditors were lost in astonish- ment; and if any thing facetious, they were sure to laugh exactly in the right place. The Baron, it is true, like most great men, was too dignified to utter any joké but a dull one; it was always enforced, however, by a bumper of excellent hocheimer; and even a dull joke, at one's own table, served up with jolly old wine, is irresis- tible. Many good things were said by poorer and keener wits, that would not bear repeating, except on similar occasions; many sly speeches whispered in ladies' ears, that almost convulsed them with suppressed laughter; and a song or two roared out by a poor, but merry and broad- faced cousin of the Baron, that absolutely made the maiden aunts hold up their fans. Amidst all this revelry, the stranger guest maintained a most singular and unseasonable gravity. His counte- nance assumed a deeper cast of dejection as the evening advanced; and, strange as it may appear, even the Ba- ron's jokes seemed only to render him the more melan- choly. At times he was lost in thought, and at times there was a perturbed and restless wandering of the eye that bespoke a mind but ill at ease. His conversations with the bride became more and more earnest and mys- terious. Louring clouds began to steal over the fair sere- §§ of her brow, and tremors to run through her tender rame. - - All this could not escape the notice of the company. Their gaiety was chilled by the unaccountable gloom of the bridegroom; their spirits were infected; whispers and glances were interchanged, accompanied by shrugs and dubious shakes of the head. The song and the laugh grew less and less frequent; there were dreary pauses in the conversation, which were at length succeed- ed by wild tales and supernatural legends. One dismal? story produced another more dismal, and the Baron nearly frightened some of the ladies into hystericks with the his- tory of the goblin horseman that carried away the fair Leonora; a dreadful but true story, which has since been . put into excellent verse, and is read and believed by all the world. - º The bridegroom listened to this tale with profound at- tention. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on the Baron, and as the story drew to a close, began gradually to rise 20 THE IRWING GIFT, from his seat, growing taller and taller, until, in the Ba- ron's entranced eye, he seemed almost to tower into a giant. The moment the tale was finished, he heaved a deep sigh, and took a solemn farewell of the company. They were all amazement. The Baron was perfectly thunderstruck. “What! going to leave the castle at midnight? why, every thing was prepared for his reception; a chamber was ready for him if he wished to retire.” The stranger shook his head mournfully and mysteri- ously; “I must lay my head in a different chamber to- night!” There was something in this reply, and the tone in which it was uttered, that made the Baron's heart mis- give him; but he rallied his forces and repeated his hos- pitable entreaties. - The stranger shook his head silently, but positively, at every offer; and, waving his farewell to the company, stäked slowly out of the hall. The maiden aunts were absolutely petrified—the bride hung her head, and a tear stole to her eye. The Baron followed the stranger to the great court of the castle, where the black charger stood pawing the earth, and snorting with impatience.—When they had reached the portal, whose deep archway was dimly lighted by a cresset, the stranger paused, and addressed the Baron in a hollow tone of voice, which the vaulted roof rendered still more sepulchral. “Now that we are alone,” said he, “I will impart to you the reason of my going. I have a solemn, an indis- pensable engagement—” º “Why,” said the Baron, “cannot you send some one in your place?” “It admits of no substitute—I must attend it in person— I must away to Wurtzburg cathedral—” - “Ay,” said the Baron, plucking up spirit, “but not i. to-morrow—to-morrow you shall take your bride there.” “No! no!” replied the stranger, with tenfold solem- nity, “my engagement is with no bride—the worms: the worms expect me ! I am a dead man—I have been slain º robbers—my body lies at Wurtzburg—at mid- night I am to be buried—the grave is waiting for me—I must keep my appointment!” He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the draw- THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 21 R bridge, and the clattering of his horse's hoofs was lost in the whistling of the night blast. The Baron returned to the hall in the utmost conster- nation, and related what had passed. Two ladies fainted outright, others sickened at the idea of having banquet- ed with a spectre. ... It was the opinion of some, that this might be the wild huntsman, famous in German le. gend. Some talked of mountain sprites, of wood-demons, and of other supernatural beings, with which the good peo: ple of Germany have been so grievously harasséd since time immemorial. One of the poor relations ventured to suggest that it might be some sportive evasion of the young cavalier, and that the very gloominess of the ca- price seemed to accord with so melancholy a personage. This, however, drew on him the indignation of the whole company, and especially of the Baron, who looked upon him as little better than an infidel; só that he was fain to abjure his heresy as speedily as possible, and come into the faith of the true believers. But whatever may have been the doubts entertained, they were completely put an end to by the arrival, next day, of regular missives, confirming the intelligence of the young Count's murder, and his interment in Wurtzburg cathedral. - The dismay at the castle may be well imagined. The Baron shut himself up in his chamber. The guests, who had come to rejoice with him, could not think of abandoning him in his distress. They wandered about the courts, or collected in groups in the hall, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders, at the troubles of so good a man; and sat longer than ever at table, and ate and drank more stoutly than ever, by way of keeping up their spirits. But the situation of the widowed bridé was the most pitiable. To have lost a husband before she had even embraced him—and such a husband 1 if the very spectre could be so gracious and noble, what must have been the living man? She filled the house with lamentations. On the night of the second day of her widowhood she had retired to her chamber, accompanied by one of her aunts, who insisted on sleeping with her. The aunt, who was one of the best tellers of ghost stories in all Germany, had just been recounting one of her longest, and had fallen asleep in the very midst of it. The cham- ber was remote, and overlooked a small garden. The 22. THE IRVING GIFT. niece lay pensively gazing at the beams of the rising moon as they trembled on the leaves of an aspen tree be- fore the lattice. The castle clock had just tolled mid- night, when a soft strain of music stole up from the i. den. She rose hastily from her bed, and stepped lightly to the window. A tall figure stood among the shadows of the trees. As it .# its head, a beam of moonlight fell upon the countenance. Heaven and earth! she beheld the Spectre Bridegroom . A loud shriek at that moment burst upon her ear, and her aunt who had been awakened by the music, and had followed her silently to the window, fell into her arms. When she looked again, the spectre had disappeared. Of the two females, the aunt required the most sooth- ing, for she was perfectly beside herself with terror. As to the young lady, there was something, even in the spec- tre of her lover, that seemed endearing. There was still the semblance of manly beauty; and though the shadow of a man is but little calculated to satisfy the affections of a love-sick girl, yet, where the substance is not to be had, even that is consoling. The aunt declared she would never sleep in that chamber again; the niece, for once was refractory, and declared as strongly, that she would sleep in no other in the castle: the consequence was, that she had to sleep in it alone; but she drew a promise from her aunt not to relate the story of the spectre, lest she should be denied the only melancholy pleasure left her on earth—that of inhabiting the chamber over which the guardian shade of her lover kept its nightly vigils. How long the good old lady would have observed this promise is uncertain, for she dearly loved to talk of the marvellous, and there is a triumph in being the first to tell a frightful story; it is, however, still quoted in the neighbourhood, as a memorable instance of female secrecy, that she kept it to herself for a whole week; when she was suddenly absolved from all further restraint, by intelli- gence brought to the breakfast table one morning that the young lady was not to be found. Her room was empty—the bed had not been slept in—the window was open, and the bird had flown! The astonishment and concern with which the intelli- É. was received, can only be imagined by those who ave witnessed the agitation which the mishaps of a great man cause among his friends. Even the poor relations paused for a moment from the indefatigable labours of the THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 23 trencher; when the aunt, who had at first been struck speechless, wrung her hands, and shrieked out. “The goblin; the goblin; she's carried away by the goblin º' In a few words she related the fearful scene of the garden, and concluded that the spectre must have carried off his bride. Two of the domestics corroborated the opinion, for they heard the clattering of a horse's hoofs down the mountain about midnight, and had no doubt that it was the spectre on his black charger, bearing her away to the tomb. All present were struck with the direful probability; for events of the kind are extremely common in Germany, as many well authenticated histories bear witness. What a lamentable situation was that of the poor Ba- rom . What a heart-rending dilemma for a fond father, and a member of the great family of Katzenellenbogen ] His only daughter had either been wrapt away to the #.” or he was to have some wood-demon for a son-in- aw, and, perchance, a troop of goblin grand children! As usual, he was completely bewildered, and all the cas- tle in an uproar. The men were ordered to take horse, and scour every road and path and glen of the Oden- wald. The Baron himself had just drawn on his jack- boots, girded on his sword, and was about to mount his steed to sally forth on the doubtful quest, when he was brought to a pause by a new apparition. A lady was seen approaching the castle, mounted on a palfrey, at- tended by a cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to the gate, sprang from her horse, and falling at the Ba- ron's feet, embraced his knees. It was his lost daugh- ter, and her companion—the Spectre Bridegroom! The Baron was astonished. He looked at his daughter, then at the spectre, and almost doubted the evidence of his senses. The latter, too, was wonderfully improved in his appearance, since his visit to the world of spirits. His dress was splendid, and set off a noble figure of man- ly symmetry. He was no longer pale and melancholy. His fine countenance was flushed with the glow of youth, and joy rioted in his large dark eye. The mystery was soon cleared up. ... The cavalier, (for in truth, as you must have known all the while, he was no goblin,) announced himself as Sir Hermon Von Stark- enfäust. He related his adventure with the young Count. He told how he had hastened to the castle to deliver the unwelcome tidings, but that the eloquence of º * … . |- 24 THE IRVING GIFT. | the Baron had interrupted him in every attempt to tell his tale. How the sight of the bride had completely captivated him, and that to pass a few hours near her, he had tacitly suffered the mistake to continue. How he had been sorely perplexed in what way to make a de- cent retreat, until the Baron's goblin stories had suggest- ed his eccentric exit. How, fearing the feudal hostility of the family, he had repeated his visits by stealth—had haunted the garden beneath the young lady's window— had wooed—had won—had borne away in triumph . and, in a word, had wedded the fair. Under any other circumstances, the Baron would have been inflexible, for he was tenacious of paternal authority, and devoutly obstina% in all family feuds; but he loved his daughter; he hºd lamented her as lost; he rejoiced to find her still alive; and, though her husband was of a hostile house, yet, thank heaven, he was not a goblin. There was something, it must be acknowledged, that did not exactly accord with his notions of strict vera. city, in the joke the knight had passed upon him of his being a dead man; but several old friends present, who had served in the wars, assured him that every stratagem was excusable in love, and that the cavalier was entitled to especial privilege, having lately served as a trooper. - Matters, therefore, were happily arranged. The Baron pardoned the young couple on the spot. The revels at the castle were resumed. The poor relations overwhelmed this new member of the family with loving-kindness; he was so gallant, so generous—and so rich. The aunts, it is true, were somewhat scandalized that their system of strict seclusion, and passive obedience, should be so badly exemplified, but attributed it all to their negligence in not having the windows grated. One of them was particu- larly mortified at having her marvellous story marred, and that the only spectre she had ever seen should turn out a counterfeit; but the niece seemed perfectly happy at hav- ing found him substantial flesh and blood—and so the story ends. - A WET SUNDAY IN A COUNTRY INN. It was a rainy Sunday, in the gloomy month of Novem. ber. I had been detained, in the course of a journey, by A COUNTRY INN. 25 a slight indisposition, from which I was recovering; but I was still feverish, and was obliged to keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn whoever has had the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered against the casements; the bells tolled for church with melancholy sound. I went to the windows in quest of something to amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach of all amusement. The windows of my bed-room looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting- room commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by travellers and stable-boys. In one corner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck; there were several half-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was a miserable crest-fallen cock, drenched out of all life and spirit; his drooping tail mat- ted, as it were, into a single feather, along which the water trickled from his back; near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, with wreaths of vapour rising from her reeking hide; a wall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a doghouse hard by, uttered something every now and then, between a bark and a yelp; a drab of a kitchen wench tramped backwards and forwards through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the wea- ther itself; every thing, in short, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a crew of hard-drinking ducks, assem- bled like boon companions round a puddle, and making a riotous noise over their liquor. I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. My room soon became insupportable. I abandoned it, and sought what is technically called the traveller's-room. This is a public room set apart at most inns for the ac- commodation of a class of wayfarers, called travellers, or riders; a kind of commercial knights errant, who are in- cessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They are the only successors that I know of, at the present day, to the knights errant of yore. They lead the same kind of roving adventurous life, only chang- 26 THE IRWING GIFT. ing the lance for a driving-whip, the buckler for a pattern card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benjamin. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and standing of some sub- stantial tradesman, or manufacturer, and are ready at any time to bargain in his name; it being the fashion now-a-days to trade, instead of fight, with one another. As the room of the hostel, in the good old fighting times, would be hung round at night with the armour of way- worn warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions, and yawn- ing helmets; so the travellers' room is garnished with the harnessing of their successors, with box coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil cloth covered hats. I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies to talk with, but was disappointed. There were, indeed, two or three in the room; but I could make nothing of them. One was just finishing breakfast, quarrelling with his bread and butter, and huffing the waiter; another but- toned on a pair of gaiters, with many execrations at Boots for not having cleaned his shoes well; a third sat drum- ming on the table with his fingers, and looking at the rain as it streamed down the window glass : they all ap- peared infected by the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, without exchanging a word. I sauntered to the window and stood gazing at the º picking their way to the church, with petticoats oisted midleg high, and dripping umbrellas. The bell ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I then amu- sed myself with watching the daughters of a tradesman opposite; who being confined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigi lant vinegar-faced mother, and I had nothing furthe from without to amuse me. What was I to do to pass away the long-lived day? ) was sadly nervous and lonely; and every thing about al., inn seems calculated to make a dull day ten times duller Old newspapers, smelling of beer and tobacco smoke, and which I had already read half a dozen times. Good for nothing books, that were worse than rainy weather. I bored myself to death with an old volume of the Lady's Magazine. I read all the common-place names of ambi. tious travellers scrawled on the panes of glass; the eter- mal families of the Smiths and the Browns, and the Jack- A HEN-PECKED HUSBAND. 27 sons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons; and I decyphered several scraps of fatiguing inn-window poetry, which I have met with in all parts of the world. The day continued lowering and gloomy; the slovenly, ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along; there was no variety even in the rain; it was one dull, continued, mo- notonous patter—patter—patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hack- neyed phrase of the day), when, in the course of the morning, a horn blew, and a stage coach whirled through the street, with outside passengers stuck all over it, cow- ering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and tipper Ben- jamins. The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the car- Toty-headed hostler, and that non-descript animal yeleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race, that infest the purlieus of an inn; but the bustle was transient; the coach again whirled on its way; and boy and dog, hos. tler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes; the street again became silent, and the rain continued to rain on. In fact, there was no hope of its clearing up, the barometer pointed to rainy weather; mine hostess's tor- toise shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, and rub- bing her paws over her ears; and, on referring to the Almanack, l found a direful prediction stretching from the top of the page to the bottom through the whole month, “expect—much—rain—about—this—time !” ſ AN OBEDIENT HEN-PECKED HUSBAND. IN that same village, and in one of these very houses, (which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather beaten,) there lived many years since, when the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a sim- º good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Win- . He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuy- Vesant, .# accompanied him to the seige of Fort Chris- tina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial 28 THE IRWING GIFT. character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple good-natured man ; he was, moreover, a kind neighbour, and an obedient hen-pecked husband. In- deed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which gained him such universal po- pularity; for those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and maleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation, and a curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the virtues of patience and long suf- fering. A termagent wife may, therefore, in some respects. be considered a tolerable blessing; and if so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed. Certain it is, that he was a great favourite among all the good wives of the village, who, as usual with the ami- able sex, took his partin all family squabbles; and never failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a troop of them, hang- ing on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighbourhood. The great error in Rip's composition was an insupe- rable aversion to all kinds of profitable labour. It could not be from the want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and hea- vy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a mur- mer, even though he should not be encouraged by a sin- ble nibble. e would carry a fowling piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down i. to shoot a few squir- rels or wild pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbour even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn, or building stone fences; the women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not do for them.–In a word, Rip was ready to attend to any body's A HEN-PECRED HUSBAND. 29 business but his own; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible. In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country; every thing about it went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of him. His fences were continually falling to pieces; his cow would either go astray, or get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his field than any where else; the rain always made a point of setting in just as he had some out-door work to do; so that though his patrimonial es- tate had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the worse con- ditioned farm in the neighbourhood. His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits with the old clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's cast off galligaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather. Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, well oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with the least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself he would have whistled life away in perfect con- tentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household elo- quence. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had got into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the house—the only side which, in truth, belongs to a hen- pecked husband. - Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions in idleness, and 30 THE IRWING GIFT. even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's going so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an honourable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods—but what courage can withstand the ever-during and all be- setting terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail dropped to the ground or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broom- stick or ladle, he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation. Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on ; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use. For a long while he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sa- ges, philosophers, and other idle personages of the village; which held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the Third. Here they used to sit in the shade, of a long lazy summer's day, talking listlessly over village ossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. ut it would have been worth any statesman's money to have heard the profound discussions that sometimes took place, when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing traveller. How solemn- ly they would listen to the contents, as drawled out by }. Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man, who was not to be daunted by the most gi- gantic word in the dictionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months after they had taken place. - The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and land- lord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the neighbours could tell the hour by his movements as ac- curately as by a sun-dial. It is true, he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adhe- rents, however, (for every great man has his adherents.) perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather his opinions. When any thing that was read or related dis º A DESIRABLE MATCH. 31 pleased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehe- mently, and to send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes, taking the pipe from his mouth, and lettin the fragrant vapour curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfect approbation. From even this strong hold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his termagent wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call the members all to nought; nor was that august person- age, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring º: of this terrible virago, who charged him outright with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness. Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only alternative, to escape from the labour of the farm and clamour of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he would some- times seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sym- athized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution. “Poor wolf.” e would say, “thy mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!” Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart. - A pºsſRABLE MATCH. AMoNG the rousical disciples who assembled, one even- ing in each week, to receive his (Ichabod Crane's) in- structions ir, psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter nad only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a j ripe and melting and rosy cheeked as one of er father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withala little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fa- shions, as most suited to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great- grandmother had brought over from Saardum; the tempt- 32 THE IRWING GIFT, ing stomacher of the olden time; and withal a provo- kingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round. Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart toward the sex; and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempt- ing a morsel soon found favour in his eyes; more espe- cially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, . sent, either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within those everything was snug, happy, and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty abundance, rather than the style in which he lived, His strong hold was situated on the banks of the Hud- son, in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks, in which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A eat elm-tree spread its broad branches over it; at the oot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweet- est water, in a little well, formed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a neighbouring brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows. Hard by the farm house was a vast barn, that might have served for a church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding within from morn- ing to night; swallows and martins skimmed twitter- ing about the eaves; and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, some with their heads under their wings, or buried in their bosoms, and others swelling and cooing and bowing, about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abun- dance of their pens; from whence sallied forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an ad- joining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling through the farm-yard, and guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered house- wives, with their peevish discontented cry. Before the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior, .# a fine gentleman; clapping his burnished wings, and crowing in the pride and gladness ºf his heart—sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously calling his ever hungry family º A DESIRABLE MATCH, 33 of wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered. The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting pig running about with a pudding in its belly, and an apple in its mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a cover- let of crust; the geese were swimming in their own gra- vy; and the ducks, pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not a tur- key, but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savoury sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawl- ing on his back, in a side dish, with uplifted claws as if craving that quarter, which his chivalric spirit disdain- ed to ask while living. As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and In- dian corn, and the orchards burthened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shin- gle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy al- ready realized his hopes, and presented to him the bloom- ing Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, . out for Kentucky, Tennessee, or the Lord knows Where. - A Rival. Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rung with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double- jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff, but not 1* 34 THE IRWING GIFT, --- ------------ - =7| unpleasant countenance, having amingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he had received the nick-name of BROM BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dex- l terous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendency which Hi bodily strength always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humour at bot- tom. He had three or four boon companions of his own stamp, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they al- ways stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be }. dashing along past the farm houses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Č. and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-skurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, “Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang !” The neighbours looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will; and when any mad-cap prank, or rustic brawl, occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it. This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amourous toyings were something like the ! gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday night, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed, “sparking,” within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the war into other quarters. - * A DESIRABLE MATCH, 35 Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend, and, considering all things, a stout- er man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature; he was in form and spirit like a supple jack—yielding, but tough ; though he bent, he never broke; and though he bowed, beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was away, jerk —he was erect, and carried his head as high as ever. Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his na- ture, would fain have carried matters to open warfare, and have settled their pretensions to the lady, according to the mode of those most consise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore—by single combat; but Icha- bod was too conscious of the superior might of his ad- versary to enter the lists against him: he had overheard the boast of Bones, that he would “double the schoolmaster up, and put him on a shelf;” and he was too wary to give him an opportunity. There was something extreme- ly provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rus- tic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the ob- ject of whimsical persecution to Bones, and his gang of rough riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful do- mains; smoked out his singing school, by stopping up the chimney; broke into the schoolhouse at night, in spite of his formidable fastenings of withes and window stakes, and turned every thing topsy-turvy; so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held their meetings there. But what was still more annoying, Brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most lu- dicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod’s to instruct her in psalmody. An Invitation. \- - In this way matters went on for some time, without producing any material effect on the relative situations of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his - 36. THE IRWING GIFT. little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice re- posed on three nails, behind a throne, a constant terror to evil doers; while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, de- tected upon the persons of idle Turchins; such as half- munched apples, popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper game cocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice recently in- flicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the master; and . of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the school-room. It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth jacket and trow- sers, a round crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came clattering up to the school door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry meeting, or “quilting frolic,” to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's; and having delivered his message with that air of importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mis- SIOIn. All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet school- room. The scholars were hurried through their lessons, without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble, skip- É over half with impunity, and those who were tardy, had a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their speed, or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside, without being put away on the shelves; inkstands were overturned; benches thrown down; and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time; bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketting about the green, in joy at their early emancipation. A Dutch Entertainment. Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and “sugared suppositions,” he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled A DESIRABLE MATCH, 37 his broad disk down into the west. The wide bosom of the Tappaan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle undulation waved and pro- longed the blue shadow of the distant mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the dark gray and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast; and as the reflection of the sky gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the air. It was towards evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower of the adjacent country. Old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. Their brisk, withered little dames, in close crimped caps, long-waisted gowns, homespun petti- coats, with scissors and pincushions, and gay calico pock- ets hanging on the outside. Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine riband, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city innovations. The sons, in short square-skirted coats, with rows of stupendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, especi- ally if they could procure an eelskin for the purpose, it being esteemed throughout the country, as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair. Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, hav- ing come to the gathering on his favourite steed Dare- devil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief And which no one but himself could manage. He was, in fact, noted for preferring vigious animals, given to all kinds of tricks which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable well broken horse as un- worthy a lad of spirit. Faii, would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the state parlour of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and white; but the ample charms of a ge- 38 THE IRWING GIFT. nuine Dutch country tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped up platters of cakes, of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced Dutch housewives! There was the º dough-nut, the tenderer oly koek, and the crisp and crumbling crul- ler; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices fham and smoke beef; and moreover delectable dishes f preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream; all mingled higgeldy-pig- geldy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with the motherly tea-pot sending up its clouds of vapour from the midst—Heaven bless the mark : I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. Happily Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to every dainty. He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer; and whose spirits rose with eating as some men's do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his harge eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling, with the possibility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury, and splendour. Then, he thought, how soon he'd turn his back upon the old school house; snap his finger in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors that should dare to call him comrade 1 - Qld Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a face dilated with content and good humour, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His hospitable attentions were brief, but expressive, being confined to a shake of the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to “fall to, and help themselves.” Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the room, you would have thought Saint Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person. He was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighbourhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and WAR, - 39 window; gazing with delight at the scene; rolling their white eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be other- wise than animated and joyous? the lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in re- ply to all his amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in Orle COrner. - - "WAR. THE first conflict between man, and man was the mere exertion of physical force, unaided by auxiliary weapons, —his arm was his buckler, his fist was his mace, and a broken head the catastrophe of his encounters. The bat- tle of unassisted strength was succeeded by the more rug- ged one of stones and clubs, and war assumed a sangui- uary aspect. As man advanced in refinement, as his fa- culties expanded, and his sensibilities became more exqui- site, he grew rapidly more ingenious and experienced in the art of murdering his fellow beings. He invented a thousand devices to defend and to assault—the helmet, the cuirass, and the buckler, the sword, the dart, and the javelin, prepared him to elude the wound, as well as to launch the blow. Still urging on, in the brilliant and philanthropic career of invention, he enlarges and heigh- tens his powers of defence and injury.—The aries, the scorpio, the balista, and the catapulta, give a horror and sublimity to war; and magnify its glory, by increasing its desolation. Still insatiable, though armed with machinery that seemed to reach the limits of destructive invention, and to yield a power of injury, commensurate even with the desires of revenge—still deeper researches must be made in the diabolical arcana. With furious zeal he dives into the bowels of the earth; he toils midst poisonous mi- nerals and deadly salts—the sublime discovery of gunpow- der blazes upon the world—and, finally, the dreadful art of fighting by proclamation seems to endow the demon of war with ubiquity and omnipotence. This, indeed, is grand!—this, indeed, marks the powers of mind, and bespeaks that divine endowment of reason, which distinguishes us from the animals, our inferiors. The unenlightened brutes content themselves with the 40 THE IRWING GIFT, native force which providence has assigned them. The angry bull butts with his horns, as did his progenitors be- fore him—the lion, the leopard, and the tiger, seek onl with their talons and their fangs to gratify their sangui- nary fury; and even the subtle serpent darts the same ve- nom, and uses the same wiles as did his sire before the flood. Man alone, blessed with the inventive mind, goes on from discovery to discovery—enlarges and multiplies his powers of destruction; arrogates the tremendºus weapons of Deity itself, and tasks creation to assist him in murdering his brother worm. ENGLISH STAGE COACHMEN. AND here, perhaps, it may not be unacceptable to my untravelled readers to have a sketch that may serve as a general representation of this very numerous and impor- tant class of functionaries, who have a dress, a manner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves, and prevalent throughout the fraternity: so that, wherever an English stage Coachman may be seen, he cannot be mistaken for one of any other craft or mystery. He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding into every vessel of the skin; he is swelled into jolly di- mensions by frequent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk is still further increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reach- ing to his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed low-crown- ed hat ; a huge roll of coloured handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom ; and has, in summer time, a large bouquet of flowers in his but- ton-hole; the present, most probably, of some enamoured country lass. His waistcoat is commonly of some bright colour, striped, and his small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of jocky boots which reach about halfway up his legs. All this costume is maintained with much precision; he has a pride in having his clothes of excellent materials; and, notwithstanding the seeming grossness of his appear- ance, there is still discernible that neatness and propriety of person, which is almost inherent in an Englishman. Tº enjoys great consequence and consideration along the THE WALTZ. 41 - road; has frequent conferences with the village house- wives, who look upon him as a man of great trust and de- pendence; and he seems to have a good understanding with every bright-eyed country lass. The moment he arrives where the horses are to be changed, he throws down the reins with something of an air, and abandons the cattle to the care of the hostler; his duty being merely to drive from one stage to another. When off the box, his hands are thrust into the pockets of his great coat, and he rolls about theinn yard with an air of the most absolute lordliness. Here he is generally surrounded by an admi- ring throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless hangers-on, that infest inns and taverns, and run errands, and do all kind of odd jobs for the privilege of battening on the drippings of the kitchen and the leak- age of the tap-room. These all look up to him as to an oracle; treasure up his cant phrases; echo his opinions about horses and other topics of jocky lore; and above all, endeavour to imitate his air and carriage. Every raga- muffin that has a coat to his back, thrusts his hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and is an embryo Coachey. - - THE WALTZ. As many of the retired matrons of this city, unskilled in “gestic lore,” are doubtless ignorant of the movements and figures of this modest exhibition, I will endeavour to give some account of it in order that they may learn what odd capers their daughters sometimes cut when from under their guardian wings.-On a signal being given by the music, the gentleman seizes the lady round her waist; the lady scorning to be out-done in courtesy, very politely takes the gentleman round the neck, with one arm resting against his shoulder to prevent encroachments. Away then they go, about, and about, and about—“About what, sir?”—About the room, madam, to be sure. The whole economy of this dance consists in turning round and round the room in a certain measured step, and it is truly astonishing that this continued revolution does not set all their heads swimming like a top; but I have been posi- tively assured that it only occasions a gentle sensation which is marvellously agreeable. In the course of this 42 THE IRWING GIFT. circumnavigation, the dancers, in order to give the charm of variety are continually changing their relative situations, —now the gentleman, meaning no harm in the world, I assure you, madam, carelessly flings his arm about the lady's neck, with an air of celestial impudence; and anon, the lady, meaning as little harm as the gentleman, takes him round the waist with most ingenious modest lan- guishment, to the great delight of numerous spectators and amateurs, who generally form a ring, as the mob do about a pair of amazons pulling caps, or a couple of fight- ing mastiffs.-After continuing this divine interchange of hands, arms, et cetera, for half an hour or so, the lady begins to tire, and “with eyes upraised,” in most bewitch- ing languor, petitions her partner for a little more support. #. is always given without hesitation. The lady leans gently on his shoulder; their arms entwine in a thousand seducing, mischievous curves—don't be alarmed, madam— closer and closer they approach each other, and in conclusion, the parties being overcome with ecstatic fatigue, the lady seems almost sinking into the gentleman's arms, and then “Well, sir! what then —Lord madam how should I know. DUTCH TEA PARTIES. THESE fashionable parties were generally consigned to the higher classes, or noblesse, that is to say, such as kept their own cows, and drove their own wagons. The company commonly assembled at three o'clock, and went away about six, unless it was in winter time, when the fashionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might get home before dark. I do not find that they ever treated their company to iced creams, jellies, or syllabubs; or regaled them with musty almonds, mouldy raisins, or sour oranges, as is often done in the present age of refinement. Our ancestors were fond of more sturdy, substantial fare. The tea-table was crowned with a huge earthen dish, well stored with slices of ſat pork, fried brown, cut up into morsels, and swimmin in gravy. The company being seated round the genia board, and each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in launching at the fattest pieces in this mighty dish, in much the same manner as sailors harpoon poſſ. DUTCH TEA PARTIES. 43 poises at sea, or our Indians spear salmon in the lakes. Sometimes the table was graced with immense apple pies, or saucers full of preserved peaches and pears; but it was always sure to boast an enormous dish of balls of sweetened dough, fried in hog's fat, and called dough nuts, or oly keoks: a delicious kind of cake, at present scarce known in this city, excepting in genuine Dutch families. The tea was served out of a majestic delft tea-pot, ornamented with paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds and shepherdesses, tending pigs—with boats sailing in the air, and houses built in the clouds, and sundry other ingenious Dutch fantasies. The beaux distinguished themselves by their adroitness in replenishing this pot, from a hugh copper tea-kettle, which would have made the pigmy macaronies of these º: days sweat, merely to look at it. To sweeten the beverage, a lump of sugar was laid beside each cup—and the company, alternately nibbled and sipped with great decorum, until an improvement was introduced by a shrewd and economic old lady, which was, to suspend a large lump directly over the tea table, by a string from the ceiling, so that it could be swung from mouth to mouth, an ingenious expedient, which is still kept up by some families in Albany; but which prevails without exception in Communipaw, Ber- en, Flat-Bush, and all our uncontaminated Dutch vil- CS. - #. these primitive tea-parties the utmost propriety and dignity of deportment prevailed. No flirting nor coquet- ting—no gambling of old ladies, nor hoyden chattering and romping of young ones—no self-satisfied struttings of wealthy gentlemen, with their brains in their pockets; nor amusing conceits, and monkey divertisements of smart young gentlemen with no brains at all. On the contrary, the young ladies seated themselves demurely in their rush-bottomed chairs, and knit their own woollen stockings; nor ever opened their lips, excepting to say yah Mynheer, or yah ya Vrouw, to any question that was asked them; behaving, in all things, like decent well educated damsels. As to the º each of them tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed lost in contem- plation of the blue and white tiles, with which the fire places were decorated; wherein sundry passages of scripture were piously pourtrayed : Tobet and his dog figured to great advantage; Haman swung conspicuously 44 THE IRWING GIFT. on his gibbet; and Jonah appeared most manfully bounc- ; out of the whale, like harlequin through a barrel of re. The parties broke up without noise and without confu- sion. They were carried home by their own carriages, that is to say, by the vehicles nature, had provided them, excepting such of the wealthy as could afford to keep a wagon. The gentlemen gallantly attended their fair ones to their respective abodes, and took leave of them with a hearty smack at the door: which, as it was an established piece of etiquette, done in perfect simplicity and honesty of heart, occasioned no scandal at that time, nor should it at the present—if our great grandfathers approved of the custom, it would argue a great want of reverence in their descendants to say a word against it. COSMOGONY, Or Creation of the World; with a multitude ºf eacellent Theories, by which the Creation of a World is shown to be no such difficult Matter as common Folks would imagine. Having thus briefly introduced my reader into the world, and given him some idea of its form and situation, he will naturally be curious to know from whence it came, and how it was created. And indeed the clearing up of these points is absolutely essential to my history, inasmuch as if this world had not been formed, it is more than proba- ble, that this renowned island, on which is situated the city of New-York, would never have had an existence. The regular course of my history, therefore, requires that I should proceed to notice the cosmogony or formation of this our globe. - And now I give my readers fair warning, that I am about to plunge for a chapter or two, into, as complete a labyrinth as ever historian was perplexed withal; there- foré, I advise them to take fast hold of my skirts, and keep closé at my heels, venturing neither to the right hand, nor to the left, lest they get bemired in a slough of unintelligi: ble learning, or have their brains knocked out by some ºf those hard Greek names which will be flying about in all directions. But should any of them bo too indolent or COSMOGONY, 45 chicken-hearted to accompany me in this perilous under- taking, they had better take a shortcut round, and wait for meat the beginning of some smoother chapter. * * Of the creation of the world we have a thousand con- tradictory accounts; and though a very satisfactory ºne is furnished by divine revelation, yet every philosopher feels himself in honour bound to furnish us with a better. As an impartial historian, I consider it my duty to notice their several theories by which mankind have been so exceedingly edified and instructed. - Thus it was the opinion of certain ancient sages, that the earth and the whole system of the universe was the deity himself; a doctrine most strenuously maintained by Zenophanés and the whole tribe of Eleatics, as also by Strato and the sect of peripatetic philosophers. Pytha: goras likewise inculcated the famous numerical system of the monad, dyad, and tryad; and by means of his sacred quaternary elucidated the formation of the world, the arcana of nature, and the principles both of music and morals. Other sages adhered to the mathematical Sys: tem of squares and triangles; the cube, the pyramid, and the sphere; the tetrahedron, the octahedron, the icosahe: dron, and the dodecahedron.f While others advocated the great elementary theory, which refers the construction of our globe and all that it contains to the combinations of four material elements, air, earth, fire, and water; with the assistance of a fifth, an immaterial and vivifying principle. - Nor must I omit to mention the great atomic system taught by old Moschus before the siege of Troy; revived by Democritus of º: memory; improved by Epi- curus, that king of good fellows; and modernized by the fanciful Descartes. But I decline inquiring whether the atoms, of which the earth is said to be composed, are eternal or recent; whether they are animate or inanimate ; whether, agreeably to the opinions of Atheists, they were fortuitously aggregated; or, as the Theists maintain, were arranged by a supreme intelligence. Whether, in * Aristot. ap. Cic. lib. i. cap. 3. f Aristot. Metaph. lib. i. cap. 5. Idem de Coelo, 1. iii. c. 1. Rous- seau. Mém. Sur. Musique Ancien. p. 39. Plutarch de Plac. Philos. lib i. cap. 3. - - # Tim. Locr. ap. Plato t. iii. p. 90. - | Aristot. Nat. Ascult. l. ii. cap. 6. Aristoph. Metaph, lib. i. cap. 46 THE IRWING GIFT, fact, the earth be an insensate clod, or whether it be ani- mated by a soul;" which opinion was strenuously main- tained by a host of philosophers, at the head of whom stands the great Plato, that temperate sage, who threw the cold water of philosophy on the form of sexual inter- course, and inculcated the doctrine of Platonic love—an exquisitely refined intercourse, but much better adapted to the ideal inhabitants of his imaginary island of Atlantis than to the sturdy race, composed of rebellious flesh and blood, which populates the little matter of fact island we inhabit. Besides these systems, we have, moreover, the poetical theogony of old Hesiod, who generated the whole uni- verse in the regular mode of procreation, and the plausi- ble opinion of others, that the earth was hatched from the great egg of might, which floated in chaos, and was cracked by the horns of the celestial bull. To illustrate this last doctrine, Burnet, in his theory of the earth,t has favoured us with an accurate drawing and description both of the form and texture of this mundane egg; which is found to bear a near resemblance to that of a goose. Such of my readers as take a proper interest in the origin of this our planet will be pleased to learn, that the most profound sages of antiquity, among the Egyptians, Chaldeans, Per- sians, Greeks, and Latins, have alternately assisted at the hatching of this strange bird; and that their cacklings have been caught and continued, in different tones and iº from philosopher to philosopher, unto the pre- sent day. But while briefly noticing long celebrated systems of ancient sages, let me not pass over, with neglect, those of other philosophers; which, though less universal than re- nowned, have equal claims to attention, and equal chance for correctness. Thus it is recorded by the Brahmins, in the pages of their inspired Shastah, that the angel Bist- noo transformed himself into a great boar, plunged into the watery abyss, and brought up the earth on his tusks. Then issued from him a mighty tortoise, and a might snake; and Bisthoo placed the snake erect upon the bac 3. .." de Nat. Deor. lib. i. cap. 10. Justin Mart. Orat. ad Gent. () D. 20. * Mosheim in Cudw.lib. i. cap. 4. Tim. de Anim. Mund. ap. Pit lib. iii. Mem. de l'Acad. des Belles Lettres, t. xxxii. p. 19 et al. t Book i. ch. 5, COSMOGONY. 47 of the tortoise, and he raced the earth upon the head of the snake.* The negro philosophers of Congo affirm, that the world was made by the hands of angels, excepting their own country, which the supreme being constructed himself, that it might be supremely excellent. And he took great pains with the inhabitants, and made them very black and beautiful; and when he had finished the first man, he was well pleased with him, and smoothed him over the face, and hence his nose, and the nose of all his descendants, became flat. - The Mohawk philosophers tell us, that a pregnant wo- man fell down from heaven, and that a tortoise took her upon its back, because every place was covered with water; and, that the woman, sitting upon the tortoise, paddled with her hands in the water, and raked up the earth, whence it finally happened that the earth became higher than the water.f But I forbear to quote a number more of these ancient and outlandish philosophers, whose deplorable ignorance, in despite of all their erudition, compelled them to write. in languages, which but few of my readers can understand; and ſºil proceed briefly to notice a few more intelligible and fashionable theories of their modern successors. And first I shall mention the great Buffon, who con- jectures that this globe was originally a globe of liquid fire, scintillated from the body of the sun, by the percus- sion of a comet, as a spark of generated by the collision of flint and steel. That at first it was surrounded by gross vapours, which cooling and condensing in process of time, constituted, according to their densities, earth, water, and air; which gradually arranged themselves, according to their respective gravities, round the burning or vitrified mass that formed their centre. Hutton, on the contrary, supposes that the waters at first were universally paramount; and he terrifies himself with the idea that the earth must be eventually washed away by the force of rains, rivers, and mountain torrents, until it is confounded with the ocean, or, in other words, absolutely dissolves into itself—Sublime idea! far sur- * Holwell, Gent. Philosophy. f Johannes Megapolensis, jun. Account of Maquans or Mohawk Indians, 1644. 48 THE IRWING GIFT. | - - passing that of the tender hearted damsel of antiquity, who wept herself into a fountain; or the good dame of Narbonne in France, who, for a volubility of tongue un- usual in her sex, was doomed to peel five hundred thou- sand and thirty-nine ropes of onions, and actually ran out | at her eyes before half the hideous task was accomplished. Whiston, the same ingenious philosopher who rivalled Ditton in his researches after the longitude, (for which the mischief-loving Swift discharged on their heads, a most savoury stanza,) has distinguished himself by a very ad- mirable theory respecting #. earth. He conjectures that it was originally a chaotic comet, which, being selected for the abode of man, was removed from its eccentric orbit, and whirled round the sun in its present regular motion; by which change of direction, order succeeded to confu- sion in the arrangement of its component parts. The philosopher adds, that the deluge was produced by an un- courteous salute from the watery tail of another comet; doubtless through sheer envy of its improved condition; thus furnishing a melancholy proof that jealousy may prevail, even among the heavenly bodies, and discord in- terrupt that celestial harmony of the spheres, so melodious- ly sung by the poets. But I pass over a variety of excellent theories, among which are those of Burnet, and Woodward, and White- hurst; regretting extremely that my time will not suffer me to give them the notice they deserve–And shall con- clude with that of the renowned Dr. Darwin. This learned Theban, who is as much distinguished for rhyme as reason, and for good natured credulity as serious re- - . search; and who has recommended himself wonderfully to the good graces of the ladies, by letting them into all the gallantries, amours, debaucheries, and other topics 5f scandal of the court of Flora, has fallen upon a theory worthy of his combustible imagination. According to his - opinion, the huge mass of choãs took a sudden occasion º to explode, like a barrel of gunpowder, and, in that act, exploded the sun–which, in its flight, by a similar con- sion exploded the earth—which in like guise exploded the moon—and thus, by a concatenation of explosions, the whole solar system was produced, and set most systemati- cally in motion.* - * Darw. Bot. garden. Part I cant. i. 1. 105. - DUTCH Courtship. Page 43. . - COSMOGONY. 49 By the great variety of theories here alluded to, every one of which, if thoroughly examined, will be found sur- prisingly consistent in all its parts, my unlearned readers will perhaps be led to conclude, that the creation of a world is not so difficult a task as they at first imagined. I have shown at least a score of ingenious methods in which a world could be constructed; and, I have no doubt, that had any of the philosophers above quoted the use of a good manageable comet, and the philosophical warehouse, chaos, at his command, he would engage to manufacture a planet, as good, or, if you would take his word for it, better than this we inhabit. And here I cannot help noticing the kindness.of provi- dence, in creating comets for the great relief of bewildered philosophers. By their assistance more sudden evolutions and transitions are effected in the system of nature, than are wrought in a pantomimic exhibition, by the wonder- working sword of harlequin. Should one of our modern sages, in his theoretical flights among the stars, ever find himself lost in the clouds, and in danger of tumbling into the abyss of nonsense and absurdity, he has but to seize a comet by the beard, mount astride of its tail, and away he gallops in triumph, like an enchanter on his hippogriff, or a Connecticut witch on her broomstick, “to sweep the cobwebs out of the sky.” It is an old and vulgar saying, about a “beggar on horseback,” which I would not for the world have applied to these reverend philosophers: but I must confess, that some of them, when they are mounted on one of those fiery steeds, are as wild in their curvettings as was Phae- ton, of yore, when he aspired to manage the chariot of Phoebus. One drives his comet at full speed against the sun, and knocks the world out of him with mighty concussion; another, more moderate, makes his comet a kind of beast of burden, carrying the sun a regular supply of food and faggots; a third of more combustible dispo sition, threatens to throw his comet, like a bombshell, into the world, and blow it up like a powder magazine; while a fourth, with no great delicacy to this planet and its in- habitants, insinuates that some day or other his comet- my modest pen blushes while I write it—shall absolutely turn tail upon the world and deluge it with water – Surely, as I have already observed, comets were bounti- fully provided by providence for the benefit of philosophers to assist them in manufacturing theories. 3 50 THE IRWING GIFT. And now, having adduced several of the most prominent theories that occur to my recollection, I leave my judici- ous readers at full liberty to choose among them. They are all serious speculations of learned men—all differ es- sentially from each other—and all have the same title to belief. It has ever been the task of one race of philoso- phers to demolish the works of their predecessors, and elevate more splendid fantasies in their stead, which, in their turn, are demolished and replaced by the air-castles of a succeeding generation. Thus it would seem that knowledge and genius, of which we make such great pa- rade, consist but in detecting the errors and absurdities of those who have gone before, and devising new errors and absurdities, to be detected by those who are to come after us. Theories are the mighty soap-bubbles with which the grown-up children of science amuse themselves; while the homest vulgar stand gazing in stupid admiration, and dignify these learned vagaries with the name of wisdom: —Surely Socrates was right in his opinion, that philoso- phers are but a soberer sort of madmen, busying them- selves in things totally incomprehensible, or which, if they could be comprehended, would be found not worthy the trouble of discovery. - For my own part, until the learned have come to an agreement among themselves, I shall content myself with the account handed down to us by Moses; in which I do but follow the example of our ingenious neighbours of Connecticut; who at their first settlement proclaimed, that the colony should be governed by the laws of God— until they had time to make better. One thing however appears certain—from the unani- mous authority of the before quoted philosophers, sup- ported by the evidence of our own senses, (which, though very apt to deceive us, may be cautiously admitted as ad- ditional testimony,) it appears, I say, and I make the as- sertion deliberately, without fear of contradiction, that this globe really was created, and that it is composed of land and *...*.*.* appears that it is curiously divided and parce out into continents and islands, among which I boldly declare the renowned isi, AND of NEw-York will be found by any one who seeks for it in its proper place. \ DUTCH LEGISLATURES. DUTCH LEGISLATORS. And row the infant settlement having advanced in age and stature, it was thought high time it should receive an honest Christian name, and it was accordingly called New- Amsterdam. It is true there were some advocates for the original Indian name, and many of the best writers of the rovince did long continue to call it by the title of “The Manhattoes,” but this was discountenanced by the autho- rities, as being heathenish and savage. Besides, it was considered an excellent and praiseworthy measure to name it after a great city of the old world; as by that means it was induced to emulate the greatness and re- nown of its namesake—in the manner that little snivelling urchins are called after great statesmen, saints, and wor- thies, and renowned generals of yore, upon which they all industriously copy their examples, and come to be very mighty men in their day and generation. The thriving state of the settlement and the rapid in- crease of houses gradually awakened the good Olofſe from a deep lethargy, into which he had fallen after the building of the fort. He now began to think it was time some plan should be devised on which the increasing town should be built. Summoning, therefore, his coun- sellors and coadjutors together, they took pipe in mouth, and forthwith sunk into a very sound deliberation on the subject. t the very outset of the business an unexpected dif- ference of opinion arose, and I mention it with much sor- rowing, as being the first altercation on record in the councils of New-Amsterdam. It was a breaking forth of the grudge and heartburning that had existed between those two eminent burghers, Mynheers Tenbroeck and Hardenbroeck, ever since their unhappy altercation on the coast of Bellevue. The great Hardenbroeck had waxed very wealthy and powerful from his domains, which embraced the whole chain of Apulean mountains that stretch along the gulf of Kip's Bay, and from part of which his descendants have been expelled in latter ages by the powerful clans of the Joneses and the Schermer- hornes. - - An ingenious plan for the city was offered by Mynheer Tenbroeck, who proposed that it should be cut up and intersected by canals, after the manner of the most ad- 52 THE IRWING GIFT, mired cities in Holland. To this Mynheer Hardenbroeck was diametrically opposed, suggesting in place thereof that they should run out docks and wharfs by means of piles, driven into the bottom of the river, on which the town should be built. “By these means,” said he tri- umphantly, “shall we rescue a considerable space of ter- ritory from these immense rivers, and build a city that shall rival Amsterdam, Venice, or any amphibious city º in º, To this proposition Tenbroeck (or Ten - Breeches) replied, with a look of as much scorn as he could possibly assume. He cast the utmost censure upon the plan of his antagonist as being preposterous, and against the very order of things, as he would leave to every true Hollander. “For what,” said he, “is a town without canals?—It is like a body without veins and arte- ries, and must perish for want of a free circulation of the vital fluid.” Tough Breeches, on the contrary, retorted with a sarcasm upon his antagonist, who was somewhat of an arid, dry boned habit; he remarked, that as to the cir- culation of the blood being necessary to existence, Myn- heer Ten Breeches was a living contradiction to his own assertion; for every body knew there had not a drop of blood circulated through his wind-dried carcass for good ten years, and yet there was not a greater busybody in the whole colony. Personalities have seldom much effect in making converts in argument; nor have I ever seen a man convinced of error by being convicted of deformity. At least, such was not the case at present. Ten Breeches was very acrimonious in reply, and Tough Breeches, who was a sturdy little man, and never gave up the last word, rejoined with increasing spirit—Ten Breeches had the ad- yantage of the greatest volubility, but Tough Breeches had that invaluable coat of mail in argument called obsti- macy—Ten Breeches had, therefore, the most metal, but Tough Breeches the best bottom—so that though Ten Breeches made a dreadful clattering about his ears, and battered and belaboured him with hard words and sound arguments; yet Tough Brgeches hung on most resolutely to the last. They parted, therefore, as is usual in all arguments where both parties are in the right, without coming to any conclusion; but they hated each other most heartily for ever after, and a similar breach with that between the houses of Capulet and Montague did ensue between the families of Ten Breeches and Tough Breeches. DUTCH LEGISLATURES. 53 I would not fatigue my reader with these dull matters of fact, but that my duty as a faithful historian requires that I should be particular; and, in truth, as I am now treating of the critical period, when our city, like a young twig first received the twists and turns, that have since contributed to give it the present picturesque irregularity for which it is celebrated, I cannot be too minute in detail- ing their first causes. - After the unhappy altercation I have just mentioned, I do not find that any thing further was said on the subject worthy of being recorded. The council, consisting of the largest and oldest heads in the community, met regularly once a-week, to ponder on this monstrous subject; but either they were deterred by the war of words they had witnessed, or they were naturally averse to the exercise of the tongue, and the consequent exercise of the brain —certain it is, the most profound silence was maintained —the question, as usual, lay on the table—the members quietly smoked their pipes, making but few laws, without ever enforcing any, and in the mean time the affairs of the settlement went on—as it pleased God. As most of the council were but little skilled in the mystery of combining pothooks and hangers, they deter- mined, most judiciously, not to puzzle either themselves or posterity with voluminous records. The secretary however, kept the minutes of the council with tolerable precision, in a large vellum folio, fastened with massy brass clasps; the journal of each meeting consisted but of two lines, stating in Dutch. that “the council sat this day, and smoked twelve pipes on the affairs of the co- lony.” By which it appears that the first settlers did not regulate their time by hours, but pipes, in the same man- ner as they measure distances in Holland at this very time; an admirably exact measurement, as the pipe in the mouth of a true born Dutchman is never liable to those accidents and irregularities that are continually putting our clocks out of order. In this manner did the profound council of NEw-AM- STERDAM smoke, and doze, and ponder, from week to week, month to month, and year to year, in what man- ner they should construct their infant settlement: mean- while, the town took care of itself, and like a sturdy brat which is suffered to run about wild, unshackled by clouts and bandages, and other abominations, by which your notable nurses and sage old women cripple and disfigure 54 THE IRWING GIFT. the children of men, increased so rapidly in strength and magnitude, that before the honest burgomasters had de- termined upon a plan, it was too late to put it in execu- tion—whereupon they wisely abandoned the subject alto- gether. THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK. THE following story has been handed down by a family tradition for more than a century. It is one on which my cousin Christopher dwells with more than usual pro lixity; and, being in some measure connected with a per- sonage often quoted in our work, I have thought it worthy of being laid before my readers. Soon after my grandfather, Mr. Lemuel Cockloft, had quietly seated #. at the Hall, and just about the time that the gossips of the neighbourhood, tired of pry- ing into his affairs, were anxious for some new tea-table topic, the busy community of our little village was thrown into a grand turmoil of curiosity and conjecture—a situ- ation very common to little gossiping villages—by the sudden and unaccountable appearance of a mysterious individual. º The object of this solicitude was a little black-lookin man, of a foreign aspect, who took possession of an .# building, which having long had the reputation of being haunted, was in a state of ruinous desolation, and an ob- ject of fear to all true believers in Ghosts. He usually wore a high sugarloaf hat with a narrow brim, and a little black cloak, which, short as he was, scarcely reached below his knees. He sought no intimacy or acquaintance with any one—appeared to take no interest in the pleasures or the little broils of the village—nor ever talked, except sometimes to himself in an outlandish tongue. He com- monly carried a large book, covered with sheepskin, under his arm, appeared always to be lost in meditation—and was often met by the peasantry, sometimes watching the dawn- ing of the day, sometimes at noon seated under a free poring over his volume, and sometimes at evening gazing, with a look of sober tranquillity, at the sun as it gradually sunk below the horizon. º - The good people of the vicinity beheld something pro- digiously singular in all this; a profound mystery seem- - THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK. . 55 ed to hang about the stranger, which, with all their saga. city, they could not penetrate; and in the excess of world- ly charity they pronounced it a sure sign “that he was no better than he should be;” a phrase innocent enough in itself; but which, as applied in common, signifies near- ly every thing that is bad. The young people thought him a gloomy misanthrope, because he never |. irl their sports; the old men thought still more hardly of him, because he followed no trade, nor ever seemed am- bitious of earning a farthing; and as to the old gossips, baffled by the inflexible taciturnity of the stranger, they unanimously declared that a man who could not or would not talk was no better than a dumb beast. The little man in black, careless of their opinions, seemed resolved to maintain the liberty of keeping his own secret; and the consequence was, that, in a little while, the whole village was in an uproar; for in little communities of this descrip- tion, the members have always the privilege of being tho- roughly versed, and even of meddling in all the affairs of each other. A confidential conference was held one Sunday morn- ing after sermon, at the door of the village church, and the character of the unknown fully investigated. The schoolmaster gave as his opinion that he was the wander- ing Jew; the sexton was certain that he must be a free- mason from his silence; a third maintained, with great obstinacy, that he was a High German Doctor, and that the book which he carried about with him contained the secrets of the black art; but the most prevailing opinion seemed to be that he was a witch—a race of beings at that time abounding in those parts: and a sagacious old matron, from Connecticut, proposed to ascertain the fact by sousing him into a kettle of hot water. Suspicion, when once afloat, goes with wind and tide, and soon becomes certainty. Many a stormy night was the little man in black seen by the flashes of lightning, frisking and curvetting in the air upon a broomstick; and it was always observed, that at those times the storm did more mischief than at any other. The old lady in parti- cular, who suggested the humane ordeal of the boiling kettle, lost, on one of these occasions, a fine brindle cow; which accident was entirely ascribed to the vengeance of the little man in black. If ever, a mischievous hireling rode his master's favourite horse to a distant frolic, and the animal was observed to be lame and jaded in the 56 - THE IRWING GIFT, morning-the little man in black was sure to be at the bottom of the affair; nor could a high wind howl through the village at night, but the old women shrugged up their shoulders, and observed, “the little man in black was in his tantrums.” In short, he became the bugbear of every house; and was as effectual in frightening little children into obedience and hysterics, as the redoubtable Raw- head-and-bloody-bones himself; nor could a housewife of the village sleep in peace, except under the guardianship of a horse-shoe nailed to the door. --> The object of these direful suspicions remained for some time totally ignorant of the wonderful quandary he had occasioned; but he was soon doomed to feel its ef- fects. An individual who is once so unfortunate as to incur the odium of a village, is in a great measure out- lawed and proscribed, and becomes a mark for injury and insult; particularly if he has not the power or the dis- position to recriminate.—The little venomous passions, which in the great world are dissipated and weakened by being widely diffused, act in the narrow limits of a coun- try town with collected vigour, and become rancorous in proportion as they are confined in their sphere of action. The little man in black experienced the truth of this; every mischievous urchin returning from school had full liberty to break his windows; and this was considered as a most daring exploit; for in such awe did they stand of him, that the most adventurous schoolboy was never seen to approach his threshold, and at night would prefer going round by the cross-roads, where a traveller had been mur- dered by the Indians, rather than pass by the door of his forlorn habitation. - The only living creature that seemed to have any care or affection for this deserted being was an old tuinspit, the companion of this lonely mansion and his solitary wanderings;–the sharer of his scanty meals, and, sorry am I to say it, the sharer of his persecutions. The turnspit, like his master, was peaceable and inoffensive; never known to bark at a horse, to growl at a traveller, or to quarrel with the dogs of the neighbourhood. He followed close by his master's heels when he went out, and when he returned stretched himself in the sunbeams at the door; demeaning himself in all things like a civil and well disposed turnspit. But notwithstanding his exemplary deportment, he fell likewise under the ill re- port of the village; as being the familiar of the little man THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK, 57 in black, and the evil spirit that presided at his incanta- tions. The old hovel was considered as the scene of their unhallowed rites, and its harmless tenants regarded with a detestation which their inoffensive coliduct never merit- ed. Though pelted and jeered at by the brats of the vil- lage, and frequently abused by their parents, the little man in black never turned to rebuke them; and his faith- ful dog, when wantonly assaulted, looked up wistfully in his master's face, and there learned a lesson of patience and forbearance. The movements of this inscrutable being had long been the subject of speculation at Cockloft-hall, for its inmates were full as much given to wondering as their descen- dants. The patience with which he bore his persecutions É. surprised them—for patience is a virtue but ittle known in the Cockloft family. My grandmother, who, it appears, was rather superstitious, saw, in this humility, nothing but the gloomy sullenness of a wizard, who restrained himself for the present, in hopes of mid- night vengeance—the parson of the village, who was a man of some reading, pronounced it the stubborn insen- sibility of a stoic philosopher—my grandfather, who, worthy soul, seldom wandered abroad in search of con- clusions, took datum from his own excellent heart, and regarded it as the humble forgiveness of a Christian. But however different were their opinions as to the character of the stranger, they agreed in one particular, namely, in never intruding upon his solitude; and my grandmother, who was at that time nursing my mother, never left the room without wisely putting the large family bible in the cradle—a sure talisman, in her opinion, against witchcraft and necromancy. - One stormy windy night, when a bleak north-east. wind moaned about the cottages, and howled around the village steeple, my grandfather was returning from club preceded by a servant with a lantern. Just as he arrived opposite the desolate abode of the little man in black, he was arrested by the piteous howling of a dog, which, heard in the pauses of a storm, was exquisitely mourn- ful; and he fancied now and then that he caught the low and broken groans of some one in distress. He stopped for some minutes, hesitating between the benevolence of his heart and a sensation of genuine delicacy, which, in spite of his eccentricity, he fully possessed,—and which forbade 3% 5S THE IRWING GIFT. == him to pry into the concerns of his neighbours. Per. haps, too, this hesitation might have been strengthened by a little taint of superstition; or surely, if the unknown had been addicted to witchcraft, this was a most propiti- ous night for his vagaries. At length the old gentle- man's philanthropy predominated; he approached the bovel, and pushing open the door-for poverty has no occasion for locks and keys, beheld, by the light of the lantern, a scene that smote his generous heart to the core. On a miserable bed, with pallid and emaciated visage and hollow eyes; in a room destitute of every conve- nience; without fire to warm or friend to console him, lay this helpless mortal, who had been so long the terror and wonder of the village. His dog was crouching on the - scanty coverlet, and shivering with cold. My grand- -. father stepped softly and hesitatingly to the bedside, and ac- costed the forlorn sufferer in his usual accents of kindness. The little man in black, seemed recalled by the tones of - compassion from the lethargy into which he had fallen; for, though his heart was almost frozen, there was yet one chord that answered to the call of the good old man who bent over him;--the tones of sympathy, so novel to his ear, called back his wandering senses, and acted like a restorative to his solitary feelings. He raised his eyes, but they were vacant and haggard; —he put forth his hand, but it was cold; he essayed to speak, but the sound died away in his throat;-he point- ed to his mouth with an expression of dreadful meaning, and, sad to relate! my grandfather understood that the harmless stranger, deserted by society, was perishing with hunger!—With the quick impulse of humanity he des- patched the servant to the hall for refreshment. A little warm nourishment renovated him for a short time, but not long: it was evident his pilgrimage was drawing to a close, and he was about entering that peaceful asylum where § the wicked cease from troubling.’ '. His tale of misery was short, and quickly told;—in- firmities had stolen upon him, heightened by the rigours of the season; he had taken to his bed without strength to rise and ask for assistance; “and if I had,” said he, in a tone of bitter despondency, “to whom should I have ap- plied? I have no friend that I know of in the world - the villagers avoid me as something loathsome and dange- rous; and here, in the midst of Christians, should I have THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK. 59 perished without a fellow being to sooth the last moments of existence, and close my dying eyes, had not the howl- ings of my faithful dog excited your attention.” He seemed deeply sensible of the kindness of my grand- father; and at one time as he looked up into his old be- nefactor's face, a solitary tear was observed to steal adown the parched furrows of his cheek-Poor outcast! —it was the last tear he shed; but I warrant it was not the first by millions ! My grandfather watched by him all night. Towards morning he gradually declined; and as the rising sun gleamed through the windows, he begged to be raised in his bed, that he might look at it for the last time. He contemplated it for a moment with a kind of religious enthusiasm, and his lips moved as if engaged in prayer. The strange conjecture concerning him rush- ed on my grandfather's mind. “He is an idolater!” thought he, “and is worshipping the sun”. He listened a moment, and blushed at his own uncharitable suspicion; he was only engaged in the pious devotions of a Christian. His simple orison being finished, the little man in black withdrew his eyes from the east, and taking my grandfa- ther's hand in one of his, and making a motion with the other towards the sun–"I love to contemplate it,” said he ; “’tis an emblem of the universal benevolence of a true Christian;–and it is the most glorious work of him who is philanthropy itself!” My grandfather blushed still deeper at his ungenerous surmises; he had pitied the stranger at first, but now he revered him:-he turned once more to regard him, but his countenance had under- gone a change; the holy enthusiasm that had lighted up each feature had given place to an expression of mysteri- ous import:-a gleam of grandeur seemed to steal across his gothic visage, and he appeared full of some mighty secret which he hesitated to impart. He raised the tat- tered nightcap that had sunk almost over his eyes, and waving his withered hand with a slow and feeble expres sion of dignity—“In me,” said he, with a laconic solem- nity,+* In me you behold the last descendant of the re- nowned Linkum Fidelius !” My grandfather gazed at him with reverence; for though he had never heard of the illustrious personage thus pompously announced, yet there was a certain black-letter dignity in the name that peculiarly struck his fancy and commanded his respect. “You have been kind to me,” continued the little man in black, after a momentary pause, “and richly will I 60 THE IRWING GIFT. requite your kindness by making you heir to my trea- sures . In yonder large deal box are the volumes of my illustrious ancestor, of which I alone am the fortunate possessor. Inherit them—ponder over them, and be wise !” He grew faint with the exertion he had made, and sunk back almost breathless on his pillow. His hand, which, inspired with the importance of his subject, he had raised to my grandfather's arm, slipped from its hold and fell over the side of the bed, and his faithful dog ticked it; as if anxious to sooth the last moments of his master, and testify his gratitude to the hand that had so often che- rished him. The untaught caresses of the faithful animal were not lost upon his dying master; he raised his lan- uid eyes, turned them on the dog, then on my grand- father; and having given this silent recommendation— closed them for ever... . . - The remains of the little man in black, notwithstand- ing the objections of many pious people, were decently in- terred in the church-yard of the village; and his spirit, harmless as the body it once animated, has never been known to molest a living being. My grandfather com- plied as far as possible with his last request; he conveyed the volumes of Linkum Fidelius to his library;-he pon- dered over them frequently; but whether he grew wiser, the family tradition doth not mention. This much is certain, that his kindness to the poor descendant of Fide- lius was amply rewarded by the approbation of his own heart, and the devoted attachment of the old turnspit; who, transferring his affection from his deceased master to his benefactor, became his constant attendant, and was father to a long tribe of runty curs that still flourish in the family. And thus was the Cockloft library enriched by the invaluable folios of the sage Linkum Fidelius. MY AUNT CHARITY. My aunt Charity departed this life in the fifty-ninth year of her age, though she never grew older after twen- ty-five. In her teens, she was, according to her own account, a celebrated beauty,+though I never could meet with any body that remembered when she was handsome. On the contrary, Evergreen's father, who used to gal- lant her in his youth, says she was as knotty a little piece º MY AUNT CHARITY. 61 of humanity as he ever saw; and that, if she had been possessed of the least sensibility, she would, like poor old Acco, have most certainly run mad at her own figure and face the first time she contemplated herself in a looking- lass. In the good old times that saw my aunt in the ey-day of youth, a fine lady was a most formidable ani- mal, and required to be approached with the same awe and devotion that a Tartar feels in the presence of his grand Lama. . If a gentleman offered to take her hand, except to help her into a carriage, or lead her into a drawing- room, such frowns; such a rustling of brocade and taf. feta | Her very paste shoe buckles sparkled with indig- nation, and for a moment assumed the brilliancy of dia- monds! In those days the person of a belle was sacred—it was unprofaned by the sacrilegious grasp of a stranger:- simple souls:—they had not the waltz among them yet! My good aunt prided herself on keeping up this buckram delicacy; and if she happened to be playing at the old fashioned game of forfeits, and was fined a kiss, it was always more trouble to get it than it was worth; for she made a most gallant defence, and never surrendered un- til she saw her adversary inclined to give over his at- tack. Evergreen's father says he remembers once to have been on a sleighing party with her, and when they came to Kissing Bridge, it fell to his lot to levy contributions on Miss Charity Cockloft, who after squalling at a hideous rate, at length jumped out of the sleigh plump into a snow-bank, where she stuck fast like an icicle, until he came to her rescue. This Latonian feat cost her a rheu- matism, which she never thoroughly recovered. It is rather singular that my aunt, though a great beauty, and an heiress withal, never got married.—The reason she alleged was, that she never met with a lover who resembleſ Sir Charles Grandison, the hero of her nightly dreams and waking fancy; but I am privately of opinion that it was owing to her never having had an offer. This much is certain, that for many years previous to her decease she declined all attentions from the gen- tlemen, and contented herself with watching over the welfare of her fellow creatures. She was, indeed, observed to take a considerable lean towards methodism, was fre quent in her attendance at love-feasts, read Whitfield and Wesley, and even went so far as once to travel the distance of five and twenty miles to be present at a camp-meeting. This gave great offence to my cousin Christopher, and , 62 THE IRWING GIFT, his good lady, who, as I have already meationed, are ri: gidly orthodox;-and had not my aunt Charity been of a most pacific disposition, her religious whim-wham would have occasioned many a family altercation. She was indeed, as the Cockloft family ever boasted—a lady of unbounded loving-kindness, which extended to man; woman, and child; many of whom she almost killed with good nature. Was any acquaintance sick?—in vain did the wind whistle and the storm beat—my aunt would waddle through mud and mire, over the whoſe town, but what she would visit them. She would sit by them for hours together with the most perse- vering patience; and tell a thousand melancholy stories of human misery, to keep up their spirits. . The whole catalogue of yerb teas was at her fingers' ends, from formidable wormwood down to gentle balm; and she would descant by the hour on the healing qualities of hoar-hound, catnip, and penny-royal. Wo be to the pa- tient that came under the benevolent hand of my aunt Charity; he was sure, willy nilly, to be drenched with a deluge of decoctions; and full many a time has my cousin Christopher borne a twinge of pain in silence, through fear of being condemned to suffer the martyrdom of her materia-medica. My good aunt had, moreover, conside- rable skill in astronomy; for she could tell when the sun rose and set every day in the year;-and no woman in the whole world was able to pronounce, with more certainty, at what precise minute the moon changed. She held the story of the moon’s being made of green cheese as an abominable slander on her favourite planet; and she had made several valuable discoveries in solar eclipses, by means of a bit of burnt glass, which entitled her at least . to an honorary admission in the American Philosophical Society. “Hutching's Improved” was her favourite book; and I shrewdly suspect that it was from this valua- ble work she drew most of her sovereign remedies for colds, coughs, corns, and consumptions. But the truth must be told; with all her good quali- ties, my aunt Charity was afflicted with one fault, ex- tremely rare among her gentle sex—it was curiosity. How she came by it, I am at a loss to imagine, but it played the very vengeance with her, and destroyed the comfort of her life. Having an invincible desire to know every body's character, business, and mode of living, she Was for ever prying into the affairs of her neighbours; MY AUNT CHARITY, 63 and got a great deal of ill-will from people towards whom she had the kindest disposition possible. ... If any family on the opposite side of the street gave a dinner, my aunt would mount her spectacles, and sit at the window until the company were all housed, merely that she might know who they were. If she heard a story about any of her ac- quaintance, she would forthwith, set off full sail, and never rest, until, to use her usual expression, she had got “to the bottom of it;" which meant nothing more than telling it to every one she knew. - I remember one night my aunt Charity happened to hear a most precious story about one of her good friends, but unfortunately too late to give it immediate circulation. It made her absolutely miserable; and she hardly slept a wink all night; for fear her bosom friend, Mrs. Sipkins, should get the start of her in the morning, and blow the whole affair.—You must know there was always a con- test between these two ladies, who should first give cur- rency tº the good-natured things said about every body; and this unfortunate rivalship at length proved fatal, to their long and ardent friendship. ; My aunt got up full two hours that morning before her usual time; put on her pompadour taffeta gown, and sallied forth to lament the misfortune of her dear friend.—Would you believe it — wherever she went, Mrs. Sipkins had anticipated her; and instead of being listened to with uplifted hands and open-mouthed wonder, my unhappy aunt was obliged to sit down quietly and listen to the whole affair, with nu- merous additions, alterations, and amendments Now this was too bad; it would almost have provoked Patient Grizzle or a saint; it was too much for my aunt, who kept her bed three days afterwards, with a cold as she pretended; but I have no doubt it was owing to this af. fair of Mrs. Sipkins, to whom she never would be recon- ciled. But I pass over the rest of my aunt Charity's life che- quered with the various calamities and misfortunes and mortifications, incident to those worthy old gentlewomen who have the domestic cares of the whole community upon their minds; and I hasten to relate the melancholy inci- dent that hurried her out of existence in the full bloom of antiquated virginity. In their frolicsome malice the fates had ordered that a French boarding-house, or Pension Française, as it was called, should be established directly opposite my aunt’s 64 THE IRWING GIFT. residence. Cruel eventſ unhappy aunt Charity!—it threw her into that alarming disºrder denominated the fidgets: she did nothing but watch at the window day after day, but without becoming one whit the wiser at the end of a fortnight than she was at the beginning; she thought that neighbour Pension had a monstrous large fa- mily, and somehow or other they were all men : She could not imagine what business neighbour Pension fol: lowed to support so numerous a household; and wondered why there was always such a scraping of fiddles in the parlour, and such a smell of onions from neighbour Pen- sion's kitchen: in short, neighbour Pension was continual- ly uppermost in her thoughts, and incessantly on the outer edge of her tongue. This was, I believe, the very first time she had ever failed “to get at the bottom of a thing;', and the disappointment cost her many a sleepless night, I warrant you. I have little doubt, however, that my aunt would have ferretted neighbour Pension out, could she have spoken or understood French; but in those times people in general could make themselves understood in plain English; and it was always a standing rule in the Cockloft family, which exists to this day, that not one of the females should learn French. My aunt Charity had lived at her window, for some time in vain; when one day she was keeping her usual look-out, and suffering all the pangs of unsatisfied curiosi- ty, she beheld a little meagre, weazel-faced Frenchman, of the most forlorn, diminutive, and pitiful proportions, arrive at neighbour Pension's door. He was dressed in white, with a little pinch-up cocked hat ; he seemed to shake in the wind, and every blast that went over him whistled through his bones, and threatened instant anni- hilation. This embodied spirit of famine was followed by three carts, lumbered with crazy trunks, chests, band- boxes, bidets, medicine-chests, parrots, and monkeys; and at his heels ran a yelping pack of little black-nosed pug-dogs. This was the one thing wanting to fill up the measure of my aunt Charity's afflictions; she could not conceive, for the soul of her, who this mysterious little apparition could be that made so great a display;-- what he could possibly do with so much baggage, and particularly with his parrots and monkeys; or how so small a carcass could have occasion for so many trunks of clothes. Honest soul! she never had a peep into a French- man's wardrobe—that depot of old coats, hats, and - WILL WIZARD. 65 breeches, of the growth of every fashion he has followed in his life. . From the time of this fatal arrival my poor aunt was in a quandary;-all her inquiries were fruitless; no one could expound the history of this mysterious stranger: she never held her head up afterwards—drooped daily, took to her bed in a fortnight, and in “one little month,” I saw her quietly deposited in the family vault—being the se- venth Cockloft that has died of a whim-wham | - Take warning, my fair countrywomen ; and you, O! ye excellent ladies, whether married or single, who pry into other people's affairs and neglect those of your own house- hold; who are so busily employed in observing the faults of others that you have no time to correct your own; re- member the fate of my dear aunt Charity and eschew the evil spirit of curiosity. - WILL WIZARD. I was not a little surprised the other morning at a re- quest from Will Wizard, that I would accompany him that evening to Mrs. 's ball. The request was simple enough in itself, it was only singular as coming from Will;-of all my acquaintance, Wizard is the least calculated and disposed for the society of ladies—not that he dislikes their company; on the contrary, like every man of pith and marrow, he is a professed admirer of the sex; and had he been born a poet, would un- doubtedly have bespattered and be-rhymed some hard named goddess; until she became as famous as Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa; but Will is such a con- founded bungler at a bow, has so many odd bachelor habits, and finds it so troublesome to be gallant, that he generally prefers smoking his cigar and telling his story among cronies of his own gender:-and thundering long stories they are, let me tell you: set Will once a-going about China or Crim Tartary, or the Hottentots, and heaven help the poor victim who has to endure his pro- lixity; he might better be tied to the tail of a jack-o'lan- thern. In one word, Will talks like a traveller. Being well acquainted with his character, I was the more alarmed at his inclination to visit a party; since he has 6+ 66 -- THE IRWING GIFT. often assured me, that he considered it as equivalent to being stuck up for three hours in a steam-engine. I even wondered how he had received an invitation;–this he soon accounted for. It seems Will, on his last arrival from Canton, had made a present of a case of tea, to a lady, for whom he had once entertained a sneaking kind- ness when at grammar-school; and she in return had invited him to come and drink some of it: a cheap way enough of paying off little obligations. . I readily acce- ded to Will's proposition, expecting much entertainment from his eccentric remarks; and as he has been absent some few years, I anticipated his surprise at the splendour and elegance of a modern rout. - On calling for Will in the evening, I found him full dressed, waiting for me. I contemplated him with absolute dismay. As he still retained a spark of regard for the lady who once reigned in his affections, he had been at unusual pains in decorating his person, and broke upon my sight arrayed in the true style that prevailed among our beaux some years ago. His hair was turned up and tufted at the top, frizzled out at the ears, a profusion of powder puffed over the whole, and a long plaited club swung gracefully from shoulder to shoulder, describing a pleasing semi-circle of powder and pomatum. His claret-coloured coat was decorated with a profusion of gilt buttons, and reached to his calves. His white cas- simere small-clothes were so tight that he seemed to have grown up in them; and his ponderous legs, which are the thickest part of his body, were beautifully clothed in sky-blue silk stockings, once considered so becoming. But above all, he prided himself upon his waistcoat of China silk, which might almost have served a good house- wife for a short-gown; and he boasted that the roses and tulips upon it were the work of Nang-Fou, daughter of the great Chin-Chin-Fou, who had fallen in love with the graces of his person, and sent it to him as a parting pre- sent; he assured me she was a perfect beauty, with sweet obliquity of eyes, and a foot no longer than the thumb of an alderman;–he then dilated most copiously on his silver sprigged dicky, which he assured me was quite the rage among the dashing young mandarins of Canton. I hold it an ill-natured office to put any man out of conceit with himself; so, though I would willingly have WILL WIZARD. 67 made a little alteration in my friend Wizard's pictu- - esque costume, yet I politely complimented him on his rakish appearance. - On entering the room I kept a good look out on Will, expecting to see him exhibit signs of surprise; but he is one of those knowing fellows who are never surprised at any thing, or at least will never acknowledge it. He took his stand in the middle of the floor, playing with his great steel watch-chain; and looking round on the company, the furniture, and the pictures, with the air of a man “who had seen d-d finer things in his time;” and to my utter confusion and dismay, I saw him coolly pull out his villanous old japanned tobacco-box, orna: . mented with a bottle, a pipe, and a scurvy motto, and help himself to a quid in face of all the company. I knew it was all in vain to find fault with a fellow of Will's socratic turn, who is never to be put out of humour with himself; so, after he had given his box its F. rap, and returned it to his pocket, I drew im into a corner where he might observe the company without being prominent objects ourselves. “And pray who is that stylish figure,” said Will, “who blazes away in red, like a volcano, and who seems wrapped in flames like a fiery dragon?”—That, cried I, is Miss Laurelia Dashaway –she is the high- est flash of the ton—has much whim and more eccentrici- ty, and has reduced many an unhappy gentleman to stupidity by her charms; you see she holds out the red flag in token of “no quarter.” “Then keep me safe out of the sphere of her attractions,” cried Will: “I would not e'en come in contact with her train, lest it should scorch me like the tail of a comet-But who, I beg of you, is that amiable youth who is handing along a young lady, and at the same time contemplating his sweet person in a mirror, as he passes?” . His name, said I, is Billy Dimple;—he is a universal smiler, and would travel from Dan to Beersheba, and smile on every body as he passed. Dimple is a slave to the ladies—a hero at tea-parties, and is famous at the pirouet and the pigeon-wing; a fiddle-stick is his idol, and a dance his elysium. “A very pretty young gentleman, truly,” cried Wizard; “he reminds me of a contemporary beau at Hayti. You must know that the magnanimous Des- salines gave a great ball to his court one fine sultry sum- mer's evening; Dessy and I were great cronies —hand - 68 THE IRWING GIFT. and glove:–one of the most condescending great men I ever knew.—Such a display of black and yellow beauties! such a show of Madras handkerchiefs, red beads, cocks' tails, and peacocks' feathers!—it was, as here, who should wear the highest top-knot, drag the longest tails, or ex- hibit the greatest variety of combs, colours, and gew- gaws. In the middle of the rout, when all was buzz, slip-slop, clack, and perfume, who should enter but Tucky Squash! The yellow beauties blushed blue, and the black ones blushed as red as they could, with pleasure; and there was a universal agitation of fans: every eye brightened and whitened to see Tucky; for he was the #. of the court, the pink of courtesy, the mirror of ashion, the adoration of all the sable fair ones of Hayti. Such breadth of nose, such exuberance of lip ! his shins had the true cucumber curve;—his face in dancing shone like a kettle; and provided you kept to windward of him in summer, I do not know a sweeter youth in all Hayti than Tucky Squash. When he laughed, there appeared from ear to ear a chevaux-de-frize of teeth, that rivalled the shark's in whiteness; he could whistle like a north- wester; play on a three-stringed fiddle like Apollo; and, as to dancing, no Long-Island negro could shuffle you “double-trouble,” or “hoe corn and dig potatoes,” more scientifically: in short, he was a second Lothario. And the dusky nymphs of Hayti, one, and all, declared him a perpetual Adonis. Tucky walked about, whistling to himself, without regarding any body; and his non- chalance was irresistible.” I found Will had got neck and heels into one of his traveller's stories; and there is no knowing how far he would have run his parallel between Billy Dimple and Tucky Squash, had not the music struck up from an adjoining apartment, and summoned the company to the dance. The sound seemed to have an inspiring effect on honest Will, and he procured the hand of an old acquain- tance for a country dance. It happened to be the fash- ionable one of “The devil among the Tailors,” which is so vociferously demanded at every ball and assembly; and many a torn gown, and many an unfortunate toe, did rue the dancing of that night; for Will thundered down the dance like a coach and six, sometimes right and sometimes wrong; now running over half a score of little Frenchmen, and now making sad inroads into ladies' cobweb muslins and spangled tails. As every part of Will's body par- STYLE, - 69 took of the exertion, he shook from his capacious head such volumes of powder, that like pious Eneas on the first interview with Queen Dido, he might be said to have been enveloped in a cloud. Nor was Will's partner an insignificant figure in the scene; she was a young lady of most voluminous proportions, that quivered at every skip; and being braced up in the fashionable style with whalebone, stay-tape and buckram, looked like an apple pudding tied in the middle; or, taking her flaming dress into consideration, like a bed and bolsters rolled up in a suit of red curtains. The dance finished.—I would gladly have taken Will off, but no;-he was now in one of his happy moods, and there was no doing any thing with him. He insisted on my introducing him to Miss Sparkle, a young lady unrivalled for playful wit and in- nocent vivacity, and who, like a brilliant, adds lustre to the front of fashion. I accordingly presented him to her, and began a conversation, in which, I thought, he might take a share; but no such thing. Will took his stand be- fore her, straddling like a colossus, with his hands in his pockets, and an air of the most profound attention; nor did he pretend to open his lips for some time, until, upon Some lively sally of hers, he electrified the whole company with a most intolerable burst of laughter. What was to be done with such an incorrigible fellow?–To add to my distress, the first word he spoke was to tell Miss Sparkle that something she said reminded him of a circumstance that happened to him in China;-and at it he went, in the true traveller style,_described the Chinese mode of eating rice with chop-sticks;–entered into a long eulo- gium on the succulent qualities of boiled birds' nests: and I made my escape at the very moment when he was on the point of squatting down on the floor, to show how the little Chinese Joshes sit cross-legged. STYLE. IN no instance, have I seen this grasping after style more whimsically exhibited than in the family of my old acquaintance Timothy Giblet. I recollect old Giblet when I was a boy, and he was the most surly curmudgeon I ever knew. He was a perfect scare-crow to the small- fry of the day, and inherited the hatred of all these un- 70 THE IRWING GIFT, lucky little shavers; for never could we assemble about his door of an evening to play, and make a little hubbub, but out he sallied from his nest like a spider, flourished his formidable horse-whip, and dispersed the whole crew in the twinkling of a lamp. I perfectly remember a bill he sent in to my father for a pane of sound glass I had accidentally broken, which came well nigh getting me a flogging; and I remember, as perfectly, that the next night I revenged myself by breaking half-a-dozen. Giblet was as arrant a grub-worm as ever crawled; and the only rules of right and wrong he cared a button for, were the rules of multiplication and addition; which he practised much more successfully than he did any of the rules of religion or morality. He used to declare they were the true gold- en rules; and he took special care to put Cocker's arith- metic in the hands of his children, before they had read ten pages in the bible or the prayer book. The prac- tice of these favourite maxims was at length crowned with the harvest of success; and after a life of incessant self-denial, and starvation, and after enduring all the pounds, shillings and pence miseries of a miser, he had the satisfaction of seeing himself worth a plum, and of dying just as he had determined to enjoy the remainder of his days in contemplating his great wealth and accumulating mortgages. - - His "children inherited his money; but they buried the disposition, and every other memorial of their father in his grave. Fired with a noble thirst for style, they instantly emerged from the retired lane in which them- selves and their accomplishments had hitherto been bu- ried; and they blazed, and they whizzed, and they crack- ed about town, like a nest of squibs and devils in a fire- work. I can liken their sudden eclat to nothing but that of the locust, which is hatched in the dust, where it in- creases and swells up to maturity, and after feeling for a moment the vivifying rays of the sun, bursts forth a mighty insect, and flutters and rattles, and buzzes from every tree. The little warblers, who have long cheered the woodlands with their dulcet notes, are stunned by the discordant racket of these upstart intruders, and con- template, in contemptuous silence, their tinsel and their In OISe. - - Having once started, the Giblets were determined that nothing should stop them in their career, until they had run their full course and arrived at the very tip-top STYLE. 71 of style. Every tailor, every shoemaker, every coach- maker, every milliner, every mantua-maker, every paper- hanger, every piano-teacher, and every dancing-master in the city, were enlisted in their service; and the willing wights most courteously answered their call, and fell to work to build up the ſame of the Giblets, as they had done that of many an aspiring family before them. In a little time the young ladies could dance the waltz, thun- der Lodoiska, murder French, kill time, and commit vio- lence on the face of nature in a landscape in water-co- lours, equal to the best lady in the land, and the young jº were seen lounging at corners of streets, and riving tandem; heard talking loud at the theatre, and laughing in church, with as much ease and grace, and modesty, as if they had been gentlemen all the days of their lives. And the Giblets arrayed themselves in scarlet, and in fine linen, and seated themselves in high places; but no body noticed them except to honour them with a little contempt. The Giblets made a prodigious splash in their own opinion; but nobody extolled them except the tailors, and the milliners, who had been employed in ma- nufacturing their paraphernalia. The Giblets thereupon being, like Caleb Quotem, determined to have “a place at the review,” fell to work more fiercely than ever;-- they gave dinners, and they gave balls; they hired cooks; they hired confectioners; and they would have kept a newspaper in pay, had they not been all bought up at that time for the election. They invited the dancing men, and the dancing women, and the gormandizers, and the epicures of the city, to come and make merry at their expense; and the dancing men, and the dancing women, and the epicures, and the gormandizers, did come; and they did make merry at their expense; and they eat, and they drank, and they capered, and they danced, and they —laughed at their entertainers. - - Thén commenced the hurry and the bustle, and the mighty nothingness of fashionable life;—such rattling in coachés such flaunting in the streets such slamming of box-doors at the theatre such a tempest of bustle and un- meaning noise wherever they appeared The Giblets were seen here and there and every where;—they visited every body they knew, and every body they did not know; and there was no getting along for the Giblets. Their plan at length succeeded. By dint of dinners, of feeding THE IRWING GIFT. and frolicking the town, the Giblet family worked themselves into notice, and enjoyed the ineffable pleasure of being for ever pestered by visiters, who cared nothing about them; of being squeezed, and smothered, and par- boiled at nightly balls, and evening tea-parties; they were allowed the privilege of forgetting the very few old friends they once possessed;—they turned their noses up in the wind at every thing that was not genteel; and heir superb manners and sublime affectation at length eft it no longer a matter of doubt that the Giblets were perfectly in the style. c - FRENCHMEN. IN my mind there's no position more positive and un- exceptionable than that most Frenchmen, dead or alive, are born dancers. I came pounce upon this discovery at the assembly, and I immediately noted it down in my register of indisputable facts—the public shall know all about it. As I never dance cotillions, holding them to be monstrous distorters of the human frame, and tanta- mount in their operations to being broken and dislocated on the wheel, I generally take occasion, while they are going on, to make my remarks on the company. In the course of these observations I was struck with the ener- gy and eloquence of sundry limbs, which seemed to be flourishing about without appertaining to any body. After much investigation and difficulty, I, at length, traced them to their respective owners, whom I found to be all Frenchmen to a man. Art may have meddled somewhat in these affairs, but nature certainly did more. I have since been considerably employed in calculations on this subject; and by the most accurate computation I have determined, that a Frenchman passes at least three fifths of his time between the heavens and the earth, and partakes eminently of the nature of a gossam or soap bubble. One of these jack-a-lantern heroes, in taking a figure, which neither Euclid nor Pythagoras himself could demonstrate, unfortunately wound himself— I mean his foot—his better part—into a lady's cobweb muslin robe; but perceiving it at the instant, he set himself a spinning the other way, like a top, unravelled his step, without omitting one angle or curve, and extri- THE WIFE. 73 cated himself without breaking a thread of the lady's dress he then sprung up like a sturgeon, crossed his feet four times, and finished this wonderful evolution by quivering his left leg, as a cat does her paw when she has accidentally dipped it in water. No man of “woman born,” who was not a Frenchman, or a moun- tebank, could have done the like. THE WIFE. I HAVE often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more touching than to be- hold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness while treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly ri- sing in mental force to be the comforter and supporter of her husband under misfortune, and abiding, with un- shrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of adversity. As the vine which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it in sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shat- tered boughs; so is it beautifully ordered by Providence, that woman, who is the mere dependant and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calamity; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. I was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest af. fection. “I can wish you no better lot,” said he, with enthusiasm, “than to have a wife and children.—If you are prosperous, there they are to share your prosperity; if otherwise, there they are to comfort you.” And, in- deed, I have observed that a married man falling into misfortune is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than a single one; partly because he is more sti- mulated to exertion by the * of the helpless and 74 THE IRWING GIFT. beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by do- mestic endearments, and his self respect kept alive by finding, that, though all abroad is darkness and humilia- tion, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas a single man is apt to run to waste and self neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant. These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample; and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegant pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies that spread a kind of witchery .."; the sex.-" Her life,” said he, “shall be like a fairy tale.” - - The very difference in their characters produced an harmonious combination: he was of a romantic and some- what serious cast; she was all life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with which he would gaze upon her in company, of which her sprightly powers made her the delight; and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would still turn to him, as if there alone she sought favour and acceptance. When leaning on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall manly person. The fond confiding air with which she looked up to him seemed to call forth a flush of triumphant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if he-doted on his lovely burthen for its very helplessness. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path of early and well-suited mar- riage with a fairer prospect of felicity. It was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have embarked his property in large speculations; and he had not been married many months, when, by a succession of sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and he found himself reduced almost to penury. For a time he kept his situation to himself, and went about with a haggard countenance, and a breaking heart. His life was but a protracted agony; and what rendered it more insupport- able was the keeping up a smile in the presence of his wife; for he . not bring himself to overwhelm her with the news. She saw, however, with the quick eyes THE WIFE. 75 of affection, that all was not well with him. She mark- ed his altered looks and stifled sighs, and was not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheerfulness. : She tasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandish- ments to win him back to happiness; but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul. The more he saw cause to love her, the more torturing was the thought that he was soon to make her wretched. A little while, thought he, and the smile will vanish from that cheek—the song will die away from those lips—the lustre of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow; and the happy heart, which now beats lightly in that bosom, will be weighed down like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world. At length he came to me one day, and related his whole situation in a tone of the deepest despair. When I heard him through, I inquired, “Does your wife know all this?” —At the question he burst into an agony of tears. “For God's sake P’ cried he, “if you have any pity on me, don't mention my wife; it is the thought of her that drives me almost to madness tº “And why not?” said I. “She must know it sooner or later: you cannot keep it long from her, and the in- telligence may break upon her in a more startling man- ner than if imparted by yourself; for the accents of those we love soften the harshest tidings. Besides you are depriving yourself of the comforts of her sympathy; and not merely that, but also endangering the only bond that can keep hearts together—an unreserved communi- ty of thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that something is secretly preying upon your mind; and true love will not brook reserve ; it feels undervalued and outraged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are concealed from it.” - “Oh, but, my friend 1 to think what a blow I am to give to all her future prospects—how I am to strike her very soul to the earth, by telling her that her husband is a beggar ! that she is to forego all the elegancies of life— all the pleasures of society—to shrink with me into indi- gence and obscurity To tell her that I have dragged her down from the sphere in which she might have con- tinued to move in constant brightness—the light of every eye—the admiration of every heart!—how can she bear poverty 7 she has been brought up in all the refine- ment of opulence- How can she bear neglect? she has 76 THE IRWING GIFT, been the idol of society. Oh, it will break her heart— it will break her heart —” I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow ; for sorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had subsided, and he had relapsed into moody silence, I re- sumed the subject gently, and urged him to break his situ- ation at once to his wife. He shook his head mournfully, but positively. - “But how are you to keep it from her? It is neces- sary she should know it, that you may take the steps proper to the alteration of your circumstances. You must change your style of living nay,” observing a pang to pass across his countenance, “don’t let that afflict you. I am sure you have never placed your happiness in outward show—you have yet friends, warm friends, who will not think the worse of you for being less splendidly * and surely it does not require a palace to be happy with Mary—” “I could be happy with her,” cried he, convulsively, “in a hovel !—I could go down with her into poverty and the dust —I could—I could God bless her!—God bless her P’ cried he, bursting into a transport of grief and ten- derness. “And believe me, my friend,” said I, stepping up, and grasping him warmly by the hand, “believe me she can be the same with you. Ay, more: it will be a source of pride and triumph to her—it will call forth all the la- tent energies and fervent sympathies of her nature; for she will rejoice to prove that she loves you for yourself. There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of pros- perity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of his bosom is—no man knows what a ministering angel she is—until he has gone with her through the fiery trials of this world.” There was something in the earnestness of my manner, and the figurative style of my language, that caught the excited imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal with ; and following up the impression I had made, I finished by persuading him to go home and un- burden his sad heart to his wife. I must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt some little solicitude for the result. Who can calculate THE WIFE. -- 77 on the fortitude of one whose whole life has been a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark downward path of low humility suddenly pointed out before her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which they had hitherto revelled. Besides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by so many galling mortifications, to which in other ranks it is a stranger.—In short, I could not meet Leslie the next morning without trepidation. He had made the disclosure. “And how did she bear it?” “Like an angel! It seemed rather to be a relief to her mind, for she threw her arms round my neck, and . asked if this was all that had lately made me unhappy.— But, poor girl,” added he, “she cannot realize the change we must undergo. She has no idea of poverty but in the abstract; she has only read of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She feels as yet no privation; she suffers no loss of accustomed conveniences nor elegancies. When we come practically to experience its sordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty humiliations—then will be the real trial.” . - “But,” said I, “now that you have got over the se- Verest task, that of breaking it to her, the sooner you let the world into the secret the better. The disclosure may be mortifying; but then it is a single misery, and soon over: whereas you otherwise suffer it, in anticipation, every hour in the day. It is not poverty so much as pretence, that harasses a ruined man—the struggle be- tween a proud mind and an empty purse—the keeping up a hollow show that must soon come to an end. Have the courage to appear poor, and you disarm poverty of its sharpest sting.” On this point I found Leslie perfectly prepared. He had no false pride himself, and as to his wife, she was only anxious to conform to their altered fortunes. - - Some days afterwards he called upon me in the even- ing. He had disposed of his dwelling-house, and taken a small cottage in the country, a few miles from town. He had been busied all, day in sending out furniture. The new establishment required few articles, and those of the simplest kind. All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold, excepting his wife's harp. That, he said, was too closely associated with the idea of herself; it belonged to the little story of their loves: for some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were 78 THE IRWING GIFT. those when he had leaned over that instrument, and lis- tened to the melting tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this instance of romantic gallantry in a doting husband. He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been all day superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become strongly interested in the progress of this family story, and, as it was a fine evening, I offered te accompany him. He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and as we walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing. “Poor Mary tº at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from his lips. . “And what of her ?” asked I: “has any thing hap- pened to her ?” “What,” said he, darting an impatient glance, “is it nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation—to be caged in a miserable cottage—to be obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretched habitation ?” “Has she then repined at the change 7" “Repined she has been nothing but sweetness and good humour. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I have ever known her; she has been to me all love, and tenderness and comfort!” “Admirable girl!” exclaimed I. “You call yourself poor, my friend; you never were so rich—you never knew the boundless treasure of excellence you possessed in that Woman.” “Oh but, my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage were over, I think I could then be comfortable. But this is her first day of real experience; she has been introdu- ced into a humble dwelling—she has been employed all day in arranging its miserable equipments—she has, for the first time, known the fatigues of domestic employment —she has, for the first time, looked round her on a home destitute of every thing elegant, almost of every thin convenient; and may now be sitting down, exhausted an spiritless, brooding over a prospect of future poverty.” There was a degree of probability in this picture that I could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence. After turning from the main road up a narrow lane, so thickly shaded with forest trees as to give it a complete air of seclusion, we came in sight of the cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance for the most pastoral poet; and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A wild vine - To ANTHONY EVERGREEN. 79 had overrun one end with a profusion of foliage; a few trees threw their branches gracefully over it; and I ob- served several pots of flowers tastefully disposed about the door, and on the grass-plat in front. Å small wicket gate opened upon a footpath that wound through some shrub- bery to the door. Just as we approached, we heard the sound of music—Leslie grasped my arm; we paused and listened. It was Mary's voice, singing, in a style of the most touching simplicity, a little air of which her husband was peculiarly fond. - I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise . on the gravel walk. A bright beautiful face glanced out at the window and vanished—a light footstep was heard —and Mary came tripping forth to meet us; she was in a pretty rural dress of white; a few wild flowers, were twisted in her fine hair; a fresh bloom was on her cheek; her whole countenance beamed with smiles—I had never seen her look so lovely. º “My dear George,” cried she, “I am so glad you are come I have been watching and watching for you; and running down the lane, and looking out for you. I've set out a table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage; and I've been gathering some of the most delicious straw- berries, for I know you are fond of them—and we have uch excellent cream—and we have every thing so sweet and still here–Oh!” said she, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his face, “Oh, we shall be so happy!” - - Poor Leslie was overcome—He caught her to his bosom —he folded his arms round her—he kissed her again and again—he could not speak, but the tears gushed into his eyes; and he has often assured me that though the world has since gone prosperously with him, and his life has, indeed, been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of more exquisite felicity. TO ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. Sir As you appear to have taken to yourself the trouble of meddling in the concerns of the beau-monde, I take the liberty of appealing to you on a subject, which, though 80 - THE IRWING GIFT. considered merely as a very good joke, has occasioned me great vexation and expense. You must know, I pride myself on being very useful to the ladies, that is, I take boxes for them at the theatre, go shopping with them, supply them with bouquets, and furnish them with novels from the circulating library. In consequence of these attentions I am become a great favourite, and there is seldom a party going on in the city without my having an invitation. #. grievance I have to mention is the exchange of hats which takes place on these occasions; for, to speak my mind freely, there are certain young gen- tlemen who seem to consider fashionable parties as mere places to barter old clothes: and I am informed, that a number of them manage by this great system of exchange to keep their crowns decently covered without their hat- ters suffering in the least by it. It was but lately that I went to a private ball with a new hat, and on returning in the latter part of the evening, and asking for it, the scoundrel of a servant, with a broad grin, informed me that the new hats had been dealt out half an hour since, and they were then on the third quality; and I was in the end obliged to borrow a young lady's beaver rather than go home with any of the ragged remnants that were left. Now I would wish to know if there is no possibility of having these offenders punished by law; and whether it would not be advisable for ladies to mention in their cards of invitation, as a postscript, “Stealing hats and shawls positively prohibited.”—At any rate, I would thank you, Mr. Evergreen, to discountenance the thing totally, by publishing in your paper, that stealing a hat is no joke. - Your humble servant, WALTER WITHERs. Showing the nature of History in general; containing fur- thermore the universal Acquirements of William the Testy, and how a Man may learn so much as to render himself good for nothing. WHEN the lofty Thucydides is about to enter on his de: scription of the plague that desolated Athens, one of his - THE NATURE OF HISTORY. 81 modern commentators" assures the reader, that his his- tory “is now going to be exceeding solemn, serious, and pathetic;” and hints, with that air of chuckling gratula- tion, with which a good dame draws forth a choice mor- sel from a cupboard to regale a favourite, that this plague will give his history a most agreeable variety. In like manner did my heart leap within me, when I came to the dolorous dilemma of Fort Good Hope, which I at once perceived to be the forerunner of a series of great events and entertaining disasters. Such are the true subjects for the historic pen. For what is history in fact, but a kind of Newgate Calendar, a register of the crimes and miseries that man has inflicted on his fellow men' It is a huge libel on human nature, to which we in- dustriously add page after page, volume after volume, as if we were building up a monument to the honour rather then the infamy of our species. If we turn over the pages of these chronicles that man has written of himself, what are the characters dignified by the appellation of great, and held up to the admiration of posterity —Tyrants, robbers, conquerors, renowned only for the magnitude of their mis- deeds and the stupendous wrongs and miseries they have inflicted on mankind—warriors, who have hired them- selves to the trade of blood, not from motives of virtuous patriotism, or to protect the injured or defenceless, but merely to gain the vaunted glory of being adroit and suc- cessful in massacring their fellow beings I What are the great events that constitute a glorious era? The fall of em- pires—the desolation of happy countries—splendid cities smoking in their ruins—the proudest works of art tumbled in the dust—the skrieks and groans of whole nations as- cending unto heaven : It is thus the historians may be said to thrive on the miseries of mankind—they are like the birds of prey that hover over the field of battle, to fatten on the mighty dead. It was observed by a great projector of inland lock navi- § that rivers, lakes, and oceans were only formed to eed canals. In like manner I am tempted to believe, that plots, conspiracies, wars, victories, and massacres are or- dained by Providence only as food for the historian. It is a source of great delight to the philosopher in stu- dying the wonderful economy of nature, to trace the mu- * Smith's Thucyd. vol. 1. 4* 82 THE IRWING GIFT. tual dependencies of things, how they are created recipro- cally for each other, and how the most noxious and apparently unnecessary animal has its uses. Thus those swarms of flies, which are so often execrated as useless vermin, are created for the sustenance of spiders; and spiders, on the other hand, are evidently made to devour flies. So those heroes who have been such pests in the world were, bounteously provided as themes for the poet nd the historian, while the poet and historian were des- ined to record the achievements of heroes' - These and many similar reflections naturally arose in my mind as I took up my pen to commence the reign of William Kieft; for now the stream of our history, which hitherto has rolled in a tranquil current, is about to de- part for ever from its peaceful haunts, and brawl through many a turbulent and rugged scene. Like some sleek ox, which, having fed and fattened in a rich clover field, lies sunk in luxurious repose, and will bear repeated taunts and blows before it heaves its unwieldy limbs, and clum- sily arouses from its slumbers; so the province of the Nieuw Nederlandts, having long thriven and grown cor- pulent under the prosperous reign of the Doubter, was reluctantly awakened to a melancholy conviction that, by patient sufferance, its grievances had become so numerous and aggravating, that it was preferable to repel than en- dure them. The reader will now witness the manner in which a peaceful community advances toward a state of war; which it is too apt to approach, as a horse does a drum, with much prancing and parade, but with little pro- gress, and too often with the wrong end foremost. WILHELMUs KIEFT, who, in 1634, ascended the Guber- natorial chair, . borrow a favourite though clumsy ap- pellation of modern phraseologists,) was in form, feature, and character, the very reverse of Wouter Von Twiller, his renowned predecessor. He was of very respectable descent, his father being Inspector of Windmills in the ancient town of Saardam; and our hero, we are told, made very curious investigations in the nature and opera- tions of those machines when a boy, which is one reason why he afterwards came to be so ingenious a governor. His name, according to the most ingenious etymologists, was a corruption of Kyver, that is to say, a wrangler or scolder, and expressed the hereditary disposition of his family, which, for nearly two centuries, had kept the windy town of Saardam in hot water, and produced more tartars WILLIAM THE TESTY. 83 and brimstones, than any ten families in the place; and so truly did Wilhelmus Kieſt inherit this family endowment, that he had scarcely been a year in the discharge of his government, before he was universally known by the name of WILLIAM THE TESTY. He was a brisk, waspish, little old gentleman, who had dried and withered away, partly through the natural pro- cess of years, and partly from being parched and burned up by his fiery soul, which blazed like a vehement rush- light in his bosom, constantly inciting him to most va- lorous broils, altercations, and misadventures. I have heard it observed by a profound and philosophical judge of human nature, that if a woman waxes fat as she grows old, the tenure of her life is very precarious; but if hap- ly she withers, she lives for ever: such likewise was the case with William the Testy, who grew tougher in pro- portion as he dried. He was some such a little Dutch- man as we may now and then see, stumping briskly about the streets of our city, in a broad skirted coat, with but- tons nearly as large as the shield of Ajax, an old-fashioned cocked hat stuck on the back of his head, and a cane as high as his chin. His visage was broad, but his features sharp; his nose turned up with a most petulant curl; his cheeks, like the regions of Terra del Fuego, were scorched into a dusky red—doubtless, in consequence of the neigh- bourhood of two fierce little gray eyes, through which his torrid soul beamed as fervently as a tropical sun bla- zing through a pair of burning glasses. The corners of his mouth were curiously modelled into a kind of fret. work, not a little resembling the wrinkled proboscis of an irritable pug dog; in a word, he was one of the most posi- tive, restless, ugly little men that ever put himself in a pas- sion about nothing. Such were the personal endowments of William the Testy; but it was the sterling riches of his mind that raised him to dignity, and power. In his youth he had passed with great credit through a celebrated academy at the Hague, noted for producing finished scholars with a despatch unequalled, except by certain of our American colleges, which seem to manufacture bachelors of arts by some patent machine. Here he skirmished very smartly on the frontiers of several of the sciences, and made so gal- lant an inroad on the dead languages, as to bring off cap- tive a host of Greek nouns . ſlatin verbs, together with divers pithy saws and apophthegms; all which he con- 84 THE IRWING GIFT, stantly paraded in conversation and writing, with as much vain glory as would a triumphant general of yore display the spoils of the countries he had ravished. He had more- over puzzled himself considerably with logic, in which he had advanced so far as to attain a very familiar acquain- tance, by name at least, with the whole family of syllogisms and dilemmas; but what he chiefly valued himself on was his knowledge of metaphysics, in which having once upon a time ventured too deeply, he came well nigh being smothered in a slough of unintelligible learning—a fearful peril, from the effects of which he never perfectly reco- vered. In plain words, like many other profound inter- meddlers in this abstruse, bewildering science, he so con- fused his brain with abstract speculations which he could not comprehend, and artificial distinctions which he could not realize, that he could never think clearly on any sub- ject, however simple, through the whole course of his life afterwards. This, I must confess, was in some measure a misfortune, for he never engaged in argument, of which he was exceeding fond, but what, between logical deduc- tions and metaphysical jargon, he soon involved himself and his subject in a fog of contradictions and perplexities, and then would get into a mighty passion with his ad- versary, for not being convinced gratis. It is in knowledge as in swimming-he who ostenta- tiously sports and flounders on the surface makes more noise and splashing, and attracts more attention than the industrious pearl diver, who plunges in search of treasures to the bottom. The “universal acquirements” of Wil- liam Kieft were the subject of great marvel and admira- tion among his countrymen; he figured about at the Hague with as much vain glory as does a profound Bonze at Pekin, who has mastered half the letters of the Chinese alphabet; and, in a word, was unanimously pronounced a universal genius 1–I have known many universal ge- niuses in my time, though to speak my mind freely, I never knew one, who, for the ordinary purposes of life, was worth his weight in straw; but for the purposes of govern- ment, a little sound judgment, and plain common sense, is worth all the sparkling genius that ever wrote poetry, or invented theories. Strange as it may sound, therefore, the universal ac- guirements of the illustrious Wilhelmus were very much in his way; and had he been less a learned man, it is possible he would have been a much greater governor. ! WILLIAM THE TESTY. 85 He was exceedingly fond of trying philosophical and po- litical experiments: and having stuffed his head full of scraps and remnants of ancient republics, and oligarchies, and aristocracies, and monarchies, and the laws of Solon, and Lycurgus, and Charondas, and the imaginary com- monwealth of Plato, and the Pandects of Justinian, and a thousand other fragments of venerable antiquity, he was for ever bent upon introducing some one or other of them into use; so that between one contradictory measure and another, he entangled the government of the little province of Nieuw Nederlandts in more knots, during his ºitation. than half a dozen successors could have untied. No sooner had this bustling little man been blown by a whiff of fortune into the seat of government, than he called together his council, and delivered a very animated speech on the affairs of the province. As every body, knows what a glorious opportunity a governor, a president, or even an emperor has of drubbing his enemies in his speech- es, messages, and bulletins, where he has the talk all on his own side, they may be sure the high-mettled William Kieft did not suffer so favourable an occasion to escape him, of evincing that gallantry of tongue common to all able legislators. Before he commenced, it is recorded that he took out his pocket-handkerchief, and gave a very sonorous blast of the nose, according to the usual custom of great orators. This, in general, I believe, is intended as a signal trumpet, to call the attention of the auditors; but with William the Testy it boasted a more classic cause, for he had read of the singular expedient of that fa- mous demagogue Caius Gracchus, who, when he haran- gued the Roman populace, modulated his tones by an oratorical flute or pitch-pipe. This preparatory symphony being performed, he com; menced by expressing an humble sense of his own want of talents, his utter unworthiness of the honour conferred upon him, and his humiliating incapacity to discharge the important duties of his new station; in short, he ex- pressed so contemptible an opinion of himself, that many simple country members present, ignorant that these were mere words of course, always used on such occasions, were very uneasy, and even felt wrath that he should accept an office for which he was consciously so inade- uate. - - J. He then proceeded in a manner highly classic, pro- 86 THE IRWING GIFT. foundly erudite, and nothing at all to the purpose; being nothing more than a pompous account of all the govern- ments of ancient Greece, and the wars of Rome and Carthage, together with the rise and fall of sundry out- landish empires, about which the assembly knew no more than their great grandchildren who were yet unborn. Thus having, after the manner of your learned orators, convinced the audience that he was a man of many words and great erudition, he at length came to the less impor- tant part of his speech, the situation of the province; and here he soon worked himself into a fearful rage against the Yankees, whom he compared to the Gauls who deso- lated Rome, and the Goths and Vandals who overran the fairest plains of Europe—nor did he forget to mention, in terms of adequate opprobrium, the insolence with which they had encroached upon the territories of New Netherlands, and the unparalleled audacity with which they had cominenced the town of New Plymouth, and planted the onion patches of Weathersfield under the very walls of Fort Goed Hoop. Having thus artfully wrought up his tale of terror to a climax, he assumed a self-satisfied look, and declared, with a nod of knowing import, that he had taken mea- sures to put a final stop to these encroachments—that he had been obliged to have recourse to a dreadful engine of warfare, lately invented, awful in its effects, but autho- rised by direful necessity. In a word, he was resolved to conquer the Yankees—by proclamation. For this purpose he had prepared a tremendous instru- ment of the kind, ordering, commanding, and enjoining the intruders aforesaid, forthwith to remove, depart, and withdraw from the districts, regions, and territories afore- said, under the pain of suffering all the penalties, forfei- tures, and punishments, in such case made and provided, &c. This proclamation, he assured them, would at once exterminate the enemy from the face of the country; and he pledged his valour as a governor, that within two months after it was published, not one stone should re- #. on another in any of the towns which they had uilt. The council remained for some time silent after he had finished; whether struck dumb with admiration at the brilliancy of his project, or put to sleep by the length of his harangue, the history of the times doth not mention. Suffice it to say, they at length gave a general grunt of WILLIAM THE TESTY. 87 acquiescence; the proclamation was immediately despatch- ed with due ceremony, having the great seal of the pro- vince, which was about the size of a buckwheat pancake, attached to it by a broad red riband. Governor Keiſt, having thus vented his indignation, felt greatly relieved —adjourned the council sine die—put on his cocked hat and corduroy small-clothes, and, mounting on a tall raw- boned charger, trotted out to his country seat, which was situated in a sweet, sequestered swamp, now called Dutch Street, but more commonly known by the name of Dog's Misery. #. like the good Numa, he reposed from the toils of legislation, taking lessons in Governmment, not from the Nymph Ageria, but from the honoured wife of his bo. som; who was one of that peculiar kind of females, sent upon earth a little before the flood, as a punishment for the sins of mankind, and commonly known by the appel- lation of knowing women. In fact, my duty as an historian obliges me to make known a circumstance which was a reat secret at the time, and consequently was not a sub- ject of scandal at more than half the tea-tables of New- TAmsterdam, but which, like many other great secrets, has leaked out in the lapse of years; and this was, that the great Wilhelmus the Testy, though one of the most po- tent little men that ever breathed, yet submitted at home to a species of government, neither laid down in Aristotle nor Plato; in short, it partook of the nature of a pure, un- mixed tyranny, and is familiarly denominated petticoat government. An absolute sway, which, though ex- ceedingly common in these modern days, was very rare among the ancients, if we may judge from the rout made about the domestic economy of honest Socrates, which is the only ancient case on record. The great Kieft, however, warded off all the sneers and sarcasms of his particular friends, who are ever ready to joke with a man on sore points of the kind, by alleging it was a government of his own election, to which he submitted through choice; adding, at the same time, a profound maxim which he had found in an ancient au: thor, that “he who would aspire to govern, should first learn to obey.” DIRK SCHUILER, AND THE VALIANT PETER. This was one Dirk Schuiler (or Skulker,) a kind of hanger-on to the garrison, who seemed to belong to no- body, and in a manner to be self-outlawed. He was one of those vagabond cosmopolites, who shark about the world as if they had no right or business in it; and who infest the skirts of society, like poachers and interlopers. Every garrison and country village has one or more scape- goats of this kind, whose life is a kind of enigma, whose existence is without motive, who comes from the Lord knows where, who lives the Lord knows how, and seems to be made for no other earthly purpose but to keep up the ancient and honourable order of idleness. This va. gabond philosopher was supposed to have some Indian blood in his veins, which was manifested by a certain Indian complexion and cast of countenance; but more especially by his propensities and habits. He was a tall, lank fellow, swift of foot, and long-winded. He was enerally equipped in a half Indian dress, with belt, eggings, and moccasons. His hair hung in strait gal- lows-locks about his ears, and added not a little to his sharking demeanour. It is an old remark, that persons of Indian mixture are half civilized, half savage, and half devil; a third half being expressly provided for their particular convenience. It is for similar reasons, and robably with equal truth, that the back-wood men of *..., are styled half man, half horse, and half alli- gator by the settlers on the Mississippi, and held accord- ingly in great respect and abhorrence. The above character may have presented itself to the arrison as applicable to Dirk Schuiler whom they fami- iarly dubbed Gallows Dirk. Certain it is, he acknow- ledged allegiance to no one—was an utter enemy to work. DIRK SCHUILER, - 89 holding it in no manner of estimation—but lounged about the fort, depending upon chance for a subsistence, getting drunk whenever he could get liquor, and stealing what: ever he could lay his j on. Every day or two he was sure to get a sound rib-roasting for some of his mis- demeanours, which, however, as it broke no bones, he made very light of, and scrupled not to repeat the offence whenever another opportunity presented. Sometimes, in consequence of some flagrant villainy, he would abscond from the garrison, and be absent for a month at a time; skulking about the woods and swamps, with a long fowl- ing-piece on his shoulder, laying in ambush for game, or squatting himself down on the edge of a pond catching fish for hours together, and bearing no little resemblance to that notable bird ycleped the Mud-pole. When he thought his crimes had been forgotten or forgiven, he would sneak back to the fort with a bundle of skins, or a bunch of poultry, which perchance he had stolen, and would exhange them for liquor, with which, having well soaked his carcass, he would lay in the sun and enjoy all the luxurious indolence of that swinish philosopher Dio- genes. He was the terror of all the farm-yards in the country, into which he made fearful inroads; and some- times he would make his sudden appearance at the garri- son at daybreak, with the whole neighbourhood at his heels, like a scoundrel thief of a fox, detected in his ma- raudings, and hunted to his hole. Such was this Dirk Schuiler; and from the total indifference he showed to this world or its concerns, and from his truly Indian stoicism and taciturnity, no one would ever have dreamed that he would have been the publisher of the treachery of Risingh. When the carousal was going on, which proved so fatal to the brave Von Poffenburgh and his watchful garrison, Dirk skulked about from room to room, being a kind of privileged vagrant or useless hound, whom nobody no- ticed. But though a fellow of few words, yet, like your taciturn people, his eyes and ears were always open, and in the course of his prowlings he overheard, the whole plot of the Swedes. Dirk immediately settled in his own mind how he should turn the matter to his own advantage. He played the perfect jack-of-both-sides; that is to say, he made a prize of every thing that came in his reach, robbed both parties, stuck the copper-bound cocked hat of the puissant Von Poffenburgh on his head, whipped a THE IRWING GIFT. huge pair of Risingh's jackboots under his arm. and took to his heels just before the catastrophe and confusion at the garrison. Finding himself completely dislodged from his haunt in this quarter, he directed his flight towards his native place, New-Amsterdam, from whence he had formerly been obliged to abscond precipitately, in consequence of misfortune in business, that is to say, having been de- tected in the act of sheep-stealing. After wandering many days in the woods, toiling through swamps, ford- ing brooks, swimming various rivers, and encountering a world of hardships that would have killed any other being but an Indian, a back-wood man, or the devil; he at length arrived, half-famished, and lank as a starved weasel at Communipaw, where he stole a canoe, and paddled over to New-Amsterdam. Immediately on landing, he re- ". to Governor Stuyvesant, and in more words than e had ever spoken before in the whole course of his life, gave an account of the disastrous affair. . . On receiving these direful tidings, the valiant Peter started from his seat, as did the stout King Arthur when at “merry Carleile,” the news was brought him of the uncourteous misdeeds of the “grim barone”—without uttering a word, he dashed the pipe he was smoking against the back of the chimney, thrust a prodigious quid of negro-headed tobacco into his left cheek, pulled up his galligaskins, and strode up and down the room, humming, as was customary with him when in a passion, a hideous north-west ditty. But, as I have before shown, he was not a man to vent his spleen in idle vapouring. His first measure after the paroxysm of wrath had subsided, was to stump up stairs to a huge wooden chest, which served as his armoury, from whence he drew forth that identical suit of regimentals described in the preceding chapter. In these portentous habiliments he arrayed himself, like Achilles in the armour of Vulcan, and maintaining all the while a most appalling silence, knitting his brows, and drawing his breath through his clenched teeth. Being hastily equipped, he strode down into the parlour, j down his trusty sword from over the fire-place, where it was usually suspended; but before he girded it on his thigh he drew it from its scabbard, and as his eye coursed wlong the rusty blade, a grim smile stole over his iron visage. It was the first smile that had visited his coun- tenance for five long weeks; but every one who beheld THE ARMY AT NEW-AMSTERDAM. 91 it prophesied that there would soon be warm work in the province 1 - Thus armed at all points, with grisly war depicted in each feature, his very cocked hat assuming an air of an- common defiance, he instantly put himself on the alert, and despatched Anthony Van Corlear hither and thither. this way and that way, through all the muddy streets and crooked lanes of the city, summoning by sound of trumpet his trusty peers to assemble in instant council. This done, by way of expediting matters, according to the custom of people in a hurry, he kept in continual bustle, shifting from chair to chair, popping his head out of every win- dow, and stumping up and down stairs with his wooden leg in such brisk and incessant motion, that, as we are informed by an authentic historian of the times, the con- tinual clatter bore no small resemblance to the music of a cooper hooping a flour barrel. ** ------ -- - º - - -- Description of the powerful Army that assembled at the City of New-Amsterdam—together with the interview between Peter the Headstrong and General Von Pof. fenburgh ; and Peter's Sentiments respecting unfortu- nate great Men. WHILE thus the enterprising Peter was coasting, with flowing sail, up the shores of the lordly Hudson, and arou- sing aii the phlegmatic little Dutch settlements upon its borders, a great and puissant concourse of warriors was assembling at the city of New-Amsterdam. And here that invaluable fragment of antiquity, the Stuyvesant ma- nuscript, is more than commonly particular; by which means I am enabled to record the illustrious host that en- camped itself on the public square, in front of the fort, at present denominated the Bowling Green. In the centre then was pitched the tents of the men of battle of the Manhattoes; who, being the inmates of the metropolis, composed the life-guards of the governor. These were commanded by the valiant Stoffel Brinker- hoof, who whilome had acquired such immortal fame at Oyster Bay—they displayed as a standard, a beaver ram- pant on a field of orange; being the arms of the province, 92 THE IRWING GIFT. and denoting the persevering industry, and the amphibi- ous origin of the Nederlanders.” On their right hand might be seen the vassals of that renowned Mynheer Michael Paw, who lorded it over the fair regions of ancient Pavonia, and the lands away } south, even unto the Navesink mountains, f and was - moreover patroon of Gibbet-Island. His standard was borne by his trusty squire, Cornelius Van Vorst; consist- ing of a huge Öyster recumbent upon a sea green field, being the armorial bearings of his favourite metropolis, Communipaw. He brought to the camp a stout force of warriors, heavily armed, being each clad in ten pair of linsey woolsey breeches, and overshadowed by broad brimmed beavers, with short pipes twisted in their hat- bands. These were the men who vegetated in the mud along the shores of Pavonia; being of the race of ge- nuine copperheads, and were fabled to have sprung from oysters. - At a little distance was encamped the tribe of warriors who came from the neighbourhood of Hell-Gate. These | were commanded by the Suy Dams, and the Van Dams, incontinent hard swearers as their names betoken—they were terrible looking fellows, clad in broad-skirted gaber- dines, of that curious coloured cloth called thunder and lightning; and bore as a standard three devil's darning- needles, volant, in a flame coloured field. Hard by was the tent of the men of battle from the - marshy borders of the Wael-bogtig, and the country thereabouts—these were of a sour aspect, by reason that | * This was likewise the great seal of the New-Netherlands, as may still be seen in ancient records. ºf Besides what is related in the Stuyvesant MS. I have found mention made of this illustrious patroon in another manuscript, which says:-" De Heer (or the Squire) Michael Paw, a Dutch subject, about 10th Aug. 1630, by deed purchased Staten Island. N. B. The same Michael Paw had what the Dutch call a colonie at Pavonia, on the Jersey shore, opposite New-York, and his over- - Seer, in 1636, was named Corns. Van Vorst—a person of the same name, in 1769, owned Pawles Hook, and a large farm at Pa- vonia, and is a lineal descendant from Van Vorst.” - # So called from the Navesink tribe of Indians, that inhabited º these parts—at present they are erroneously denominated the Neversink, or Neversunk mountains. |li.e. The Winding Bay, named from the windings of its shores. * . This has since been corrupted by the vulgar into the Wallabout, and is the basin which shelters our infant Ina Vy. *-*_-_*-º-º-º-º-, -, i. THE ARMY AT NEW-AMSTERDAM. 93 they lived on crabs, which abound in these parts: they were the first institutors of that honourable order of knighthood, called Fly market shirks; and if tradition speak true, did likewise introduce the far famed step in dancing, called “ double trouble.” They were commanded by the fearless Jacobus Varra Vanger, and, had moreover, a jolly band of Breukelen ferrymen, who performed a brave concerto on conchshells. But I refrain from pursuing this minute description which goes on to describe the warriors of Bloemen-dael, and Wee-hawk, and Hoboken, and sundry other places, well known in history and song—for now does the sound of martial music alarm the people of New-Amsterdam, sounding afar from beyond the walls of the city. But this alarm was in a little time relieved, for lo, from the midst of a vast cloud of dust, they recognized the brimstone co- loured breeches, and splendid silver leg of Peter Stuyve- sant glaring in the Sunbeams; and beheld him approach- ing at the head of a formidable army; which he had mus- tered along the banks of the Hudson. And here the excellent but anonymous writer of the Stuyvesant manu- script breaks out into a brave but glorious, description of the forces, as they defiled through the principal gate of the city that stood by the head of Wall-street. First of all came the Van Bummels, who inhabit the pleasant borders of the Bronx. These were short fat men, wearing exceeding large trunk breeches, and are renown- ed for feats of the trencher: they were the first inventors of suppawn, or mush and milk-Close in their rear marched the Van Vlotans, of Kaats Kill, most horrible quaffers of new cider, and arrant braggarts in their liquor. * After them came the Wan Pelts, of Groodt Esopus, dexterous horsemen, mounted upon goodly switch-tailed steeds of the Esopus breed: these were mighty hunters of minks and muskrats, whence came the word Peltry.— Then the Van Nests of Kinderhoek, valiant robbers of birds nests, as their name denotes: to these, if the report may be believed, are we indebted for the inventiºn of slap- jacks, or buckwheat cakes.—Then the Van Higginbot- toms, of Wapping's Creek: these came armed with ferules and birchen rods, being a race of Schoolmasters, who first *Now spelt Brooklyn. 94 THE IRWING GIFT. - - discovered the marvellous sympathy between the seat of honour and the seat of intellect, and that the shortest way to get knowledge into the head was to hammer it into the bottom.—Then the Van Grolls of Anthony’s Nose, who carried their liquor in fair round little pottles, by reason they could not bouse it out of their canteens, having such rare long noses.—Then the Gardeniers, of Hudson and thereabouts, distinguished by many triumphant feats, such as robbing watermelon patches, smoking rabbits out of their holes, and the like, and by being great lovers of roasted pig's tails: these were the ancestors of the re- nowned congressman of that name.—Then the Van Hoesen's of Sing-Song, great choristers and players upon the Jew's-harp: these marched two and two, singing the reat song of St. Nicholas.-Then the Couenhovens, of leepy Hollow : these gave birth to a jolly race of pub- licans, who first discovered the magic art of conjuring a quart of wine into a pint bottle.—Then the Van Kort- landts, who lived on the wild banks of the Croton, and were great killers of wild ducks, being much spoken of for their skill in shooting with the long bow.—Then the Van Bunschotens, of Nyock and Kakiat, who were the first that did ever kick with the left foot; they were gal- lant bush-whackers, and hunters of racoons, by moonlight. —Then the Van Winkles of Haerlem, potent suckers of eggs, and noted for running of horses, and running up of scores at taverns: they were the first that ever winked with both eyes at once.—Lastly, came the KNICKERBock- ERs, of the great town of Schahtikoke, where the folk lay stones upon the houses in windy weather, lest they should be blown away. These derive their name, as some say, from Kniker, to shake, and Becker, a goblet, indicating thereby that they were sturdy tosspots of yore; but, in truth, it was derived from Knicker, to nod, and Boeken, books, plainly meaning that they were great nodders or dozers over books: from them did descend the writer of this history. Such was the legion of sturdy bush-beaters, that poured in at the grand gate of New-Amsterdam. The Stuyvesant manuscript, indeed, speaks of many-more, whose names I omit to mention, seeing that it behoves me to hasten ta matters of greater moment. Nothing could surpass the joy and martial pride of the lion-hearted Peter, as he reviewed this mighty host of warriors; and he deter- GEN. WON POFFENBURGH. 95 mined no longer to defer the gratification of his much wished-for revenge, upon the scoundrel Swedes at Fort Casimir. But before I hasten to record those unmatchable events which will be found in the sequel of this faithful history, let me pause to notice the fate of Jacobus Von Poffen- burgh, the discomfitted commander-in-chief of the armies of the New-Netherlands. Such is the inherent unchari- tableness of human nature, that scarcely did the news become public, of his deplorable discomfiture at Fort Casimir than a thousand 5curvy rumours were set afloat in New-Amsterdam; wherein it was insinuated, that he had in reality a treacherous understanding with the Swe- dish commander; that he had long been in the practice of privately communicating with the Swedes; together with | divers hints about “secret service money,”—to all which º deadly charges I do not give a jot more credit than I think they deserve. Certain it is, that the general vindicated his character by the most vehement oaths and protestations, and put every man out of the ranks of honour who dared to doubt his integrity. Moreover, on returning to New-Amster- dam, he paraded up and down the streets with a crew of hard swearers at his heels, sturdy bottle companions, whom he gorged and fattened, and who were ready to bolster him through all the courts of justice,—heroes of his own kidney, fierce whiskered, broad shouldered, col- brand looking swaggerers, not one of whom but looked as though he could eat up an ox, and pick his teeth with the horns. These life-guard men quarrelled all his quarrels, were ready to fight all his battles, and scowled at every man that turned up his nose to the general, as though they would devour him alive. Their conversation was inter- spersed with oaths like minute guns, and every bombastic rhodomontado was rounded off by a thundering execra- tion like a patriotic toast honoured with a discharge of artillery. - - All these valorous vapourings had a considerable effect in convincing certain profound sages, many of whom be- gan to think the general a hero of unutterable loftiness and magnanimity of soul, particularly as he was conti nually protesting on the honour of a soldier, a marvel- lously high sounding asseveration. Nay, one of the mem- bers of the council went so far as to propose they should im- mortalize him by an imperishable statue of plaster of Paris. 96 THE IRWING GIFT, But the vigilant Peter the Headstrong was not thus o be deceived. Sending privately for the commander-sº chief of all the armies, and having heard all his story, garnished with the customary pious oaths, protestations, and ejaculations—“Harkee, comrade,” cried he, “though by your own account you are the most brave, upright, and honourable man in the whole province, yet do you lie under the misfortune of being damnably traduced and immeasurably despised. Now though it is certainly hard to punish a man for his misfortunes, and though it is very possible you are totally innocent of the crimes laid to your charge; yet as heaven, at present, doubtless for some wise purpose, sees fit to withhold all proofs of your innocence, far be it from me to counteract its sovereign will. Be- side, I cannot consent to venture my armies with a com- mander whom they despise, or to trust the welfare of my people to a champion, whom they distrust. Retire, therefore, my friend, from the irksome toils and cares of public life, with this comforting reflection—that if you be guilty, you are but enjoying your just reward— and if innocent, that you are not the first great and good man, who has most wrongfully been slandered and maltreated in this wicked world—doubtless to be bet- ter treated in a better world, where there shall neither be error, calumny, nor persecution. In the mean time let me never see your face again, for I have a horrid antipathy to the countenances of unfortunate great men like yourself.” Of Peter Stuyvesant's expedition into the East Country; showing that, though an old Bird, he did not understand Trap, GREAT nations resemble great men in this particular, that their greatness is seldom known until they get in trouble; adversity, therefore, has been wisely denomi- nated the ordeal of true greatness, which, like gold, can never receive its real estimation until it has passed through the furnace. In proportion, therefore, as a nation, a com- munity, or an individual (possessing the inherent quality of greatness) is involved in perils and misfortunes, in pro- portion does it rise in grandeur—and even when sinking under calamity, makes, like a house on fire, a more glo- i. | i | º | - BEARER OF PROCLAMATION. - Page 87. - | - PETER STUY WESANT. 97 tious display than ever it did, in the fairest period of its prosperity. - The vast empire of China, though teeming with popu- lation, and imbibing and concentrating the wealth of na- tions, has vegetated through a succession of drowsy ages; and were it not for its internal revolution, and the sub- version of its ancient government by the Tartars, might have presented nothing but an uninteresting detail of dull, monotonous prosperity. Pompeii and Herculaneum might have passed into oblivion, with a herd of their con- temporaries, had they not been fortunately overwhelmed by a volcano. The renowned city of Troy has acquired celebrity only from its ten years' distress and final con- flagration; Paris rises in importance by the plots and massacres which have ended in the exaltation of the il- lustrious Napoleon ; and even the mighty London itself has skulked through the records of time, celebrated for nothing of moment, excepting the plague, the great fire, and Guy Faux's gunpowder plot! Thus cities and em- pires seem to creep along, enlarging in silent obscurity under the pen of the historian, until at length they burst forth in some tremendous calamity, and snatch, as it were, immortality from the explosion The above principle being admitted, my reader will plainly perceive that the city of New-Amsterdam and its dependent province are on the high road to greatness. Dangers and hostilities threaten from every side, and it is really a matter of astonishment to me, how so small a state has been able, in so short a time, to entangle itself in so many difficulties. Ever since the province was first taken by the nose, at the Fort of Good Hope, in the tram- quil days of Wouter Van Twiller, has it been gradually increasing in historic importance; and never could it have had a more appropriate chieftain to conduct it to the pin- nacle of grandeur than Peter Stuyvesant. In the fiery heart of this iron-headed old warrior sat en- throned all those five kinds of courage described by Aris- totle; and had the philosopher mentioned five hundred more to the back of them, I verily believe, he would have been found master of them all. The only misfortune was, that he was deficient in the better part of valour called dis- cretion, a cold-blooded virtue which could not exist in the tropical climate of his mighty soul. Hence it was, he was continually hurrying into those unheard-of enterprises that gave an air of chivalric * to all his history; and -- 98 THE IRWING GIFT. and hence it was, that he now conceived a project worthy. of the hero of La Mancha himself. This was no other than to repair in person to the great council of the Amphyctions, bearing the sword in one - hand, and the olive branch in the other; to require imme- diate reparation for the innumerable violations of that - treaty, which, in an evil hour, he had formed; to put a stop to those repeated maraudings on the eastern borders; or else to throw the gauntlet, and appeal to arms for satis- faction. On declaring this resolution in his privy council, the venerable members were seized with vast astonishment: for once in their lives they ventured to remonstrate, set- ting forth the rashness of exposing his sacred person in the midst of a strange and barbarous people, with sundry other weighty remonstrances—all which had about as much influence upon the determination of the headstrong Peter, as though you were to endeavour to turn a rusty weathercock with a broken-winded bellows. Summoning therefore, to his presence his trusty fol- lower, Anthony Van Corlear, he commanded him to hold himself in readiness to accompany him the following morn- ing on this his hazardous enterprise. Now Anthony, the trumpeter, was a little stricken in years, yet by dint of º keeping up a good heart, and having never known care or sorrow (having never been married), he was still a hearty, -it- jocund, rubicund, gamesome wag, and of great capacity in the doublet. This last was ascribed to his living a jolly life on those domains at the Hook, which Peter Stuyvesant had granted to him for his gallantry at Fort Casimir. Be this as it may, there was nothing that more delight- ed Anthony than this command of the great Peter; for he could have followed the stout-hearted old governor to the world's end, with love and loyalty: and he moreover still remembered the frolicking, and dancing, and bundling, and other disports of the east country; and entertained dainty recollection of numerous kind and buxom lasses, whom he longed exceedingly again to encounter. Thus, then, did this mirror of hardihood set forth, with no other attendant but his trumpeter, upon one of the most perilous enterprises ever recorded in the annals of knight- errantry. For a single warrior to venture openly among a whole nation of foes; but, above all, for a plain, down- right Dutchman to think of negotiating with the whole STORM AT SEA. 119 She had made an effort to put on something like mourning for her son; and nothing could be more touch- ing than this struggle between pious affection and utter poverty: a black ribbon or so—a faded black handker- chief, and one or two more such humble attempts to ex- press by outward signs that grief that passes show. When I looked round upon the storied monuments; the stately hatchments; the cold marble pomp, with which grandeur mourned magnificently over departed pride, and turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and sorrow at the altar of her God, and offering up the prayers and raises of a pious, though a broken heart, I felt that this #. monument of real grief was worth them all. I related her story to some of the wealthy members of the congregation, and they were moved by it. They exerted themselves to render her situation more comfort- able, and to lighten her afflictions. It was, however, but smoothing a few steps to the grave. In the course of a Sunday or two after, she was missed from her usual seat at church, and before I left the neighbourhood I heard, with a feeling of satisfaction, that she had quietly breathed her last, and had gone to rejoin those she loved, in that world where sorrow is never known, and friends are never parted. - - STORM AT SEA. The storm increased with the night. The sea was lash- ed into tremendous confusion. There was a fearful, sul- len sound of rushing waves, and broken surges. Dee called unto deep. At times the black volume of clouds over head seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning that quivered along the foaming billows, and made the suc- ceeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellow- ed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the shi staggering and plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or pre- served her buoyancy. Her yards would dip in the water; her bow was almost buried beneath the waves, Sometimes an impending surge appeared ready to over- whelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of the helm preserved her from the shock. 120 THE IRWING GIFT. When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still fol- lowed me. The whistling of the wind through the rig- ging sounded like funeral wailings. The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk heads, as the ship laboured in the weltering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along the side of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey; the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam might give him entrance. -- - JOHN BULL. THERE is no species of humour in which the English more excel, than that which consists in caricaturing and giving ludicrous appellations, or nicknames. In this way they have whimsically designated, not merely indi- viduals, but nations; and in their fondness for pushing a joke, they have not spared even themselves. One would think that, in personifying itself, a nation would be apt to picture something grand, heroic, and imposing; but it is characteristic of the peculiar humour of the English, and of their love for what is blunt, comic and familiar, that they have embodied their national oddities in the figure of a sturdy corpulent old fellow, with a three-cornered hat, red waistcoat, leather breeches, and stout oaken cudgel. Thus they have taken a singular delight in exibiting their most private foibles in a laugh- able point of view; and have been so successful in their delineations, that there is scarcely a being in actual exist- ence more absolutely present to the public mind than that eccentric personage, John Bull. - * Perhaps the continual contemplation of the character thus drawn of them, has contributed to fix it upon the nation; and thus to give reality to what at first may have been painted in a great measure from imagination. Men are apt to acquire peculiarities that are continually ascribed to them. The common orders of English seem wonderfully captivated with the beau ideal which they have formed of John Bull, and endeavour to act up to the broad caricature that is perpetually before their eyes. Un- luckily, they sometimes make their boasted Bull-ism an apology for their prejudice or grossness; and this I have - JoHN BULL. - 121 - especially noticed among those truly home-bred and genu- ine sons of the soil who have never migrated beyond the sound of Bow-bells. If one of these should be a little uncouth in speech, and apt to utter impertinent truths, he confesses that he is a real John Bull, and always speaks his mind. If he now and then flies into an unreason- able burst of passion about trifles, he observes, that John Bull is a choleric old blade, but then his passion is over in a moment, and he bears no malice. If he betrays a coarseness of taste, and an insensibility to foreign refine- ments, he thanks heaven for his ignorance—he is a plain John Bull, and has no relish for frippery and nicknacks. his very proneness to be gulled by strangers, and to pay extravagantly for absurdities, is excused under the plea of muniſicence—for John is always more generous than W1Se. Thus, under the name of John Bull, he will contrive to argue every fault into a merit, and will frankly convict himself of being the honestest fellow in existence. However little, therefore, the character may have suited in the first instance, it has gradually adapted itself to the nation, or rather they have adapted themselves to each other; and a stranger who wishes to study English peculiarities, may gather much valuable information from the innumerable portraits of John Bull, as exhibited in the windows of the caricature shops. Still, however, he is one of those fertile humourists, that are continually throwing out new portraits, and presenting different as- ; from different points of view; and, often as he has een described, I cannot resist the temptation to give a slight sketch of him, such as he has met my eye. John Bull, to all appearance, is a plain downright mat- ter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than rich prose. There is little of romance in his nature, but a vast deal of strong natural feeling. He excels in humour more than in wit; is jolly rather than gay; me. lancholy rather than morose; can easily be moved to a sudden tear, or surprised to a broad laugh; but he loathes sentiment, and has no turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon companion, if you allow him to have his humour, and to talk about himself; and he will stand by a friend in a quarrel, with life and purse, however soundly he may be cudgelled. - In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a propen- sity to be somewhat too º: He is a busy-minded * . 122 IHE IRWING GIFT. rsonage, who thinks not merely for himself and family ut for all the country round, and is most generously dis posed to be every body's champion. He is continually, volunteering his services to settle his neighbour's affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon if they engage in any mat- ter of consequence without asking his advice; though he seldom engages in any friendly office of the kind without finishing by getting into a squabble with all parties, and then railing bitterly at their ingratitude. He unluckily took lessons in his youth in the noble science of defence, and having accomplished himself in the use of his limbs and his weapons, and become a perfect master at boxing and cudgel play, he has had a troublesome life of it ever since. He cannot hear of a quarrel between the most distant of his neighbours, but he begins incontinently to fumble with the head of his cudgel, and to consider whether his interest or honour does not require that he should meddle in the broil. Indeed he has extended his relations of pride and policy so completely over the whole country, that no event can take place, without infringing some of his finely-spun rights and dignities. Couched in his little domain, with these filaments stretching forth in every direction, he is like some choleric, bottle-bellied old spider, who has woven his web over a whole chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz, nor a breeze blow, without startling his repose, and causing him to sally forth wrathfully from his den. Though really a good-hearted, good-tempered old fel- low at bottom, yet he is singularly fond of being in the midst of contention. It is one of his peculiarities, how- ever, that he only relishes the beginning of an affray; he always goes into a fight with alacrity, but he comes out of it grumbling even when victorious; and though no one fights with more obstinacy to carry a contested point, yet, when the battle is over, and he comes to the recon- ciliation, he is so much taken up with the mere shaking of hands, that he is apt to let his antagonist pocket all that they have been quarrelling about. It is not, therefore, fighting that he ought to be so much on his guard against, as making friends. It is difficult to cudgel him out of a farthing; but put him in a good humour, and you may bar- #. him out of all the money in his pocket. He is ike one of his own ships, which will weather the roughest storm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard in the suc- ceeding caſm. JOHN BULL, 123 He is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroad; of pulling out a long purse; flinging his money bravely about at boxing matches, horse races, and cockfights, and car- rying a high head among “gentlemen of the fancy;” but immediately after one of these fits of extravagance, he will be taken with violent qualms of economy; stop short at the most trivial expenditure; tılk desperately of being ruined, and brought upon the parish; and in such moods, he will not pay the smallest tradesman's bill without violent altercation. He is, in fact, the most punctual and discontented paymaster in the world; drawing his coin out of his breeches' pocket with infinite reluctance; paying to the uttermost farthing, but accompanying every guinea with a growl. With all this talk of economy, however, he is a bountiful provider, and a hospitable housekeeper. His economy is of a whimsical kind, its chief object being to devise how’ he may afford to be extravagant; for he will begrudge himself a beafsteak and a pint of port one day, that he may roast an ox whole, broach a hogshead of ale, and treat all his neighbours on the next. His domestic establishment is enormously expensive: not so much from any great outward parade, as from the great consumption of solid beef and pudding; the vast number of followers he feeds and clothes; . his singu- lar disposition to pay hugely for small services. He is a most kind and indulgent master, and, provided his ser- vants humour his peculiarities, flatter his vanity a little now and then, and do not peculate grossly on him before his face, they may manage him to perfection. Every thing that lives on him seems to thrive and grow fat. His house servants are well paid, and pampered, and have little to do. His horses are sleek and lazy, and prance slowly before his state carriage; and his house dogs sleep quietly before his door, and will hardly bark at a house-breaker. , His family mansion is an old castellated manor-house, grey with age, and of a most venerable, though weather beaten appearance. It has been built upon no regular plan, but is a vast accumulation of parts, erected in var- ious tastes and ages. The centre bears evident traces of Saxon architecture, and is as solid as ponderous stone and old English oak can make it. Like all the relics of that style, it is full of obscure passages, intricate mazes, and dusky chambers; and though these have been partially 124 THE IRWING GIFT. lighted up in modern days, yet there are many places where you must still grope in the dark. Additions have been made to the original edifice from time to time and great alterations have taken place; towers and battle- ments have been erected during the wars and tumults; wings built in times of peace; and out-houses, lodges, and offices, run up according to the whim or convenience of different generations: until it has become one of the most spacious, rambling tenements imaginable. An en- tire wing is taken up with a family chapel; a reverend pile that must once have been exceedingly sumptuous, and, indeed, in spite of having been altered and simpli- fied at various periods, has still a look of solemn religious pomp. Its walls within are storied with the monuments of John's ancestors; and it is snugly fitted up with soft cushions and well-lined chairs, where such of his family as are inclined to church services, may doze comfortably in the discharge of their duties. - To keep up this chapel has cost John much money; but he is staunch in his religion, and piqued in his zeal, from the circumstance that many dissenting chapels have been erected in his vicinity, and several of his neighbours, with whom he has had quarrels, are strong papists. To do the duties of the chapel he maintains, at a large expense, a pious and portly family chaplain. He is a most learned and decorous personage, and a truly well bred Christian, who always backs, the old gentleman in his opinions, winks discreetly at his little peccadilloes, re- bukes the children when refractory, and is of great use in exhorting the tenants to read their bibles, say their pray- ers, and, above, all, to pay their rents punctually, and without grumbling. The family apartments are in a very antiquated taste, somewhat heavy, and often inconvenient, but full of the solemn magnificence of former times; fitted up with rich though faded tapestry, unwieldy furniture, and loads of massy gorgeous old plate. The vast fire-places, ample kitchens, extensive cellars, and sumptuous banqueting halls—all speak of the roaring hospitality of days of yore, of which the modern festivity at the manor-house is but a shadow. There are, however, complete suites of rooms apparently deserted and time worn; and towers and tur- rets that are tottering to decay; so that in high winds there is a danger of their tumbling about the ears of the household. - . JOHN BULL. #25 John has frequently been advised to have the old edi- fice thoroughly overhauled; and to have some of the use- less parts pulled down, and the others strengthened with their materials; but the old gentleman always grows testy on this subject. He swears the house is an excel- lent house—that it is tight and weather proof, and not to be shaken by tempests—that it has stood for several hundred years, and, therefore, is not likely to tumble down now—that as to its being inconvenient, his family is accustomed to the inconveniences, and would not be comfortable without them—that as to its unwieldy size and irregular construction, these result from its being the growth of centuries, and being improved by the wisdom of every generation—that an old family like his, requires a large house to dwell in; new upstart families may live in modern cottages and snug boxes, but an old English family should inhabit an old English manor-house. If you point out any part of the building as superfluous, he insists that it is material to the strength or decoration of the rest, and the harmony of the whole; and swears that . the parts are so built into each other, that, if you pull down one, you run the risk of having the whole about your earS. The secret of the matter is, that John has a great dis- position to protect and patronize. He thinks it indispen- sible to the dignity of an ancient and honourable family, to be bounteous in its appointments, and to be eaten up by dependants; and so, partly from pride, and partly from kind-heartedness, he makes it a rule always to give shel- ter and maintainance to his superannuated servants. The consequence is, that, like many other venerable family establishments, his manor is encumbered by old retainers whom he cannot turn off, and an old style which he cannot lay down. His mansion is like a great hos- pital of invalids, and, with all its magnitude, is not a whit too large for its inhabitants. Not a nook or a corner but is of use in housing some useless personage. Groups of veteran beef-eaters, gouty pensioners, and retired heroes of the buttery ānā the larder, are seen lolling about its walls, crawling over its lawns, dozing under its trees, or sunning themselves upon the benches at its doors. Every office and out-house is garrisoned by these supernumeraries and their families; for they are amaz- ingly prolific, and when they die off, are sure to leave John a legacy of hungry mouths to be provided for. A 126 THE IRWING GIFT. mattock cannot be struck against the most mouldering tumble-down tower, but out pops, from some cranny or loop-hole, the grey pate of some superannuated hanger-on, who has lived at John's expense all his life, and makes the most grievous outcry, at their pulling down the roof from over the head of a worn-out servant of the family. This is an appeal that John's honest heart never can with- stand; so that a man, who has faithfully eaten his beef and pudding all his life, is sure to be rewarded with a pipe and tankard in his old days. A great part of his park, also, is turned into paddocks where his broken down chargers are turned loose to graze undisturbed for the remainder of their existence—a wor- thy example of grateful recollection, which, if some of his neighbours were to imitate, would not be to their dis- credit. Indeed, it is one of his greatest pleasures to point out these old steeds to his visiters, to dwell on their good qualities, extol their past services, and boast with some little vain-glory, of the perilous adventures and hardy exploits, #. which they have carried him. He is given, however, to indulge his veneration for family usages, and family incumbrances, to a whimsical extent. His manor is infested by gangs of gipsies; yet he will not suffer them to be driven off, because they have infested the place time out of mind, and been regu- lar poachers upon every generation of the family. He will scarcely permit a dry branch to be lopped from the great trees that surround the house, lest it should molest the rooks, that have bred there for centuries. Owls have taken possession of the dovecote; but they are he- reditary owls, and must not be disturbed. Swallows have nearly choked up every chimney with their nests; martins build in every frieze and cornice; crows flutter about the towers, and perch on every weathercock; and old grey-headed rats may be seen in every quarter of the house, running in and out of their holes undauntedly, in broad daylight. In short, John has such a reverence for every thing that has been long in the family, that he will not hear even of abuses being reformed, because they are good old family abuses. All these whims and habits have concurred wofully to drain the old gentleman's purse; and as he prides himself on punctuality in money matters, and wishes to maintain his credit in the neighbourhood, they have caused him great perplexity in meeting his engagements. º JOHN BULL. - 127 This, too, has been increased, by the altercations and heart-burnings which are continually taking place in his family. His children have been brought up to different callings, and are of different ways of thinking; and as they have always been allowed to speak their mind free- ly, they do not fail to exercise the privilege most clamo- rously in the present posture of his affairs. Some stand up for the honour of the race, and are clear that the old establishment should be kept up in all its state, whatever may be the cost; others, who are more prudent and con- siderate, entreat the old gentleman to retrench his ex- penses, and to put his whole system of housekeeping on a more moderate footing. He has, indeed, at times, seemed inclined to listen to their opinions, but their wholesome advice has been completely defeated by the obstreperous conduct of one of his sons. This is a noisy rºttle-pated fellow, of rather low habits, who neglects his business to frequent ale-houses—is the orator of vil- lage clubs, and a complete oracle, among the poorest of his father's tenants. No sooner does he hear any of his brothers mention reform or retrenchment, than up he jumps, takes the words out of their mouths, and roars out for an overturn. When his tongue is once going, nothing can stop it. He rants about the room; hectors. the old man about his spendthrift practices; ridicules his tastes and pursuits; insists that %. shall turn the old servants out of doors; give the broken down horses to the hounds; send the É. chaplain packing, and take a field preacher in his place—may, that the whole family mansion shall be levelled with the ground, and a plain one of brick and mortar built in its place. He rails at every social entertainment and family festivity, and skulks away growling to the ale-house whenever an equi- page drives up to the door. Though constantly com- plaining of the emptiness of his purse, yet he scruples not to spend all his pocket-money in these tavern convo- cations, and even runs up scores, for the liquor over which he preaches about his father's extravagance. - It may readily be imagined how little such thwarting agrees with the old cavalier's fiery temperament. He has become so irritable, from repeated crossings, that the mere mention of retrenchment or reform is a signal for a brawl between him and the tavern oracle. As the lat- ter is too sturdy and refractory for paternal discipline, having grown out of all fear of the cudgel, they have fre- I2S THE IRWING GIFT. | quent scenes of wordy warfare, which at times run so high, that John is ſain to call in the aid of his son Tom, an officer who was served abroad, but is at present living at home, on half pay. This last is sure to stand by the old gentleman, right or wrong; likes nothing so much as a ricketing roystering life; and is ready, at a wink or nod, to out sabre, and flourish it over the orator's head, if he dares to array himself against paternal authority. These family dissensions, as usual, have got abroad, and are rare food for scandal in John's neighbourhood. People begin to look wise, and shake their heads, when- ever his affairs are mentioned. They all “hope that matters are not so bad with him as represented; but when a man's own children begin to rail at his extrava- ance, things must be badly managed. They understand he is mortgaged over head and ears, and is continually dabbling with money lenders. He is certainly an open- handed old gentleman, but they fear he has lived too fast; indeed, they never knew any good come of this fondness for hunting, racing, revelling, and prize-fighting. In short, Mr. Bull's estate is a very fine one, and has been in the family a long while; but for all that, they have known many finer estates come to the hammer.” What is worst of all, is the effect which these pecu- niary embarrassments and domestic feuds have had on the poor man himself. Instead of that jolly round cor- poration, and snug rosy face, which he used to present, he has of late become as shrivelled and shrunk as a frost- bitten apple. His cearlet gold-laced waistcoat, which bellied out so bravely in those prosperous days when he sailed before the wind, now hangs loosely about him like a mainsail in a calm. His leather breeches are all in folds and wrinkles, and apparently have much ado to hold up #. boots that yawn on both sides of his once sturdy CQS. - ºted of strutting about as formerly, with his three- cornered hat on one side; flourishing his cudgel, and bringing it down every moment with a hearty thump upon the ground; looking every one sturdily in the face, and trolling out a stave of a catch or a drinking song; he now goes about whistling thoughtfully to himself, with his head drooping down, his cudgel tucked under his arm, and his hands thrust to the bottom of his breeches pockets, which are evidently empty. Such is the plight of homest John Bull at present; yet JOHN BULL. 121 especially noticed among those truly home-bred and genu- ine sons of the soil who have never migrated beyond the sound of Bow-bells. If one of these should be a little uncouth in speech, and apt to utter impertinent truths, he confesses that he is a real John Bull, and always speaks his mind. If he now and then flies into an unreason- able burst of passion about trifles, he observes, that John Bull is a choleric old blade, but then his passion is over in a moment, and he bears no malice. If he betrays a coarseness of taste, and an insensibility to foreign refine- ments, he thanks heaven for his ignorance—he is a plain John Bull, and has no relish for frippery and nicknacks. his very proneness to be gulled by strangers, and to pay extravagantly for absurdities, is excused under the plea of muniſicence—for John is always more generous than WISe. Thus, under the name of John Bull, he will contrive to argue every fault into a merit, and will frankly convict himself of being the homestest fellow in existence. However little, therefore, the character may have suited in the first instance, it has gradually adapted itself to the nation, or rather they have adapted themselves to each other; and a stranger who wishes to study English peculiarities, may gather much valuable information from the innumerable portraits of John Bull, as exhibited in the windows of the caricature shops. Still, however, he is one of those fertile humourists, that are continually throwing out new portraits, and presenting different as- É. from different points of view; and, often as he has een described, I cannot resist the temptation to give a slight sketch of him, such as he has met my eye. John Bull, to all appearance, is a plain downright mat- ter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than rich prose. There is little of românce in his nature, but a vast deal of strong matural feeling. He excels in humour more than in wit; is jolly rather than gay; me- lancholy rather than morose; can easily be moved to a sudden tear, or surprised to a broad laugh; but he loathes. sentiment, and has no turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon companion, if you allow him to have his humour, and to talk about himself; and he will stand by a friend in a quarrel, with life and purse, however soundly he may be cudgelled. In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a propen- sity to be somewhat too º: He is a busy-ininded, 122 1HE IRWING GIFT. ersonage, who thinks not merely for himself and family É. for all the country round, and is most generously dis posed to be every body's champion. He is continually, volunteering his services to settle his neighbour's affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon if they engage in any mat- ter of consequence without asking his advice; though he seldom engages in any friendly office of the kind without finishing by getting into a squabble with all parties, and then railing bitterly at their ingratitude. He unluckily took lessons in his youth in the noble science of defence, and having accomplished himself in the use of his limbs and his weapons, and become a perfect master at boxing and cudgel play, he has had a troublesome life of it ever since. He cannot hear of a quarrel between the most distant of his neighbours, but he begins incontinently to fumble with the head of his cudgel, and to consider whether his interest or honour does not require that he should meddie in the broil. Indeed he has extended his relations of pride and policy so completely over the whole country, that no event can take place, without infringing some of his finely-spun rights and dignities. Couched in his little domain, with these filaments stretching forth in every direction, he is like some choleric, bottle-bellied old spider, who has woven his web over a whole chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz, nor a breeze blow, without startling his repose, and causing him to sally forth wrathfully from his den. Though really a good-hearted, good-tempered old fel- low at bottom, yet he is singularly fond of being in the midst of contention. It is one of his peculiarities, how- ever, that he only relishes the beginning of an affray; he always goes into a fight with alacrity, but he comes out of it grumbling even when victorious; and though no one fights with more obstinacy to carry a contested point, yet, when the battle is over, and he comes to the recon- ciliation, he is so much taken up with the mere shaking of hands, that he is apt to let his antagonist pocket all that they have been quarrelling about. It is not, therefore, fighting that he ought to be so much on his guard against, as making friends. It is difficult to cudgel him out of a farthing; but put him in a good humour, and you may bar- #. him out of all the money in his pocket. He is ike one of his own ships, which will weather the roughest storm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard in the suc- ceeding calm. JOHN bull. - 123 He is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroad; of pulling out a long purse; flinging his money bravely about at boxing matches, horse races, and cockfights, and car- rying a high head among “gentlemen of the fancy;” but immediateſy after one of these fits of extravagance, he will be taken with violent qualms of economy; stop short at the most trivial expenditure; t ilk desperately of being ruined, and brought upon the parish; and in such moods, he will not pay the smallest tradesman's bill without violent altercation. He is, in fact, the nost punctual and discontented paymaster in the world; drawing his coin out of his breeches' pocket with infinite reluctance; paying to the uttermost farthing, but accompanying every guinea, with a growl. . . With all this talk of economy, however, he is a bountiful provider, and a hospitable housekeeper. His economy is of a whimsical kind, its chief object being to devise how he may afford to be extravagant; for he will begrudge himself a beafsteak and a pint of port one day, that fie may roast an ox whole, broach a hogshead of ale, and treat all his neighbours on the next. His domestic establishment is enormously expensive : not so much from any great outward parade, as from the great consumption of solid beef and pudding; the vast number of followers he feeds and clothes; and his singu- lar disposition to pay hugely for small services. He is a most kind and indulgent master, and, provided his ser- wants humour his peculiarities, flatter his vanity a little now and then, and do not peculate grossly on him before his face, they may manage him to perfection. Every thing that lives on him seems to thrive and grow fat. His house servants are well paid, and pampèred, and have little to do. His horses are sleek and lazy, and prance slowly before his state carriage; and his house dogs sleep quietly before his door, and will hardly bark at a house-breaker. - His family mansion is an old castellated manor-house, grey with age, and of a most venerable, though weather beaten appearance. It has been built upon no regular plan, but is a vast accumulation of parts, erected in var- ious tastes and ages. The centre bears evident traces of Saxon architecture, and is as solid as ponderous stone and old English oak can make it. Like all the relies of that style, it is full of obscure passages, intricate mazes, and dusky chambers; and though these have been partially 124 THE IRWING GIFT. lighted up in modern days, yet there are many places where you must still grope in the dark. Additions have been made to the original edifice from time to time and great alterations have taken place; towers and battle- ments have been erected during the wars and tumults; wings built in times of peace; and out-houses, lodges, and offices, run up according to the whim or convenience of different generations: until it has become one of the most spacious, rambling tenements imaginable. An en- tire wing is taken up with a family chapel; a reverend pile that must once have been exceedingly sumptuous, and, indeed, in spite of having been altered and simpli- fied at various periods, has still a look of solemn religious pomp. Its walls within are storied with the monuments of John's ancestors; and it is snugly fitted up with soft cushions and well-lined chairs, where such of his family as are inclined to church services, may doze comfortably in the discharge of their duties. - To keep up this chapel has cost John much money; but he is staunch in his religion, and piqued in his zeal, from the circumstance that many dissenting chapels have been erected in his vicinity, and several of his neighbours, with whom he has had quarrels, are strong papists. To do the duties of the chapel he maintains, at a large expense, a pious and portly family chaplain. He is a most learned and decorous personage, and a truly well bred Christian, who always backs the old gentleman in his opinions, winks discreetly at his little peccadilloes, re- bukes the children when refractory, and is of great use in exhorting the tenants to read their bibles, say their pray- ers, and, above all, to pay their rents punctually, and without grumbling. - The family apartments are in a very antiquated taste, somewhat heavy, and often inconvenient, but full of the solemn magnificence of former times; fitted up with rich though faded tapestry, unwieldy furniture, and loads of massy gorgeous old plate. The vast fire-places, ample kitchens, extensive cellars, and sunptuous banqueting halls—all speak of the roaring hospitality of days of yore, of which the modern festivity at the manor-house is but a shadow. There are, however, complete suites of rooms apparently deserted and time worn; and towers and tur- rets that are tottering to decay; so that in high winds there is a danger of their tumbling about the ears of the household. - CONVERSION OF THE AMERICANS 141 ple to establish a property in the newly discovered regions of America. Now, so it has happened in certain parts of this delightful quarter of the globe that the right of discovery his been so strenuously asserted, the influence of cultivation so industriously extended, and the progress of salvation and civilization so zealously prosecuted; that, what with their attendant wars, persecutions, oppressions, diseases, and other partial evils that often hang on the skirts of great benefits, the savage aborigines have, some how or another, been utterly annihilated; and this all at on :e brings me to a fourth right, which is worth all the others put toge her; for the original claimants to the soil being all dead und buried, and no one remaining to in- herit or dispute the soil, the Spaniards as the next imme- diate occupants, entered upon the possession as clearly as the hang man su ceeds to the clothes of the malefactor— and as they have Blackstone,” and all the learned expoun- ders of the law on their side, they may set all actions of ejectment at defiance—and this last right may be entitled the RIGHT BY ExtERMINATION, or in other words the RIGHT BY GUNPOWDER. But, lest any scruples of conscience should remain on this head, and to settle the question of right for ever, his holiness Pope Alexander Vſ. issued a mighty bull, by which he generously granted the newly discovered quar- ter of the globe to the Spaniards and Portuguese; who, thus having law and gospel on their side, and being in- flamed with great spiritual zeal, showed the Pagan sava- ges neither favour nor affection, but prosecuted the work of discovery, colonization, civilization, and extermination, with ten times more fury than ever. Thus were the European worthies who first discovered America clearly entitled to the soil; and not only entitled to the soil, but likewise to the eternal thanks of these infidel savages, for having come so far, endured so many perils by sea and land, and taken such unwearied pains, for no other purpose but to improve their forlorn, uncivi- lized, and heathenish condition—for having made them acquainted with the comforts of life—for having intro- duced among them the light of religion; and finally, for having hurried them out of the world, to enjoy its re- ward f *Bl, Com. b. ii. c. 1. -------- - - - º --- --- ------- ==º:- 142 THE IRWING GIFT. TOM STRADDI.E. WILL's great crony for some time was Tom Straddle, to whom he really took a great liking. Straddle had just arrived in an importation of hardware, fresh from the city of Birmingham, or rather as the most learned English would call it Brummagen, so famous for its manufactories of gimlets, pen-knives, and pepper-boxes, and where they make buttons and beaux enough to in- undate our whole country. He was a young man of considerable standing in the manufactory at Birmingham; sometimes had the honour to hand his master's daughter into a tim-whisky, was the oracle of the tavern he fre- quented on Sundays, and could beat all his associates, if you would take his word for it, in boxing, beer-drink- ing, jumping over chairs, and imitating cats in a gutter, and opera-singers. Straddle was, moreover, a member of a catch-club, and was a great hand at ringing bob-ma- jors; he was, of course, a complete connoisseur in music, and entitled to assume that character at all performances in the art. He was likewise a member of a spouting- club; had seen a company of strolling actors perform in a barn, and had even, like Abel Drugger, “enacted” the part of Major Sturgeon with considerable applause; he was consequently a profound critic, and fully authorized to turn up his nose at any American performances. . He had twice partaken of annual dinners, given to the head manufacturers at Birmingham, where he had the good fortºne to get a taste of turtle and turbot, and a smack of Champaign and Burgundy; and he had heard a vast deal of the roast beef of Old England;—he was there- fore epicure sufficient to d—n every dish and every glass of wine he tasted in America, though at the same time he was as voracious an animal as ever crossed the Atlan- tic. Straddle had been splashed half a dozen times by the carriages of nobility, and had once the superlative felicity of being kicked out of doors by the footman of a noble duke; he could, therefore, talk of nobility, and de- spise the untitled plebeians of America. In short, Strad- die was one of those dapper, bustling, florid, round, self. important “gem men,” who bounce upon us half-beau, half-button-maker; undertake to give us the true polish TOM STRADDLE. H43 3f the bon-ton and endeavour to inspire us with a pro- per and dignified contempt of our native country. Straddle was quite in raptures when his employers determined to send him to America as an agent. He considered himself as going among a nation of barbarians, where he could be received as a prodigy: he anticipated, with a proud satisfaction, the bustle and confusion his arrival would occasion; the crowd that would throng to gaze at him as he passed through the streets; and had little doubt but that he should excite as much curiosity as an Indian chief or a Turk in the streets of Birming- ham. He had heard of the beauty of our women, and chuckled at the thought of how completely he should eclipse their unpolished beaux, and the number of des- pairing lovers that would mourn the hour of his arrival. I am even informed by Will Wizard, that he put good store of beads, spike-nails, and looking-glasses in his trunk, to win the affections of the fair ones as they pad- dled about in their bark canoes. The reason Will gave for this error of Straddle's respecting our ladies was, that he had read in Guthrie's Geography that the aborigines of America were all savages; and not exactly under- standing the word aborigines, he applied to one of his fellow-apprentices, who assured him that it was the Latin word for inhabitants. Wizard used to tell another anecdote of Straddle, which always put him in a passion —Will swore that the captain of the ship told him, that when Straddle heard they were off the banks of Newfoundland, he in- sisted upon going on shore there to gather some good cab- bages, of which he was excessively fond. Straddle, Łowever, denied all this, and declared it to be a mischie- vous quiz of Will Wizard, who indeed often made him- self merry at his expense. However this may be, cer- tain it is he kept his tailor and shoemaker constantly em. ployed for a month before his departure; equipped him- self with a smart crooked stick about eighteen inches long, a pair of breeches of most unheard-of length, a little short pār of Hoby's white-topt boots, that seemed to stand on tiptoe to reach his breeches, and his hat had the true transatlantic declination towards his right ear. The fact was nor did he make any secret of it—he was determined to cºlonish the natives a few 1 Straddle was not a little disappointed on his arrival, to find the Americans were rather more civilized than 144 THE IRWING GIFT. he had imagined:—he was suffered to walk to hi, Indg: ings unmolested by a crowd, and even unnoticed by a single individual;-no love-letters came pouring in up- on him;-no rivals lay in wait to assassinate him;-his very dress excited no attention, for there were many fools dressed equally ridiculous with himself. This was mor- tifying indeed to an aspiring youth, who had come out with the idea of astonishing and captivating. He was equally unfortunate in his pretentions to the character of critic, connoisseur and boxer; he condemned our whole dramatic corps, and every thing appertaining to the theatre; but his critical abilities were ridiculed;—he found fault with old Cockloft's dinner, not even sparing his wine, and was never invited to the house afterwards;– he scoured the streets at night and was eudgelled by a sturdy watchman;–he hoaxed an honest mechanic, and was soundly kicked. Thus disappointed in all his at- tempts at notoriety, Straddle hit on the expedient which was resorted to by the Giblets;–he determined to take the town by storm. He .."; bought horses and equipages, and forthwith made a furious ğash at style in a gig and tandem. As Straddle's finances were but limited, it may easily be supposed that his fashionable career infringed a little upon his consignments, which was indeed the case—for to use a true cockney phrase, Brummagen suffered. But this was a circumstance that made little impression upon Straddle, who was now a lad of spirit—and lads of spi- rit alway despise the sordid cares of keeping another man's money. Suspecting this circumstance, I never could wit- ness any of his exhibitions of style without some whim- sical association of ideas. Did he give an entertainment to a host of guzzling friends, I immediately fancied them gormandizing heartly at the expense of poor Birmingham, and swallowing a consignment of hand-saws and razors. Did I behold him dashing through Broadway in his gig, I saw him, “in my mind's eye,” driving tandem on a nest of tea-boards; nor could I ever contemplate his cockney exhibitions of horsemanship, but my mischie- vous imagination would picture him spurring a cask of hardware, like rosy Bacchus bestriding a beer-barrel, or the little gentlemán who be-straddles the world in the front of Hutching's Almanack. - Straddle was equally successful with the Giblets, as may well be supposed; for though pedestrian merit may THE COCKLOFT FAMILY. 137 cousin, should take a liking to another of the same char. acter; but so it is with the old gentleman—his prime fa- vourite and companion is Will Wizard, who is almost a member of the family, and will sit before the fire, with his feet on the massy handirons, and smoke his cigar, and screw his phiz, and spin away tremendous long stories of his travels, for a whole evening, to the great delight of the old gentleman, and lady, and especially of the yºung ladies, who, like Desdemona, do “seriously in- cline,” and listen to him with innumerable “O dears,” “is it possibles,” “good graciouses,” and look upon him as a second Sinbad the sailor. " - The Miss Cocklofts, whose pardon I crave for not having particularly introduced them before, are a pair of delectable damsels; who having purloined and locked up the family-bible, pass for just what age they please to plead guilty to. Barbara, the eldest, has long since re- signed the character of a belle, and adopted that staid, sober, demure, snuff-taking air, becoming her years and discretion. She is a good-natured soul, whom I never saw in a passion but once; and that was occasioned by seeing an old favourite beau of hers kiss the hand of a pretty blooming girl; and, in truth she only got angry because, as she very properly said, it would spoil the child. Her sister Margery, or Maggie, as she is fami- liarly termed, seemed disposed to maintain her post as a belle, until a few months since; when accidentally hear- ing a gentleman observe that she broke very fast, she ... left off going to the assembly, took a cat into high favour, and began to rail at the forward pertness of young misses. From that moment I set her down for an old maid; and so she is, “by the hand of my body.” The young ladies are still visited by some half dozen of veteran beaux, who grew and flourished in the haut ton, when the Miss Cocklofts were quite children, but have been brushed rather rudely by the hand of time, who to say the truth, can do almost any thing but make peo- ple young. They are, notwithstanding, still warm can- didates for female favour; look venerably tender, and re- peat over and over the same honeyed speeches and su- gared sentiments to the little belles that they poured so rofusely into the ears of their mothers. I beg leave here to give notice, that by this sketch I mean no reflec- tion on old bachelors; on the contrary, I hold, that next to a fine lady, the ne plus ultra, an old bachelor is the 13S THE IRWING GIFT. most charming being upon earth; inasmuch as by living in “single blessedness,” he of course does just as he pleases; and if he has any genius must acquire a plenti- ful stock of whims, and oddities, and whalebone habits: without which I esteem a man to be mere beef without mustard, good for nothing at all, but to run on errands for ladies, take boxes at i. theatre, and act the part of a screen at tea-parties, or a walking stick in the streets. I merely speak of those old boys who infest public walks, pounce upon the ladies from every corner of the street, and worry and frisk and amble, and caper before, behind, and round about the fashionable belles, like old ponies in a pasture, striving to supply the absence of youthful whim and hilarity, by grimaces and grins, and artificial vivacity. I have sometimes seen one of these “reverend youths” endeavouring to elevate his wintry passions into something like love, by basking in the sunshine of beau- ty; and it did remind me of an old moth attempting to fly through a pane of glass towards a light without ever approaching near enough to warm itself, or scorch its WHng S. Never I firmly believe, did there exist a family that went more by tangents than the Cocklofts.-Every thing is governed by whim; and if one member starts a new freak, away all the rest follow like wild geese in a string. As the family, the servants, the horses, cats, and dogs, have all grown old together, they have accommodated themselves to each other's habits completely; and though every body of them is full of odd points, angles, rhom- boids, and ins and outs, yet somehow or other, they harmo- nize together like so many straight lines; and it is truly a grateful and refreshing sight to see them agree so well. Should one, however, get out of tune, it is like a cracked fiddle, the whole concert is ajar; you perceive a cloud over every brow in the house, and even the old chairs seem to creak affettuoso. If my cousin, as he is rather apt to do, betray any symptons of vexation or uneasiness no matter about what, he is worried to death with inquiries, which answer no other end but to demonstrate the good will of the inquirer, and put him in a passion; for every body knows how provoking it is to be cut short in a fit of the blues, by an impertinent question about “what is the matter?” when a man can’t tell himself. I remember a few months ago the old gentleman came home in quite a squall; kicked poor Caesar, the mastiff, out of his way CONVERSION OF THE AMERICANS. 139 as he came through the hall; threw his hat on the table with most violent emphasis, and pulling out his box, took three huge pinches of snuff, and threw, a fourth into the cat's eyes as he sat purring his astonishment by the fire side. This was enough to set the body politic going; Mrs. Cockloft began “my dearing it as fast as tongue could move; the young ladies took each a stand at an elbow of his chair: Jeremy marshalled in rear; the servants came tumbling in ; the mastiff put up an in- quiring nose; and even grimalkin, after he had cleansed his whiskers and finished sneezing, discovered indubitable signs of sympathy. After the most affectionate inquiries on all sides, it turned out that my cousin, in crossing, the street, had got his silk stockings bespattered with mud by a coach which it seems belonged to a dashing gentleman who had formerly supplied the family with hot rolls and muffins ! Mrs. Cockloft thereupon turned up her eyes, and the young ladies their noses; and it would have edified a whole congregation to hear the conversation which took place concerning the insolence of upstarts, and the vulgarity of would be gentlemen and ladies, who strive to emerge from low life by dashing about in carriages to pay a visit two doors off, giving part ties to people who laugh at them, and cutting all their old friends. - - - - CONVERSION OF THE AMERICANS. But the most important branch of civilization, and which has most strenuously been extolled, by the zealous and pious fathers of the Romish Church, is the introduction 5f the Christian faith. It was truly a sight that might well inspire horror, to behold these savages, stumbling. among the dark mountains of paganism, and guilty of the mºst horrible ignorance of religion. It is true, they neither stole nor defrauded; they were sober, frugal, continent, and faithful to their word; but though they acted right habitually, it was all in vain, unless-they acted so from precept. The new comers therefore used every method, to induce them to embrace and practise the true religion—except indeed that of setting them the example. - But notwithstanding all these complicated labours for I40 - THE IRVING GIFT. their good, such was the unparalleled obstinacy of these stubborn wretches, that they ungratefully refused to ac- knowledge the strangers as their benefactors, and persist- ed in disbelieving the doctrines they endeavoured to in- culcate; most insolently alleging that from their conduct, the advocates of Christianity did not seem to believe in it themselves. Was not this too much for human pa- tience?—would not one suppose, that the benign visitants from Europe, provoked at their incredulity, and discou- raged, by their stiff-necked obstinacy, would forever have abandoned their shores, and consigned them to their ori- ginal ignorance and misery 2 But no—so zealous were they to effect the temporal comfort and eternal salvation of these pagan infidels, that they even proceeded from the milder means of persuasion to the more painful and troublesome one of persecution—let loose among them whole troops of fiery monks and furious blood-hounds—pu- rified them by fire and sword, by stake and faggot; in con- sequence of which indefatigable measures the cause of Christian love and charity was so rapidly advanced that, in a very few years not one fifth of the number of unbe- lievers existed in South America, that were found there at the time of its discovery. What stronger right need the European settlers ad- vance to the country than this? Have not whole nations of uninformed savages been made acquainted with a thousand imperious wants and indispensable comforts, of which they were before wholly ignorant 3 Have they not been literally hunted and smoked out of the dens and lurking places of ignorance and infidelity, and absolutely scourged into the right path? Have not the temporal things, the vain baubles and filthy lucre of this world, which were too apt to engage their worldly and selfish thoughts, been benevolently taken from them; and have they not instead thereof, been taught to set, their affec- tions on things above? And, finally, to use the words of a Reverend Španish Father, in a letter to his superior in Spain—“Can any one have the presumption to say, that these savage Pagans have yielded any thing more than an inconsiderable recompense to their benefactors, in surren- dering to them a little pitiful tract of this dirty sublunary planet, in exchange for a glorious inheritance in the king- dom of Heaven I’’ ‘’ - Here, then, are three complete and undeniable sources of right established, any one of which was more than aid- CONVERSION OF THE AMERICANS 141 ple to establin a property in the newly discovered regions of America. Now, so it has happened in certain parts of this delightful quarter of the globe that the right of discovery has been so strenuously asserted, the influence of cultivation so industriously extended, and the progress of silvation and civilization so zealously prosecuted; that, what with their attendant wars, persecutions, oppressions, diseases, and other partial evils that often hang on the skirts of great benefits, the savage aborigines have, some how or another, been utterly annihilated; and this all at once brings me to a fourth right, which is worth all the others put toge, her; for the original claimants to the soil being all dead und buried, and no one remaining to in- herit or dispute the soil, the Spaniards as the next imme- diate occupants, entered upon the possession as clearly as the hang man su ceeds to the clothes of the malefactor— and as they have Blackstone,” and all the learned expoun- ders of the law ºn their side, they may set all actions of ejectment at defiance—and this last right may be entitled the RIGHT BY Exter MINATION, or in other words the RIGHT BY GUNPOWDER. But, lest any scruples of conscience should remain on this head, and to settle the question of right for ever, his holiness Pope Alexander VI. issued a mighty bull, by which he generously granted the newly discovered quar- ter of the globe to the Spaniards and Portuguese; who, thus having law and gospel on their side, and being in- flamed with great spiritual zeal, showed the Pagan sava- ges neither favour nor affection, but prosecuted the work of discovery, colonization, civilization, and extermination, with ten times more fury than ever. Thus were the European worthies who first discovered America clearly entitled to the soil; and not only entitled to the soil, but likewise to the eternal thanks of these infidel savages, for having come so far, endured so many perils by sea and land, and taken such unwearied pains, for no other purpose but to improve their forlorn, uncivi- lized, and heathenish condition—for having made them acquainted with the comforts of life—for having intro- duced among them the light of religion; and finally, for having hurried them out of the world, to enjoy its re- ward | --- *BI. Com. b. ii. c. 1. H - =l 142 THE IRWING GIFT. TOM STRADDLE. WILL's great crony for some time was Tom Straddle, - to whom he really took a great liking. Straddle had just arrived in an importation of hardware, fresh from the city of Birmingham, or rather as the most learned English would call it Brummagen, so famous for its manufactories of gimlets, pen-knives, and pepper-boxes, and where they make buttons and beaux enough to in- undate our whole country. He was a young man of considerable standing in the manufactory at Birmingham; sometimes had the honour to hand his master's daughter into a tim-whisky, was the oracle of the tavern he fre- quented on Sundays, and could beat all his associates, if * you would take his word for it, in boxing, beer-drink- ing, jumping over chairs, and imitating cats in a gutter, and opera-singers. Straddle was, moreover, a member of a catch-club, and was a great hand at ringing bob-ma- jors; he was, of course, a complete connoisseur in music, and entitled to assume that character at all performances - in the art. He was likewise a member of a spouting- club; had seen a company of strolling actors perform in a barn, and had even, like Abel Drugger, “enacted” the part of Major Sturgeon with considerable applause; he was consequently a profound critic, and fully authorized to turn up his nose at any American performances. He had twice partaken of annual dinners, given to the head manufacturers at Birmingham, where he had the good fortune to get a taste of turtle and turbot, and a smack. of Ghampaign and Burgundy; and he had heard a vast deal of the roast beef of Old England;—he was there- - fore epicure sufficient to d—n every dish and every glass of wine he tasted in America, though at the same time he was as voracious an animal as ever crossed the Atlan- tic. Straddle had been splashed half a dozen times by the carriages of nobility, and had once the superlative felicity of being kicked out of doors by the footman of a noble duke; he could, therefore, talk of nobility, and de- - spise the untitled plebeians of America. In short, Strad- dle was one of those dapper, bustling, florid, round, self. important “gem men,” who bounce upon us half-beau, half-button-maker; undertake to give is the true polish s TOM STRADDLE. 143 of the bon-ton and endeavour to inspire us with a pro- per and dignified contempt of our native country. Straddle was quite in raptures when his employers determined to send him to America as an agent. He considered himself as going among a nation of barbarians, where he could be received as a prodigy: he anticipated, with a proud satisfaction, the bustle and confusion his arrival would occasion; the crowd that would throng to gaze at him as he passed through the streets; and had little doubt but that he should excite as much curiosity as an Indian chief or a Turk in the streets of Birming- ham. He had heard of the beauty of our women, and chuckled at the thought of how completely he should eclipse their unpolished beaux, and the number of des- pairing lovers that would mourn the hour of his arrival. I am even informed by Will Wizard, that he put good store of beads, spike-nails, and looking-glasses in his trunk, to win the affections of the fair ones as they pad- dled about in their bark canoes. The reason Will gave for this error of Straddle's respecting our ladies was, that he had read in Guthrie's Geography that the aborigines of America were all savages; and not exactly under- standing the word aborigines, he applied to one of his fellow-apprentices, who assured him that it was the Latin word for inhabitants. - - Wizard used to tell another anecdote of Straddle, which always put him in a passion —Will swore that the captain of the ship told him, that when Straddle heard they were off the banks of Newfoundland, he in- : sisted upon going on shore there to gather some good cab- bages, of which he was excessively fond. Straddle, however, denied all this, and declared it to be a mischie- vous quiz of Will Wizard, who indeed often made him- self merry at his expense. However this may be, cer- tain it is he kept his tailor and shoemaker constantly em. ployed for a month before his departure; equipped him- self with a smart crooked stick about eighteen inches long, a pair of breeches of most unheard-of length, a little short pair of Hoby's white-topt boots, that seemed to stand on tiptoe to reach his breeches, and his hat had the true transatlantic declination towards his right ear. The fact wäs-nor did he make any secret of it—he was determined to astonish the natives a few - Straddle was not a little disappointed on his arrival, to find the Americans were . more civilized than. 144 THE IRWING GIFT. he had imagined;—he was suffered to walk to his lodg. ings unmolested by a crowd, and even unnoticed by a single individual;-no love-letters came pouring in up- on him;-no rivals lay in wait to assassinate him;-his very dress excited no attention, for there were many fools dressed equally ridiculous, with himself. This was mor- tifying indeed to an aspiring youth, who had come out with the idea of astonishing and captivating. He was equally unfortunate in his pretentions to the character of critic, connoisseur and boxer; he condemned our whole dramatic corps, and every thing appertaining to the theatre; but his critical abilities were ridiculed;—he - found fault with old Cockloft's dinner, not even sparing his wine, and was never invited to the house afterwards;– he scoured the streets at night and was eudgelled by a sturdy watchman;–he hoaxed an honest mechanic, and, was soundly kicked. Thus disappointed in all his at- tempts at notoriety, Straddle hit on the expedient which was resorted to by the Giblets;–he determined to take the town by storm. He . bought horses and equipages, and forthwith made a furious dash at style in a gig and tandem. As Straddle's finances were but limited, it may easily be supposed that his fashionable career infringed a little upon his consignments, which was indeed the case—for to use a true cockney phrase, Brummagen suffered. But this was a circumstance that made little impression upon Straddle, who was now a lad of spirit—and lads of spi- rit alway despise the sordid cares of keeping another man's money. Suspecting this circumstance, I never could wit- ness any of his exhibitions of style without some whim- sical association of ideas. Did he give an entertainment to a host of guzzling friends, I immediately fancied them gormandizing heartily at the expense of poor Birmingham, and swallowing a consignment of hand-saws and razors. Did I behold him dashing through Broadway in his gig, I saw him, “in my mind's eye,” driving tandem on a nest of tea-boards; nor could I ever contemplate his cockney exhibitions of horsemanship, but, my mischie- - || yous imagination would picture him spurring a cask of hardware, like rosy Bacchus bestriding a beer-barrel, or the little gentleman who be-straddles the world in the front of Hutching's Almanack. - Straddle was equally successful with the Giblets, as may well be supposed; for though pedestrian merit may TOM STRADDLE. 145 strive in vain to become fashionable in Gotham, yet a candidate in an equipage is always recognized, and like Philip's ass, laden with gold will gain admittance ever where. Mounted in his curricle or his gig, the candi- date is like a statue elevated on a high pedestal; his merits are discernable from afar, and strike the dullest optics. Oh! Gotham, Gotham most enlightened of cities ſhow does my heart swell with delight when I behold your sapient inhabitants lavishing their attention with such wonderful discernment 1 Thus Straddle became quite a man of ton, and was caressed, and courted, and invited to dinners and balls. Whatever, was absurd or ridiculous in him before was now declared to be the style. He criticized our theatre, and was listened to with reverence. He pronounced our musical entertainments barbarous; and the judgment of Apollo himself would not have been more decisive. He abused our dinners; and the god of eating, if there be any such deity, seemed to speak through his organs. He became at once a man of taste—for he put his maledic- tion on every thing; and his arguments were conclu- sive—for he supported every assertion with a bet. He was likewise pronounced by the learned in the fashion- able world a young man of great research and deep ob- servation,-for he had sent home, as natural curiosities, an ear of Indian corn, a pair of moccasons, a belt of wampum, and a four-leafed clover. He had taken great pains to enrich this curious collection with an Indian, and a cataract, but without success. In fine, the people talked of Straddle and his equipage, and Straddle talked of his ‘horses, until it was impossible for the most critical obser- ver to pronounce whether Straddle or his horses were most admired, or whether Straddle admired himself or his horses most. Straddle was now in the zenith of his glory. He swaggered about parlours and drawing-rooms with the same unceremonious confidence he used to display in the taverns at Birmingham. He accosted a lady as he would a bar-maid; and this was pronounced a certain proof that he had been used to better company in Birmingham. He became the great man of all the taverns between New-York and Harlem; and no one stood a chance of being accommodated until Straddle and his horses were perfectly satisfied. He d-d the landlords and waiters, with the best air in the wº and accosted them with 146 THE IRWING GIFT. gentlemanly familiarity. He staggered from the dinner- table to the play, entered the box like a tempest, stayed king enough to be bored to death, and to bore all those who had the misfortune to be near him. From thence he dashed off to a ball, time enough to flounder through a cotilion, tear half a dozen gowns, commit a number of other depredations, and make the whole company sensi- ble of his infinite condescension in coming amongst them. The people of Gotham thought him a prodigious fine fel- low; the young bucks cultivated his acquaintance with the most persevering assiduity, and his retainers were sometimes complimented with a seat in his curricle, or a ride on one of his fine horses. The belles were delighted with the attentions of such a fashionable gentleman, and struck with astonishment at his learned distinctions be- tween Y. scissors and those of cast steel: together with his profound dissertations on buttons and horse-flesh. The rich merchants courted his acquaintance because he was an Englishman, and their wives treated him with #". deference because he had come from beyond seas. cannot help here observing that your saltwater is a marvellous great sharpener of men's wits, and I intend to recommend it to some of my acquaintance in a parti- cular essay. - - Straddle continued his brilliant career for only a short time. His prosperous journey over the turnpike of fa- shion was checked by some of those stumbling-blocks in the way of aspiring youth called creditors—or duns —a race of people who as a celebrated writer observes, “are hated by the gods and men.” Consignments slackened, Whispers of distant suspicion floated in the dark, and those pests of society the tailors and shoemakers, rose in rebellion against Straddle. In vain were all his remon- strances; in vain did he prove to them, that though he had given them no money, yet he had given them more custom, and as many promises as any young man in the city. They were inflexible; and the signal of danger being given, a host of other prosecutors pounced upon his back. Straddle saw there was but one way for it; he determined to do the thing genteely, to go to smash like a herº, and dashed into the limits in high style; being the fifteenth gentleman I have known to drive tandeº to the me plus ultra-the d–l. - Unfortunate Straddle! may thy fate be a warning to all young gentlemen who come from Birmingham to SLEEPY HOLLOW. 147 astonish the natives!—I should never have taken the trouble to delineate his character, had he not been a gem- uine Cockney, and worthy to be the representative of his numerous tribe. Perhaps my simple countrymen may hereafter be able to distinguish between the real En- gfish gentlemen and individuals of the cast I have here- tº fore spoken of, as mere mongrels, º: at one bound from contemptible obscurity at home to daylight and splendour in this good-natured land. The true-born and true-bred English gentleman is a character I hold in great respect; and I love to look back to the period when our forefathers flourished in the same generous soil, and hailed each other as brothers. But the Cockney!— when I contemplate him as springing too from the same source, I feel ashamed of the relationship, and am tempt- ed to deny my origin.—In the character of Straddle is traced the complete outline of a true Cockney of English growth, and a descendant of that individual facetious character mentioned by Shakespeare, “who in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.” - SLEEPY HOLLOW. IN the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the * Zee, and where they always prudently short- ened sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market-town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good house-wives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about three miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, IAS THE IRWING GIFT. or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity. I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel shooting was in a grove of tall walnut trees that shades one side of the *i. I had wandered into it at noon time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and reverbe- rated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley. - From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY Hollow, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys through- out all the neighbouring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say that the place was bewitched by a high German doctor during the early days of the settlement; others, that an old, Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvellous be- liefs; are subject to trances and visions; and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighbourhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener acros; the valley than in any other part of the country, and the night-mare, with her whole nine fold, seems to make it the favourite scene of her gam. bols. - The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this en- chanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been car- ried away by a cannon ball, in some nameless battle dur- ing the revolutionary war; and who is ever and anon k- SLEEPY HOLLOW. 149 seen by the country folk, hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the ad- jacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church that is at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that, the body of the trooper having been burried in the church-yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head; and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the church-yard before day-break. - Such is the general purport of this legendary supersti- tion, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known, at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have - mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there for a time. However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching in- fluence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative—to dream dreams, and see apparitions. I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud; for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there, embosomed in the great state of New York, that po- pulation, manners, and customs, remain fixed; while the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this rest- less country, sweeps by them unobserved. They are like those little nooks of still water which border a rapid stream; where we may see the straw, and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic har- bour, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same families vegeta- ting in its sheltered bosom. Ichabod Crane. - In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote 150. THE IRWING GIFT. period of American history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane; who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, “tarried,” in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the chil- dren of the vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut: a state which supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his per- son. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow. shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small and flat at top, with huge ears, large #. glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked ike a weathercock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagg- ing and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. - His school-room was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copy books. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the . architect, Yost Van Houtem, from the mystery of an eel- pot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but plea- sant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch tree grow ing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' yoices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a bee- hive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in a tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, that ever bore in mind the golden maxim, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”—Ichabod Crane's scholars cer- tainly were not spoiled. I would not have it imagined, however, that he was SLEEPY HOLLOW. 151 one of those cruel potentates of the school, who joy in the smart of their subjects; on the contrary he administered justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking the burthen off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied, by inflicting a double portion on some little, tough, wrong- headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who skulked and swelled, and grew dogged, and sullen beneath the birch. All this he called “doing his duty by their parents;” and he never inflicted a chastisement, without following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that “he would remember it and thank him for it the - longest day he had to live.” When school hours were over, he was even the com- panion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holyday afternoons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. In- deed it behoved him to keep on good terms with his pu- pils. The revenue arising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and though lank, had the dilating powers of an Anaconda; but to help out his maintainance, he was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers, whose children he instructed. With these he lived successively a week at a time; thus going the rounds of the neighbourhood, with all his worldly effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief. That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters, as mere drones, he had various ways of rendering himself both use- ful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labours of their farms; helped to make hay; mended the fences; took the horses to water; drove the cows from pasture; and cut wood for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire, the school, and become wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He found favour in the eyes of the mothers, by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilome so magnanimously the lamb 152 THE IRVING GIFT. * did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee and rock a cradle for whole hours together. In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing. master of the neighbourhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It was a matter of no little vanity to him on Sundays, to take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he com- pletely carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation; and there are peculiar quivers still to be heard in that church, and may still be heard half-a-mile off, quite to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning, which are said to be legitimately des- cended from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers little makeshifts, in that ingenious way which is com- monly denominated “by hook and by crook,” the worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing of the labour of headwork, to have a wonderful easy life of it. Superstition. BUT all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and ap- aritions that succeeded. The neighbourhood is rich in egendary treasures of the kind. Local tales and super- stitions thrive best in these sheltered long settled retreats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng that forms the population of most of our country places. Be- sides there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their first nap, and turn themselves in their graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from the neighbour- hood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts ex- cept in our long established Dutch communities. The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a conta- ion in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow peo- le were present at Van Tassal's, and, as usual, were do- ing out their wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal SLEEPY HOLLOW. 153 tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the neighbourhood. Some mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights be- fore a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the fa- vourite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his }. nightly among the graves in the churchyard. The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favoured haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust trees and lofty elms, from among which, its decent whitewashed walls . shine modestly forth, like Christian purity, beaming through the shades of retirement. . A gentle slope de- scends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass grown yard, there the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the day-time; but occa- sioned a fearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favourite haunts of the headless horseman, and the place where he was most frequently encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the horseman returning from his for ray into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge; when the horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree tops with a clap of thunder. 154 TEIE IRWING GIFT, THE BROKEN HEART. It is a common practice with those who have outlived the susceptibility of early feeling, or have been brought up in the gay heartlessness of dissipated life, to laugh at . love stories, and to treat the tales of romantic passion as mere fictions of novelists and poets. My observations on human nature have induced me to think otherwise. They have convinced me, that however the surface of the character may be chilled and frozen by the cares of the world, or cultivated into mere smiles by the arts of socie- ty, still there are dormant fires lurking in the depths of the coldest bosom, which, when once enkindled, become impetuous, and are sometimes desolating in their effects. Indeed, I am a true believer in the blind deity, and go to the full extent of his doctrines. Shall I confess it !—I believe in broken hearts, and the possibility of dying of disappointed love. I do not, however, consider it a ma- lady often fatal to my own sex; but I firmly believe that it withers down many a lovely woman into an early rave. g Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His na- ture leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but the embellishment of his early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's thought, and do- minion over his fellow men. But a woman's whole life is a history of the affections. The heart is her world: it is there her ambition strives for empires; it is there her avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends forth her sympathies on adventure ; she embarks her whole soul in the traffic of affection; and if shipwrecked, her case is hope- less—for it is a bankruptcy of the heart. To a man the disappointment of love may occasion some bitter pangs: it wounds some feelings of tenderness—it blasts some prospects of felicity ; but he is an active being —he may dissipate his thoughts in the whirl of varied oc- cupation, or may plunge into the tide of pleasure; or, if the scene of disappointment be too full of painful associations, he can shift his abode at will, and taking as it were the wings of the morning, can “fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, and be at rest.” - But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, and a -| THE BROKEN HEART. 155 meditative life. She is more the companion of her own thoughts and feelings; and if they are turned to ministers of sorrow, where shall she look for consolation? Her lot is to be wooed and won; and if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some fortress that has been captured, and sacked, and abandoned and left desolate. How many bright eyes grow dim—how many soft cheeks grow pale—how many lovely forms fade away into the tomb, and none can tell the cause that blighted their loveliness! As the dove will clasp its wings to its side, and cover and conceal the arrow that is preying on its vitals, so it is the nature of woman to hide from the world the pangs of wounded affection. The love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. Even when, fortunate, she scarcely breathes it to herself; but when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom, and there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of her peace. With her the desire of the heart has failed. The great charm of existence is at an end. . She neglects all the cheerful excercises which gladden the spirits, quicken the pulses, and send the tide of life in healthful currents through the veins. Her rest is broken—the sweet re- freshment of sleep is poisoned by melancholy dreams— “dry sorrow drinks her blood,” until her enfeebled frame sinks under the slightest external injury. Look for her, after a little while, and you will find friendship weeping over her untimely grave, and wondering that one who but lately glowed with all the radiance of health and beauty, should so speedily be brought down to “dark- ness and the worm,” ...You will be told of some wintry chill, some casual indisposition, that laid her low;-but no one knows of the mental malady that previously sap- ped her strength, and made her so easy a prey to the spoiler. " P. is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty of the grove; graceful in its form, bright in its foliage, but with the worm preying at its heart. We find it sudden- ly withering, when it should be most fresh and luxuri- ant. We see it drooping its branches to the earth, and shedding leaf by leaf; until, wasted and perished away, it falls even in the stillness of the forest; and, as we muse over the beautiful ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten it with de- CaV. - # have seen many instances of women running to waste I 56 THE IRVING GIFT. and self-neglect, and disappearing gradually from the earth, almost as if they had been exhaled to heaven; and have repeatedly fancied that I could trace their death through the various declensions of consumption, cold, de- bility, languor, melancholy, until I reached the first symp- ton of disappointed love. But an instance of the kind was lately told to me; the circumstances are well known in the country where they happened, and I shall but give them in the manner as they were related. Every one must recollect the tragical story of young E , the Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and executed on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression on public sympathy. He was so young—so intelligent—so generous—so brave—so every thing that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge of treason against his country—the eloquent vindication of his name—and his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation—all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.* - *This ill-starred youth was the son of Dr. Emmet, a gentleman of fortune and family, whose mind was deeply imbued with republi- can principles, which he was but too successful in impressing upon his children. His eldest son, Thomas Addis Emmit, being a suspected character, in 1798 he accepted the terms offered by Government, and retired to France, from thence he proceeded to New York, where he held the first place at the bar of that city, highly respected as a lawyer and esteemed as a man. Robert, the person alluded to by our author, either possessing more enthusiasm or less prudence than his brother, became involved in a series of insurrections, which at last attracted the attention of Government, and the unfortunate man was arrested while he lingered in his flight, in expectation of a last meeting with the lady to whom he was engaged. This amiable female, whose hard fate is described with so much pathos by our author, was the daughter of the celebrated John Philpot Curran. The following address was delivered by Emmet on his trial. * I am asked if I have any thing to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced upon me. Was I to suffer only death, af. ter being adjudged guilty, I should bow in silence; but a man in my situation has not only to combat with the difficulties of fortune, but also the difficulties of prejudice: the sentence of the law which de- livers over his body to the executioner consigns his character to ob- loquy. The man dies, but his memory lives; and that mine may not forfeit all claim to the respect of my countrymen, I use this occa- THE BROKEN HEART. - 157 But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In happier days and fairer for- tunes, he had won the affections of a beautiful, and inter- esting girl, the daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervour of a wo- man's first and early, loye. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him; when blasted in fortune, and * disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she lo- veſ him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If sion to vindicate myself from some of the charges advanced against mº, am charged with being an emissary of France—'tis false; I am no emissary—I did not wish to deliver up my country to a foreign power, and least of all, to France. No 1 never did I Gntertain the idea of establishing French power in Ireland–God forbid. On the contrary. it is evident from the introductory paragraph of the address of the Provisional Government, that every hazard attending an inde- pendent effort was deemed preferable to the more fatal risk of". ducing a French army into the country. Small would be our claims to patriotism and to sense, and palpable our affectation of the love of liberty, if we were to encourage the profanation of our shores b a people who are slaves themselves, and the unprincipled and aban- doned instruments of imposing slavery on others. “If such an inference be drawn from any part of the proclamation of the Provisional Government, it calumniates their views, and is not warranted by the fact. How could they speak of fre their countrymen? How assume such an exalted motive, and medi- tate the introduction of a power which has been the Gnemy of free- dom in every part of the globe q Reviewing the conduct of France to other countries, could we expect better towards us? No! Let not, then, any man attaint my memory by believing that I could- have hoped for freedom through the aid of IFrance, and betrayed the sacred cause of liberty by committing it to the power of her In OSt determined foe: had I done so, I had not deserved tº Hive; and dy- ing with such a weight upon my gharacter, 1 had merited the ho- nest exºrations of that country which gave me birth, and to which I would have given freedom. “Had I been in Switzerland, I wo French-in the dignity of freedom, threshold of that country, and the passing over my lifeless corpse. would be slow to make the same s I, who lived but to be of service subject myself to the bondage of the grave to give her independence —am I to be loaded with the foul and grievous calumny of being an emissary of France? ‘My lords, it may be part of the system of angry justice, to bow a man's mind, by humiliation to meet the ignominy of the scaffold ; but worse to me than the scaffold's shame, or the scaffold's terrors, would be the imputation of having been the agent of French despot- ism and ambition; and while I have breath, I will call upon my uld have fought against the I would have expired on the y should have entered it only by Is it then to be Supposed that I acrifice to my native land? Ann to my country, and who would edom to . 158 THE IRWING GIFT, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her, whose whole soul was occupied by his image : Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth—who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed. . - But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so - . countrymen not to believe me guilty of so foul a crime against their iiberties and their happiness. * Though you, my lord, sit there a judge, and I stand here a cul- prit, yet you are but a man and I am another. I have a right there- fore to vindicate my character and motives from the aspersions of calumny; and, as a man, to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in rescuing my name and my memory from the afflicting imputation of having been an emissary of France, or seeking her interference in the internal regulation of our affairs. ‘Did I live to see a French army approach this country, I would meet it on the shore, with a torch in one hand and a sword in the other; I would receive them with all the destruction of war! I would animate my countrymen to immolate them in their very boats; and before our native soil should be polluted by a foreign foe, if they succeeded in landing, I would burn every blade of grass before them, raze every house, contend to the last for every inch of ground; and the last spot on which the hope of freedom should de- sert me, that spot I would make my grave What I cannot do, I leave a legacy to my country because I feel conscious that my death were unprofitable, and all hopes of liberty extinct, the moment a French army obtained a footing in this land, God forbid that I should see my country under the hands of a foreign power. If the French should come as a foreign enemy, Oh! my countrymen meet them on the shore with a torch in one hand and a sword in the other: receive them with all the destruction of war; immolate them in their boats, before our native soil shall be polluted by a foreign foe . If they succeed in landing, fight them on the strand, burn every blade of grass before them as they advance—raze every house; and if you are driven to the centre of your country, collect your provisions, your property, your wives and your daughters; form a circle around them—fight while but two men are left; and when but one remains, let that man set fire to the pile, and re- lease himself, and the families of his fallen countrymen, from the tyranny of France. * My lamp of life is nearly expired—my race is finished: the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom All I request then, at parting from the world, is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man, who knows my motives, dare vin- dicate them let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them: let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain unin-- scribed, till other times and other men can do justice to my character." THE BROKEN HEART. 159 dishonoured! There was nothing for memory to dwell on that could sooth the pang of separation—none of those tender, though melancholy circumstances, that en- dear the parting scene—nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the dews of heaven, to re- vive the heart in the parting hour of anguish. To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her loves. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the soul—that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness— and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much alone there as in the depths of soli- tude. She walked about in a sad reverie, apparently un- conscious of the world around her. She carried with . her an inward woe that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and “heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.” The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely , and joyless, where all around is gay—to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart, into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for some time with a vacant air, that showed her insensi. bility to the garish scene, she began, with the capricious. ness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of 160 THE IRWING GIFT. wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears. The story of one so true and so tender could not but ex- cite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusi- asm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length suc- ceeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assu- rance, that her heart was unalterably another's. - He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of . WOes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an ef- fort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow, but hopeless de- cline, and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart. * * *It was on her, says our Author, that Moore, the distinguished Irish Poet, composed the following lines: º She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying. She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, Every note which he lov'd awaking— Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the minstrel is breaking ! He had lived for his love—for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him— Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him : Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, When they promise a-glorious morrow; They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the west, From her own lov’d island of sorrow 1 A WRECK AT SEA. 161 A. WRECK AT SEA. WE one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At sea, every thing that breaks the monotony of the surrounding *...*. attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their being washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell fish had fastened about it, and long sea weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is the crew'? Their struggle has long been over—they have gone down amidst the roar of the tem- pest—their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end. What sighs have been wafted after that ship ! what prayers of. fered up at the deserted fireside of home ! How often has the mistress, the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the deep ! How has expectation darkened into anxiety— anxiety into dread—and dread into despairl Alas! not one memento shall ever return for love to cherish. All that shall ever be known, is, that she sailed from her port, “and was never heard of more tº - The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when the weather which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threatening, and gave indications of one of those sudden storms that will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull light of a lamp in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of shipwreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a short one re lated by the captain. “As I was sailing,” said he, “in a fine stout ship, across the banks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs that prevail in those parts rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead even in the day-time; but at night the weather was so thick that we could not distinguish any object at twice the length of the ship. I kept lights at the mast head, and a constant watch forward to look 162 THE IRWING GIFT. out for fishing smacks, which are accustomed to lie at an- chor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smacking breeze, and we were going at a great rate through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the thrilling alarm of “a sail-a-head!’—it was scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a small schooner, at anchor, with her broadside towards us. The crew were all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. We struck her just a-mid- ships. The force, the size, and weight of our vessel bore her down below the waves; we passed over her and were hurried on our course. As the crashing wreck was sink- ing beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half na- ked wretches rushing from her cabin; they just started from their beds to be swallowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their drowning cry mingling with the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears swept us out of all fur- ther hearing. I shall never forget that cry it was some time before we could put the ship about, she was under such head-way. We returned, as nearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack had anchored. We cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. We fired signal guns, and listened if we might hear the halloo of any survivors: but all was silent—we never saw or heard any thing of them more.” Land. It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of “land!” was given from the mast head. None but those who have experienced it, can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensations which rush into an Ameri- can's bosom, when he first comes in sight of Europe. There is a volume of associations with the very name. It is the land of promise, teeming with every thing of which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious years have pondered. From that time until the moment of arrival, it was all feverish excitement. The ships of war, that prowled like guardian giants along the coast; the headlands of Ireland, stretching out into the channel; the Welsh moun- tains, towering into the clouds; all were objects of intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, I reconnoitred the shores with a telescope. My eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies and green grass plots. I saw the mouldering ruin of an abbey º - assics. 163 overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of a village church rising from the brow of a neighbouring hill—all were characteristic of England. The tide and wind were so favourable, that the ship was enabled to come at once to the pier. It was thronged with people; some idle lookers-on, others eager expect- ants of friends or relatives. I could distinguish the mer- chant to whom the ship was consigned. I knew him by his calculating brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; he was whistling thought- fully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been accorded him by the crowd, in deference to his tempo- rary importance. There were repeated cheerings and salu- tations interchanged between the shore and ship, as friends happened to recognize each other. I particularly noticed one young woman of humble dress, but interesting de- meanour. She was leaning forward from among the crowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She seem- ed disappointed and agitated; when I heard a faint voice call her name.—It was from a poor sailor, who had been ill all the voyage, and had excited the sympathy of every one on board. When the weather was fine, his mess- mates had spread a mattress for him on deck in the shade, but of late his illness had so increased, that he had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish that he might see his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck as we came up the river, and was now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even the eye of affec- tion did not recognize him. But at the sound of his voice, her eye darted on his features; it read, at once, a whole volume of sorrow; she clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them in silent agony. GENIUS. IT is interesting to notice how some minds seem almost to create themselves, springing up under every disadvan- tage, and working their solitary but irresistible way through a thousand obstacles. Nature seems to delight in diappointing the assiduities of art, with which it would rear legitimate dullness to maturity; and to glory in the 164 THE IRWING GIFT. vigour and luxuriance of her chance productions. She scatters the seeds of genius to the winds, and though some may perish among the stony places of the world, and some be choaked by the thorns and brambles of early ad- versity, yet others will now and then strike root even in the clefts of the rock, struggle bravely up into sunshine, and spread over their sterile birth-place all the beauties of vegetation. - A CONTRAST. I was yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice the manners of its fashionable classes. I found, as usual, that there was the least pretension where there was the most acknowledged title to respect. I was particularly struck, for instance, with the family of a nobleman of high rank, consisting of several sons and daughters. Nothing could be more simple and unassuming than their appearance. They generally came to church in the plain- est equipage, and often on foot. The young ladies would stop and converse in the kindest manner with the pea- santry, caress the children, and listen to the stories of the humble cottagers. Their countenances were open and beautifully fair with an expression of high refinement, but, at the same time, a frank cheerfulness, and an en. gaging affability. Their brothers were tall and elegantly formed. They were dressed fashionably, but simply; with strict neatness and propriety, but without any man. nerism or foppishness. Their whole demeanour was easy and natural, with that lofty grace, and noble frankness, which bespeak free-born souls that have never been check. ed in their growth by feelings of inferiority. There is a healthful hardiness about real dignity, that never dreads contact and communication with others, however humble, It is only spurious pride that is morbid and sensitive, and shrinks from every touch. I was pleased to see the man- ner in which they would converse with the peasantry about those rural concerns and field-sports, in which the gentlemen of this country so much delight. In these conversations, there was neither haughtiness on the one part, nor servility on the other; and you were only remind- ed of the difference of rank by the habitual respect of the peasant. A CONTRAST. .165 - In contrast to these, was the family of a wealthy citi- zen who had amassed a vast fortune; and, having pur- chased the estate and mansion of a ruined nobleman in the neighbourhood, was endeavouring to assume all the style and dignity of an hereditary lord of the soil. The family always come to church en prince. They were rolled majestically along in a carriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glittered in silver radiance from every part of the harness where a crest could possibly be placed. A fat coachman in a three-cornered hat, richly laced, and a flaxen wig, curling close round his rosy face, was seated on the box, with a sleek Danish dog beside him. Two foot- men, in gorgeous liveries, with huge bouquets, and gold- headed canes, lolled behind. The carriage rose and sunk on its long springs with peculiar stateliness of motion. The very horses champed their bits, arched their necks, and glanced their eyes more proudly than common horses; either because they had got a little of the family feeling, or were reined up more tightly than ordinary. I could not but admire the style with which this splen- did pageant was brought up to the gate of the church- yard. There was a vast effect produced at the turning of an angle of the wall;-a great Smacking of the whip; straining and scrambling of the horses; glistening of har- ness, and flashing of wheels through gravel. This was the moment of triumph and vainglory to the coachman. The horses were urged and checked until they were fretted into a foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing trot, dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of villagers, sauntéring quietly to church, opened precipitately to the right and left, gaping in vacant admiration. On reaching the gate the horses were pulled up with a sudden- ness that produced an immediate stop, and almost threw them on their haunches. - There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to alight, open the door, pull down the steps, and prepare every thing for the descent on earth of this august family. The old citizen first emerged his round red face from out the door, looking about him with the pompous air of a man accustomed to rule on 'Change, and shake the Stock, Mar- ket with a nod. His consort, a fine, fleshy, comfortable dame, followed him. There seemed, I must confess, but little pride in her composition. She was the picture of a broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well with her; and she liked the world. She had fine clothes, 166 THE IRWING GIFT. a fine house, a fine carriage, fine children, every thing was fine about her: it was nothing but driving about, and visit- ing and feasting. Life was to her a perpetual revel; it was one long Lord Mayor's day. Two daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. They certainly were handsome ; but had a supercilious air, that chilled admiration, and disposed the spectator to be critical. They were ultra-fashionable in dress; and, though no one could deny the richness of their decorations, yet their ap- propriateness might be questioned amidst the simplicity of a country church. They descended loftily from the car- riage, and moved up the line of peasantry with a step that seemed dainty of the soil it trod on. They cast an excur- sive glance around, that passed coldly over the burly faces of the peasantry, until they met the eyes of the nobleman's family, when their countenances immediately brightened into smiles, and they made the most profound and elegant courtesies; which were returned in a manner that showed they were but slight acquaintances. - I must not forget the two sons of this aspiring citizen, who came to church in a dashing curricle, with outriders. They were arrayed in the extremity of the mode, with all that pedantry of dress which marks the man of questiona- ble pretensions to style. They kept entirely by themselves, eyeing every one askance that came near them, as if mea- suring his claims to respectability; yet they were without conversation, except the exchange of an occasional cant phrase. They even moved artificially; for their bodies, in compliance with the caprice of the day, had been disciplined into the absence of all ease and freedom. Art had done every thing to accomplish them as men of fashion, but na- ture had denied them the nameless grace. They were vul- garly shaped, like men formed for the common purposes of life, and had that air of supercilious assumption which is never seen in the true gentleman. I have been rather minute in drawing the pictures of these two families, because I considered them specimens of what is often to be met with in this country—the unpre- tending great, and the arrogant little. , I have no respect for titled rank, unless it be accompanied with true nobilit of soul; but I have remarked in all countries where artifi- cial distinctions exist, that the very highest classes are al- ways the most courteous and unassuming. Those who are well assured of their own standing, are least apt tº tres: pass on that of others; whereas, nothing is so offensive as A CONTRAST. 167 the aspirings of vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itself by humiliating its neighbour. As I have brought these families into contrast, I must no- tice their behaviour in church. That of the nobleman’s family was quiet, serious, and attentive. Not that they ap- peared to have any fervour of devotion, but rather a respect for sacred things, and sacred places, inseparable from good breeding. The others, on the contrary, were in a perpe- tual flutter and whisper; they betrayed a continual con- sciousness of finery, and a sorry ambition of being the won- ders of a rural congregation. The old gentleman was the only one really attentive to the service. He took the whole burden of family devotion upon himself, standing bolt upright and uttering the re- sponses with a loud voice that might be heard all over the church. It was evident that he was one of those thorough church and king men, who connect the idea of devotion and loyalty; who consider the Deity, somehow or other, of the government party, and religion “a very excellent sort of thing, that ought to be countenanced and kept up.” When he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed more by way of example to the lower orders, to show them, that, though so great and wealthy, he was not above being reli- gious; as I have seen a turtle-fed Alderman swallow pub- licly a basin of charity soup, Smacking his lips at every mouthful, and pronouncing it “excellent food for the poor.” When the service was at an end, I was curious to wit- ness the several exits of my groups. The young noblemen and their sisters, as the day was fine, preferred strolling home across the fields, chatting with the country people as they went. The others departed as they came, in grand parade. Again were the equipages wheeled up to the gate. There was again the smacking of whips, the clat- tering of hoofs, and the glittering of harness. The horses started off almost at a bound; the villagers again hurried to right and left; the wheels threw up a cloud of dust; and the aspiring family was wrapt out of sight in a whirl- wind THE IRWING GIFT. LETTER, FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELL KHAN, To Asem Hacchem, principal Slave-driver to his Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli. SweRT, O Asem" is the memory of distant friends ! Like the mellow ray of a departing sun, it falls tenderly yet sadly on the heart. Every hour of absence from my native land rolls heavily by, like the sandy wave of the de- sert; and the fair shores of my country rise blooming to my imagination, clothed in the soft illusive charms of dis- tance. I sigh, yet no one listens to the sigh of the captive: I shed the bitter tear of recollection, but no one sympathises in the tear of the turbaned stranger!—Think not, however, thou brother of my soul, that I complain of the horrors of my situation; think not that my captivity is attended with the labours, the chains, the scourges, the insults, that ren- der slavery, with us, more dreadful than the pangs of hesi- tating, lingering déth. Light, indeed, are the restraints on the personal freedom of thy kinsman; but who can enter into the afflictions of the mind? who can describe the ago- nies of the heart? They are mutable as the clouds of the air; they are countless as the waves that divide me from my native country. I have, of late, my dear Asem, laboured under an incon- venience singularly unfortunate, and am reduced to a di- lemma most ridiculously embarrassing. Why should I hide it from the companion of my thoughts, the partner of my sorrows and my joys? Alas! Asem, thy friend Mus- tapha, the invincible captain of a ketch, is sadly in want of a pair of breeches | Thou wilt, doubtless smile, O most grave Mussulman, to hear me indulge in such ardent la- mentations about a circumstance so trivial, and a want ap- parently so easy to be satisfied: but little canst thou know of the mortifications attending my necessities, and the as- tonishing difficulty of supplying them. Honoured by the smiles and attentions of the beautiful ladies of this city, who have fallen in love with my whiskers and my turban;– courted by the bashaws and the great men, who delight to have me at their feasts; the honour of my company eagerly THE MUSIC SCHOOL. Page 152. LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA, ETC. 169 solicited by every fiddler who gives a concert; think of my chagrin at being obliged to decline the host of invitations that daily overwhelm me, merely for want of a pair of breeches! Oh, Allah! Allah : that thy disciples could come into the world all be-feathered like a bantam, or with a pair of leather breeches like the wild deer of the forest; surely, my friend, it is the destiny of man to be for ever subjected to petty evils, which, however trifling in ap- pearance, prey in silence on this little pittance of enjoyment, and poison these moments of sunshine, which might otherwise be consecrated to happiness. The want of a garment, thou wilt say, is easily sup- plied; and thou mayest suppose need only be mentioned, to be remedied at once by any tailor of the land. Little canst thou conceive the impediments which stand in the way of my comfort, and still less art thou acquainted with the prodigious great-scale on which every thing is transacted in this country. The nation moves most ma- jestically slow and clumsy in the most trivial affairs, like the unwieldy elephant which makes a formidable difficul- ty of picking up a straw . When I hinted my necessities to the officer who has charge of myself and my compan- ions, I expected to have been forthwith relieved; but he made an amazingly long face—told me that we were prisoners of state—that we must therefore be clothed at the expense of the government; that as no provision has been made by the Congress for an emergency of the kind, it was impossible to furnish me with a pair of breeches, until all the sages of the nation had been convened to talk over the matter, and debate upon the expediency of grant- ing my request. Sword of the immortal Khalid, thought I but this is great!—this is truly sublime ! All the sa- ges in an immense logocracy assembled together to talk about my breeches —Vain mortal that I am l ; I cannot but own I was somewhat reconciled to the delay which must necessarily attend this method of clothing me, by the consideration that if they made the affair a national act, my “name must of course be embodied in history,” and myself and my breeches flourish to immortality in the annals of this mighty empire “But pray, sir,” said I, “how does it happen that a matter so insignificant should be erected into an object of such importance as to employ the representative wisdom of the nation? and what is the cause of their talking so much about a trifle !”—“Oh,” replied the officer, who 8 170 THE IRWING GIFT. acts as our slave-driver; “it all proceeds from economy. If the government did not spend ten times as much mo ney in debating whether it was proper to supply you with breeches as the breeches themselves would cost, the peo- ple, who govern the bashaw and his divan, . would straightway begin to complain of their liberties being in- fringed—the national finances squandered—not a hos: tile slang-whanger throughout the logocracy but would burst forth like a barrel of combustion—and ten chances to one but the bashaw and the sages of his divan would all be turned out of office together. My good Mussul- man,” continued he, “the administration have the good of the people too much at heart to trifle with their pockets; and they would sooner assemble and talk away ten thou- sand dollars than expend fifty silently out of the treasury —such is the wonderful spirit of economy that pervades every branch of this government.” “But,” said I, “how is it possible they can spend money in talking: surely words cannot be the current coin of this country º– “Truly,” cried he, smiling, “your question is pertinent enough, for words indeed often supply the place of cash among us, and many an honest debt is paid in promises; but the fact is, the grand bashaw and the members of Congress, or grand talkers of the nation, either receive a . salary or are paid by the day.”—“By the nine undred tongues of the great beast in Mahomet's vision, but the murder is out! it is no wonder these honest men talk, so much about nothing, when they are paid for talking like day-labourers.” “You are mistaken,” said my driver; “it is nothing but economy.” I remained silent for some minutes, for this inexpli- cable word economy always discomfits me;—and when I flatter myself I have grasped it, it slips through my fingers like a jack-o'lantern. I have not, nor perhaps ever shall acquire, sufficient of the philosophic policy of this government, to draw a proper distinction between an individual and a nation. If a man was to throw away a pound in order to save a beggarly penny, and boast at the same time of his economy, I should think him on a par with the fool in the fable of Alſangi; who, in skin- ning a flint worth a farthing, spoiled a knife worth fifty times the sum, and thought he had acted wisely. The shrewd fellow would doubtless have valued himself much more highly on his economy, could he have known that LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA, ETC. 171 his example would one day he followed by the bashaw of America, and the sages of his divan. This economic disposition, my friend, occasions much fighting of the spirit, and innumerable contests of the tongue in this talking assembly. Wouldst thou believe it? they were actually employed for a whole week in a most strenuous and eloquent debate about patching up a hole in the wall in the room appropriated to their meet- ings! A vast profusion of nervous argument and pomp- ous declamation was expended on this occasion. Some of the orators, I am told, being rather waggishly inclined were most stupidly jocular on the occasion; but their waggery gave great offence, and was highly reprobated by the more weighty part of the assembly; who hold all wit and humour in abomination, and thought the busi- ness in hand much too solemn and serious to be treated lightly. It was supposed by some that this affair would have occupied a whole winter, as it was a subject upon which several gentlemen spoke who had never been known to open their lips in that place except to say yes and no.—These silent members are by way of distinction denominated orator mums, and are highly valued in this country on account of their great talents for silence;— a qualification extremely rare in a logocracy. Fortunately for the public tranquillity, in the hottest part of the debate, when two rampant Virginians, brim full of logic and philosophy, were measuring tongues, and syllogistically cudgelling each other out of their un- reasonable notions, the president of the divan, a knowing old gentleman, one night slyly sent a mason with a hod of mortar, who in the course of a few minutes closed up the hole, and put a final end to the argument. Thus did this wise old gentleman, by hitting on a most simple expedient, in all probability, save his country, as much money as would build a gun-boat, or pay a hireling . whanger for a whole volume of words. As it happene y only a few thousand dollars were expended in paying these men, who are denominated, I suppose in derision, legislators. - - Another instance of their economy I relate with plea- sure, for I really begin to feel a regard for these poor barbarians. They talked away the best parts of a whole winter before they could determine not to expend a few dollars in purchasing a sword to bestow on an illustri- ous warrior : yes, Asem, on that very hero who fright- ened all our poor old women and young children at 172 THE IRWING GIFT. Derne, and fully proved himself a greater man than the mother that bore him.* Thus, my friend, is the whole collective wisdom of this mighty logocracy employed in somniferous debates about the most trivial affairs; as I have sometimes seen a Herculean mountebank exerting all his energies in balancing a straw upon his nose. Their sages behold the minutest object with the micro- scopic eyes of a pismire; mole-hills swell into mountains, and a grain of mustard-seed will set the whole ant-hill in a hubbub. Whether this indicates a capacious vision, or a diminutive mind, I leave thee to decide; for my part I consider it as another proof of the great scale on which every thing is transacted in this country. I have before told thee that nothing can be done with- out consulting the sages of the nation, who compose the assembly called the Congress. This prolific body may not improperly be called the “mother of inventions;” and a most fruitful mother it is, let me tell thee, though its children are generally abortions. It has lately laboured with what was deemed the gonception of a mighty navy.— All the old women and the good wives that assist the bashaw in his emergencies hurried to head-quarters to be busy, like midwives, at the delivery.—All was anxiety, fidgeting, and consultation; when after a deal of groan: ing and struggling, instead of formidable first-rates and - allant frigates, out crept a litter of sorry little gun-boats. These are most pitiful little vessels, partaking vastly of the character of the grand bashaw, who has the credit of begetting them; being flat shallow vessels that can on- ly sail before the wind;—must always keep in with the - land;—are continually foundering or running on shore; and in short, are only fit for smooth water. Though in- tended for the defence of the maritime cities, yet the cities are obliged to defend them ; and they require as much nursing as so many rickety little bantlings. They are, however, the darling pets of the grand bashaw, being the children of his dotage, and, perhaps from their diminu- tive size and palpable weakness, are called the “ infant navy of America.” The art that brought them into ex- istence was almost deified by the majority of the people as a grand stroke of economy.—By the beard of Maho- met, but this word is truly inexplicable ! To this economic body therefore was I advised to ad- dress my petition, and humbly to pray that the august * General Eaton. PETER STUy VESANT. 173 assembly of sages would, in the plenitude of their wisdom and the magnitude of their powers, munificently bestow on an unfortunate captive a pair of cotton breeches : “Head of the immortal Amrou,” cried I, “ but this would be presumptuous to a degree –What! after these worthies have thought proper to leave their country na- ked and defenceless, and exposed to all the political storms that, rattle without, can I expect that they will lend a helping hand to comfort the extremities of a solitary cap. tive?' My exclamation was only answered by a smile, and I was consoled by the assurance that, so far from being neglected, it was every way probable my breeches might occupy a whole session of the divan, and set several of the longest heads together by the ears. Flattering as was the idea of a whole nation being agitated about my breeches, yet, I own I was somewhat dismayed at the idea of remaining in querpo, until all the national gray-beards should have made a speech on the occasion, and given their consent to the measure. The embarrassment and distress of mind which I experienced were visible in my countenance, and my guard, who is a man of infinite good-nature, immediately suggested, as a more expedi- tious plan of supplying my wants, a benefit at the theatre, Though profoundly ignorant of his meaning, I agreed to his proposition, the result of which I shall disclose to thee in another letter. Fare thee well, dear Asem ; in thy pious prayers to our great prophet, never forget to solicit thy friend's re- turn; and when thou numberest up the many blessings bestowed on thee by all-bountiful. Allah, pour forth thy gratitude that he has cast thy nativity in a land where there is no assembly of legislative chatterers;–no great bashaw, who bestrides a gun-boat for a hobby-horse;— where the word economy is unknown;–and where an unfortunate captive is not obliged to call upon the whole nation to cut him out a pair of breeches. A parlike Portrait of the great Peter—and how General Von Poffenburgh distinguished himself at Fort Cassimir. HITHER ro, most venerable and courteous, reader, have I shown thee the administration of the valorous Stuyve- sant under the mild moonshine of peace, or rather the grim tranquility of awful expectation; but now the war- I 74 - THE IRWING GIFT. drum rumbles from afar, the brazen trumpet brays its thrilling note, and the rude clash of hostile arms speaks fearful prophecies of coming troubles. The gallant war- rior starts from soft repose, from golden visions, and vo- luptuous ease; where, in the dulcet “piping time of peace,” he sought sweet solace after all his toils. No more in beau- ty's siren lap reclined, he weaves fair garlands for his la- dy's brows; no more entwines with flowers his shining sword; nor through the live long lazy summer's day, chants forth his lovesick soul in madrigals. To manhood roused, he spurns the amorous lute; doffs from his brawny back the robe of peace, and clothes his pampered limbs in pan- oply of steel. O'er his dark brow, where late the myrtle waved—where wanton roses breathed enervate love—he rears the beaming casque and nodding plume; grasps the bright shield, and shakes the ponderous lance; or mounts with eager pride the fiery steed, and burns for deeds of glo- rious chivalry. - But soft, worthy reader I would not have you ima- gine, that any prewa chevalier, thus hideously begirt with iron, existed in the city of New-Amsterdam. This is but a lofty and gigantic mode in which heroic writers always talk of war, thereby to give it a noble and imposing as- pect; equipping our warriors with bucklers, helmets, and lances, and such like outlandish and obsolete weapons, the like which perchance they had never seen or heard of; in the same manner that a cunning statuary arrays a modern general or an admiral in the accoutrements of a Cesar or an Alexander. The simple truth then of all this oratorical flourish is this—that the valiant Peter Stuyvesant, all of a sudden, found it necessary to scour. ‘..is trusty blade, which too long had rusted in its scab- hard, and prepare himself to undergo the hardy toils of var, in which his mighty soul so much delighted. Methinks I at this moment behold him in my imagi- tion—or rather, I behold his goodly portrait, which still hangs up in the family mansion of the Stuyvesants, ar- rayed in all the terrors of a true Dutch General. His regimental coat of German blue, gorgeously decorated with a goodly show of large brass buttons, reaching from his waistband to his chin. The voluminous skirts turned up at the corners and separating gallantly behind, so as to display the seat of a sumptuous pair of brimstone coloured trunk breeches—a graceful style still prevalent among the warriors of our day, and which is in confor- - PETER STUY WESANT. 175 mity to the custom of ancient heroes, who scorned to de- fend themselves in rear. His face rendered exceeding terrible and warlike by a pair of black mustachios; his hair strutting out on each side in stiffly pomatumed ear- locks, and descending in a rat-tail queue below his waist; a shining stock of black leather supporting his chim, and a little, but fierce cocked hat, stuck with a gallant and fiery air over his left eye. Such was the chivalric port of Peter the Headstrong; and when he made a sudden halt, planted himself firmly on his solid supporter, with his wooden leg inlaid with silver, a little in advance, in order to strengthen his position, his right hand grasping a gold- headed cane, his left resting upon the pummel of his sword; his head dressing spiritedly to the right with a most appalling and hard favoured frown upon his brow— he presented altogether one of the most commanding, bitter looking and soldierlike figures that ever strutted upon canvass. Proceed we now to inquire the cause of this warlike preparation. - The encroaching disposition of the Swedes, on the south or Delaware river, has been duly recorded in the chronicles of the reign of William the Testy. These encroachments, having been endured with that heroic magnanimity which is the corner stone, or, according to Aristotle, the left hand neighbour of true courage, had been repeated and wickedly aggravated. The Swedes who were of that class of cunning preten- ders to Christianity, who read the Bible upside down, whenever it interferes with their interests, inverted the gol- den maxim; and when their neighbour suffered them to , smite him on the one cheek, they generally smote him on the other also, whether turned to them or not. Their re- peated aggressions had been among the numerous sources of vexation that conspired to keep the irritable sensibilities of Wilhelmus Kieft in a constant fever; and it was only owing to the unfortunate circumstance that he had always a hundred things to do at once, that he did not take such unrelenting vengeance as their offences merited. But they had now a chieftain of a different character to deal with; and they were soon guilty of a piece of treachery, that threw his honest blood in a ferment and precluded all fur- ther sufferance. ... " - Printz, the governor of the province of New Sweden, being either deceased or removed, for of this fact some uncertainty exists, was succeeded by Jan Risingh, a gigan- 176 THE IRWING GIFT. tic Swede; and who, had he not been rather knockneed and splay-footed, might have served for the model of a Sam- son or a Hercules. He was no less rapacious than mighty, and withal as crafty as he was rapacious; so that, in fact, there is very little doubt, had he lived some four or five cen- turies before, he would have been one of those wicked gi- ants, who took such a cruel pleasure in pocketting distres- sed dansels, when gadding about in the world; and lockin them up in enchanted castles, without a toilet, a change o linen, or any other convenience. In consequence of which enormities, they fell under the high displeasure of chivalry, and all true, loyal, and gallant knights, were instructed to attack and slay outright any miscreant they might happen to find, above six feet high; which is doubtless one reason that the race of large men is nearly extinct, and the gene- rations of latter ages so exceeding small. No sooner did Governor Risingh enter upon his office than he immediately cast his eyes upon the important post of Fort Casimer, and formed the righteous resolution of taking it into his possession. The only thing that re- mained to consider was the mode of carrying his resolu- lution into effect; and here I must do him the justice to say, that he exhibited a humanity rarely to be met with among leaders, and which I have never seen equalled in modern times, excepting among the English, in their glo- rious affair at Copenhagen. Willing to spare the effusion of blood, and the miseries of open warfare, he benevolently shunned every thing like avowed hostility or regular siege, and resorted to the less glorious but more merciful expedient of treachery. Under pretence, therefore of paying a neighbourly visit to General Von Poffenburgh, at his new post of Fort Casimir, he made requisite preparation, sailed in great state up the Delaware, displayed his flag with the most ceremoneous punctilio, and honoured the fortress with a royal salute previous to dropping anchor. The unusual noise awakened a veteran Dutch sentinel, who was nap- ping faithfully at his post, and who having suffered his match to go out, contrived to return the compliment, by discharging his rusty musket with the spark of a pipe, which he borrowed from one of his comrades. The salute indeed would have been answered by the guns of the fort, had they not been unfortunately out of order, and the ma- azine deficient in ammunition—accidents to which forts lave in all ages been liable, and which were the inore e4. GEN. WON POFFENBURGH. 177 - cusable in the present instance, as Fort Casimir had only been erected about two years, and General Von Poffen- burgh, its mighty commander had been fully occupied with matters of much greater importance. Risingh, highly satisfied with this courteous reply to his salute, treated the fort to a second, for he well knew its commander was marvellously delighted with these little ceremonials, which he considered as so many acts of ho- mage paid unto his greatness. He then landed in great state, attended by a suite of thirty men—a prodigious and vainglorious retinue, for a petty governor of a petty settle- ment, in those days of primitive simplicity; and to the full . as great an army as generally swells the pomp and marches º the rear of our frontier commanders at the present ay. The number in fact might have awakened suspicion, had not the mind of the great Von Poffenburgh been so complete- ly engrossed with an all-pervading idea of himself, that he had not room to admit a thought besides. In fact, he conside- red the concourse of Risingh's followers as a compliment to himself—so apt are great men to stand between themselves and the sun, and completely eclipse the truth by their own shadow. It may readily be imagined how much General Von Poffenburgh, was flattered by a visit from so august a .."; his only embarrassment was, how he should receive him in such a manner as to appear to the greatest advantage, and make the most advantageous impression. The main guard was ordered immediately to turn out, and the arms and regimentals (of which the garrison pos. sessed full half a dozen suits) were equally distributed among the soldiers. One tall lank fellow appeared in a coat intended for a small man, the skirts of which reached a little below his waist, the buttons were between his shoulders, and the sleeves half way to his wrists, so that his hands looked like a couple of huge spades; and the coat not being large enough to meet in front, was linked together by loops, made of a pair of red worsted garters. Another had an old cocked hat, stuck on the back of his head, and decorated with a bunch of cock's tails—a third had a pair of rusty gaiters, hanging about his heels—while a fourth, who was a short duck-legged little Trojan, was equipped in a huge pair of the general's cast off breeches, which he held up with one hand, while he grasped his firelock with the other. The rest were accoutred in simi- 178 THE IRWING GIFT. lar style, excepting three graceless ragamuffins, who had no shirts, and but a pair and a half of breeches between them, wherefore they were sent to the black-hole to keep them out of view. There is nothing in which the talents of a prudent commander are more completely testified than in thus setting matters off to the greatest advantage; and it is for this reason that our frontier posts at the present day (that of Niagara for example,) display their best suit of re- imentals on the back of the sentinel who stands in sight of ravellers. - His men being thus gallantly arrayed—those who lacked muskets shouldering spades and pickaxes, and every man being ordered to tuck in his shirt tail and pull up his brogues, É. Von Poſenburgh first took a stur- dy draught of foaming ale, which, like the magnanimous More of Morehall, was his invariable practice on all great occasions; which done, he put himself at their head, or- dered the pine planks which served as a draw bridge, to he laid down, and issued forth from his castle, like a mighty giant, just refreshed with wine. But when the two he- roes met, then began a scene of warlike parade, and chi- valric courtesy that beggars all description. Risingh, who, as I before hinted, was a shrewd, cunning politician, and had grown gray much before his time, in consequence of his craftiness, saw at one glance the ruling passion of the great Von Poffenburgh, and humoured him in all his valo- rous fantasies. Their detachments were accordingly drawn up in front of each other; they carried arms, and they presented arms; they gave the standing salute and the passing salute:–they rolled their drums, they flourished their fifes, and they wa- ved their colours—they faced to the left, and they faced to the right, and they faced to the right about:-they wheeled forward, and they wheeled backward, and they wheeled into echelon –they marched and they counter-marched by grand divisions, by single divisions, and by subdivisions,— by platoons, by sections, and by files, to quick time, in slow time, and in no time at all: for, having gone through all the evolutions of two great armies, including the eighteen manoeuvres of Dundas; having exhausted all that they could recollect or imagine of military tactics, including sundry strange and irregularevolutions, the likeof which were never seen before or since, excepting among certain of our newly raised militia—the two great commanders and their respec- tive troops came at length to a dead halt, completely exhaust- GEN. von PoEFENBURGH, 179 ed by the toils of war. Never did two valiant train band cap- tains, or two buskined theatric heroes, in the renowned tra- gedies of Pizarro, Tom Thumb, or any other heroical and fighting tragedy, marshal their gallows-looking, duck-leg- ged heavy-heeled myrmidons, with more glory and self- admiration. These military compliments being finished, General Von Poffenburgh escorted his illustrious visiter, with great ceremony, into the fort; attended him throughout the fortifications; showed him the horn-works, crown- works, half-moons, and various other out works; or rather the places where they ought to be erected; and where they might be erected if he pleased ; plainly demonstratin that it was a place of “great capability,” and ...; at present but a little redoubt, yet that it evidently was a formidable fortress in embryo. This survey over, he next had the whole garrison put under arms, exercised and reviewed, and concluded by ordering the three bride- well birds to be hauled out of the black hole, brought up to the halberts, and soundly flogged for the amusement of his visiter and to convince him that he was a great disciplinarian. There is no error more dangerous than for a com- mander to make known the strength, or, as in the present case, the weakness of his garrison; this will be exempli- fied before I have arrived to the end of my present story, which thus carries its moral, like a roasted goose his pudding, in the very middle. The cunning Risingh, while he pretended to be struck dumb outright, with the puissance of the great Von Poffenburgh, took silent note of the incompetency of his garrison, , of which he gave a hint to his trusty followers, who tipped each other the wink, and laughed most obstreperously—in their sleeves. The inspection, review, and flogging being concluded, the party adjourned to the table; for among his other reat qualities, the general was remarkably addicted to uge entertainments, or rather carousals; and in one afternoon's campaign would leave more dead men on the field than ever he did in the whole course of his military career. Many bulletins of these bloodless victories do still remain on record; and the whole province was once thrown in amaze by the return of one of his campaigns; wherein it was stated, that º like Captain Bobadil, he had only twenty men to back him, yet, in the short space of six months, he had conquered and utterly anni- 180 THE IRWING GIFT. hilated sixty oxen, ninety hogs, one hundred sheep, ten thousand cabbages, one thousand bushels of potatoes, one hundred and fifty kilderkins of small beer, two thousand seven hundred and thirty-five pipes, seventy-eight pounds of sugar plums, and forty bars of iron, besides sundry small meats, game, poultry, and garden stuffs. An achievement unparalleled since the days of Pantagruel and his all-devouring army; and which showed that it was only necessary to let bellipotent Von Poffenburgh and his garrison loose in an enemy's country, and in a little while they would breed a famine, and starve all the inhabitants. * | No sooner, therefore, had the general received the first intimation of the visit of Governor Risingh, than he ordered a great dinner to be prepared; and privately sent out a detachment of his most experienced veterans to rob all the hen roosts in the neighbourhood, and lay the pig- sties under contribution—a service to which they had been long inured, and which they discharged with such incredible zeal and promptitude, that the garrison table groaned under the weight of their spoils, I wish, with all my heart, my readers could see the valiant Von Poffenburgh, as he presided at the head of the banquet. It was a sight worth beholding:—there he sat, in his greatest glory, surrounded by his soldiers, like that famous wine-bibber, Alexander, whose thirsty vir- tues he did most ably imitate; telling astonishing stories of his hair-breadth adventures and heroic "... at which, though all his auditors knew them to be most incontinent and outrageous gasconades, yet did they cast up their eyes in admiration, and utter many interjections of astonishment. Nor could the general pronounce any thing that bore the remotest resemblance to a joke but the stout Risingh would strike his brawny fist upon the table, till every glass rattled again, throwing himself back in his chair, and uttering gigantic peals of laughter, swearing most horribly it was the best joke he ever heard in his life. Thus all was rout and revelry and hideous carousal within Fort Casimir; and so lustily did Von Poffenburgh ply the bottle that in less than four short hours he made himself and his whole garrison, who all sedulously emulated the deeds of their chieftain, dead drunk, in singing songs, quaffing bumpers, and drinkin patriotic toasts, none of which but was as long as a Welsh pedigree, or a plea at Chancery. GEN. WON POFFENEURGH. 181 No sooner did things come to this pass than the crafty Risingh and his Swedes, who had cunningly kept them- selves sober, rose on their entertainers, tied them neck and heels, and took formal possession of the fort, and all its dependencies, in the name of Queen Christina of Sweden; administering, at the same time, an oath of allegiance to all the Dutch soldiers, who could be made sober enough to swallow it. Risingh then put the fortifications in order, appointed his discreet and vigilant friend Suen Scutz, a tall, wind-dried, water-drinking, Swede, to the command; and departed, bearing with him this truly amiable garrison and their puissant com- mander, who, when brought to himself by a sound drubbing, bore no small resemblance to a “deboshed fish,” or bloated sea monster, caught upon dry land. The transportation of the garrison was done to prevent the transmission of intelligence to New-Amsterdam; for much as the cunning Risingh exulted in his stratagem, he dreaded the vengeance of the sturdy Peter Stuyvesant, whose name spread as much terror in the neighbourhood as did, whilome that of the unconquerable Scanderberg among his scurvy enemies the Turks. THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE, A colloquy IN west MINSTER ABBEY. THERE are certain half-dreaming moods of mind, in which we maturally steal away from noise and glare, and seek some quiet haunt, where we may indulge our reveries, and build our air castles undisturbed. In such a mood, I was loitering about the old gray cloisters of Westmin- ster Abbey, enjoying that luxury of wandering thought which one is apt to dignify with the name of reflection; when suddenly an irruption of madcap boys from West- minster school, playing at foot-ball, broke in upon the monastic stillness of the place, making the vaulted pas- sages and mouldering tombs echo with their merriment. I sought to take refuge from their noise by penetrating still deeper into the solitudes of the pile, and applied to one of the vergers for admission to the library. He con- ducted me through a portal rich with the crumbling sculp. ture of former ages, which opened upon a gloomy pas. sage leading to the Chapter-house, and the chamber in which Doomsday Book is deposited. Just within the passage is a small door on the left. To this the verger applied a key; it was double locked, and opened with some difficulty, as if seldom used. We now ascended a dark narrow staircase, and passing through a second door, entered the library. I found myself in a lofty antique hall, the roof sup- ported by massive joists of old English oak. It was soberly lighted by a row of Gothic windows at a con- siderable height from the floor, and which apparently opened upon the roofs of the cloisters. An ancient pic- ture of some reverend dignitary of the church in his robes hung over the fire-place. Around the hall and in a small gallery were the books, arranged in carved oaken cases. They consisted principally of old polemical 7 Af MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE. 183 a few pens parched by long disuse. The place seemed fit- ted for quiet study and profound meditation. It was bu- ried deep among the massive walls of the abbey, and shut up from the tumult of the world, I could only hear now and then the shouts of the schoolboys faintly swelling from the cloisters, and the sound of a bell tolling for prayers, that echoed soberly along the roofs of the abbey. By degrees the shouts of merriment grew fainter and fainter, and at length died away. The bell ceased to toll, and a profound silence reigned through the dusky hall. ... I had taken down a little thick quarto, curiously bound in parchment, with brass clasps, and seated myself at the table in a venerable elbow chair. Instead of reading, how- ever, I was beguiled by the solemn monastic air, and lifeless quiet of the place, into a train of musing. As I looked around upon the old volumes in their mouldering covers, thus ranged on the shelves, and apparently never disturbed in their repose, I could not but consider the library a kind of literary catacomb, where authors, like mummies, are pious- ly entombed, and left to blacken and moulder in dusty obli- W10n. - How much, thought I, has each of these volumes, now thrust aside with such indifference, cost some aching head how many weary days l how many sleepless nights . How have their authors buried themselves in the solitude of cells and cloisters; shut themselves up from the face of man, and the still more blessed face of na-. ture; and devoted themselves to painful research and in- tense reflection 1 And all for what? to occupy an inch of dusty shelf—to have the title of their works read now and-then in a future age, by some drowsy churchman or casual straggler like myself; and in another age to be lost, even in remembrance. Such is the amount of this boasted immortality. A mere temporary rumour, a local sound; like the tºne of that bell which has just tolled among these towers, filling the ear for a moment—linger- ing transiently in echo--and then passing away like a thing that was not! 184 THE IRWING GIFT. BOOK MAKING. THERE was one dapper little gentleman in bright coloured clothes, with a chirping gossiping expression of counte- nance, who had all the appearance of an author on good terms with his bookseller. After considering him atten- tively, I recognized in him a diligent getter up of miscel- aneous works, which bustled off well with the trade. I was curious to see how he manufactured his wares. He made more stir and show of business than any of the others; dipping into various books, fluttering over the leaves of manuscripts, taking a morsel out of one, a mor- sel out of another, “line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little.” The contents of his book seemed to be as heterogeneous as those of the witches' caldron in Macbeth. It was here a finger and there a thumb, toe of frog and blind worm's sting, with his own gossip poured in, like “baboon's blood,” to make the med- ley “slab and good.” After all, thought I, may not this pilfering disposition be implanted in authors for wise purposes; may it not be the way in which Providence has taken care that the seeds of knowledge and wisdom shall be preserved from age to age, in spite of the inevitable decay of the works in which they were first produced? We see that nature has wisely, though whimsically, provided for the convey- ance of seeds from clime to clime, in the maws of certain birds; so that animals, which, in themselves, are little better than carrion, and apparently the lawless plunderers of the orchard and the corn field, are, in fact, Nature's, carriers to disperse and perpetuate her blessings. In like manner, the beauties and fine thoughts of ancient and obsolete authors are caught up by these flights of preda- tory, writers, and cast fºrth again to flourish and bear fruit in a remote and distant tract of time. Many of their works, also, undergo a kind of metemphsychosis, and spring up under new forms. What was formerly a pon- derous history, revives in the shape of a romance—an old legend changes into a modern play—and a sober philoso- hical treatise furnishes the body for a whole series of uncing and sparkling essays. Thus it is in the clear- .# of our American woodlands; where we burn down a 10 rest of stately pines, a progeny of dwarf oaks start up -- BOOK MAKING. 185 in their place: and we never see the prostrate trunk of tree mouldering into soil, but it gives birth to a whole tribe of fungi. Let us not, then, lament over the decay and obli- vion into which ancient writers descend; they do but submit to the great law of nature, which declares that all sublunary shapes of matter shall be limited in their duration, but which decrees, also, that their elements shall never perish. Generation after generation, both in animal inſ vegetable life, passes away, but the vital principle is transmitted to posterity, and the species con- tinue to flourish. Thus, also, do authors beget authors, and having produced a numerous progeny, in a good old age they sleep with their fathers, that is to say, with the au- thors who preceded them—and from whom they had stolen. Whilst I was indulging in these rambling fancies, I had leaned my head against a pile of reverend folios. Whe- ther it was owing to the soporific emanations from these works; or to the profound quiet of the room; or to the lassitude arising from much wandering; or to an unlucky habit of mapping at improper times and places, with which I am grievously afflicted, so it was, that I fell into a doze. Still, however, my imagination continued busy, and indeed the same scene remained before my mind's eye, only a little changed in some of the details. I dreamt that the chamber was still decorated with the portraits of ancient authors, but the number was increased. The long tables had disappeared, and in place of the sage ma- gi, I beheld a ragged, threadbare throng, such as may be seen plying about the great repository of cast-off clothes, Monmouth Street. Whenever they seized upon a book, by one of those incongruities common to dreams, me. thought it turned into a garment of foreign or antique fashion, with which they proceeded to equip themselves. I noticed, however, that no one pretended to clothe him self from any particular suit, but took a sleeve from one, a cape from another, a skirt from a third, thus decking himself out piecemeal, while, some of his original rags would peep out from among his borrowed finery. There was a portly, rosy, well-fed parson, whom I observed ogling several mouldy polemical writers through an eye-glass. He soon contrived to slip on the volumi- nous mantle of one of the old fathers, and having pur- loined the gray beard of another, endeavoured to look exceedingly wise;but the smirking common place of his 1S6 THE IRVING GIFT. countenance set at nought all the trappings of wisdom. One sickly looking gentleman was busied embroidering a very flimsy garment with gold thread drawn out of several old court dresses of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Another had trimmed himself magnificently from an il- luminated manuscript, had stuck a nosegay in his bosom, culled from “The Paradise of dainty devices,” and hav- ing put Sir Philip Sidney's hat on one side of his head, strutted off with an exquisite air of vulgar elegance. A third, who was but of puny dimensions, had bolstered himself out bravely with the spoils from several obscure tracts of philosophy, so that he had a very imposing front; but he was lamentably tattered in rear, and I perceived that he had patched his small-clothes with scraps of parch- ment from a Latin author. - There were some well dressed gentlemen, it is true, who only helped themselves to a gem or so, which sparkled among their own ornaments, without eclipsing them. Some, too, seemed to contemplate the costumes of the old writers, merely to imbibe their principles of taste, and to catch their air and spirit; but I grieve to say, that too many were apt to array themselves from top to toe, in the patchwork manner I have mentioned. I shall not omit to speak of one genius, in drab breeches and gaiters, and an Arcadian hat, who had a violent propen- sity to the pastoral, but whose rural wanderings had been confined to the classic haunts of Primrose Hill, and the solitudes of the Regent's Park. He had decked himself in wreaths and ribands from all the old pastoral poets, and hanging his head on one side, went about with a fantastical lack-a-daisical air, “babbling about green fields.” But the personage that most struck my atten- tion was a pragmatical old gentleman, in clerical robes with a remarkably large and square, but bald head. He entered the room wheezing and puffing, elbowed his way hrough the throng, with a look of sturdy self-confidence, and having laid hands upon a thick Greek quarto, clap- ped it upon his head, and swept majestically away in a formidable frizzled wig. - In the height of this literary masquerade, a cry sud- denly resounded from every side, of “Thieves thieves º' I looked, and lo! the portraits about the wall became ani- mated! The old authors thrust out, first a head, then a shoulder from the canvass, looked down curiously, for an instant, upon the motley throng, and then descended, with BOOK MAKING, 187 fury in their eyes, to claim their rifled property. The scene of scampering and hubbub that ensued baffles all description. The unhappy culprits endeavoured in vain to escape with the plunder. On one side might be seen half a dozen old monks, stripping a modern professor; on another, there was sad devastation carried into the ranks of modern dramatic writers. Beaumont and Fletcher, -side by side, raged round the field like Castor and Pollux, and sturdy Ben Jonson enacted more wonders than when a volunteer with the army in Flanders. As to the dapper little compiler of farragos, mentioned some time since, he had arrayed himself in as many patches and colours as Harlequin, and there was as fierce a contention of claim- ants about him, as about the dead body of Patroclus. I was grieved to see many men, to whom I had been accus- tomed to look upon with awe and reverence, fain to steal off with scarce a rag to cover their nakedness. Just then my eye was caught by the pragmatical old gentleman in the Greek frizzled wig, who was scrambling away sore af. frighted with half a score of authors in full cry after him. They were close upon his haunches; in a twinkling of went his wig; at every turn some strip of raiment was peeled away; until in a few moments, from his domineer: ing pomp, he shrunk into a little, pursy, “chopp'd bald shot,” and made his exit with only a few tags and bags fluttering at his back. There was something so ludicrous in the catastrophe of this learned Theban, that I burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, which broke the whole illusion. The tu- mult and the scuffle were at an end. The chamber resu- med its usual appearance. The old authors shrunk back into their picture-frames, and hung in shadowy solemnity along the walls. In short, I found myself wide awake in my corner, with the whole assemblage of bookworms gazing at me with astonishment. Nothing of the dream had been real but my burst of laughter, a sound never before heard in that grave sanctuary, and so abhorrent to the ears of wisdom, as to electrify the fraternity. The librarian now stepped up to me, and demanded whether I had a card of admission. At first I did not -comprehend him, but I soon found that the library was a kind of literary “preserve,” subject to game laws, and that no one must presume to hunt there without special license and permission. In a word, I stood convicted of being an arrant poacher, and was glad to make a precipitate retreat, 188 THE IRWING GIFT. lest I should have a whole pack of authors let loose upon Inc. A DUTCH SETTLER'S DREAM. AND the sage Olofſe dreamed a dream—and lo, the good St. Nicholas came riding over the tops of the trees in that selfsame waggon wherein he brings his yearly presents to children; and he came and descended hard by where the heroes of Communipaw had made their late repast. And the shrewd Van Kortland knew him by his broad hat, his long pipe, and the resemblance which he bore to the figure on the brow of the Goede Vrouw. And he lit his pipe by the fire, and he sat himself down and smoked; and as he smoked, the smoke from his pipe ascended into the air and spread like a cloud overhead. And the sage Olofſe º him, and he hastened and climbed up to the top of one of the tallest trees, and saw that the smoke spread over a great extent of country; and as he considered it more attentively, he fancied that the great volume of smoke assumed a variety of marvellous forms, where in dim obscurity he saw shadowed out pa- laces and domes and lofty spires, all of which lasted but a moment, and then faded away, until the whole rolled off, and nothing but the green woods were left. And when St. Nicholas had smoked his pipe, he twisted it in his hat- band, and laying his finger beside his nose, gave the aff- tonished Van Kortlandt a very significant look; then mounting his waggon, he returned over the tree tops and disappeared. And Van Kortlandt awoke from his sleep greatly in- structed, and he aroused his companions and related to them his dream: and interpreted it, that it was the will of St. Nicholas that they should settle down and build the city here. And that the smoke of the pipe was a type how vast should be the extent of the city; inasmuch as the volumes of its smoke should spread over a vast extent of country. And they all with one voice assented to this interpretation excepting Mynheer Tenbroeck, who declared the meaning to be that it should be a city wherein a little fire should occasion a great smoke, or in other words, a very vapouring little city—both which interpretations have strangely come to pass. THE PRIDE OF THE WILLAGE. 180 THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE. IN the course of an excursion through one of the remote counties of England, I had struck into one of those cross roads that lead through the more secluded parts of the country, and stopped one afternoon at a village, the situ- ation of which was beautifully rural and retired. There was an air of primitive simplicity about its inhabitants, not to be found in the villages which lie on the great coach roads. I determined to pass the night there, and having taken an early dinner, strolled out to enjoy the neighbouring scenery. My ramble, as is usually the case with travellers, soon led me to the church, which stood at a little distance from the village. Indeed, it was an object of some curi- osity, its old tower being completely overrun with ivy, so that only here and there a jutting buttress, an angle of #. wall, or a fantastically carved ornament, peered through the verdant covering. It was a lovely evening. The early part of the day had been dark and showery, but in the afternoon it had cleared up; and though sul: len clouds still hung over head, yet there was a broad tract of golden sky in the west, from which the .# sun gleamed through the dripping leaves, and lit up al nature into a melancholy smile. #, seemed like the part- ing hour of a good Christian, smiling on the sins and sorrows of the world, and giving, in the serenity of his decline, an assurance that he will rise again in glory. I had seated myself on a half sunken tombstone, and was musing, as one is apt to do at this sober-thoughted hour, on past scenes and early friends—on those who were distant and those who were dead—and indulging in that kind of melancholy fancying, which has in it something sweeter even than pleasure. Every now and then, the stroke of a bell from the neighbouring tower fell on my ear; its tones were in unison with the scene, and, instead of jarring, chimed in with my feelings; and it was some time before I recollected, that it must be toll- ing the knell of some new tenant of the tomb. Presently I saw a funeral train moving across the village green; it wound slowly along a lane; was lost, and re-appeared through the breaks of the hedges, until it passed the place where I was sitting. The pall was 190 THE IRWING GIFT. supported by young girls, dressed in white; and another, about the age of seventeen, walked before, bearing a chap- let of white flowers; a token that the deceased was a young and unmarried female. The corpse was followed by the parents. They were a venerable couple of the better order of peasantry. The father seemed to repress his feelings; but his fixed eye, contracted brow, and deep- ly-furrowed face, showed the struggle that was passing within. His wife hung on his arm, and wept aloud with the convulsive bursts of a mother's sorrow. I followed the funeral into the church. The bier was placed in the centre aisle, and the chaplet of white flowers, with a pair of white gloves, were hung over the seat which the deceased j occupied. Every one knows the soul-subduing pathos of funeral service; for who is so fortunate as never to have followed some one he has loved to the tomb? but when performed over the remains of innocence and beauty, thus laid low in the bloom of existence—what can be more affecting? At that simple, but most solemn consignment of the body to the grave—“Earth to earth—ashes to ashes—dust to dust”—the tears of the youthful companions of the de- ceased flowed unrestrained. The father still seemed to struggle with his feelings, and to comfort himself with the assurance, that the dead are blessed which die in the Lord; but the mother only thought of her child as a flower of the field cut down and withered in the midst of its sweetness: she was like Rachel, “mourning over her children, and would not be comforted.” - On returning to the inn I learnt the whole story of the deceased. É was a simple one, and such as has of. ten been told. She had been the beauty and pride of the village. Her father had once been as opulent farmer, but was reduced in circumstances. This was an only child, and brought up entirely at home, in the simplicity of rural life. She had been the pupil of the village pas- tor, the favourite of his little flock. The good man watch- ed over her education with paternal care ; it was limited, and suitable to the sphere in which she was to move; for he only sought to make her an ornament to her sta- tion in life, not to raise her above it. The tenderness and indulgence of her parents, and the exemption from all ordinary occupations, had fostered a natural grace and delicacy of character, that accorded with the fragile love. liness of her form. She appeared like some tender planſ THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE. 191 of the garden, blooming accidentally amid the hardier natives of the fields. - The superiority of her charms was felt and acknow- ledged by her companions, but without envy; for it was surpassed by the unassuming gentleness and winning kindness of her manners. It might be truly said of her “ This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems, But smacks of something greater than herself; Too noble for this place.” The village was one of those sequestered spots, which still retain some vestiges of old English customs. It had its rural festivals and holyday pastimes, and still kept up some faint observance of the once popular rites of May. These, indeed, had been promoted by its pre- sent pastor; who was a lover of old customs, and one of those simple Christians that think their mission fulfilled by promoting joy on earth and good-will among man- kind. Under his auspices the may-pole stood from year to year in the centre of the village green: on May-day it was decorated with garlands and streamers; and a queen or lady of the May was appointed, as in former times, to preside at the sports, and distribute the prizes and re- wards. The picturesque situation of the village, and the fancifulness of its rustic fetes, would often attract the notice of casual visiters. Among these, on one May-day was a young officer, whose regiment had been recentl quartered in the neighbourhood. He was charmed wit the native taste that pervaded this village pageant; but, above all, with the dawning loveliness of the queen of May. It was the village favourite, who was crowned with flowers, and blushing and smiling in all the beauti- ful confusion of girlish diffidence and delight. The art- lessness of rural habits enabled him readily to make her acquaintance; he gradually won his way into her inti- macy; and paid his court to her in that unthinking way in which young officers are too apt to trifle with rustic simplicity. - There was nothing in his advances to startle or alarm. He never even talked of love: but there are modes of making it more eloquent than language, and which con- vey it subtilely and irresistibly into the heart. The beam of the eye, the tone of the voice, the thousand ten- dernesses which emanate from every word, and look, and 192 THE IRWING GIFT, action—these form the true eloquence of love, and can almost be felt and understood, but never described. Can we wonder that they should readily win a heart young, guileless, and susceptible? As to her, she loved almost unconsciously; she scarcely inquired what was the grow- ing passion that was absorbing every thought and feeling or what were to be its consequences. She, indeed, look- ed not to the future. When present, his looks and words occupied her whole attention; when absent, she thought, but of what had passed at their recent interview. She would wander with him through the green lanes and ru- ral scenes of the vicinity. He taught her to see new beau- ties in nature; he talked in the language of polite and cultivated life, and breathed into her ear the witcheries of romance and poetry. Perhaps there could not have been a passion, between the sexes, more pure than this innocent girl's. The gal- lant figure of her youthful admirer, and the splendour of his military attire, might at first have charmed her eye; but it was not these that had captivated her heart. Her attachment had something in it of idolatry. She looked up to him as to a being of a superior order. She felt in his society the enthusiasm of a mind naturally delicate and poetical, and now first awakened to a keen perception of the beautiful and grand. Of the sordid distinctions of rank and fortune she thought nothing; it was the difference of intellect, of demeanour, of manners, from those of the rustic society to which she had been accustomed, that elevated him in her opinion. She would listen to him with charmed ear and downcast look of mute delight, and her cheek would mantle with enthusiasm: or if ever she ventured a shy glance of timid admiration, it was as quick- ly withdrawn, and she would sigh and blush at the idea of her comparative unworthiness. Her lover was equally impassioned; but his passion was mingled with feelings of a coarser nature. He had begun the connexion in levity; for he had often heard his bro- ther officers boast of their village conquests, and thought some triumph of the kind necessary to his reputation as a man of spirit. But he was too full of youthful fervour. His heart had not yet been rendered sufficiently cold and selfish by a wandering and a dissipated life: it caught fire from the very flame it sought to kindle; and before he }. aware of the nature of his situation, he became really IIl IOWes. THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE 193 What was he to do? There were the old obstacles which so incessantly occur in these heedless attachments. His rank in life—the prejudices of titled connexions— his dependence upon a proud and unyielding father—all forbade him to think of matrimony:-but when he looked down upon this innocent being, so tender and confiding, there was a purity in her manners, a blamelessness in her life, and a beseeching modesty in her looks that awed down every licentious feeling. In vain did he try to for- tify himself by a thousand heartless examples of men of fashion; and to chill the glow of generous sentiment, with that cold derisive levity with which he had heard them talk of female virtue; whenever he came into her presence, she was still surrounded by that mysterious, but impres- sive charm of virgin purity, in whose hallowed sphere no guilty thought can live. " . - The sudden arrival of orders for the regiment to repair to the continent completed the confusion of his mind. He remained for a short time in a state of the most painful ir- resolution; he hesitated to communicate the tidings, until the day of marching was at hand; when he gave her the intelligence in the course of an evening ramble. The idea of parting had never before occurred to her. It broke at once upon her dream of felicity; she looked upon it as a sudden and insurmountable evil, and wept with the guileless simplicity of a child. He drew her to his bosom, and kissed the tears from her soft cheek; nor did he meet with a repulse; for there are moments of mingled sorrow and tenderness, which hallow the caresses of affection. He was naturally impetuous; and the sight of beauty, apparently yielding in his arms; the confidence of his power over her; and the dread of losing her for ever; all conspired to overwhelm his better feelings—he ventured to propose that she should leave her home, and be the companion of his fortunes. . He was quite a novice in seduction, and blushed and faltered at his own baseness; but so innocent of mind was his intended victim, that she was at first at a loss to comprehend his meaning; and why she should leave, her native village and the humble roof of her parents? When at last the nature of his proposal flashed upon her pure mind, the effect was withering. She did not weep- she did not break forth into reproach—she said not a word —but she shrunk back aghast as from a viper; gave him a look of anguish that pierced gº his very soul; and clasp- 194 THE IRWING GIFT. ing her hands in agony, fled, as if for refuge, to her fa ther's cottage. The officer retired, confounded, humiliated, and repen. tant. It is uncertain what might have been the result of the conflict of his feelings, had not his thoughts been diverted by the bustle of departure. New scenes, new pleasures, and new companions, soon dissipated his self- reproach, and stifled his tenderness; yet, amidst the stir of camps, the revelries of garrisons, the array of armies, and even the din of battles, his thoughts would sometimes steal back to the scene of rural quiet and village simpli- city—the white cottage—the footpath along the silver brook and up the hawthorn, hedge, and the iittle village maid loitering along it, leaning on his arm, and listening to him with eyes beaming with unconscious affection. The shock which the poor girl had received, in the destruction of all her ideal world, had indeed been cruel. Faintings and hysterics, had at first shaken her tender frame, and were succeeded by a settled and pining melan- choly. She had beheld from her window the march of the departing troops. She had seen her faithless lover borne off, as if in triumph, amidst the sound of drum and trumpet, and the pomp of arms. She strained a last ach- ing gaze after him, as the morning sun glittered about his figure, and his plume waved in the breeze: he passed away like a bright vision from her sight and left her all in darkness. - It would be trite to dwell on the particulars of her after-story. It was, like other tales of love, melancholy. She avoided society, and wandered out alone in the walks she had most frequented with her lover. She sought, like the stricken deer, to weep in silence and longliness, and brood over the barbed sorrow that rankled in her soul. Sometimes she would be seen late of an evening sitting in the porch of the village church; and the milk- maids, returning from the fields, would now and then overhear her, singing some plaintive ditty in the haw- thorn walk. She became fervent in her devotions at church; and as the old people saw her approach, so wasted away, yet with a hectic bloom, and that hallowed air which melancholy diffuses round the form, they would make way for her, as for a thing spiritual, and, looking after her, would shake their heads in gloomy foreboding. She felt a conviction that she was hastening to the tomb, but looked forward to it as a place of rest. The THE PRIDE OF THE WILLAGE. 195 silver cord that had bound her to existence was loosed, and there seemed to be no more pleasure under the sun. If ever her gentle bosom had entertained resentment against her lover, it was extinguished. She was incap- able of angry passions; and in a moment of saddened ten- derness, she penned him a farewell letter. It was couch- ed in the simplest language; but touching from its very simplicity. She told him that she was dying, and did not conceal from him that his conduct was the cause. She even depicted the sufferings which she had experi- enced; but concluded with saying, that she could not die in peace, until she had sent him her forgiveness and her blessing, - By degrees her strength declined, so that she could no longer leave the cottage. She could only totter to the window, where, propped up in her chair, it was her en- joyment to sit all day and look out upon the landscape. Still she uttered no complaint, nor imparted to any one the malady that was preying upon her heart. She never even mentioned her lover's name; but would lay her head on her mother's bosom and weep in silence. Her poor parents hung in mute anxiety over this fading blossom of their hopes, still flattering themselves that it might again revive to freshness, and that the bright un- earthly bloom which sometimes flushed her cheek might be the promise of returning health. - In this way she was seated between them one Sunday afternoon; her hands were clasped in theirs, the lattice was thrown open, and the soft air that stole in brought with it the fragrance of the clustering honeysuckle which her own hands had trained round the window. Her father had just been reading a chapter in the Bible: it spoke of the vanity of worldly things and of the joys of heaven: it seemed to have diffused comfort and se- renity through her bosom. Her eye was fixed on the distant village church; the bell had tolled for the evenin service; the last villager was lagging into the porc and every thing had sunk into that hallowed stillness eculiar to the day of rest. Her parents were gazing on É. with yearning hearts. Sickness and sorrow, which pass so roughly over some faces, had given her’s the ex- pression of a seraph's. A tear trembled in her soft blue eye. Was she thinking of her faithless lover 3—or were her thoughts wandering to that distant church-yard, into whose bosom she might soon be gathered? - 196 THE IRW.ING GIFT. Suddenly the clang of hoofs was heard—a horseman alloped to the cottage —he dismounted before the win ow—the poor girl gave a faint exclamation, and sunk back in her chair;-it was her repentant lover ! He rushed into the house, and flew to clasp her to his bo. som; but her wasted form—her death-like countenance —so wan, yet so lovely in its desolation,-smote him to the soul, and he threw himself in an agony at her feet. She was too faint to rise—She attempted to extend her trembling hand—her lips moved as if she spoke, but no word was articulated—she looked down upon him with a smile of unutterable tenderness, and closed her eyes for ever ! - Such are the particulars which I gathered of this vil- lage story. They are but scanty, and I am conscious have little novelty to recommend them. In the present rage also for strange incident and high-seasoned narrative, they may appear trite and insignificant, but they inter- ested me strongly at the time; and, taken in connexion with the affecting ceremony which I just witnessed, left a deeper impression on my mind than many circumstan- ces of a more striking nature. I have passed through the place since, and visited the church again, from a bet- ter motive than mere curiosity. It was a wintry even- ing; the trees were stripped of their foliage; the church- yard looked naked and mournful, and the wind rustled coldly through the dry grass. Evergreens, however, had been planted about the grave of the village favourite, and osiers were bent over it to keep the turf uninjured, The church door was open, and I stepped in. There hung the chaplet of flowers and the gloves as on the day of the funeral: the flowers were withered, it is true, but care seemed to have been taken that no dust should soil their whiteness. I have seen many monuments, where art has exhausted its powers to awaken the sympathy of the spectator; but I have met with none that spoke more touchingly to my heart, than this simple, but delicate memento of departed innocence. DOMESTIC SCENE. THE family meeting was warm and affectionate; as the evening was far advanced, the Squire would not permit - MASTER SIMON. 197 us to change our travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to the company, which was assembled in a large old-fa- shioned hall. It was composed of different branches of a numerous family connexion, where there were the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts, comfortable married daines, superannuated spinsters, blooming coun- try cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed board- ing school hoydens. They were variously occupied; some at a round game of cards; others conversing around the fire-place; at one end of the hall was a group of the young §. some nearly grown up, others ofta more ten- der and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game; and a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered dolls about the floor, showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings, who having frolicked through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber through a peaceful night. - MASTER SIMON. THE mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humours of an eccentric, personage whom Mr. Brace- bridge always addressed with the quaint appellation of Master Simon. He was a tight brisk little man, with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the small ox, with a dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frost-bitten eaf in autumn. He had an eye of great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggery of expres- sion that was irresistible. He was evidently the wit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and innuen- does with the ladies, and making infinite merriment by harpings upon old themes; which, unfortunately, my ig- norance of the family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight during supper to keep a young girl next him in a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite of her awe of the reproving looks of her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the younger part of the company, who laughed at every thing he said or did, and at every turn of his coun- tenance. I could not wonder at it; for he must have been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy; make an old woman of 198 THE IRWING GIFT. his hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket handkerchief; and cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature, that the young folks were ready to die with laughing. - PERSEVERANCE. LIKE as a mighty grampus, who, though assailed and buffeted by roaring waves and brawling surges, still keeps on an undeviating course; and though overwhelmed by boisterous billows, still emerges from the troubled deep, spouting and blowing with tenfold violence—so did the inflexible Peter pursue, unwavering, his determined ca- reer, and rise contemptuous above the clamours of the rabble. - A DOLEFUL DISASTER OF ANTHONY THE TRUMPETER. REsof, UTELY bent, however, upon defending his beloved city, in despite even of itself, he called unto him his trusty Van Corlear, who was his right-hand man in all times of emergency. Him did he adjure to take his war-denoun- cing trumpet, and mounting his horse, to beat up the country, night and day-sounding the alarm along the pastoral borders of the Bronx—startling the wild soli- tudes of Croton—arousing the rugged yeomanry of Wee- hawk and Hoboken—the mighty men of battle of Tap- an Bay”;-and the brave boys of Tarry town and Sleepy hiº, with all the other warriors of the coun- try round about; charging them one and all, to sling their powder horns, shoulder their fowling-pieces, and march merrily down to the Manhattoes. Now there was nothing in all the world, the divine sex excepted, that Anthony Van Corlear loved better than errands of this kind. So, just stopping to take a lusty *A corruption of Top paun; so called from a tribe of Indians which boasted of 150 fighting men. See Ogilvie’s History. - * ANTHONY THE TRUMEPETER. 199 dinner, and bracing to his side his junk-bottle, well charged with heart-inspiring Hollands, he issued jollily from the city gate that looked out upon what is at present called Broad-way; sounding as usual a farewell strain, that rung in sprightly echoes through the winding streets of New-Amsterdam–Alas! never more were they to be gladdened by the melody of their favourite trumpeterſ It was a dark and stormy night when the good Anthony arrived at the famous creek (sagely denominated Har- lem river) which separates the island of Manna-hata from the main land. The wind was high, the elements were in an uproar, and no Charon could be found to ferry the adventurous sounder of brass across the water. For a short time he vapoured like an impatient ghost upon the brink, and then, bethinking himself of the urgency of his errand, took a hearty embrace of his stone bottle, swore most valorously, that he would swim across, en spiji den duyvel (in spite of the devil!) and daringly plunged into the stream.—Luckless Anthony scarce had he buffeted half-way over, when he was observed to struggle violently, as if battling with the spirit of the waters—instinctively he put his trumpet to his mouth, and giving a vehement blast, sunk for ever to the bottom . The potent clangour of his trumpet, like the ivory horn of the renowned Paladin Orlando, when expiring in the glorious field of Roncesvalles, rung far and wide through the country, alarming the neighbours round, who hurried in amazement to the spot.—Here an old Dutch burgher, famed for his veracity, and who had been a witness of the fact, related to them the melancholy affair; with the fear- ful addition (to which I am slow of giving belief.) that he saw the duyvel, in the shape of a huge moss-bonker, seize the sturdy Anthony by the leg, and drag him be- neath the waves. Certain it is, the place, with the ad- joining promontory, which projects into the Hudson, has been called Spijt den duyvel or Spiking duyvel ever since, —the restless ghost of the unfortunate Anthony still haunts the surrounding solitudes, and his trumpet has often been heard by the neighbours, of a stormy might, mingling with the howling of the blast. Nobody ever attempts to swim over the creek after dark; on the con- trary, a bridge has been built to guard against such me- lancholy accidents in future—and as to moss bonkers, they are held in such abhorrence that no true Dutchman THE IRWING GIFT. - will admit them to his table, who loves good fish, and hates the devil. Such was the end of Anthony Van Corlear—a man deserving of a better fate. He lived roundly and sound- ly, like a true and jolly bachelor, until the day of his death; but though he was never married, yet did he leave behind, some two or three dozen children, in different parts of the country—fine chubby, brawling flatulent little urchins, from whom, if legends speak true (and they are not apt to lie,) did descend the innumerable race of editors, who people and defend this country, and who are bountifully paid by the people for keeping | a constant alarm—and making them miserable. Would that they inherited the worth, as they do the wind, of their re- nowned progenitor! - The Grief of Peter Sluyvesant. THE tidings of this lamentable catastrophe imparted a severer pang to the bosom of Peter Stuyvesant than did even the invasion of his beloved Amsterdam. It came ruthlessly home to those sweet affectiens that grow close around the heart, and are nourished by its warmest cur- rent. As some lone pilgrim wandering in trackless wastes while the tempest whistles through his locks, and dreary night is gathering around, sees stretched, cold and lifeless, his faithful dog—the sole companion of his jour- neying—who had shared his solitary meal, and so often licked his hand in humble gratitude;—so did the gener- ous-hearted hero of the Manhattoes contemplate the un- timely end of his faithful Anthony. He had been the humble attendant of his footsteps—he had cheered him in many a heavy hour, by his honest gaiety; and had followed him in loyalty and affection, i.i. many a scene of direful peril and mishap. He was gone for ever —and that too at a moment when every mongrel cur seemed skulking from his side. The dignified Retirement and mortal Surrender of Peter the Headstrong. - THUS then have I concluded this great historical enter- prise; but, before I lay aside my weary pen, there yet RETIREMENT OF PETER STUYVESANT. 201 remains to be performed one pious duty. If among the variety of readers that may peruse this book, there should haply be found any of those souls of true nobility, which glow with celestial fire, at the history of the generous and the brave, they will doubtless be anxious to know the fate of the gallant Peter Stuyvesant. To gratify one such sterling heart of gold I would go more lengths than to instruct the cold-blooded curiosity of a whole fraternity of philosophers. No sooner had that high-mettled cavalier signed the ar- ticles of capitulation, than, determined not to witness the humiliation of his favorite city, he turned his back on its walls, and made a growling retreat to his Bouwery, or country—seat, which was situated about two miles off; where he passed the remainder of his days in patriarchal retirement. There he enjoyed that tranquillity of mind which he had never known amid the distracting cares of government; and tasted the sweets of absolute and uncon- trolled authority, which his factious subjects had so often dashed with the bitterness of opposition. No persuasions could ever induce him to revisit the city—on the contrary, he would always have his great arm-chair placed with its back to the windows, which looked in that direction; until a thick grove of trees. planted by his own hand grew up and formed a screen that effectually excluded it from the prospect. He railed continually at the degenerate innovations and improve- ments introduced by the conquerors—forbade a word of their detested language to be spoken in his family, a pro- hibition readily obeyed, since none of the household could speak any thing but Dutch — and even ordered a fine avenue to be cut down in front of his house, because it consisted of English cherry trees. The same incessant vigilance, that blazed forth when he had a vast province under his care, now showed itself with equal vigor, though in narrower limits. He pratrolled with unceasing watchfulness around the boundaries of his little territory; repelled every encroachment with intrepid promptness; punished every vagrant depredation upon his orchard or his farm yard with inflexible severity; and con- ducted every stray hog or cow in triumph to the pound. But to the indigent neighbor, the friendless stranger, or the weary wanderer, his spacious door was ever open, and his capacious fire-place, that emblem of his own warm and generous heart, had always a corner to receive and cherish T 202 THE IRWING GIFT. them. There was an exception to this, I must confess, in case the ill-starred applicant was an Englishman or a Yankee, to whom, though he might extend the hand of assistance, he could never be brought to yield the rites of hospitality. Nay, if peradventure some straggling merchant of the east, should stop at his door, with his cart load of tin ware or wooden bowls, the fiery Peter would issue forth like a giant from his castle, and make such a furious clattering among his pots and kettles, that the vender of “motions” was fain to betake himself to instant flight. His ancient suit of regimentals, worn threadbare by the brush, were carefully hung up in the state bedchamber, and regularly aired the first fair day of every month; and his cocked hat and trusty sword were suspended in grim re- pose over the parlour mantlepiece, forming supporters to a full length portrait of the renowned Admiral Von Tromp. In his domestic empire he maintained strict discipline, and a well organized despotic government; but though his own will was the supreme law, yet the good of his subjects was his constant object. He watched over, not merely their immediate comforts, but their morals, and their ultimate welfare; for he gave them abundance of excellent admoni- tion, nor could any of them complain, that, when occasion required, he was by any means niggardly in bestowing wholesome correction. The good old Dutch festivals, those periodical demon- strations of an overflowing heart and a thankful spirit, which are falling into sad disuse among my fellow-citizens, were faithfully observed in the mansion of Governor Stuy- vesant. New-year was truly a day of open-handed libe- rality, of jocund revelry, and warm-hearted congratulation —when the bosom seemed to swell with genial good- fellowship; and the plenteous table was attended with an unceremonious freedom, and honest broad-mouthed mer- riment, unknown in these days of degeneracy and refine- ment. Paas and Pinxter were scrupulously observed throughout his dominions; nor was the day of St. Nicholas suffered to pass by without making presents, hanging the stocking in the chimney, and complying with all its other Ceremonies. Once a year, on the first day of April, he used to array himself in full regimentals, being the anniversary of his triumphal entry into New-Amsterdam, after the conquest of New-Sweden. This was always a kind of Saturnalia among the domestics, when they considered themselves at LAST DAYS OF PETER STUY VESANT. 203 r– liberty in some measure to say and do what they pleased; for on this day their master was always observed to un: bend, and becºme exceedingly pleasant and jocose, sending the old gray-headed negroes on April fools' errands for pigeon’s milk; not one of whom but allowed himself to be taken in, and humoured his old master's jokes as became a faithful and well disciplined dependant. Thus did he reign, happily and peacefully on his own land—injuring no man—envying no man—molested by no outward strifes —perplexed by no internal commotions; and the mighty monarchs of the earth, who were vainly seeking to maintain peace, and promote the welfare of mankind, by war and desolation, would have done well to have made a voyage to the little island of Manna-hatta, and learned a lesson in government from the domestic economy of Peter Stuyve- Sant. - In process of time, however, the old governor, like all other children of mortality, began to exhibit evident tokens of decay. Like an aged oak, which, though it iong has - braved the fury of the elements, and still retains its gigan- tie proportions, yet begins to shake and groan with every blast—so the gallant Peter, though he still bore the port and semblance of what he was in the days of his hardi- hood and chivalry, yet did age and -infirmity begin to sap the vigour of his frame; but his heart, that most uncon- querable citadel, still triumphed unsubdued. With match- less avidity would he listen to every article of intelligence concerning the battles between the English and Dutch.- Still would his pulse beat high whenever he heard of the victories of De Ruyter; and his countenance lower, and his eyebrows knit, when fortune turned in favour of the English. . At length, as on a certain day, he had just smoked his fifth pipe, and was napping after dinner, in his arm-chair, conquering the whole, British nation in his dreams, he was suddenly aroused by a fearful ringing of bells, rättling of drums, and roaring of cannon, that put all his blood in a ferment. But when he learned that these rejoicings were in honour of a great victory obtained by the combined English and French fleets over the brave De Ruyter and the younger Von Tromp, it went so much to his heart, that he took to his bed, and in less than three days was brought to death's door by a violent cholera mor- bus! But even in this extremity he still displayed the un- conquerable spirit of Peter the Headstrong; holding out, to the last gasp, with the most inflexible obstinacy, against 204 THE IRVING GIFT. a whole army of old women, who were bent upon driving the enemy out of his bowels, after a true Dutch mode of defence, by inundating the seat of war with catnip and pennyroyal. - - - While he thus lay, lingering on the verge of dissolution, news was brought him, that the brave Ruyter had suffered but little ..". made good his retreat—and meant once more to meet the enemy in battle. The closing eye of the old warrior kindled at the words—he partly raised himself in bed—a flash of martial fire beamed across his visage— he clenched his withered hand as if he felt within his gripe that sword which waved in triumph before the walls of Fort - Christina, and, giving a grim smile of exultation, sunk back upon his pillow, and expired. - Thus died Peter Stuyvesant, a valiant soldier, a loyal subject, an upright governor, and an honest Dutchman– who wanted only a few empires to desolate to have been immortalized as a hero! His funeral obsequies were celebrated with the utmost grandeur and solemnity. The town was perfectly emptied of its inhabitants, who crowded in throngs to pay the last sad honours to their good old governor. All his sterling qualities rushed in full tide upon their recollections, while the memory of his foibles and his faults had expired with him. The ancient burghers contended who should have the privilege of bearing the pall—the populace strove who should walk nearest to the bier—and the melancholy pro- cession was closed by a number of gray-headed negroes, who had wintered and summered in the household of their departed master for the greater part of a century. With sad and gloomy countenances, the multitude ga- thered round the grave. They dwelt with mournful hearts on the sturdy virtues, the signal services, and the gallant exploits of the brave old worthy. They recalled with secret upbraidings, their own factious oppositions to his government—and many an ancient burgher, whose phleg- matic features had never been known to relax, nor his eyes to moisten, was now observed to puff a pensive pipe, and the big drop to steal down his cheek—while he muttered, with affectionate accent and melancholy shake of | head—" Well den!—Hard-Koppig Peter ben gone at last.” His remains were deposited in the family vault, under a chapel, which he had piously erected on his estate, and dedicated to St. Nicholas —and which stood on the iden- * MORNING. tical spot at present occupied by St. Mark's Church, where his tombstone is still to be seen. His estate, or Bouwery, as it was called, has ever continued in the possession of his descendants; who by the uniform integrity of their conduct, and their strict adherence to the customs and manners that prevailed in the “good old times,” have K. themselves worthy of their illustrious ancestor. any a time and oft has the farm been haunted at night by enterprising money diggers, in quest of pots of gold said to have been buried by the old governor—though I cannot learn that any of them have ever been enriched by their researches—and who is there, among my native- born fellow citizens, that does not remember, when in the mischievous days of his boyhood, he conceived it a great exploit to rob “Stuyvesant's orchard” on a holiday. afternoon 7 At this strong hold of the family may still be seen cer- tain memorials of the immortal Peter. His full length #". frowns in martial terrors from the parlour wall— is cocked hat and sword still hang up in the best bed- room. His brimstone coloured breeches were for a long while suspended in the hall, until some years since they . a dispute between a new married couple. And his silver mounted wooden leg is still treasured up in the store room as an invaluable relique. MORNING. AND now the rosy blush of morn began to mantle in the east, and soon the rising sun, *. from amidst gold- en and purple clouds, shed his blythesome rays on the tin weathercocks of Communipaw. It was that delicious season of the year, when nature, breaking from the chill- ing thraldom of old winter, like a blooming damsel from the tyranny of a sordid father, threw herself, blushing with ten thousand charms, into the arms of youthful spring. Every tufted copse and blooming grove resound- ed with the notes of hymeneal love. Thé very insects, as they sipped the dew that gemmed the tender grass of the meadows, joined in the joyous epithalanium—the vir- gin bud timidly put forth its blushes, “the voice of the turtle was heard in the land,” and the heart of man dis- solved away in tenderness. 206 THE IRWING GIFT. THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIS HIS- TORY OF NEW-YORK. I AM aware that I shall incur the censure of numerous very learned and judicious critics, for indulging too fre- quently in the bold excursive mariner of my favourite Herodotus. And to be candid, I have found it impos- sible always to resist the allurements of those pleasing episodes which, like flowery banks and fragrant bowers, beset the dusty road of the historian, and entice him to turn aside and refresh himself from his wayfaring. But I trust it will be found that I have always resumed my staff, and addressed myself to my weary journey with renovated spirits, so that both my readers and myself have been benefited by the relaxation. Indeed, though it has been my constant wish and uniform endeavour to rival Polybius himself, in observ- ing the requisite unity of History, yet the loose and unconnected manner in which many of the facts herein recorded have come to hand, rendered such an attempt extremely difficult. This difficulty was likewise increased by one of the grand objects contemplated in my work, which was to trace the rise of sundry customs and institu- tions in this best of cities, and to compare them when in the germ of infancy with what they are in the present old age of knowledge and improvement. But the chief merit on which I value myself, and found my hopes for future regard, is that faithful vera- city with which I have compiled this invaluable little work; carefully winnowing away the chaff of hypothe- sis, and discarding the tares of fable, which are too apt to spring up and choke the seeds of truth and whole- some knowledge.—Had I been anxious to captivate the superficial throng, who skim like swallows over the sur- face of literature; or had I been anxious to commend my writings to the pampered palates of literary epicures— I might have availed myself of the obscurity that over- shadows the infant years of our city, to introduce a thou- sand pleasing fictions. But I have scrupulously discard- ed many a pithy tale and marvellous adventure, whereby the drowsy air of summer indolence might be enthralled; jealously maintaining that fidelity, gravity, and dignity which should ever distinguish the historian. WESTMINSTER, ABBEY. 24}7 WESTMINSTER, ABBEY. ſ Rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As I descended the flight of steps which lead into the body of the build- --- ing, my eye was caught by the shrine of Edward the - Confessor, and I ascended the small staircase that con- | ducts to it, to take from thence a general survey of this - wilderness of tombs. The shrine is elevated upon a - kind of platform, and close around it are the sepulchres of various kings and queens. From this eminence the eye looks down between pillars and funeral trophies to the chapels and chambers below, crowded with tombs; where warriors, prelates, courtiers and statesmen lie moul- dering in their “beds of darkness.” Close by me stood the great chair of coronation, rudely carved of oak, in the barbarous taste of a remote and gothic age. The scene seemed almost as if contrived, with theatrical arti- fice, to produce an effect on the beholder. Here was a type of the beginning and the end of human pomp and power; here it was literally but a step from the throne to the sepulchre. Would not one think that these in- congruous mementos had been gathered together as a les: son to living greatness?—to shew it, even in the moment of its proudest exaltation, the neglect and dishonour to which it must soon arrive; how soon that crown which encircles its brow must pass away; and it must lie down in the dust and disgraces of the tomb, and be trampled upon by the feet of the meanest of the multitude. For, strange to tell, even the grave is here no longer a sanctuary. There is a shocking levity in some natures, which leads them to sport with awful and hallowed things, and there are base minds, which delight to revenge on the illustri- ous dead the abject homage and grovelling servility which they pay to the living. The coffin of Edward the Con- fessor has been broken open, and his remains despoiled of their funeral ornaments; the sceptre has been stolen from the hand of the imperious Elizabeth, and the effigy of Henry the Fifth lies headless. Not a royal monument covered with ribaldry and insult—all more or less outraged and dishonoured - - The last beams of day were now faintly streaming but bears some proof how false and fugitive is the homage of mankind. Some are plundered; some mutilated; some 208 THE IRWING GIFT. - through the painted windows in the high vaults above me; the lower parts of the abbey were ahready wrapped . in the obscurity of twilight. The chapels and aisles - grew darker and darker. The effigies of the kings faded into shadows; the marble figures of the monuments as- sumed strange shapes in the uncertain light; the evening breeze crept through the aisles like the cold breath of the grave; and even the distant footfall of a verger, travers- ing the Poet's Corner, had something strange and dreary in its sound. I slowly retraced my morning's walk, and as I passed out at the portal of the cloisters, the door, closing with a jarring noise behind me, filled the whole building with echoes. I endeavoured to form some arrangement in my mind of the objects I had been contemplating, but found they were already falling into Indistinctness and confusion. Names, inscriptions, trophies, had all become confounded in my recollection, though I had scarcely taken my foot from off the threshold. What, thought I, is this vast assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury of humiliation; a huge pile of reiterated homilies on the emptiness of re- nown, and the certainty of oblivion! It is, indeed, the empire of death; his great shadowy palace; where he sits in state, mocking at the reliques of human glory, and spreading dust and forgetfulness on the monuments of princes. How idle, a boast, after all, is the immortality of a name ! Time is ever silently turning over his pages; we are too much engrossed by the story of the present, to think of the characters and anecdotes that gave inter- est to the ºast; and each age is a volume thrown aside to be speedfly forgotten. The idol of to-day pushes the hero of yesterday out of our fecollection; and will, in turn, be supplanted by his successor of to-morrow. MASTER HENRY HUDSON. IN the ever memorable year of our Lord, 1609, on a Saturday morning, the five and twentieth day of March, old style, did that “worthy and irrecoverable discoverer (as he has justly been called,) Master Henry Hudson,” set sail from Holland in a stout vessel called the Half Moon, being employed by the Dutch East India Com- pany, to seek a north-west passage to China. EIENDRICE HUDSON, 209 Henry, (or as the Dutch historians call him, Hendrick) Hudson was a seafaring man of renown, who had learn. ed to smoke tobacco under Sir Walter Raleigh, and is said to have been the first to introduce it into Holland, which gained him much popularity in that country, and caused him to find great favour in the eyes of their High. Mightinesses, the lords states-general, and also of the honourable West India Company. He was a short, square, brawny old gentleman, with a double chin, a mastiff mouth, and a broad copper nose, which was sup- posed in those days to have acquired its fiery hue from the constant neighbourhood of his tobacco pipe. He wore a true Andrea Ferrara tucked in a leathern belt, and a commodore's cocked hat on one side of his head. He was remarkable for always jerking up his breeches when he gave out his orders, and his voice sound- ed not unlike the brattling of a tin, trumpet, owing to the number of hard north-westers which he had swallowed in the course of his seafaring. Such was Hendrick Hudson, of whom we have heard so much and know so little; and I have been thus parti- cular in his description, for the benefit of modern painters and statuaries, that they may represent him as he was; and not, according to their common custom, with modern heroes, make them look like Cºsar, or Marcus Aurelius, or the Apolla of Belvidere. Master Robert Juet.' As chief mate and favourite companion, the commo- dore chose Master Robert Juet, of Limehouse, in Eng- land. By some his name has been spelled Chewit, and ascribed to the circumstance of his having been the first man that ever chewed tobacco; but this I believe to be a mere flippancy; more especially as certain of his progeny are living at this day, who write their names Juet. He was an old comrade and early school-mate of the great Hudson, with whom he had often played truant and sailed chip boats in a neighbouring pond, when they were little boys; from whence it is said the commodore first derived his bias towards a seafaring life. Certain it is, that the old people about Limehouse declared Robert Juet to be an unlucky urchin, prone to mischief, that would one day or other come to the gallows. He grew up as boys of that kind often grow up, a ram- 210. THE IRVING GIFT. bling heedless varlet, tossed about in all quarters of the world—meeting, with more perils and wonders than did Sinbad the sailor, without growing a whit more wise, prudent, or ill-natured. Under every misfortune he com- forted himself with a quid of tobacco, and the true philo- sophic maxim, that “it will be all the same thing a hun- dred years hence.” He was skilled in the art of carving anchors and true lovers' knots on the bulk-heads and quarter-railings, and was considered a great wit on board hip, in consequence of his playing pranks on every body around, and now and then even making a wry face at old Hendrick, when his back was turned. To this universal genius we are indebted for many par- ticulars concerning this voyage, of which he wrote a history, at the request of the commodore, who had an unconquerable aversion to writing himself, from having received so many floggings about it when at school. To supply the deficiencies of Master Juet's Journal which is written with true log book brevity, I have availed my- self of divers family traditions, handed down from my great great grandfather, who accompanied the expedi- tion in the capacity of cabin boy. A Dutch Voyage of Discovery. SUFFICE it then to say, the voyage was prosperous and tranquil—the crew being a patient people, much given to slumber and vacuity, and but little troubled with the dis- ease of thinking—a malady of the mind, which is the sure breeder of discontent. Hudson had laid in abundance of gin and sour crout, and every man was allowed to sleep quietly at his post unless the wind blew. True it is, some slight dissatisfaction was shown on two or three occa- sions, at certain unreasonable conduct of Commodore Hudson. Thus, for instance, he forbore to shorten sail when the wind was light, and the weather serene, which was considered among the most experienced Dutch sea- men, as certain weather breeders, or prognostics, that the weather would change for the worse. He acted, more- over in direct contradiction to that ancient and sage rule of the Dutch navigators, who always took in sail at night; put the helm aport, and turned in; by which É.” they had a good night's rest, were sure of nowing where they were the next morning, and stood but little chance of running down a continent in the dark. He likewise prohibited the seamen from wearing º SECOND LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA, ETC. 211 more than five jackets, and six pair of breeches, under ... pretence of rendering them more alert; and no man was permitted to go aloft, and hand in sails, with a pipe in his mouth, as is the invariable Dutch custom at the present day. All these grievances, though they might ruffle for a moment the constitutional tranquillity of the honest Dutch tars, made but a transient impression; they ate hugely, drank profusely, and slept immeasurably; and being under the especial guidance of providence, the ship was safely conducted to the coast of America; where, after sundry unimportant touchings and standings off and on, she at length, on the fourth day of September, enter- ed that majestic bay, which at this day expands its ample bosom before the city of New-York, and which had never before been visited by any European. LETTER. FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELIKHAN, - To Asem Hacchem, principal Slave-driver to his Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli. THOUGH I am often disgusted, my good Asem, with the vices and absurdities of the men of this country, yet the women afford me a world of amusement. Their lively prattle is as diverting as the chattering of the red- tailed parrot, nor can the green-headed monkey of Ti- mandi equal them in whim and playfulness. But, not- withstanding these valuable qualifications, I am sorry to observe they are not treated with half the attention be- stowed on the before-mentioned animals. These infidels put their parrots in cages and chain their monkeys; but their women, instead of being carefully shut up in ha- rems and seraglios, are abandoned to the direction of their own reason, and suffered to run about in perfect freedom, like other domestic animals: this comes, Asem, of treat- ing their women as rational beings, and allowing them souls. The consequence of this piteous neglect may easily be imagined;—they have degenerated into all their native wildness, are seldom to be caught at home, and, at an early age, take to the streets and highways, where they rove about in droves, giving almost as much annoyance 212 THE IRWING GIFT. to the peaceable people as the troops of wild dogs that In- fest our great cities, or the flights of locusts that some- ; spread famine and desolation over whole regions of ertility. This propensity to relapse into pristine wildness con- vinces me of the untameable disposition of the sex, who may indeed be partially domesticated by a long course of confinement and restraint, but the moment they are re- stored to personal freedom, become wild as the young partridge of this country, which, though scarcely half }. will take to the fields and run about with the shell upon its back. ' Notwithstanding their wildness, however, they are re- markably easy of access, and suffer themselves to be ap- proached, at certain hours of the day, without any symp- toms of apprehension; and I have even happily succeeded in detecting them at their domestic occupations. One of the most important of these consists in thumping ºve- hemently on a kind of musical instrument, and produc- ing a confused, hideous, and undefinable uproar, which they call the description of a battle—a jest, no doubt, for they are wonderfully facetious at times, and make great practice of passing jokes upon strangers. Sometimes they employ themselves in painting little caricatures of land- scapes, wherein they will display their singular drollery in battering nature fairly out of countenance—represent- ing her tricked out in all the tawdry finery of copper skies, purple rivers, calico rocks, red grass, clouds that look like old clothes set adrift by the tempest, and foxy trees, whose melancholy foliage, drooping and curling most fantastically, reminds me of an undressed periwig that I have now and then seen hung on a stick in a bar- ber's window. At other times they employ themselves in acquiring a smattering of languages spoken by nations on the other side of the globe, as they find their own lan- guage not sufficiently copious to supply their constant demands, and express their multifarious ideas. But their most important domestic avocation is to embroider, on satin or muslin, flowers of a non-descript kind, in which the great art is to make them as unlike nature as possible; or to fasten little bits of silver, gold, tinsel, and glass, on long stripes of muslin, which they drag after them with much dignity whenever they go abroad—a fine lady, like a bird of paradise, being estimated by the length of her tail. SECOND LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA. 213 But do not, my friend, fall into the enormous error of supposing that the exercise of these arts is attended with any useful or profitable result; believe me, thou couldst not indulge an idea more unjust and injurious; for it appears to be an established maxim among the women of this country, that a lady loses her dignity when she con- descends to be useful, and forfeits all rank in society the moment she can be convicted of earning a farthing. Their labours, therefore, are directed not towards sup- plying their household, but in decking their persons, and —generous souls —they deck their persons, not so much to please themselves, as to gratify others, particularly strangers. I am confident thou wilt stare at this, my good Asem, accustomed as thou art to our eastern fe- males, who shrink in blushing timidity even from the glances of a lover, and are so chary of their favours, that they even seem fearful of lavishing their smiles too pro- fusely on their husbands. Here, on the contrary, the stranger has the first place in female regard, and, so far do they carry their hospitality, that I have seen a fine la- dy slight a dozen tried friends and real admirers, who lived in her smiles and made her happiness their study, merely to allure the vague and wandering glances of a stranger, who viewed her person with indifference and treated her advances with contempt.—By the whiskers of our sublime bashaw, but this is highly flattering to a for reigner! and thou mayest judge how particularly pleasing to one who is, like myself, so ardent an admirer of the sex. Far be it from me to condemn this extraordinary manifestation of good will—let their own countrymen look to that. - Be not alarmed, I conjure thee, my dear Asem, lest I should be tempted, by these beautiful barbarians, to break the faith I owe to the three-and-twenty-wives, from whom my unhappy destiny has perhaps severed me for ever; – no, Asem, neither time, nor the bitter succession of mis- fortunes that pursues me, can shake from my heart the memory of former attachments. I listen with tranquil heart to the strumming and prattling of these fair sirens; their whimsical paintings touch not the tender chord of my affections; and I would still defy their fascinations, though they trailed after them trains as long as the gor- geous trappings which are dragged at the heels of the holy camel of Mecca, or as the tail of the great beast in our prophet's vision, which measured three hundred and forty- 214 THE IRWING GIFT. nine leagues, two miles, three furlongs, and a hand's breadth in longitude. - The dress of these women is, if possible, more eccen- tric and whimsical than their deportment; and they take an inordinate pride in certain ornaments which are pro- bably derived from their savage progenitors. A woman of this country, dressed out for an exhibition, is loaded with as many ornaments as a Circassian slave when brought out for sale. Their heads are tricked out with little bits of horn or shell, cut into fantastic shapes; and they seem to emulate each other in the number of these - - - 4- singular baubles, like the women we have seen in our journeys to Aleppo, who cover their heads with the en- tire shell of a tortoise, and thus equipped are the envy of all their less fortunate acquaintance. They also deco- rate their necks and ears with coral, gold chains, and glass beads, and load their fingers with a variety of rings; though, I must confess, I have never perceived that they wear any in their noses—as has been affirmed by ma- ny travellers. We have heard much of their painting themselves most hideously, and making use of bear's grease in great profusion—but this, I solemnly assure thee, is a misrepresentation : civilization, no doubt, hav- ing gradually extirpated these nauseous practices. It is true, I have seen two or three of these females who had disguised their features with paint, but then it was merely to give a tinge of red to their cheeks, and did not look very frightful; and as to ointment, they rarely use any now, except occasionally a little Grecian oil for their hair, which gives it a glossy, greasy, and, as they think very comely appearance. The last mentioned class of females, I take it for granted, have been but lately caught and still retain strong traits of their original savage propensities. The most flagrant and inexcusable fault however, which I find in those lovely savages, is the shameless and abandoned exposure of their persons. Wilt not thou sus- pect me of exaggeration when I affirm—wilt not thou blush for them, most discreetMussulman, when I declare to thee —that they are so lost to all sense of modesty as to expose the whole of their faces from their forehead to the chin, and they even go abroad with their hands uncovered — Monstrous indelicacy 1 - But what I am going to disclose will doubtless appeal to thee still more incredible. Though I cannot forbear paying a tribute of admiration to the beautiful faces of these fair infidels, yet I must give it as my firm opinion 8ECOND LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA. 215 that their persons are preposterously unseemly. In vain did I look around me, on my first landing, for those di- vine forms of redundant proportions, which answer to the true standard of eastern beauty—not a single fat fair one could I behold among the multitudes that thronged the streets: the females that passed in review before me tripping sportively along, resembled a procession of sha- º returning to their graves at the crowing of the cock. - This meagerness I first ascribed to their excessive vo- ſubility, for I have somewhere seen it advanced by a learned doctor, that the sex were endowed with a pecu- liar activity of tongue, in order that they might practise talking as a healthful exercise, necessary to their confined and sedentary mode of life. This exercise, it was natu- ral to suppose, would be carried to great excess in a logo- cracy. “Too true,” thought I, “they have converted, what was undoubtedly meant as a beneficent gift, into a noxious habit, that steals the flesh from their bones and the rose from their cheeks—they absolutely talk them- selves thin'" Judge then of my surprise when I was assured, not long since, that this meagreness was consi- dered the perfection of personal beauty, and that many a lady starved herself, with all the obstinate perseverance of a pious dervise, into a fine figure “Nay more,” said my informer, “they will often sacrifice their healths in this eager pursuit of skeleton beauty, and drink vinegar, eat pickles, and smoke tobacco, to keep themselves within the scanty outlines of the fashions.”—Faugh Allah pre- serve me from such beauties, who contaminate their pure blood with noxious recipes; who impiously sacrifice the best gifts of Heaven to a preposterous and mistaken vanity. Ere long I shall not be surprised to see them scarring their faces like the negroes of Congo, flattening their noses in imitation of the Hottentots, or like the bar- barians of Ab-al Timar, distorting their lips and ears out of all natural dimensions. Since I received this infor- mation, I cannot contemplate a fine figure, without think- ing of a vinegar cruet; nor look at a dashing belle, without faircying her a pet of pickled cucumbers? What a difference, my friend, between those shades and the plump beauties of Tripoli—what a contrast between anº infidel fair one and my favourite wife, Fatima, whom I bought by the hundred weight, and had trundled home in a wheelbºurow ! - 216 THE IRWING GIFT. But enough for the present; I am promised a faithful account of the arcana of a lady's toilette—a complete ini- tiation into the arts, mysteries, spells and potions, in that the whole chemical process, by which she reduces herself down to the most fashionable standard of insignificance; together with specimens of the strait waistcoats, the la- cings, the bandages, and the various ingenious instruments with which she puts nature to the rack, and tortures her- elf into a proper figure to be admired. Farewell, thou sweetest of slave drivers! The echoes that repeat to a lover's ear the song of his mistress are not more soothing than tidings from those we love. Let thy answer to my letters be speedy; and never, I pray thee, for a moment, cease to watch over the prosperity of my house, and the welfare of my beloved wives. Let them want for nothing, my friend, but feed them plentifully on honey, boiled rice, and water gruel; so that when I re- turn to the blessed land of my fathers, if that can ever be, I may find them improved in size and loveliness, and sleek as the graceful elephants that range the green valley of bimar. Ever thine, MUSTAPHA. AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS. WHEN a man is quietly journeying downwards into the valley of the shadow of departed youth, and begins to con- template in a shortened perspective the end of his pilgrim- age, he becomes more solicitous than ever that the re- mainder of his wayfaring should be smooth and pleasant, and the evening of his life, like the evening of a summer's day, fade away in mild uninterrupted serenity. If haply his heart has escaped uninjured, through the dangers of a seductive world, it may then administer to the purest of his felicities, and its chords vibrate more musically for the trials they have sustained—like the viol which yields a melody sweet in proportion to its age. To a mind thus temperately harmonized, thus ma- tured and mellowed by a long lapse of years, there is something truly congénial in the quiet enjoyment of our early autumn, amid the tranquillities of the country. There is a sober and chastened air of gaiety diffused over -- º- - fºliº º sº ſº º W ſº D O M E S T I C E M P I R E. Page 202. \ - - - - AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS. 217 the face of nature, peculiarly interesting to an old man; and when he views the surrounding landscape withering under his eye, it seems as if he and nature were taking a last farewell of each other, and parting with a melancholy smile—like a couple of old friends, who, having sported away the spring and summer of life together, part at the approach of winter with a kind of prophetic fear that they are never to meet again. It is either my good fortune or mishap to be keenly susceptible to the influence of the atmosphere; and I can feel in the morning, before I open my window, whether the wind is easterly. It will not, therefore, Î presume be considered an extravagant instance of vainglory when I assert, that there are few men who can discriminate more accurately in the different varieties of damps, fogs, Scotch-mists, and north-east storms, than myself. To the great discredit of my philosophy I confess, I seldom fail to anathematize and excommunicate the weather, when it sports too rudely with my sensitive system; but then I always endeavour to atone therefore, by eulogizing it when deserving of approbation. And as most of my readers, simple folk; make but one distinction, to wit, rain and sunshine—living in most honest ignorance of the va- rious nice shades which distinguish one fine day from an- other—I take the trouble from time to time, of letting them into some of the secrets of nature, so will they be the better enabled to enjoy her beauties, with the zest of con- noisseurs, and derive at least as much information from my pages as from the weather-wise lore of the almanack. Much of my recreation, since I retreated to the Hall, has consisted in making little excursions through the neighbourhood; which abounds in the variety of wild, ro- mantic, and luxuriant landscape that generally characte- rizes the scenery in the vicinity of our rivers. There is not an eminence within a circuit of many miles but com- mands an extensive range of diversified and enchanting prospect. - *- - Often have I rambled to the summit of some favourite hill, and thence, with feelings sweetly tranquil as the lucid expanse of the heavens that canopied me, have noted the slow and almost imperceptible changes that mark the waning year. There are many features, peculiar to our autumn, and which give it an individual character: the - “green and yellow mélancholy” that first steals over the landscape—the mild and steady serenity of the weather, 10 218 THE IRWING GIFT. and the transparent purity of the atmosphere, speak not merely to the senses but the heart, it is the season of liberal emotions. To this succeeds fantastic gaiety, a motley dress, which the woods assume, where green and yellow, orange, . crimson and scarlet, are whimsi- cally blended together.—A sickly splendour this —like the wild and broken-hearted gaiety that sometimes pre- cedes dissolution, or that childish sportiveness of super- nnuated age, proceeding, not from a vigorous flow of nimal spirits, but from the decay and imbecility of the mind. We might, perhaps, be deceived by this gaudy garb of nature, were it not for the rustling of the falling leaf, which, breaking on the stillness of the scene, seems to announce, in prophetic whispers, the dreary winter that is approaching. When I have sometimes seen a thrif- ty young oak changing its hue of sturdy vigour for a bright but transient glow of red, it has recalled to my mind the treacherous bloom that once mantled the cheek of a friend who is now no more; and which, while it seemed to promise a long life of jocund spirits was the sure pre- cursor of premature decay. In a little while, and this ostentatious foliage disappears—the close of autumn ..eaves but one . expanse of dusky brown, save where some rivulet steals along, bordered with little stripes of green grass—the woodland echoes no more to the carols of the feathered tribes that sported in the leafy covert, and its solitude and silence are uninterrupted except by the plaintive whistle of the quail, the barking of the squirrel, or the still more melancholy wintry wind, which, ruſhing and swelling through the hollows of the mountains, eighs through the leafless branches of the grove, and geºms to mourn the desolation of the year. To one who, like myself, is fond of drawing compari- sons between the different divisions of life and those of the seasons, there will appear a striking analºgy which 20mnects the feelings of }. aged with the decline of the year. Often as I contemplate the mild, uniform, and genial lustre with which the sun cheers and invigorates us in the month of October, and the almost impercepti- ble haze which, without obscuring, tempers all the aspe- rities of the landscape, and gives to every object a cha- racter of stillness and repose, I cannot help comparing it with that portion of existence, when the spring of youth- ful hope and the summer of the passions having gone by, reason assumes an undisputed sway, and lights us on AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS. 219 with bright but undazzling lustre, adown the hill of life. There is a full and mature luxuriance in the fields that fills the bosom with generous and disinterested content. It is not the thoughtless extravagance of spring, prodigal only in blossoms, nor the languid voluptuousness of sum- mer, feverish in its enjoyments, and teeming only with immature abundance—it is that certain fruition of the labours of the past—that prospect of comfortable realities, which those will be sure to enjoy who have improved the bounteous smiles of Heaven, nor wasted away their spring and summer in empty trifling or criminal indul- ence. g Cousin Pindar, who is my constant companion in these expeditions, and who still possesses much of the fire and energy of youthful sentiment, and a buxom hilar- ity of the spirits, often indeed draws me from these half ºf , melancholy reveries, and makes me feel young again by the enthusiasm with which he contemplates, and the ani- mation with which he eulogizes the beauties of nature º || displayed before him. His enthusiastic disposition never allows him to enjoy things by halves, and his feelings are continally breaking out in notes of admiration and ejacu- lations that sober reason might perhaps deem extravagant. But for my part, when I see a hale hearty old man, who has jostled º the rough path of the world, without having worn away the fine edge of his feelings, or blunt- ed his sensibility to natural and moral beauty, I compare him to the evergreen of the forest, whose colours, instead of fading at the approach of winter, seem to assume addi- tional lustre when contrasted with the surrounding desola- tion. Such a man is my friend Pindar;-yet sometimes, and particularly at the approach of evening, even he will fall in with my humour; but he soon recovers his natural tone of spirits; and, mounting on the elasticity of his mind, like Ganymede on the eagle's wing, he soars to the etherial regions of sunshine and fancy. One afternoon we had strolled to the top of a high hill in the neighbourhood of the Hall, which commands an almost boundless prospect; and as the shadows began to lengthen around us, and the distant mountains to fade into mists, my cousin was seized with a moralizing fit. “It seems to me,” said he, laying his hand lightly on my shoulder, “that there is just at this season, and this hour, a sympathy between us and the world we are now contemplating. The evening is stealing upon nature as 220 THE IRWING GIFT. - well as upon us;–the shadows of the opening day have ven place to those of its close; and the only difference is, that in the morning they were before us, now they are behind; and that the first vanished in the splendours of noon-day, the latter will be lost in the oblivion of night.— Our ‘May of life,’ my dear Launce, has for ever H. Our summer is over and gone:–but,” continued he, suddenly recovering himself and slapping me gaily on the shoulder, —“but why should we repine?—What though the ca- pricious zephyrs of spring, the heats and hurricanes of . summer, have given place to the sober sunshine of autumn —and though the woods begin to assume the dappled live- ry of decayſ yet the prevailing colour is still green—gay, sprightly green. - “Let us then comfort ourselves with this reflection ; that though the shades of the morning have given place to those of the evening-though the spring is past, the summer over, and the autumn come, still you and I go on our way rejoicing –and while, like the lofty mountans of our Southern America, our heads are cover- ed with snow, still, like them, we feel the genial warmth of spring and summer playing upon our bosoms.” THE FAMILY OF THE LAMBS. THE family of the Lambs had long been among the most thriving and popular in the #. the Miss Lambs were the belles of Little Britain, and every body was pleased when Old Lamb had made money enough to shut up shop, and put his name on a brass plate on his door. In an evil hour, however, one of the Miss Lambs had the honour of being a lady in attendance on the La- dy Mayoress, at her grand annual ball, on which occasion she wore three towering ostrich feathers on her head. The family never got over it; they were immediately smitten with a passion for high life; set up a one horse carriage, put a bit of gold lace round the errand boy's hat, and have been the talk and detestation of the whole neigh- bourhood ever since. They could no longer be induced to play at Pope-Joan or blind-man's-buff; they could en- dure no dances but quadrilles, which no body had ever heard of in Little Britian; and they took to reading no- ºvels, talking bad French, and playing upon the piano. THE FAMILY OF THE LAMBS. 22] Their brother too, who had been articled to an attorney, set up for a dandy and a critic, characters hitherto un- known in these parts, and he confounded the worthy folks exceedingly by talking about Kean, the Opera and the Edinbro’ Review. What was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand ball, to which they neglected to invite any of their old neigh- bours; but they had a great deal of genteel company from Theobald’s Road, Red-lion Square, and other parts to- wards the west. There were several beaux of the bro- ther's acquaintance from Gray's Inn Lane and Hatton Garden; and not less than three Aldermen's ladies with their daughters. This was not to be forgotten or for- given. All Little Britain was in an uproar with the smacking of whips, the lashing of miserable horses, and the rattling and jingling of hackney coaches. The gos- sips of the neighbourhood might be seen popping their night caps out at every window, watching the crazy ve- hicles rumble by; and there was a knot of virulent old crones, that kept a look-out from a house just opposite the retired butcher's, and scanned and criticised every one that knocked at the door. - This dance was a cause of almost open war, and the whole neighbourhood declared they would have nothing more to say to the Lambs. It is true that Mrs. Lamb, when she had no engagements with her quality acquain- tance, would give little hum-drum tea junkettings to some of her old cronies, “ quite,” as she would say, “in a friendly way:” and it is equally true that her invitations were always accepted, in spite of all previous vows to the contrary. Nay, the good ladies would sit and be de- lighted with the music of the Miss Lambs, who would condescend to strum an Irish melody for them on the piano; and they would listen with wonderful interest to rs. Lamb's anecdotes of Alderman Plunket's family of Port-soken-ward, and the Miss Timberlakes, the rich heiresses of Crutched-Friars; but then they relieved their consciences and averted the reproach of their confeder- ates, by canvassing at the next gossiping convocation ev; ery thing that had passed, and pulling the Lambs and their rout all to pieces. - The only one of the family that could not be made fa- shionable was the retired butcher himself. Honest Lamb, in spite of the meekness of his name, was a rough hearty old fellow, with the voice of a lion, a head of black 222 , THE IRWING GIFT. hair like a shoe-brush, and a broad face mottled like his own beef. It was in vain that the daughters always spoke of him as “the old gentleman,” addressed him as “papa " in tones of infinite softness, and endeavoured to coax him into a dressing gown and slippers, and other ..". habits. Do what they might, there was no keeping down the butcher. His sturdy nature would break through all their glossings. He had a hearty vul. gar good humour that was irrepressible. His very jokes made his sensitive daughters shudder; and he persisted in wearing his blue cotton coat of a morning, dining at tWO o'clock, and having a “bit of sausage with his tea.” He was doomed, however, to share the unpopularity - of his family. He found his old comrades gradually growing cold and civil to him; no longer laughing at his jokes; and now and then throwing out a fling at “some people” and a hint about “quality binding.” This both nettled and perplexed the honest butcher; and his wife and daughters, with the consummate policy of the shrew- der sex, taking advantage of the circumstance, at length prevailed upon him to give up his afternoon's pipe and tankard at Wagstaff's ; to sit after dinner by himself and take his pint ofport—a liquor he detested—and to nod in his chair in solitary and dismal gentility. The Miss Lambs might now be seen flaunting along the streets in French bonnets, with unknown beaux; and talking and laughing so loud that it distressed the nerves of every good lady within hearing. They even went so far as to attempt patronage, and actually induced a French dancing master to set up in the neighbourhood; but the worthy folks of Little Britain took fire at it, and did so persecute the poor Gaul, that he was fain to pack up fid- dle and dancing pumps, and decamp with such precipita- tion, that he absolutely forgot to pay for his lodgings. I had flattered myself, at first, with the idea that all this fiery indignation on the part of the community, was merely the overflowing of their zeal for good old English manners, and their horror of innovation; and I applaud- ed the silent contempt they were so vociferous in express- ing, for upstart pride, French fashions, and the Miss Lambs. But I grieve to say that I soon perceived the infection had taken hold; and that my neighbours, after condemning, were beginning to follow their example. overheard my landlady importuning her husband to let their daughters have one quarter at French and music, - - THE ANGLE.R. 223 and that they might take a few lessons in quadrille. I even saw, in the course of a few Sundays, no less than five French bonnets, precisely like those of the Miss Lambs, parading about Little Britain. - BLINDMAN'S-BUFF. AFTER the dinner table was removed, the hall was given up to the younger members of the family, who, prompted to all kind of noisy mirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring with their mer- riment, as they played at romping games. I delight in witnessing the gambols of children, and particularly at this happy holiday season, and could not help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing one of their peals of laughter. I found them at the game of blindman's. buſ. Master Simon who was the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office of that an- cient potentate, the Lord of Misrule, was blinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about him as the mock fairies about Falstaff; pinching him, plucking at the skirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, a com- plete picture of a romp, was the chief tormentor; and from the slyness with which Master Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed this wild little nymph in cor- ners, and obliged her to jump shrieking over chairs, I sus- pected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded than was convenient. - THE ANGLER. ON parting with the old angler I inquired, after his place of abode, and happening to be in the neighbourhood of the village a few evenings afterwards, I had the curi- osity to seek him out. I found him living in a small cottage, containing only one room, but a perfect curiosity in its method and arrangement. It was on the skirts of the village, on a green bank, a little back from the road, 224 THE IRWING GIFT. with a small garden in front, stocked with kitchen herbs, and adorned with a few flowers. The whole front of the cottage was overrun with a honeysuckle. On the top was a ship for a weathercock. The interior was fitted up in a truly nautical style; his ideas of comfort and convenience having been acquired on the birth-deck of a man of war. A hammock was slung from the ceiling, which, in the day-time, was lashed up, so as to take but little room. From the centre of the chamber hung a model of a ship of his own workmanship. Two or three chairs, a table, and a large sea chest, formed the principal moveables. " About the walls were stuck up naval ballads, such as Ad- miral Hosier's Ghost, All in the downs, and Tom Bow- line, intermingled with pictures of sea fights, among which the battle of Camperdown held a distinguished place. The mantle-piece was decorated with sea shells; over which hung a quadrant, flanked by two wood-cuts of most bitter looking naval commanders. His implements for an- gling were carefully disposed on nails and hooks about the room. On a shelf was arranged his library, containing a work on angling, much worn; a bible covered with can- vass; an odd volume or two of voyages; a nautical alma- nack; and a book of songs. His family consisted of a large black cat with one eye, and a parrot which he had caught and tamed, and edu- cated himself, in the course of one of his voyages; and which uttered a variety of sea phrases with the hoarse brat- tling tone of a veteran boatswain. The establishment re- minded me of that of the renowned Robinson Crusoe ; it was kept in neat order, every thing being “stowed away” with the regularity of a ship of war; and he informed me he “scoured the deck every morning, and swept it be- tween meals.” I found him seated on a bench before the door, smok- ing his pipe in the soft evening sunshine. His cat was purring soberly on the threshold, and his parrot describ- ing some strange evolutions in an iron ring that swung in the centre of his cage. He had been angling all day, and gave me a history of his sport with as much minute- ness as a general would talk over a campaign; being parti- cularly animated in relating the manner in which he had tak- en a large trout, which had completely tasked all his skill and wariness, and which he had sent as a trophy to mine hostess of the inn. How comforting it is to see a cheerful and contented RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. 225 old age; and to behold a poor fellow, like this, after be- ing tempest tost through life, safely moored in a smug harbour, in the evening of his days! His happiness, how: ever, sprung from within himself, and was independent of external circumstances; for he had that inexhaustible good-nature, which is the most precious gift of Heaven; spreading itself like oil over the troubled sea of thought, and keeping the mind smooth and equable in the rough. est weather. On inquiring further about him, I learned that he was a universal favourite in the village, and the oracle of the tap-room; where he delighted the rustics with his songs, and like Sinbad, astonished them with his stories of strange lands, and shipwrecks, and sea fights. He was much noticed too by gentlemen sportsmen of the neigh- bourhood; had taught several of them the art of angling; and was a privileged visiter to their kitchens. The whole tenor of his life was quiet and inoffensive, being principally passed about the neighbouring streams when the weather and season were favourable; and at other times he employed himself at home, preparing his fishing tackle for the next campaign, or manufacturing rods, nets, and flies for his patrons and pupils among the gentry. He was a regular attendant at church on Sundays, though he generally fell asleep during the sermon. He had made it his particular request that when he died he should be buried on a green spot, which he could see from his seat in church, and which he had marked out ever since he was a boy, and had thought of when far from home on the raging sea, in danger of being food for the fishes—it was the spot where his father and mother had been buried. RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. Not HING can be more imposing than the magnificence of English park scenery. Vast lawns that extend like sheets of vivid green, with here and there clumps of gigantic trees, heaping up rich piles of foliage. The solemn pomp of groves and woodland glades, with the deer trooping in silent herds across them; the hare, bounding away to the covert; or the pheasant, suddenly bursting upon the wing. The brook, taught tº ind in natural meanderings, or 226 THE IRWING GIFT. expand into a glassy lake—the sequestered pool, reflecting the quivering trees, with the yellow leaf sleeping on its bosom, and the trout roaming fearlessly about its limpid waters: while some rustic temple or sylvan statue, grown green and dank with age, gives an air of classic sanctity to the seclusion. - These are but a few of the features of park scenery; but what most delights me, is the creative talent with which the English decorate the unostentatious abodes of middle life. The rudest habitation, the most unpromising and scanty portion of land, in the hands of an Englishman . of taste, becomes a little paradise. With a nicely dis- criminating eye, he seizes at once upon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the future º The ster- ile spot grows into loveliness under his hand; and yet the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and training of some trees; the cautious pruning of others; the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage; the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf; the partial opening to a peep of blue distance, or silver gleam of water; all these are managed with a delicate tact, a pervading yet quiet assidui- ty, like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favourite picture. The residence of people of fortune and refinement in the country has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural economy, that descends to the lowest class. The very labourer, with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground, attends to their embellishment. The trim - hedge, the grass-plot before the door, the little flower-bed bordered with snug box, the woodbine trained up against the wall, and hanging its blossoms about the lattice, the pot of flowers in the window, the holly providently plant: ed about the house, to cheat winter of its dreariness, and to throw in a semblance of green summer to cheer the fire side: all these bespeak the influence of taste, flowing down from high sources, and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind. If ever Love, as poets sing, delights - to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an English | . peasant. - - - - The fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the English has had a great and salutary effect upon the national character. I do not know a finer race of men than the English gentlemen. Instead of the softness and effeminacy which characterize the man of rank in most RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. 227 F= countries, they exhibit a union of elegance and strength, a robustness of frame and freshness of complexion, which I am inclined to attribute to their living so much in the open air, and pursuing so eagerly the invigorating recre- ations of the country. These hardy exercises produce also a healthful tone of mind and spirits, and a manliness and simplicity of manners, which even the follies and dissipations of the town cannot easily pervert, and can never entirely destroy. In the country, too, the differ- ent orders of society seem to approach more freely, to be more disposed to blend and operate favourably upon each other. The distinctions between them do not appear to be so marked and impassable, as in the cities. The man- ner in which property has been distributed into small es- tates and farms, has established a regular gradation from the nobleman, through the classes of gentry, small land- ed proprietors, and substantial farmers, down to the la- bouring peasantry; and while it has thus banded the ex- tremes of society together, has infused into each interme- diate rank a spirit of independence. This, it must be confessed, is not so universally the case at present as it was formerly; the larger estates having, in late years of distress, absorbed the smaller, and, in some parts of the country, almost annihilated the sturdy race of small far- mers. These, however, I believe, are but casual breaks in the general system. I have mentioned. - In rural occupation there is nothing mean and debas- ing. It leads a man forth among scenes of natural gran- deur and beauty; it leaves him to the workings of his own mind, operated upon by the purest and most elevating of external influences. Such a man may be simple and rough, but he cannot be vulgar. The man of refinement, therefore, finds .."; in an intercourse with the lower orders of moral life, as he does when he casually mingles with the lower of cities. He lays aside his dis- tance and reserve, and is glad to wave the distinctions of rank, and to enter into the honest, heartfelt enjoyments of common life. Indeed the very amusements of the country bring men more and more together; and the sound of hound and horn blend all feelings into harmony. I be- lieve this is one great reason why the nobility and gentry are more popular among the inferior orders in England than they are in any other country; and why the latter have endured so many excessive pressures and extremities, 228 THE IRWING GIFT. without repining more generally at the unequal distribu- tion of fortune and privilege. To this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may also be attributed the rural feeling that runs through Bri- tish literature; the frequent use of illustrations from rural life; those incomparable descriptions of nature that abound in the British Poets—that have continued down from “the flower and the leaf” of Chaucer, and have brought into our closets all the freshness and fragrance of the dewy landscape. The pastoral writers of other countries appear as if they had paid.nature an occasional visit, and become acquainted with her general charms: but the British poets have lived and revelled with her, they have wooed her in her most secret haunts, they have watched her minu- test caprices. A spray could not tremble in the breeze— a leaf could not rustle to the ground—a diamond drop could not patter in the stream—a fragrance could not exhale from the humble violet, nor a daisy unfold its crim- son tints to the morning; but it has been noticed by these impassioned and delicate observers, and wrought up into some beautiful morality. LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, To Muley Helim al Raggi, surnamed the agreeable Raga- muffin, chief mountebank and buffo-dancer to - - his Highness. THE numerous letters which I have written to our friend the slave-driver, as well as those to thy kinsman the snor- er, and which doubtless were read to thee, honest Muley, have in all probability, awakened thy curiosity to know fur- ther particulars concerning the manners of the barbarians, who hold me in such ignominious captivity. I was lately at one of their public ceremonies, which, at first, perplexed me exceedingly as to its object; but as the explanations of a friend have let me somewhat into the secret, and as it seems to bear no small analogy to thy profession, a descrip- THIRD LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA. 229 tion of it may contribute to thy amusement, if not to thy instruction. A few days since, just as I had finished my coffee, and was perfuming my whiskers preparatory to a morning walk, I was waited upon by an inhabitant of this place, a gay young infidel, who has of late cultivated my ac- quaintance. He presented me with a square bit of paint- éd pasteboard, which he informed me, would entitle me to admittance to the city assembly. Curious to know the meaning of a phrase which was entirely new to me, I requested an explanation; when my friend informed me that the assembly was a numerous concourse of young people of both sexes, who, on certain occasions, gathered together to dance about a large room with violent gestic- ulation, and try to out-dress each other. “In short,” said he, “If you wish to see the natives in all their glory, there's no place like the city assembly; so you must go there and sport your whiskers.” . Though the matter of sporting my whiskers was considerably beyond my apprehension, yet I now began, as I thought, to understand him. I had heard of the war dances of the natives, which are a kind of religious institution, and had little doubt but that this must be a solemnity of the kind—upon a pro- digious great scale. Anxious as I am to cºntemplate these strange people in every situation, I willingly ac- ceded to his proposal, and, to be more at ease, I de- termined to lay aside my Turkish dress, and appear in plain garments of the fashion of this country, as is my custom whenever I wish to mingle in a crowd, without exciting the attention of the gaping multitude: It was long after the shades of night had fallen, before my friend appeared to conduct me to the assembly. “These infidels,” thought I, “shroud themselves in mystery, and seek the aid of gloom and darkness, to heightém the solemnity of their pious orgies. Resolving to conduct myself with that decent respect, which every stranger owes to the customs of the land in which he so- journs, I chastised my features into an expression of sober reverence, and stretched my face into a degree of longi- tude suitable to the ceremony I was about to witness. Spite of myself, I felt an emotion of awe stealing over my senses as I approached the majestic pile. My imagi- nation pictured something similar to a descent into the cave of Dom-Daniel, where the necromancers of the East are taught their infernal arts. I entered with the same gra- 230 THE IRWING GIFT, vity of demeanour that I would have approached the holy temple of Mecca, and bowed my head three times as I passed the threshold.—“ Head of the mighty Amrou!” thought I, on being ushered into a splendid saloon, “what a display is here I surely I am transported to the man- sions of the Houris, the elysium of the faithfull”—How tame appeared all the descriptions of enchanted palaces in oùr Arabian poetry! Where ever I turned my eyes, the guick glances of beauty dazzled my vision and ravished my heart: lovely virgins fluttered by me, darting imperi- allooks of conquest, or beaming such smiles of invitation, as did Gabriel when he beckoned our holy prophet to heaven. Shall I own the weakness of thy friend, good Muley —while thus gazing on the enchanting scene be- fore me, I for a moment forgot my country, and even the memory of my three-and-twenty wives faded from my heart; my thoughts were bewildered and led astray, by the charms of these bewitching savages, and I sunk, for a while, into that delicious state of mind where the senses, all enchanted and all striving for mastery, produce an endless variety of tumultuous, yet pleasing emotions. Oh, Muley, never shall I again wonder that an infidel should prove a recreant to the single solitary wife allotted him, when even thy friend, armed with all the precepts of Mahomet, can so easily prove faithless to three-and- twenty “Whither have you led me?” said I, at length, to my companion, “and to whom do these beautiful creatures belong certainly this must be the seraglio of the grand bashaw of the city, and a most happy bashaw must he be, to possess treasures which even his highness of Tri- poli cannot parallel.” “Have a care,” cried my com: panion, “how you talk of seraglios, or you will have all these gentle nymphs about your ears; for seraglio is a word which beyond all others, they abhor:-most of them,” continued he, “ have no lord and master, but come here to catch one—they're in the market, as we term it.” “Ah, ha!” said I, exultingly, “then you really have a fair, or slave market, such as we have in the Éast, where the faithful are provided with the choicest virgins of Georgia and Circassia!—by our glorious sun of Afric, but I should like to select some ten or a dozen wives from so lovely an assemblageſ, pray what would you suppose they might be bought for " Before I could receive an answer, my attention was attracted by two or three good-looking middle-sized men, - THIRD LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA. 231 who being dressed in black, a colour universally worn in this country by the muftis and dervises, I immediately concluded to be high priests, and was confirmed in my original opinion that this was a religious ceremony. These reverend personages are entitled managers, and enjoy unlimited authority in the assemblies, being armed with swords, with which, I am told, they wouldſ infalli. bly put any lady to death who infringed the laws of the temple. They walked round the room with great so- lemnity, and, with an air of profound importance and mystery, put a little piece of folded paper in each fair hand, which I concluded were religious talismans. One of them dropped on the floor, whereupon I stily put my foot on it, and, watching an opportunity, picked it up . unobserved, and found it to contain some unintelligible words and the mystic number 9. What were its virtues I know not ; except that I put it in my pocket, and have hitherto been preserved from my fit of the lumbago, which I generally have about this season of the year ever since I tumbled into the well of Zim-zim on my pilgrim- age to Mecca. I enclose it to thee in this letter, presuming it to be particularly serviceable against the dangers of thy profession. Shortly after the distribution of these talismans, one of the high priests stalked into the middle of the room with great majesty, and clapped his hands three times: a loud explosion of music succeeded from a number of black, yellow, and white musicians, perched in a kind of cage over the grand entrance. The company were there- upon thrown into great confusion and apparent consterna- tion.—They hurried to and fro about the room, and at length formed themselves into little groups of eight per- sons, half male and half female;—the music struck into something like harmony, and, in a moment, to my utter astonishment and dismay, they were all seized with what I concluded to be a paroxysm of religious phrensy, tos- sing about their heads in a ludicrous style from side to side, and indulging in extravagant contortions of figure; —now throwing their heels into the air, and anon whirl- ing round with the velocity of the eastern idolators, who think they pay a grateful homage to the sun by imitating his motions. I expected every moment to see them fall down in convulsions, foam at the mouth, and shriek with fancied inspiration. As usual the females seemed most fervent in their religious exercises, and performed them 232 THE IRWING GIFT. with a melancholy expression of feature that was pecu- liarly touching; but I was highly gratified by the exem- plary conduct of several male devotees, who, though their gesticulations would intimate a wild merriment of the feelings, maintained throughout as inflexible a gravity of countenance as so many monkeys of the island of Borneo at their antics. “And pray,” said I, “who is the divinity that pre- sides in this splendid mosque *—The divinity Oh, I understand—you mean the belle of the evening; we have a new one every season.—The one at present in fashion is that lady you see yonder, dressed in white, with pink ribbons, and a crowd of adorers around her.” “Truly,” cried I, “this is the pleasantest deity I have encountered in the whole course of my travels;–so familiar, so con- descending, and so merry withal;-why, her very wor- shippers take her by the hand, and whisper in her ear.” “My good Mussulman,” replied my friend with great gravity, “I perceive you are completely in an error con- cerning the intent of this ceremony. You are now in a place of public amusement, not of public worship; and the pretty looking young men you see making such vio- lent grotesque distortions are merely indulging in our favourite amusement of dancing.” “I cry your mer- cy,” exclaimed I, “these then are the dancing men and women of the town, such as we have in our principal cities, who hire themselves out for the entertainment of the wealthy;-but, pray who pays them for this fatigu- ing exhibition ?”—My friend regarded me for a moment with an air of whimsical perplexity, as if doubtful whe- ther I was in jest or in earnest—“’Sblood man,” cried he, “these are some of our greatest people, our fashion- ables, who are merely dancing here for amusement.” Dancing for amusement I think of that, Muley !—thou, whose greatest pleasure is to chew opium, Smoke tobacco, loll on a couch, and doze thyself into the regions of the Houris —Dancing for amusement —shall I never cease having occasion to laugh at the absurdities of these bar- barians, who are laborious in their recreations, and indo- lent only in their hours of business —Dancing for amuse- ment!—the very idea makes my bones ache, and I never think of it without being chliged to apply my handker- chief to my forehead, and fan myself into some degree of coolness. - “And pray,” said I, when my astonishment had a THIRD LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA. 233 little subsided, “do these musicians also toil for amuse- ment, or are they confined to their cage, like birds, to sing for the gratification of others? I should think the former was the case, from the animation with which they flourish their elbows. “Not so,” replied my friend, “they are well paid, which is no more than just, for Í assure you they are the most important personages in the room. The fiddler puts the whole assembly in motion, and directs their movements, like the master of a puppet. show, who sets all his pasteboard gentry kicking by a jerk of his fingers.--There now, look at that dapper lit. tle gentleman yonder, who appears to be suffering the pangs of dislocation in every limb : he is the most expert puppet in the room, and performs not so much for his own amusement, as for that of the bystanders.” Just then, the little gentleman having finished one of his pa- rºxysms of activity, seemed to be looking round for ap- plause from the spectators. Feeling myself really much obliged to him for his exertions, I made him a low bow of thanks, but nobody followed my example, which I thought a singular instance of ingratitude. Thou wilt perceive, friend Muley, that the dancing of these barbarians is totally different from the science pro- fessed by thee in Tripoli; the country, in fact, is afflicted by numerous epidemical diseases, which travel from house to house, from city to city, with the regularity of a caravan. Among these, the most formidable is this danc- ing mania, which prevails chiefly throughout the winter. It at, first seized, on a few people of fashion, and being indulged in moderation was a cheerful exercise; but in . little time, by quick advances, it infected all classes of the community, and became a raging epidemic. The doctors immediately, as is their usual way, instead of devising a remedy, fell together by the ears, to decide whether it was native or imported, and the sticklers for the latter opinion traced it to a cargo of trumpery from France, as they had before hunted down the yellow-fever to a bag of coffee from the West-Indies. What makes this disease the more formidable is, that the patients seem infatuated with their malady, abandon themselves to its unbounded rava- ges, and expose their persons to wintry storms and mid- night airs, more fatal in this capricious climate, than the withering Simoon blast of the desert. I know not whether it is a sight most whimsical, or melancholy, to witness a fit of this dancing malady. The 234 THE IRWING GIFT. lady hops up to the gentleman, who stands at the distance of about three paces, and then capers back again to her place;—the gentleman of course does the same ; then they skip one way, then they jump another;-then they turn their backs to each other;-then they seize each other and shake hands; then they whirl round, and throw them- selves into a thousand grotesque and ridiculous attitudes; —sometimes on one leg, and sometimes on the other, and sometimes on no leg at all : and this they call exhibiting the graces ! By the nineteen thousand capers of the great mountebank of Damascus, but these graces must be some- thing like the crooked backed dwarf of Shabrac, who is sometimes permitted to amuse his Highness by imitating the tricks of a monkey. These fits continue for short intervals of from four to five hours, till at last the lady is led off, faint, languid, exhausted, and panting, to her carriage;—rattles home;—passes a night of feverish rest- lessness, cold perspirations, and troubled sleep; rises late next morning, if she rises at all; is nervous, petulant, or a prey to languid indifference all day; a mere household spectre, neither giving nor receiving enjoyment; in the evening hurries to another dance; receives an unnatural exhilaration from the lights, the music, the crowd, and the unmeaning bustle;—flutters, sparkles, and blooms for a while, until the transient dalirium being past, the in- fatuated maid drops and languishes into apathy again;– is again led off to her carriage, and the next morning rises to go through exactly the same joyless routine. And yet, wilt thou believe it, my dear Raggi, these are rational beings; nay, more, their countrymen would fain persuade me they have souls' Is it not a thousand times to be lamented that beings, endowed with charms that might warm even the frigid heart of a dervise;— with social and endearing powers, that would render them the joy and pride of the Tharem; should surrender them. selves to a habit of heartless dissipation, which preys im- perceptibly on the roses of the check; which robs the eye of its lustre, the mouth of its dimpled smile, the spirits of their cheerful hilarity, and the limbs of their elastic vigour –which hurries them off in the spring-time of existence; or, if they survive, yields to the arms of a youthful bridegroom a frame wrecked in the storms of dissipation, and struggling with premature infirmity, Alas, Muley ! may I not ascribe to this cause the num- ber of little old women I meet with in this country, from the age of eighteen to eight-and-twenty THIRD LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA. 235 In sauntering down the room, my attention was at- tracted by a smoky painting, which, on nearer examina- tion, I found consisted of two female figures crowning a bust with a wreath of laurel. “ This, I suppose,” cried I, “ was some famous dancer in his time? “...O, no,” replied my friend, “ he was only a general.” “Good; but then he must have been great at a cotillion, or, expert at a fiddle-stick—or why is his memorial here 4" “ Quite the contrary,” answered my companion; “ history makes no mention of his ever having flourished a fiddle-stick, or figured in a single dance. You have no doubt, heard of him: he was the illustrious Washington, the father and deliverer of his country: and, as our nation is remarkable for gratitude to great men, it always does honour to their memory, by placing their monuments over the doors of taverns, or in the corners of dancing-rooms.” From thence my friend and I strolled into a small apartment adjoining the grand saloon, where I beheld a number of grave looking persons with venerable gray heads, but without beards, which I thought very, unbe- coming, seated round a table studying hieroglyphics. I approached them with reverence, as so many magi, or learned men, endeavouring to expound the mysteries of Egyptian science: several of them threw down money, which I supposed was a reward proposed for some great discovery, when presently one of them spread his hiero- glyphics on the table, exclaimed triumphantly, “Two bullets and a bragger!” and swept all the money into his pocket. He has discovered a key to the hieroglyphics, thought I—happy mortal!—no doubt, his name shall be immortalized. Willing, however, to be satisfied, I look- ed round on my companion with an inquiring eye; he understood me, and informed me that these were a com- pany of friends, who had met together to win each other's imoney and be agreeable. “Is that allº”, exclaimed I; “why then, I pray you, make way, and let me escape from this temple of abominations, who knows but these people, who meet together to toil, worry, and fatigue themselves to death, and give it the name of pleasure – and who win each other's money by way of being agree- able—may some one of them take a liking to me, and pick my pocket, or break my head in a paroxysm of hearty good-will P - Thy friend, MUSTAPHA. 336 THE IRWING GIFT. JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND. JAMEs flourished nearly about the time of Chaucer and Gower, and was evidently an admirer and studier of their writings. Indeed, in one of his stanzas he acknow- ledges them as his masters; and, in some parts of his poem, we find traces of similarity to their productions, more especially to those of Chaucer. There are always, however, general features of resemblance in the works of contemporary authors, which are not so much bor- rowed from each other as from the times. Writers, like bees, toil their sweets in the wide world; they incorpo- rate with their own conceptions the anecdotes and thoughts which are current in society; and thus each generation has some feature in common, characteristic of the age in which it lived. James in fact belongs to one of the most brilliant eras of our literary history, and establishes the claims of his country to a participation in its primitive honours. Whilst a small cluster of English writers are constantly cited as the fathers of our verse, the name of their great Scottish compeer is apt to be passed over in silence; but he is evidently worthy of being enrolled in that little con- stellation of remote but never failing luminaries, who shine in the highest firmament of literature, and who, like mor- ning stars, sang together at the bright dawning of British poesy. How Peter Stuyvesanº relieved the Sovereign People from the Burthen of taking Care of the Nation—with sun- dry Particulars of his Conduct in Time of Peace. THE history of the reign of Peter Stuyvesant furnishes a melancholy picture of the incessant cares and vexations in- separable from government; and may serve as a solemn warning to all who are ambitious of attaining the seat of power. Though crowned with victory, enriched by con- quest, and returning in triumph to his metropolis, his exul- tation was checked by beholding the sad abuses that had ta. ken place during the short interval of his absence. #. populace, unfortunately for their own comfort, had PETER STUyvKSANT'S REIGN. 237 taken a deep draught of the intoxicating cup of power, du- ring the reign of William the Testy; and though, upon the accession of Peter Stuyvesant, they felt, with a certain Instinctive perception, which mobs as well as cattle possess, that the reins of government had passed into stronger hands; yet they could not help fretting, and chafing, and champing on the bit, in restive silence. It seems by some strange and inscrutable fatality, to be the destiny of most countries (and more especially of your enlightened republics,) always to be governed by the most incompetent man in the nation; so that you will scarcely find an individual throughout the whole community, but who will detect to you innumerable errors in administra- tion, and convince you in the end, that had he been at the head of affairs, matters would have gone on a thousand times more prosperously. Strange that that government, which seems to be so generally understood, should inva- riably be so erroneously administered—strange, that the talent of legislation, so prodigally bestowed, should be de- nied to the only man in the nation to whose station it is requisite. - Thus it was in the present instance, not a man of all the herd of psuedo-politicians in New-Amsterdam, but was an oracle on topics of state, and could have directed public af- fairs incomparably better than Peter Stuyvesant. But so severe was the old governor in his disposition that he would never suffer one of the multitude of able counsellors by whom he was surrounded, to intrude his advice, and save the country from destruction, Scarcely, therefore, had he departed on his expedition against the Swedes, than the old factions of William Kieft's reign began to thrust their heads above water, and to gather together in political meetings, to discuss “the state of the nation.” At these assemblages the busy burgomasters and their officious schepens made a very considerable figure. These worthy dignitaries were no longer the fat, weiſſed, tranquil magistrates, that presided in the peaceful days of Wouter Van Twiller. On the contrary, being elected by the people, they formed in a manner a sturdy bulwark be- tween the mob and the administration. They were great candidates for popularity, and strenuous advocates for the ights of the rabble; resembling in disinterested zeal the wide-mouthed tribunes of ancient Rome, or those virtuous patriots of modern days, emphatically denominated “the friends of the people.” - 23S TRE IRWING GIFT. Under the tuition of these profound politicians it is astonishing how suddenly enlightened the swinish mul- titude became, in matters above their comprehensions. Coblers, tinkers, and tailors, all at once felt themselves inspired, like those religious idiots, in the glorious times of monkish illumination; and, without any previous study or experience, became instantly capable of directing all the movements of government. Nor must I neglect to mention a number of superannuated, wrong-headed old burghers, who had come over when boys, in the crew of the Goede Vrouw, and were held up as infallible oracles by the enlightened mob. To suppose that a man who had helped to discover a country did not know how it ought to be governed was preposterous in the extreme. It would have been deemed as much a heresy as, at the present day, to question the political talents and universal infal- libility of our old “heroes of '76"—and to doubt that he who had fought for a government, however stupid he might naturally be, was not competent to fill any station under it. But as Peter Stuyvesant had a singular inclination to go- vern his province without the assistance of his subjects, he felt highly incensed on his return to find the factious appear- ance they had assumed during his absence. His first mea- sure, therefore, was to restore perfect order, by prostrating the dignity of the sovereign people. He accordingly watched his opportunity, and one even- ing when the enlightened mob was gathered together, lis- tening to a patriotic speech from an inspired cobler the intrepid Peter, like his great namesake of all the Russias, all at once appeared among them, with a countenance suf- ficient to petrify a millstone. The whole meeting was thrown into consternation—the orator seemed to have re- ceived a paralytic stroke in the very middle of a sublime sentence, and stood aghast with open mouth and trembling knees, whilst the words horror tyranny! liberty! rights! taxes death ! destruction! and a deluge of other patrio- tic phrases came roaring from his throat, before he had power to close his lips. The shrewd Peter took no notice of the skulking throng around him but advancing to the brawling bully ruffian, and drawing out a huge silver watch, which might have served in times of yore as a town-clock, and which is still retained by his descendants as a family curiosity, requested the orator to mend it and set it going. The orator humbly confessed it was utterly out of his | PETER STUyvKSANT's REIGN. 239 power as he was unacquainted with the nature of its con- struction. “Nay, but,” said Peter, “try your ingenuity, man; you see all the springs and wheels, and how easily the clumsiest hand may stop it, and pull it to pieces; and why should it not be equally easy to regulate as to stop it?” The orator declared that his trade was wholly dif- ferent, he was a poor cobler, and had never meddled with a watch in his life. That there were men skilled in the art, whose business it was to attend to those matters; but for his part he should only mar the workmanship, and put the whole in confusion—“Why, harkee, master of mine,” cried Peter, turning suddenly upon him, with a countenance that almost petrified the patcher of shoes into a perfect lapstone—“dost thou pretend to meddle with the movements of government—to regulate and correct, and patch, and cobble, a complicated machine, the princi- ples of which are above thy comprehension, and its sim- plest operation too subtle for thy understanding, when thou canst not correct a trifling error in a common piece of me- chanism, the whole mystery of which is open to thy in- spection?—Hence with thee to the leather and stone, which are emblems of thy head; cobble thy shoes, and confine thyself to the vocation for which heaven has fitted thee—But,” elevating his voice until it made the welkin ring, “if ever I catch thee, or any of thy tribe, meddling again with the affairs of government—by St. Nicholas, but I'll have every mother's bastard of ye flea'd alive, and your hides stretched for drum-heads, that ye may thenceforth make a noise to some purpose ſº This threat, and the tremendous voice in which it was uttered, caused the whole multitude to quake with fear. The hair of the orator rose on his head like his own swine’s bristles, and not a knight of the thimble present but his heart died within him and he felt as though he could have verily escaped through the eye of a needle. But though this measure produced the desired effect in reducing the community to order, yet it tended to injure the popularity of the great Peter among the enlightened vulgar. Many accused him of entertaining highly aristo- cratic sentiments and of leaning too much in favour of the patricians. Indeed there appeared to be some grounds for such an accusation, as he always carried himself with a very lofty soldier-like port, and was somewhat particular in his dress; dressing himself when not in uniform, in simple but rich apparel; and was especially noted for ºne- - ºil. = ==== - - 240 THE IRWING GIFT. having his sound leg (which was a very comely one) always arrayed in a red stocking and high heeled shoe. Though a man of great simplicity of manners, yet there was something about him that repelled rude familiarity, while it encouraged frank, and even social intercourse. He likewise observed some appearance of court cere- mony and etiquette. He received the common class of visiters on the stoop,” before his door, according to the custom of our Dutch ancestors. But when visiters were formally received in his parlour, it was expected they would appear in clean linen; by no means to be bare footed, and always to take their hats off. On public occasions he appeared with great pomp of equipage (for, in truth, his station required a little show and dignity,) and always rode to church in a yellow waggon with flaming red wheels. These symptons of state and ceremony occasioned con- siderable discontent among the vulgar. They had been accustomed to find easy access to their former governors, and in particular had lived on terms of extreme familiarity with William the Testy. They therefore were very impa- tient of these dignified precautions, which discouraged intrusion. But Peter Stuyvesant had his own way of thinking in these matters, and was a staunch upholder of the dignity of office. He always maintained that government to be the least popular, which is most open to popular access and con- trol; and that the very brawlers against court ceremony, and the reserve of men in power, would soon despise rulers among whom they found even themselves to be of consequence. Such at least, had been the case with the administration of William the Testy; who, bent on makin himself popular, had listened to every man's advice, suf. fered every person to have admittance to his person at all hours; and, in a word, treated every one as his thorough equal. By this means every scrub politician and pub- lic busybody was enabled to measure wits with him, and to find out the true dimensions, not only of his person, but his mind.—And what great man can stand such scrutiny? ---, - It is the mystery that envelopes great men, that gives * Properly spelled stoeb : the porch commonly built in front of Dutch houses, with benches on each side. *S is \\ lºs s º >- º -- | \\\ 2. ->zº - º º ſºſ. º - *A*/º | º º º T H E A N G L E R. Page 223. PETER STUYVESANT's REIGN. 241 º them half their greatness. We are always inclined to think highly of those who hold themselves aloof from our examination. There is likewise a kind of superstitious reverence for office, which leads us to exaggerate the merits and abilities of men of power, and to suppose that they must be constituted different from other men. And, indeed, faith is as necessary in politics as in religion. It certainly is of the first importance, that a country should be governed by wise men; but then it is almost equally important, that the people should believe them to be wise; for this belief alone can produce willing subordination. To keep up, therefore, this desirable confidence in rulers, the people should be allowed to see as little of them as possible. He who gains access to cabinets soon finds out by what foolishness the world is governed. He discovers that there is a quackery in legislation, as well as in every thing else; that many a measure, which is sup- posed by the million to be the result of great wisdom and deep deliberation, is the effect of mere chance, or perhaps of hair-brained experiment.—That rulers have their whims and errors as well as other men, and after all are not so wonderfully superior to their fellow-creatures as he at first imagined; since he finds that even his own opinions have had some weight with them. Thus awe subsides into con- fidence, confidence inspires familiarity, and familiarity produces contempt. Peter Stuyvesant, on the contrary, by conducting himself with dignity and loftiness, was looked up to with great reverence. As he never gave his reasons for any thing he did, the public always gave him credit for very profound ones. Every movement, however intrinsically unimportant, was a matter of speculation; and his very red stocking excited some respect, as being dif- ferent from the stocking of other men. To these times we may refer the rise of family pride and aristocratic distinctions;* and indeed I cannot but look back with reverence to the early planting of those mighty Dutch families, which have taken such vigorous * In a work pnblished many years after the time here treated of (in 1761, by C. W. A M ) it is mentioned that Frederick Philipse was counted the richest Mynheer in New-York, and was said to have whole hogsheads of Indian money or wanpum; and had a son and daughter, who according to the Dutch custom, should divide it equally. - - 11 242 THE IRVING GIFT. root, and branched out so luxuriantly in our state. The blood which has flowed down uncontaminated through a succession of steady, virtuous generations, since, the times of the patriarchs of Communipaw, must certainly be pure and worthy. And if so, then are the Van Rensellaers, the Van Zandts, the Van Hornes, the Rutgers, the Bensons, the Brinkerhoffs, the Skermerhorns, and all the true de- scendants of the ancient Pavonians, the only legitimate no- bility and real lords of the soil. I have been led to mention thus particularly the well authenticated claims of our genuine Dutch families, be- cause I have noticed with great sorrow and vexation, that they have been somewhat elbowed aside in latter days, by foreign intruders. It is really astonishing to behold how many great families have sprung up of late years, who º: themselves excessively on the score of ancestry. Thus e who can look up to his father without humiliation as- sumes not a little importance—he who can safely talk of his grandfather is still more vainglorious—but he who can look back to his great grandfather without blushing is abso: lutely intolerable in his pretensions to family.—Bless us! what a piece of work is here, between these mushrooms of an hour and these mushrooms of a day ! But from what I have recounted in the former part of this chapter, I would not have my reader imagine that the great Peter was a tyrannical governor, ruling his subjects with a rod of iron—on the contrary, where the dignity of authority was not implicated, he abounded with gene- rosity and courteous condescension. In fact he really believed, though. I fear my more enlightened republican readers will consider it a proof of his ignorance and illi- berality, that in preventing the cup of social life from being dashed with the intoxicating ingredient of politics, he promoted the tranquillity ...i. of the people —and by detaching their minds from subjects which they could not understand, and which only tended to inflame their passions, he enabled them to attend more faithfully and industriously to their proper callings; becoming more useful citizens and more attentive to their families and for- tunes. . So far from having any unreasonable austerity, he de- lighted to see the poor and the labouring man rejoice, and for this purpose was a great promoter of holydays and public amusements. Under his reign was first introduced the custom of cracking eggs at Pass or Easter. New- PETER STUYvKSANT's REIGN. 243 Years Day was also observed with extravagant festivity— and ushered in by the ringing of bells and firing of guns. Every house was a temple to the jolly god. Oceans of cherry-brandy, true hollands, and mulled cider, were set afloat on the occasion : and not a poor man in town but made it a point to get drunk, out of a principle of pure economy—taking in liquor enough to serve him half a year afterward. It would have done one's heart good also to have seen the valiant Peter, seated among the old burghers and their wives of a Saturday afternoon, under the great trees that spread their shade over the Battery, watching the young men and women as they danced on the green. Here he would smoke his pipe, crack his joke, and forget the rug- ged toils of war in the sweet oblivious festivities of peace. He would occasionally give a nod of approbation to those of the young men who shuffled and kicked most vigorous- ly, and now and then gave a hearty smack, in all honesty of soul, to the buxom lass that held out longest, and tired down all her competitors, which she considered as infalli- ble proofs of her being the best dancer. Once it is true the harmony of the meeting was rather interrupted. A young vrouw, of great figure in the gay world, and who, having lately come from Holland, of course led the ſashions in the city, made her appearance in not more than half a dozen petticoats, and these too of most alarming short- ness-A universal whisper ran through the assembly; the old ladies all felt shocked in the extreme, the young ladies blushed and felt excessively for the “poor thing,” and even the governor himself was observed to be a little trou- bled in mind. To complete the astonishment of the good folks, she undertook, in the course of a jig, to describe some astonishing figures in algebra, which she had learned from a dancing master in Rotterdam.—Whether she was too animated in flourishing her feet, or whether some va- gabond Zephyr took the liberty of intruding his services, certain it is, that in the course of a grand evolution which would not have disgraced a modern ball room, she made a most unexpected display—whereat the whole assembly was thrown into great admiration, several grave country members were not a little moved, and the good Peter him- self, who was a man of unparalleled modesty, felt himself grievously scaridalized. - - - - - - - - The shortness of the female dresses, which had conti- nued in fashion ever since the days of William Kieft, had 244 THE IRWING GIFT. long offended his eye; and though extremely averse to meddling with the petticoats of the ladies, yet he imme- diately recommended that every one should be furnished with a flounce to the bottom. He likewise ordered that the ladies, and indeed the gentlemen, should use no other step in dancing than shuffle and turn, and double trouble; and forbade, under pain of his high displeasure, any young lady thenceforth to attempt what was termed “exhibiting he graces.” These were the only restrictions he ever imposed upon the sex; and these were considered by them as tyrannical oppressions, and resisted with that becoming spirit always. manifested by the gentle sex whenever their privileges are invaded,—In fact, Peter Stuyvesant plainly perceived, that if he attempted to push the matter any farther, there was danger of their leaving off petticoats altogether; so, like a wise man experienced in the ways of women, he held his peace, and suffered them ever after to wear their petticoats and cut their capers as high as they pleased. Showing the great Difficulty Philosophers have had in peopling America—and how the Aborigines came to be begotten by Accident, to the great Relief and Satisfac- tion of the Author. THE next inquiry at which we arrive in the regular course of our history, is to ascertain, if possible, how this coun- try was originally peopled; a point fruitful of incredible embarrassments; for unless we prove that the aborigines did absolutely come from somewhere, it will be immedi- ately asserted in this age of scepticism, that they did not come at all; and if they did not come at all, then was this country never populated—a conclusion perfectly agreeable to the rules of logic, but wholly irreconcilable to every feeling of humanity, inasmuch as it must syllogistically prove fatal to the innumerable aborigines of this populous region. o avert so dire a sophism, and to rescue from logical annihilation so many millions of fellow creatures, how many wings of geese have been plundered what oceans of ink have been benevolently drained 1 and how many capacious heads of learned historians have been addled and for ever confounded ! I pause with reverential awe, THE ABORIGINES OF AMERICA. 245 when I contemplate the ponderous tomes in different fan- guages, with which they have endeavoured to solve this question, so important to the happiness of society but so involved in clouds of inpenetrable obscurity. Historian after historian has engaged in the endless circle of hy- pothetical argument, and after leading us a weary chase through octavos, quartos, and folios, has let us out, at the end of his work, just as wise as we were at the beginning. It was doubtless some philosophical wild-goose chase of the kind, that made the old poet Macrobius rail in such a passion at curiosity, which he amathematizes most heartily as “an irksome, agonizing care, a superstitious industry about unprofitable things, an itching humour to see what is not to be seen, and to be doing what signifies nothing when it is done.” But to proceed : Of the claims of the children of Noah to the original population of this country I shall say nothing, as they have already been touched upon in my last chapter. The claimants next in celebrity are the descendants of Abra- ham. Thus Christoval Colon (vulgarly called Columbus,) when he first discovered the gold mines of Hispaniola, immediately concluded, with a shrewdness that would have done honour to a philosopher, that he had found the tancient Ophir, from whence Solomon procured the gold for embellishing the temple at Jerusalem : nay, Colon even imagined that he saw the remains of furnaces of ve- ritable Hebraic construction, employed in refining the precious ore. So golden a conjecture, tinctured with such fascinating extravagance, was too tempting not to be immediately snapped at by the gudgeons of learning; and accordingly, there were divers profound writers, ready to swear to its correctness, and bring in their usual load of authorities and wise surmises, wherewithal to prop it up. Vatablus and Robertus Stephens declared nothing could be more clear : Arius Montanus, without the least hesitation, as- serts that Mexico was the true Ophir, and the Jews the early settlers of the country: while Possevin, Becan, and several other sagacious writers, lug in a supposed pro- phecy of the fourth book of Esdras, which being inserted in the mighty hypothesis, like the key stone of an arch, gives it in their opinion perpetual durability. Scarce, however, have they completed their goodly superstructure than in trudges a phalanx of opposite au- thors, with Hans de Laet, the great Dutchman, at their 246 - THE IRWING GIFT. head; and at one blow tumbles the whole fabric about their ears. Hans, in fact, contradicts outright all the Israelitish claims to the first settlements of this country. attributing all those equivocal symptoms, and traces of Christianity and Judaism, which have been said to be found in divers provinces of the New World, to the Devil, who has always affected to counterfeit the worship of the true Deity. “A remark,” says the knowing old Padre d'Acosta, “ made by all good authors who have spoken of the religion of nations newly discovered, and founded besides on the authority of the fathers of the church.” Some writers again, among whom it is with great re- gret I am compelled to mention Lopes de Gomora and Juan de Leri, insinuate that the Cananites, being driven from the land of promise by the Jews, were seized with such a panic that they fled, without looking behind them, until stopping to take breath, they found themselves safe in America. As they brought neither their national lan- guage, manners, nor features with them, it is supposed they left them behind in the hurry of their flight. I cannot give my faith to this opinon. - - I pass over the supposition of the learned Grotius, who being both an ambassador and a Dutchman to boot, is entitled to great respect; that North America was peo- pled by a strolling company of Norwegians, and that Peru was founded by a colony from China—Manco, or Mungo Capac, the first Incas, being himself a Chinese. Nor shall I more than barely mention, that father Kir- cher ascribes the settlement of America to the Egyptians, Budbeck to the Scandinavians, Charron to the Gauls, Juffredus Petri to a skating party from Friesland, Mi- lius to the Celtae, Marinocus the Sicilian to the Romans, Le Comte to the Phoenicians, Postel to the Moors, Mar- tin d' Angleria to the Abyssinians, together with the sage surmise of De Laet, that England, Ireland and the Or- cades may contend for that honour. Nor will I bestow any more attention or credit to the idea that America is the fairy region of Zipangri, described by that dreaming traveller Marco Polo the W. Or that it comprises the visionary island of Atlantis, described by Plato. Neither will I stop to investigate the heathen- ish assertion of Paracelsus, that each hemisphere of the globe was originally furnished with an Adam and Eve: or the more flattering opinion of Dr. Romayne, supported by many nameless authorities, that Adam was of the In- THE ABORIGINES OF AMERICA. 247 - dian race : or the startling conjecture of Buffon, Hel- vetius, and Darwin, so highly honourable to mankind, that the whole human species is accidentally descended from a remarkable family of the monkeys! This last conjecture, I must own, came upon me very suddenly and very ungraciously. I have often beheld the clown in a pantomime, while gazing in stipid wonder at the extravagant gambols of a harlequin, all at once elec- trified by a sudden stroke of the wooden sword across his shoulders. Little did I think at such times that it would ever fall to my lot to be treated with equal discourtesy, and that while I was quietly beholding these grave philo- sophers emulating the eccentric transformations of the hero of pantomime, they would on a sudden turn upon me and my readers, and with one hypothetical flourish meta- morphose us into beasts I determined from that moment not to burn my fingers with any more of their theories, but content myself with detailing the different methods by which they transported the descendants of these ancient and respectable monkeys, to this great field of theoretical warfare. This was done either by migrations by land or trans- migrations by water. Thus Padre Joseph d'Acosto enu- merates three passages by land, first by the north of Eu- rope, secondly by the north of Asia, and thirdly by regions southward of the straits of Magellan. The learned Gro- tius marches his Norwegians by a pleasant route across frozen rivers and arms .# the sea, through Iceland, Green- land, Estotiland, and Naremberga. And various writers, among whom are Angleria, De Hornn, and Buffon, anx- ious for the accommodation of these travellers, have fas- tened the two continents together by a strong chain of de- ductions—by which means they could pass over dryshod. But should even this fail, Pinkerton, that industrious old gentleman, who compiles books and manufactures Geo- graphies, has constructed a natural bridge of ice, from continent to continent, at the distance of four or five miles from Behring's straits—for which he is entitled to the grateful thanks of all the wandering aborigines who ever id or ever will pass over it. It is an evil much to be lamented, that none of the wor- thy writers above quoted, could ever commence his work, without immediately declaring hostilities against every writer who had treated on the same subject. In this par- ticular, authors may be compared to a certain sagacious 248 THE IRWING GIFT. bird, which in building its nest is sure to pull to pieces the nests of all the birds in its neighbourhood. This un- happy propensity tends grievously to impede the progress of sound knowledge. Theories are at best but brittle productions, and when once committed to the stream, they should take care that like the notable pots which were fellow voyagers, they do not crack each other. For my part, when I beheld the sages I have quoted gravely accounting for unaccountable things and discours- it.g. thus wisely about matters for ever hidden from their eyes, like a blind mán describing the glories of light, and the beauty and harmony of colours, I fell back in astonish- ment at the amazing extent of human ingenuity. If, cried I to myself, these learned men can weave whole systems out of nothing, what would be their productions were they furnished with substantial materials—if they car: argue and dispute thus ingeniously about subjects beyond their knowledge, what would be the profundity of their observations, did they but know what they were talking about ! Should old Rhadamanthus, when he comes to decide upon their conduct while on earth, have the least idea of the usefulness of their labours, he will undoubtedly class them with those notorious wise men of Gotham, who . milked a bull, twisted a rope of sand, and wove a velvet purse from a sow's ear. My chief surprise is, that among the many writers 1 have noticed, no one has attempted to prove that this country was peopled from the moon—or that the first in- habitants floated hither on islands of ice, as white bears cruise about the northern oceans—or that they were con- veyed hither by balloons, as modern aeronauts pass from Dover to Calais—or by witchcraft, as Simon Magus posted among the stars—or after the manner of the re- nowned Scythian Abaris, who, like the New-England witches on full blooded broomsticks made most unheard- of journeys on the back of a golden arrow, given him by the Hyperborean Apollo. But there is still one mode left by which this country could have been peopled, which I have reserved for the last, because I consider it worth all the rest; it is—by accidentſ Speaking of the islands of Solomon, New- Guinea, and New-Holland, the profound father Charle- voix observes, “in fine, all these countries are peopled, and it is possible, some have been so by accident. Now if it could have happened in that manner, why might it THE ABORIGINES OF AMERICA. 249 not have been at the same time, and by the same means, with the other parts of the globe”. This ingenious mode of deducing certain conclusions from possible premises, is an improvement on syllogistic skill, and proves the good father superior even to Archimedes, for he can turn the world without any thing to rest his lever upon. It is only surpassed by the dexterity with which the sturdy old Je- suit, in another place, cuts the gordian knot—“Nothing,” says he, “is more easy. The inhabitants of both hemis- pheres are certainly the descendants of the same father. The common father of mankind received an express order from Heaven to people the world, and accordingly it has been peopled. To bring this about, it was necessary to overcome all difficulties in the way, and they have also been overcome !”. Pious Logician How does he put all the herd of laborious theorists to the blush, by explaining in five words, what it has cost them volumes to prove they know nothing about! They have long been picking at the lock, and fretting at the latch, but the honest father at once unlocks the door by bursting it open, and when he has it once ajar, he is at full liberty to pour in as many nations as he pleases. This proves to a demonstration that a little piety is better than a cart-load of philosophy, and is a practical illustra- tion of that scriptural promise—“By faith ye shall move mountains.” - From all the authorities here quoted, and a variety of others which I have consulted, but which are omitted through fear of fatiguing the unlearned reader—I can only draw the following conclusions, which, luckily how- ever, are sufficient for my purpose—First, That this part of the world has actually been peopled (Q. E. D.:) to support which we have living proofs in the numerous tribes of Indians that inhabit it. Secondly, That it has been peopled in five hundred different ways, as proved by a cloud of authors, who from the positiveness of their assertions, seem to have been eye-witness to the fact— Thirdly, That the people of this country had a variety ºf fathers, which as it may not be thought much to their credit by the common run of readers, the less we say on the subject the better. The question, therefore, I trust is for ever at rest 11* 250 THE IRWING GIFT, wouTER v AN TwillER. THE renowned Wouter (or Walter) Van Twiller was descended from a long line of Dutch burgomasters, who had successively dozef away their lives, and grown fat upon the bench of magistracy in Rotterdam; and who had comported themselves with such singular wisdom and propriety that they were never either heard or talked of which, next to being universally applauded, should be the object of ambition to all sage magistrates and rulers. - His surname of Twiller is said to be a corruption of the original Twijfer, which in English means doubter; a º name admirably descriptive of his deliberative habits. For though he was a man shut up within himself like an oyster, and of such a profoundly reflective turn that he scarcely ever spoke except in monosyllables; yet did he never make up his mind on any doubtful point. This was clearly accounted for by his adherents, who affirmed that he always conceived every subject on so comprehen- sive a scale that he had not room in his head to turn it over and examine both sides of it; so that he always re- mained in doubt, merely in consequence of the astonishing magnitude of his ideas? There are two opposite ways by which some men get into notice—one by talking a vast deal and thinking a lit- tle, and the other by holding their tongues and not think- ing at all. By the first many a vapouring superficial pretender acquires the reputation of a man of quick parts, —by the other, many a vacant dunderpate like the owl, the stupidest of birds, comes to be complimented by a discerning world, with all the attributes of wisdom. This, by the way, is a mere casual remark, which I would not for the universe have it thought I apply to Governor Van Twiller. On the contrary, he was a very wise Dutchman, - for he never said a foolish thing; and of such invincible - gravity that he was never known to laugh, or even tº smile, through the course of a long and prosperous life. º Certain, however, it is, there never was a matter proposed, * however simple, and on which your common narrow minded mortals would rashly determine at the first glance, but what the renowned Wouter put on a mighty myste. - rious, vacant kind of look, shook his capacious head, and having smoked for five minutes with redoubled earnest- WOUTER WAN TWILLER. 251 ness, sagely observed, that “he had his doubts about the matter;”—which, in process of time gained him the character of a man slow of belief, and not easily imposed Orl. The person of this illustrious old gentleman was as re- gularly formed, and nobly proportioned, as though it had been moulded by the hands of some cunning Dutch sta- tuary, as a model of majesty and lordly grandeur. He was exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet five inches in circumference. His head was a perfect sphere, far excelling in magnitude that of the great Pericles (who was thence waggishly called Schenocephalus, or onion head)—indeed, of such stupendous dimensions was it, that damé Nature herself, with all her sex’s ingenuity, would have been puzzled to construct a neck capable of support- ing it; wherefore she wisely declined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the top of his back-bone, just between the shoulders; where it remained, as snugly bedded as a ship of war in the mud of Potowmac. His body was of an oblong form, particularly capacious at bottom; which was wisely ordered by providence, seeing that he was a man of sedentary habits, and very averse-to the idle labour of walking. His legs, though exceeding short, were sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to sustain; so that when erect he had not a little the appearance of a robustious beer barrel, standing on skids. His face, that infallible index of the mind, presented a vast expanse perfectly unfurrowed or deformed by any of those lines and angles which disfigure the human countenance with what is termed expression. Two small gray eyes twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser magnitude, in a hazy firmament; and his full-fed checks, which seemed to have taken toll of every thing that went into his mouth, were curiously mottled and streaked with dusky red, like a Spitzemburg apple. - His habits were as regular as his person. He daily took his four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour to each; he smoked and doubted eight hours, and he slept the remaining twelve of the four-and-twenty. Such was the renowned Wouter Van Twiller—a true philosopher, for his mind was either elevated above, or tranquilly set- tled below, the cares and perplexities of this world. He had lived in it for years, without feeling the least Guriosity to know whether the sun revolved around it, or it round the sun; and he had even watched for at least half a cem- 252 THE IRWING GIFT. tury, the smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, with- out once troubling his head with any of those numerous theories, by which a philosopher would have perplexed his brain, in accounting for its arising above the surrounding atmosphere. . In his council he presided with great state and solem- nity. He sat in a huge chair of solid oak hewn in the celebrated forest of the Hague, fabricated by an experi- enced Timmerman of Amsterdam, and curiously carved about the arms and feet, into exact imitations of gigantic eagle's claws. Instead of a sceptre, he swayed a long Turkish pipe, wrought with jasmin and amber, which had been presented to a stadtholder of Holland at the con- clusion of a treaty with one of the petty Barbary powers. In this stately chair would he sit, and this magnificent pipe would he smoke, shaking his right knee with a con- stant motion, and fixing his eyes for hours together upon a little print of Amsterdam, which hung in a black frame against the opposite wall of the council chamber. Nay, it has even been said, that when any deliberation of ex- traordinary length and intricacy was on the carpet, the renowned Wouter would absolutely shut his eyes for full two hours at a time, that he might not be disturbed by external objects; and at such times the internal commo- tion of his mind was evinced by certain regular guttural sounds, which his admirers declared were merely the noise of conflict made by his contending doubts and opinions. - It is with infinite difficulty I have been enabled to col- lect these biographical anecdotes of the great man under consideration. The facts respecting him were so scatter- ed and vague, and divers of them so questionable in point of authenticity, that I have had to give up the search af. ter many, and decline the admission of still more, which would have tended to heighten the colouring of his por- trait. -- I have been the more anxious to delineate fully the person and habits of the renowned Van Twiller, from the consideration that he was not only the first, but also the best governor that ever presided over this ancient and respectable province; and so tranquil and benevolent was his reign that I do not find, throughout the whole of it, a single instance of any offender being brought to punish- ment;-a most indubitable sign of a merciful governor and a case unparalleled, excepting in the reign of the illus- WOUTER WAN TWILLER. 2. Cºy trious King Log, from whom, it is hinted, the renowned Van Twiller was a lineal descendant. The very outset of the career of this excellent magis- trate, like that of Solomon, or to speak more appropri- ately, like that of the illustrious governor of Barataria, was distinguished by an example of legal acumen, that gave flattering presage of a wise and equitable administra- tion. The very morning after he had been solemnly in. stalled in office, and at the moment that he was making his breakfast from a prodigious earthen dish, filled with milk and Indian pudding, he was suddenly interrupted by the appearance ..}one Wandle Schoonhoven, a very im- portant old .#. of New-Amsterdam, who complained bitterly of one Barent Bleecker, inasmuch as he fraudu- lently refused to come to a settlement of accounts, seeing that there was a heavy balance in favour of the said Wan- dle. Governor Van Twiller, as I have already observed, was a man of few words; he was likewise a mortal enemy to multiplying writings, or being disturbed at his breakfast. Having listened attentively to the statement of Wandle Schoonhoven, giving an occasionable grunt, as he shovelled a mighty spoonful of Indian pudding into his mouth—either as a sign that he relished the dish, or comprehended the story: he called unto him his consta- ble, and pulling out of his breeches pocket a huge jack- knife, despatched it after the defendant as a summons, accompanied by his tobacco box as a warrant. - This summary process was as effectual in those simple days as was the seal ring of the great Haroun Alraschid among the true believers. The two parties, being con- fronted before him, each produced a book of accounts, written in a language and character that would have puz- zled any but a high Dutch commentator, or a learned de- cipherer of Egyptian obelisks, to understand. The Sage Wouter took them one after the other, and having poised them in his hands, and attentively counted over the num- bar of leaves, fell straightway into a very great doubt, and smoked for half an hour without saying a word; at length, laying his finger beside his nose, and shutting his eyes for a moment, with the air of a man who has just caught a subtle idea by the tail, he slowly took his pipe from his mouth, puffed forth a column of tobacco smoke, and with marvellous gravity and solemnity pronounced—that hav- ing carefully counted over the leaves, and weighed the books, it was found, that one was just as thick and as 254 THE IRWING GIFT, heavy as the other—therefore it was the final opinion of the court, that the accounts were equally balanced—there- fore Wandle should give Barent a receipt, and Barent should give Wandle a receipt—and the constable should pay the costs. This decision being straightway made known, diffused general joy throughout New-Amsterdam; for the people immediately perceived, that they had a very wise and equitable magistrate to rule over them. But its happiest effect was, that not another lawsuit took place throughout the whole of his administration; and the office of consta- ble fell into such decay, that there was not one of those losel scouts known in the province for many years, I am the more particular in dwelling on this transaction, not only because I deem it one of the most sage and right- eous judgments on record, and well worthy the attention of modern magistrates, but because it was a miraculous event in the history of the renowned Wouter—being the only time he was ever known to come to a decision, in the whole course of his life. The Grand Council of New-Amsterdam—with Reasons why an Alderman should be Fat. To assist the doubtful Wouter in the arduous business of legislation, a board of magistrates was appointed, which presided immediately over the police. This potent body consisted of a schout or bailiff, with powers between those of the present mayor and sheriff; five ..". who were equivalent to aldermen; and five schepens, who offi- ciated as scrubs, sub-devils, or bottle-holders, to the bur- germeesters, in the same manner as do assistant alderman to their principals at the present day—it being their duty to fill the pipes of the lordly burgermeesters, hunt the umarkets for delicacies for corporation dinners, and to dis- charge such other little offices of kindness, as were occa- sionally required. It was, moreover, tacitly understood, though not specifically enjoined, that they should con- sider themselves as butts for the blunt wits of the bur- germeesters, and should laugh most heartily at all their jokes; but this last was a duty as rarely called in action in those days as it is at present, and was shortly remitted, in consequence of the tragical death of a fat little schepen, COUNCIL OF NEW-AMSTERDAM. 255 who actually died of suffocation in an unsuccessful effort to force a laugh at one of burgermeester Van Zandt's best jokes. In return for these humble services, they were permitted to say, yes and no at the council board, and to have that enviable privilege, the run of the public kitchen ; º graciously permitted to eat, and drink, and smoke, at al those snug junkettings, and public gormandizings, for which the ancient magistrates were equally famous with their more modern successors. The post of schepen, there: fore, like that of assistant alderman, was eagerly coveted by all your burghers of a certain description, who have a huge relish for good feeding, and an humble ambition to be great men in a small way—who thirst after a little brief authority, that shall render them the terror of the alms-house and the bridewell—that shall enable them to lord it over obsequious poverty, vagrant vice, outcast pros- titution, and hunger-driven dishonesty—that shall place in their hands the lesser, but galling scourge of the law, and give to their beck a houndlike pack of catchpoles and bum-bailiffs—tenfold greater rogues than the culprits they hunt down —My readers will excuse this sudden warmth, which I confess is unbecoming of a grave historian; but I have a mortal antipathy to catchpoles, bum-bailiffs, and little great men. - * The ancient magistrates of this city corresponded with those of the present time no less in form, magnitude, and intellect, than in prerogative and privilege. The burgo- masters, like our aldermen, were hº chosen by weight; and not only the weight of the body, but likewise the weight of the head. It is a maxim practically observed in all honest, plain thinking, regular cities, that an alder- man should be fat—and the wisdom of this can be proved to a certainty. That the body is iſ some measure an image of the mind, or rather that the ſmind is moulded to the body, like melted lead to the clay in which it is cast, has been insisted on by many men of science, who have made human nature their peculiar study. For as a learned gentleman of our own city observes, “there is a constant relation between the moral character of all intelligent crea- tures and their physical constitution—between their habits and the structure of their bodies.” Thus we see, that a lean, spare, diminutive body is generally accompanied by a petulant, restless, meddling mind. Either the mind wears down the body by its continual motion; or else the body, - 256 THE IRWING GIFT. not affording the mind sufficient house-room, keeps, it continually in a state of fretfulness, tossing and worrying about, from the uneasiness of its situation. Whereas your round, sleek, fat, unwieldy periphery is ever attended by a mind like itself, tranquil, torpid, and at ease; and we may always observe, that your well-fed, robustious burghers are in general very tenacious of their ease and comfort; being great enemies to noise, discord, and disturbance : and surely none are more likely to study the public tranquility than those who are so careful of their own. Whoever hears of fat men heading a riot, or herding together in turbulent mobs?—No—no–it is your lean, hungry men, who are continually worrying society, and setting the whole community by the ears. The divine Plato, whose doctrines are not sufficiently attended to by Philosophers of the present age, allows to every man three souls: one immortal and rational, seated in the brain, that it may overlook and regulate the body —a second consisting of the surly and irrascible passions, which, like belligerent powers, lie encamped around the heart—a third mortal and sensual, destitute of reason, gross and brutal in its propensities, and enchained in the belly, that it may not disturb the divine soul, by its raven- ous howlings. Now, according to this excellent theory, what can be more clear, than that your fat alderman is most likely to have the most regular and well conditioned mind. His head is like a huge, spherical chamber, con- taining a prodigious mass of soft brains, whereon the ra. tional soul lies softly and snugly couched, as on a feather bed; and the eyes, which are the windows of the bed- chamber, are usually half closed, that its slumberings may not be disturbed by external objects. A mind thus com- fortably lodged, and protected from disturbance, is mani- festly most likely to perform its functions with regularity and ease. By dint of good feeding, morever, the mortal and malignant soul, which is confined in the belly, and which by its raging and roaring, puts the irritable soul in the neighbourhood of the heart in an intolerable passion, and thus renders men crusty and quarrelsome when hun- gry—is completely pacified, silenced, and put to rest: whereupon a host of honest good-fellow qualities, and kindhearted affections, which had laid in perdue, slily º out of the loopholes of the heart, finding this Cer. berus asleep, do pluck up their spirits, turn out one and all * their holiday suits, and gambol up and down the dia- COUNCIL OF NEW-AMSTERDAM. 257 phraghm—disposing their possessor to laughter, good hu- mour, and a thousand friendly offices towards his fellow mortals. - As a board of magistrates, formed on this model, think but very little, they are less likely to differ and wrangle about favourite opinions; and as they generally transact business upon a hearty dinner, they are naturally disposed to be lenient and indulgent in the administration of their duties. Charlemagne was conscious of this, and therefore (a pitiful measure, for which I can never forgive him,) ordered in his cartularies, that no judge should hold a court of justice, except in the morning, on an empty sto- mach.-A rule which, I warrant, bore hard upon all the }. culprits in his kingdom. The more enlightened and umane generation of the present day have taken än op- posite course, and have so managed that the alderman are the best fed men in the community; feasting lustily on the fat things of the land, and gorging so heartily oys- ters and turtles, that in process of time they acquire the activity of the one, and the form, the waddle, and the green fat of the other. The consequence is, as I have just said; these luxurious feastings do produce such a dulcet equanimity and repose of the soul, rational and irrational, that their transactions are proverbial for unva- rying monotony; and the profound laws, which they enact in their dozing moments, amid the labours of digestion, are quietly suffered to remain as dead letters, and never enforced, when awake. In a word, your fair round bel- lied burgomaster, like a full fed mastiff dozes quietly at the house door, always at home, and always at hand to watch over its safety: but as to electing a lean, meddlin candidate to the office, as has now and then been done, ; would as lief put a greyhound to watch the house, or a race- horse to drag an ox-waggon. -- The burgomasters then, as I have already mentioned, were wisely chosen by weight, and the schepens or assis- fant Alderman, were appointed to attend upon them, and help them to eat; but the latter in the course of time, when they have been fed and fattened into sufficient bulk of body and drowsiness of brain, became very eligible candidates for the burgomasters' chair; have fairly eaten themselves into office, as a mouse eats its way into a comfortable lodg- . in a goodly blue-nosed, skimmed milk, New-England Cheese. ICHABOD CRANE AND THE GALLOPING , - HESSIAN. From the Sketch-Book. IT was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted, and crest-fallen, pursued his travel home- wards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry-Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watch-dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson 1 but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farm-house away among the hills—but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life oc- curred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog, from a neighbouring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed. - All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollec- tion. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds oc- casionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt ICHABOD CRANE, 259 so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighbourhood, and formed a kind of land-mark. Its limbs were gnarled, and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortu. nate André, who had been taken prisoner hard by ; and was universally known by the name of Major André's tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights, and doleful lamentations told concern- ing it. 7As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought his whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry banches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw some: thing white, hanging in the midst of the tree; he paused and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan—his teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle : It was but the rubbin of one huge branch upon another, as they were swaye about by the breeze. e passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him. . . . About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly wood- ed glen, known by the name of Wiley's swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge ºver this strºm. "On that side of the road where the brook en- tered the wood, a group of oaks and chesnuts, mºtted thick with wild grape vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge, was the severest trij. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate, André was captured, and under the covert of those chesnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark. . . - As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his 260 THE IRVING GIFT. horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral move. ment, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot; it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge and misshapen, black and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. - The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done 7 To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind 2 Summoning up, there- fore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering ac- cents—“Who are you?” He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the in- flexible sides of old Gunpowder, and shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervour into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put himselfin mo- tion, and with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horse- man of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of ...i frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his flight and waywardness. - Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the aïventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stran- ICHABOD CRANE. 261 ger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Icha- bod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag be. hind—the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavoured to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought, the figure of his fellow traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless —but his horror was still more increas- ed, on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of the saddle; his terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip—but the spectre started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick, and thin ; stones flying, and sparks flashing, at every bound. Ichabod’s flimsy gar- ments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank º away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his ight. *hey had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up to it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge fa- mous in goblin story, and just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church. As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider an apparent advantage in the chase ; but just as he had got hº way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by the pommel, and endeavoured to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the sad- dle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van #. wrath passed across his mind—for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskilful rider that he was l) he had much ado to maintain his seat; 262 THE IRWING GIFT. sometimes slipping on one side, and sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's back- bone, with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder. - An opening of the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the Church bridge was at hand. The waver- ing reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones' ghostly com- etitor had disappeared. “If I can but reach that ridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Ano- ther convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprung upon the bridge; he thundered over the resound- ing planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Icha- bod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endea- voured to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash—he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind. - The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his smaster's gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast—dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investiga: tion they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church, was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented on the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin. The brook was searched, but the body of the school- master was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper, ICHABOD CRANE, e. 263 as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which con- tained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small- clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes, full of dog's ears; and a broken pitch-pipe. As to the books and furniture of the schoolhouse, they belonged to the community, excepting Cotton Mather's History of Witch- craft, a New-England Almanack, and a book of dreams and fortune telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honour of the heiress of Van Tassel. These magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans Van Ripper; who from that time forward determined to send his chil- dren no more to school; observing, that he never knew any good come of this same reading and writing. What- ever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had re- ceived his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must have had about his person at the time of his disappear- ance. The mysterious event caused much speculation, at the church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the church-yard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of others were called to mind; and when they had diligently considered them all, and compared them || with the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by the galloping Hessian. As he was a bach- elor, and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him; the school was removed to a different quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in his stead It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New- York on a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighbourhood partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in morti- fication at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the . country; had kept school and studied law at the same time; had been admitted to the bar, turned politician, 264 THE IRWING GIFT, electioneered, written for the newspapers, and finally had been made a justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones, too, who shortly after his rival’s disappearance, conduct- ed the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was ob- served to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin ; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell. ON GREATNESS. WE have more than once, in the course of our work, been most jocosely familiar with great personages; and, in truth, treated them with as little ceremony, respect, and consideration, as if they had been our most particu- lar friends. Now, we would not suffer the mortification of having our readers even suspect us of an intimacy of the kind; assuring them we are extremely choice in our inti- mates, and uncommonly circumspect in avoiding connec- tions with all doubtful characters; particularly pimps, bai- liffs, lottery-brokers, chevaliers of industry, and great men. The world in general is pretty well aware of what is to be understood by the former classes of delinquents: but as the latter has never, I believe been specifically defined, and as we are determined to instruct our readers to the extent of our abilities, and their limited comprehension, it may not be amiss here to let them know what we understand by a great man. - First, therefore; let us (editors and kings are always plu- ral) premise, that there are two kinds of greatness;–one conferred by heaven—the exalted nobility of the soul;- the other, a spurious distinction, engendered by the mob, and lavished upon its favourites. The former of these dis. tinctions we have already contemplated with reverence; the latter we will take this opportunity to strip naked be. fore our unenlightened readers; so that if by chance any of them are held in ignominious thraldom by this base circu- lation of false coin, they may forthwith emancipate them selves from such inglorious delusion. It is a fictitious value given to individuals by public caprice, as bankers give an impression to a worthless slip of paper, thereby giving it a currency for infinitely more ON GREATNESS, 265 than its intrinsic value. Every nation has its peculiar * coin, and peculiar great men; neither of which will, for the most part, pass current out of the country where they are stamped. Your true mob-created great man is like a note of one of the little New-England banks, and his value depreciates in proportion to the distance from home. In England, a great man is he who has most ribands and gew-gaws on his coat, most horses in his carriage, most slaves in his retinue, or most toad-eaters at his table; in France, he who can most dexterously flourish his heels above his head—Duport is most incontestibly the great- est man in France —when the Emperor is absent. The greatest man in China is he who can trace his ancestry up to the moon; and in this country our great men may generally hunt down their pedigrée until it burrows in the dirt like a rabbit. To be concise; our great men are those who are most expert at crawling on all-fours, and have the happiest facility in dragging and winding them- selves along in the dirt like very reptiles. This may seem a paradox to many of my readers, who with great good nature be it hinted, are too stupid to look beyond the mere surface of our invaluable writings; and often pass gºver the knowing allusion, and poignant meaning, that is slyly couching beneath. It is for the benefit of such helpless ignorants, who have no other creed but the opinion of the mob, that I shall trace, as far as it is possible to follow him in his ascent from insignificance,—the rise, progress, and completion of a little great man. In a logocracy, to use the sage Mustapha's phrase, it is not absolutely necessary to the formation of a great man that he should be either wise or valiant, upright or honourable, Qn the contrary, daily experience shows that these qualities rather impede, his preferment, inas- much as they are prone to render him too inflexibly erect, and are directly at variance with that willowy suppleness which enables a man to wind, and twist, through all the nooks and turns and dark winding passages that lead to reatness. The grand requisite for climbing the rugged ill of popularity, the summit of which is the seat of power—is to be useful. And here once more, for the sake of our readers, who are of course not so wise as our- selves, I must explain what we understand by usefulness. The horse, in his native state, is wild, Swift, impetuous, full of majesty, and of a most generous spirit. It is then the animal is noble, exalted and useless. But entrap him, 12 266 THE IRWING GIFT. manacle him, cudgel him, break down, his lofty spirit, put the curb into his mouth, the load upon his back, and reduce him into servile obedience to the bridle and the lash, and it is then he becomes useful. Your jackass is one of the most useful animals in existence. If my readers do not now understand what I mean by usefulness, I give them all up for most absolute nincoms. k To rise in this country a man must first descend. The aspiring politician may be compared to that indefatigable insect called the tumbler, pronounced by a distinguished personage to be the only industrious animal in Virginia ; which buries itself in filth, and works ignobly in the dirt, until it forms a little ball of dirt, which it rolls laborious- ly along, like Diogenes in his tub; sometimes head, sometimes tail foremost, pilfering from every rat and mud hole, and encreasing its ball of greatness by the contribu- tions of the kennel. Just so the candidate for greatness: —he plunges into that mass of obscenity, the mob; labours in dirt and oblivion, and makes unto himself the rudi- ments of a popular name from the admiration and praises of rogues, ignoramuses, and blackguards. His name once started, onward he goes struggling and puffing, and pushing it before him; collecting new tributes from the dregs and offals of the land as he proceeds, until having athered together a mighty mass of popularity, he mounts it in triumph, is hoisted into office, and becomes a great man, and a ruler in the land.—All this will be clearly illustrated by a sketch of a worthy of the kind, who sprung up under my eye, and was hatched from pollution by the broad rays of popularity, which, like the sun, can “breed maggots in a dead dog.” Timothy Dabble was a young man of very promising talents; for he wrote a fair hand, and had thrice won the silver medal at a country academy; he was also an orator, for he talked with emphatic volubility, and could argue a full hour without taking either side, or advancing a single opinion; he had still farther requi- sites for eloquence; for he made very handsome gestures, had dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, and enuncia- ted most harmoniously through his nose. In short, na- ture had certainly marked him out for a great man; for though he was not tall, yet he added at least half an inch to his stature by elevating his head, and assumed an amazing expression of dignity by turning up his nose and curling his nostrils in a style of conscious superiority. | ON GREATNESS, 267 Convinced by these unequivocal appearances, Dabble's friends, in full caucus, one and all declared that he was undoubtedly born to be a great man, and it would be his own fault if he were not one. Dabble was tickled with an opinion, which coincided so happily with his own, for vanity, in a confidential whisper, had given him the like intimation; and he reverenced the judgment of his friends because they thought so highly of himself;- ac- cordingly he set out with a determination to become a great man, and to start in the scrub-race for honour and renown. How to attain the desired prizes was however the question. He knew, by a kind of instinctive feeling, which seems peculiar to grovelling minds, that honour, and its better part—profit, would never seek him out; that they would never knock at his door and crave ad- mittance; but must be courted, and toiled after, and earned. He therefore strutted forth in the highways, the market-places, and the assemblies of the people; ranted like a true cockerel orator about virtue, and pa- triotism, and liberty, and equality, and himself. Full many a political windmill did he battle with ; and full many a time did he talk himself out of breath, and his hearers out of their patience. But Dabble found to his vast astonishment, that there was not a notorious poli- tical pimp at a ward meeting but could out-talk him;- and what was still more mortifying, there was not a no- torious political pimp but was more noticed and caressed than himself. The reason was simple enough; while he harangued about principles, the others ranted about men; where he reprobated a political error, they blasted a political character:-they were, consequently, the most useful; for the great object of our political disputes is not who shall have the honour of emancipating the commu- nity from the leading-strings of delusion, but who shall have the profit of holding the strings and leading the community by the nose. - Dabble was likewise very loud in his professions of integrity, incorruptibility, and disinterestedness; words, which, from being filtered and refined through news: papers and election hand-bills, have lost their original signification; and in the º dictionary are syno- nymous with empty pockets, itching palms, and in: terested ambition. He, in addition to all this, declared that he would support none but honest men; but un- luckily as but few of these offered themselves to be 268 THE IRWING GIFT. supported, Dabble's services were seldom required. He pledged himself never to engage in party schemes, or party politics, but to stand up solely for the broad in- terests of his country;-so he stood alone and what is the same thing, he stood still ; for, in this country, he who does not side with either party is like a body in a vacuum between two planets, and must for ever remain motionless. Dabble was immeasurably surprised that a man so honest, so disinterested, and so sagacious withal, and one too, who had the good of his country so much at heart should thus remain unnoticed and unapplauded. A little worldly, advice, whispered in his ear by a shrewd old politician, at once explained the whole mys- tery. “He who would become great,” said he, “must serve an apprenticeship to greatness; and rise by regular gradation, like the master of a vessel, who commences by being scrub and cabin-boy. He must fag in the train of great men, echo all their sentiments, become their toad- eater and parasite, laugh, at all their jokes; and, above all, endeavour to make them laugh; if you only now and then make a man laugh, your fortune is made. Look but about you, youngster, and you will not see a single little great man of the day but has his miserable herd of retainers, who yelp at his heels, come at his whistle, worry whoever he points his finger at, and think them- selves fully rewarded by sometimes snapping up a crumb that falls from the great man's table. Talk of patriot- ism, virtue and incorruptibility tut, man they are the very qualities that Scare munificence, and keep patronage at a distance. You might as well attempt to entice crows with red rags and gunpowder. Lay all these scarecrow virtues aside, and let this be your maxim, that a candi- date for political eminence is like a dried herring; he never becomes luminous until he is corrupt.” Dabble caught with hungry avidity these congenial doctrines, and turned into his predestined channel of action with the force and rapidity of a stream which has for a while been restrained from its natural course. He became what nature had fitted him to be ;-his tone softened down from arrogant self-sufficiency to the whine of fawning solicitation. He mingled in the cau- cusses of the sovereign people; adapted his dress to a similitude of dirty raggedness; argued most logicall with those who were ; his own opinion; and º, ON GREATNESS. " 269 with all the malice of impotence, exalted characters whose orbit he despaired ever to approach:-just as that scoundrel midnight thief, the owl, hoots at the blessed light of the sun, whose glorious lustre he dares never contemplate. He likewise applied himself to discharging faithfully the honourable duties of a parti- Zan; he poached about for private slanders, and ribald anecdotes; he folded hand-bills—he even wrote one or two himself, which he carried about in his pocket and read to every body; he became a secretary at ward- meetings, set his hand to divers resolutions of patriotic import, and even once went so far as to make a speech, in which he proved that patriotism was a virtue;— the reigning bashaw a great man;–that this was a free country, and he himself an arrant and incontestable buz. zard | - Dabble was now very frequent and devout in his visits to those temples of politics, popularity, and smoke, the ward porter-houses; those true dens of equality, where all ranks, ages, and talents, are brought down to the dead level of rude familiarity.—'Twas here his talents expanded, and his genius swelled up to its proper size; like the loathsome toad, which shrinking from balmy airs, and jocund sunshine, finds his congenial home in caves and dungeons, and there nourishes his venom, and bloats his deformity. 'Twas here he revelled with the swinish multitude in their debauches on patriotism and porter; and it became an even chance whether Dabble would turn out a great man, or a great drunkard.—But Dabble in all this kept steadily in his eye the only deity he ever worshiped—his interest. Having by his fami- liarity ingratiated himself with the mob, he became wonderfully potent and industrious at elections: knew all the dens and cellars of profligacy and intemperance; brought more negroes to the polls, and knew to a greater certainty where votes could be bought for beer, than any of his contemporaries. . . His exertions in the cause, his persevering industry, his degrading compliance, his un- resisting humility, his steadfast dependence, at length caught the attention of one of the leaders of the party; who was pleased to observe that Dabble was a very useful fellow, who would go all lengths. From that moment his fortune was made;—he was hand and glove with orators and slang-whangers; basked in the sun- shine of great men's smiles, and had the honour, sundry | 270 THE IRWING GIFT. times, of shaking hands with dignitaries, and drinking out of the same pot with them at a porter-house !! I will not fatigue myself with tracing this caterpillar in his slimy progress from worm to butterfly; suffice it that Dabble bowed and bowed, and fawned, and sneaked, and smirked, and libelled, until one would have thought perseverance itself would have settled down into despair. There was no knowing how long he might have lingered at a distance from his hopes, had he not luckily got tarred and feathered for some of his election eering manoeuvres-—this was the making of him | Leº not my readers stare—tarring , and feathering here is equal to pillory and cropped ears in England; and either of these kinds of martyrdom will ensure a patriot the sympathy and suffrages of a faction. His partizans, for even he had his partizans, took his case into consideration —he had been kicked and cuffed, and disgraced, and dis- honoured in the cause—he had licked the dust at the feet of the mob-he was a faithful drudge, slow to anger, of Invincible patience, of incessant assiduity—a thorough going tool, who could be curbed, and spurred, and direct- ed at pleasure—in short he had all the important quali- fications for a little great man, and he was accordingly ushered into office amid the acclamations of the party. The leading men complimented his usefulness, the mul- titude his republican simplicity, and the slang-whangers vouched for his patriotism. Since his elevation he has discovered indubitable º: of having been destined for a great man. His nose has acquired an additional eleva- tion of several degrees, so that now he appears to have bidden adieu to this world, and to have set his thoughts altogether on things above; and he has swelled and inflat. ed himself to such a degree, that his friends are under apprehensions that he will one day or other explode and blow up like a torpedo. THE END. - | . UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN |||||||||||