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I'D ALSO nv AMY JiLi: ni THE COMPLETE WORRS or ASHINGTON IRVING IN ONE VOLUME, WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. PARIS, UAUDRY's EUROPEAN LIBRARY, HUB DU CUQ, riE4B TUR LOUVBE. kl.l) ALSO BV AMVOT, nUE DK L.\ PAIX; TRUrilV, BOULEVAHD DES ITAIJENS; TIIIJOPIIILE HARIIUIS, JIIN. , nti; RICIIKLIEU; LIURAIHIE DKS lilRANGERS, SS, RUE NEIIVE-SAINT-AtlGUSTIN; AND I'RKNUII AMI ENULISII LIBRARV, RUE VIVIBNNK; NKilSMOiVn SCHNERBEH, FRANCIEORT ON MKIN. 1834. ty ^5 ^^ O So 28813 }$ / l^K. . / r* It has long; ) underrate, overlook Ame asserted that I Ijii'ccted to Avli lo fine writing. kvould gladly r ■cry of Englan^ poetry, romai They wanted ti able to the dev nation. Inane of the means ( It he care of all. Jsiiit of wealth i ^vill long conti Thus, in Amci Justry, politics |he business s |lhe attention c and the best \ ^ime alone whi( tiistinct class o putalion of a n [»f English Rev With Mr \) last was born i \inte Agamemn Authors before ^istice Marshal |jut Mr Irving Df his powers, 1 ilom and priviie His works d terature, and fulness of time pf futurity. A Americans rath Ivith those who MEMOIR OP WASHINGTON IRVING. It has long been a fashion for English critics !o undcrrale, or, more properly speaking, to overlook American writers. It was repeatedly [issertcd that the genius of America was rather llirccted to what is useful and mechanical, than io fine writing. The citizens of the United States kyould gladly rival the broad-cloths and the cut- lery of England, but were content to import her [)oetry, romance, philosophy, and criticism, fl'hey wanted the political circumstances favour- jble to the developcmentof the literary taste of a lalion. In a newly-peopled country the provision jf the means of living must, for some time, be i\\e care of all. After these are secured, the pur- suit of wealth and the accumulation of property kill long continue to be the favourite objects. Thus, in America, agriculture, commerce, in- lustiT, politics, — concerns which come home to Ihe business and bosoms of men, — engrossed pc attention of all, employing the best hands and the best heads, and it was the fulness of kinie alone which '^ould bring into existence that [iislinct class of men who form the literary re- lutalion of a nation. Such was the critical canl f)f English Reviews about America. With Mr Washington Irving, a painter at last Avas born among the lions, Vixerc fortes ^tntc Agamemnona, there were many American Juthors before Mr Irving, such as Joel Barlow, bistice Marshall, and Brockdcn Brown, etc., etc., jjut Mr Irving is the first who, by the evidence )( his powers, has been admitted to the full free- Jom and privileges of the English literary guild. His works did open a new era to American litei'aturc, and his countrymen owe to him this [Illness of time which was hitherto in the shades [jf futurity. At last English critics give to the Imericans rather fair play, and deal more justly Ivitli those who venture upon the perilous life of authorship. It is now acknowledged among the reviewers of Edinburgh and London that a tran&- atlantic book may be good of its kind, full of imagination, and embellished with a delicacy of feeling, and a refinement of taste that do not so often belong, perhaps, to the contemporary lite- rature of Britain. Mr Washington Irving is the youngest son of a gentleman of Scottish birth, who married an English lady and settled in the city of New York, where he exercised the profession of a merchant, and enjoyed the respect and esteem of his contemporaries for his unblemished in- tegrity and unassuming worth. Being the youngest of a numerous family, and his father being entirely occupied in commerce, the care of his education devolved upon his mother and his elder brothers. Some of the latter had already distinguished themselves for their lite- rary taste and ability as writers, while their younger brother was yet a r- ;.J. In their so- ciety he began, at an early p«. ; i, the practice of composition, and may be ainiost said to have commenced his education where others are ac- customed to finish it. We have been informed, that he manifested in his youth a meditative and almost melancholy disposition ; not, however, without occasional and brilliant flashes of the humour that is the distinctive character of his most successful compositions. This disposition did not prevent him from entering with spirit into many of the pranks of his comrades, or even from becoming the plotter and ringleader in many a scheme.of merry mischief. He was accustomed to read the best English authors at an early age, and was led, partly by accident, partly by taste, to the perusal of Chaucer and Spenser, and others of the more ancient writers, both in verse and prose : so that 8 vi M£MOIR #■ ^i his mind became imbued with similar ideas, and the peculiar style '^y which he has been disliu- {juished, was unconsciously formed. It may be here observed, that his disposition in youth as in manhood, has always been amia- ble and affectionate, and his manners so frank, simple, and eoffkfiim, as to render his acquaint- ances, friends. His own conduct has always been upright and examplary, but he has ever been le- nient and indulgent towaixis the errors of others. The youth of the city of New York were then a happy race. Their place of residence had not yet assumed its metropolitan character, and the freedom and ease of almost rural life, were blended with the growing refinements of an in- creasing population. The advantageous position of its port made wealth flow rapidly into its mer- chants' coffers, and the natives of other parts of the country had not yet begun to colonise it, and compete for a share of its growing riches. The elder members of the community, seeing their property increasing almost without know- ing why, had not yet perceived the necessity of drilling their children to habits of early labour and premature prudence. The gambling spirit that characterized one era of the commercial history of New York, had not yet made its ap- pearance ; nor had that ardent competition, that steels the heart against all but selfish feelings, been awakened. That system of instruction, >vhich confines children for si\ hours a day in almost listless inactivity in a school-room, and then dismisses them, to pursue their labours un- assisted for even a longer time, was not yet in- ~ vented. Schoolmasters yet thought it their duly to instruct ; and when their unruly subjects were emancipated from direct control, they had no other thought but to spend the rest of the day in active sport, and the night in slumbers, undis- turbed by the dread of the morrow's task. For the enjoyment of these vacant hours, the vicinity of New York then offered the most in- viting opportunities. A few minutes' walk brought the youth of the city into open and extensive pas- tures, diversified by wood and sheets of trans- parent water; on either hand flowed noble rivers, whose quiet waters invited even the most ti- mid to acquire "the noblest exercise of strength;" when winter made such recreations impracti- cable, sheets of smooth and glittering ice spread themselves out to tempt the skater, and the youth of le Manhattoes rivalled, if not excelled, the glories of their Dutch father-land, in the speed and activity with which they glided over the glassy surface. It may be the partial recollection of our in- fancy, but it is not less the firm conviction of our minds, that in all our wanderings, we have seen no city, with the exception of the " Queen of the North," whose environs possessed natural beau- tics equal to those of New York. These beauties have now vanished — paved streets and piles of tasteless brick have covered the grassy slopes and verdant meadows ; the lofty hills have been appUcd to the ignoble purpose oi' filling up the neij'hbouring lakes. Nor should we complain of these changes, but consider the prosperity, of which they arc an evidence, as more than e(iul- valent to the destruction of wild and rural beauty, in those places where a crowded population has actually found its abode ; but we cannot tolerate that barbarism that makes beauty consist in straight lines and right angles, cuts our whole island into oblong squares, and considers that to convert the fertile surface into a barren and sandy waste is the only fit preparation for an increasing city. The blossomed orchards of| Bayard and Delancey have given place to snuj; brick houses, the sylvan deities have fled the groves of Peters' field and Rose hill, and we can rejoice ; but why should the flowery vales ufl Bloomendahl be cut up by streets and avenues? Nor has the spirit of devastation stopped here, but has invaded the whole neighbourhood, until the antres and cKffs of Hoboken have given place! to a rail-road. The early fancies of Mr Irving were deeply impressed with the beauty of the natural scenery of the island of Manhattan. These impressionsl have given birth to many and choice passages ii his various works. But, aware that such ro mantic fancies might come with an ill grace fronii one hackneyed in the ways of our commercial andj prosaic city, he has given being to a personage, in whose mouth they become the utterance ol patriotic virtue. New York, at that time, presented the sin gular spectacle of races distinct in origin, cbO' racter, and temper, struggling, as it were, foi{ ascendancy ; and although the struggle finall terminated happily, in the utter confusion of al such distinctions, and the formation of a single civic character, it was not the less apparent. Wasted, too, as was the anger and anxiety the struggle occasioned upon the most petty objects, it presented, to a mind highly sensible to the ludicrous, most amusing matter of contempla- tion. First and most marked, were to be seen the descendants of the original settlers from Holland, letaining, in their own separate inter course, the tors, indulg quered peo] rated and tf nature. Th( French prot by the revoc tempered Di of French vi try and caval tilio, who ha was transfor province, am brother the 1 marked, the his intelligen( to enter into has ended in i tronymic nan which businc: rior energy a the Dutch wei for the loss ol posed, by ou and inward fe I^st, and leas distinguished ence, was to were shrewd, mixed with tli my much hos| less conviviaU to the contemi in his father a have not strut lineation, or li lo attempt it. however, evid relief the peci Mr Irving manhood whc with a pulmoi which, it was should visit ih embarked in a proceeded leii Leghorn, and was restored when he reac and after a t short delay a and made a jo land lo Franc Paris, frequen ble iiisiiiution OF WASHINGTON IRVING. VII ion of our in- iviction of our , we have seen ' Queen of ihe I natural beau- Ihese beauties is and piles of ! grassy slopes hills have been ■ tilling up the d we complain ; prosperity, ol lore than equi- id rural beauty, population has cannot tolerate luty consist in cuts our whole [ considers that to a barron and paration for an ed orchards of n place to snuj; !s have fled tht- hill, and we can lowery vales of ts and avenues? n stopped here, ibourhood, until have given place NG were deeplj natural scenery lese impressions loice passages in that such ro an ill grace fron commercial and to a personage Lhe utterance ;sented the sin t in origin, cha as it were, foi struggle finall confusion of at ation of a singlej less apparent and anxiety the ist petty objects,] sensible to tht r of contempla were to be seen il settlers from separate inter- course, the language and habits of their ances- tors, indulging the hereditary grudge of a con- quered people to its subduers, although mod'v rated and tempered by native kindness and goud nature. These were amalgainatcd with a crowd of French protesiants, l)anishcd from their country by the revocation of the Edict of Names, who tempered Dutch phlegm with the sprightliness of French vivacity. Then came the English gen- try and cavaliers, with pride, and stale, and punc- tilio, who had emigrated when the Dutch colony was transformed by conquest into an English province, and Ijcstowed by Charles H upon his brother the Duke of York. Next was to be re- marked, the New Englander, distinguished by his intelligence and activity, and just beginning to enter into that rivalry with the Batavian, that lias ended in a disappearance, almost total, of pa- tronymic names of the latter from the streets in which business is transacted. Before the supe- rior energy and restless enterprise of this race, the Dutch were beginning to quail, and retaliated for the loss of business, to which they were ex- posed, by outward expressions of contempt, and inward feelings of dread and apprehension. Last, and least numerous, but at the time most distinguished for wealth and mei'cantile influ- ence, M'as to be seen a clan of Scots. These were shrewd, calculating, and enterprising ; but mixed with their habits of business and econo- my much hospitality, and unchecked, but barm- less conviviaUly. Accustomed from his infancy to the contemplation of the character of this race in his father and his associates, its peculiarities have not struck Mr Irving as an object for de- lineation, or filial reverence has forbidden him to attempt it. Its habits and manners have, however, evidently served to bring out in higher relief the peculiarities of the other races. Mr Irving had hardly reached the age of manhood when he appeared to be threatened with a pulmonary affection, as a preventive of which, it was considered expedient that he should visit the south of Europe. He therefore embarked in a vessel for Bourdeaux, whence he proceeded leisurely by Nice, and Genoa, and Leghorn, and Florence, to Rome. His bealtli was restored in the course of his travels, and when be reached Naples he crossed to Sicily, and after a tour through that island, and a short delay at Palermo, returned to Naples, and made a journey through Italy and Switzer- land to France. He resided several months in Paris, frequenting its noble libraries and admira- ble institutions, and then journeyed through Flanders and Holland, making some delay in the principal places, travelling occasionally on the canals in treckschuyts, and regarding, with cu- rious satisfaction, that amphibious country from which the old Dutch burgliers of his native city had derived their origin, and drawn their usages and habits. From Holland be crossed over with a Dutch skipper to the mouth of the Thames, and ascended that river to London. Here the curtain dropped, the melo-drame was over. Frenchman, Italian, and Dutchman, no longer passed before him in their variety of costume and dialect* He found himself among a busy crowd bearing the same physiognomy, wearing the same attire, and speaking the same language to which he had been accustomed all his life. But it was the land of his fathers, and the country with whose history his most interesting studies and dearest recollections were associated. This voyage, undertaken with far different views than those which now usually direct the travels of young Americans, was also wholly different in its course, and in the impressions it was likely to produce. Instead of a gradual preparation for the views of tlie old world, by a passage through countries connected by tics of blood and language, or familiar to him in consequence of an active and frequent com- merce, he was transported, as if in a moment, to lands where, in direct contrast to the conti- nual strides bis own country is making, every thing is torpid, and even retrograde; lands in which the objects of interest are rather the glories of by-gone ages, than any thing that the present era can exhibit. His views of Sicily exhibited the gigantic ruins of Agri- gentum, the remains of a polished, wealthy, and numerous people, buried in a desert waste, and surrounded only by comparative barbarism and poverty. No change of scene more abrupt can well be imagined, and none more likely to ex- cite the inuid of youthful genius. For the guide books and tours of modern travellers, that are the usual manuals of a tourist, it became necessary to substitute the writings of the an- cients. These would be most favourably studied upon the very spots where they were written, or of which they treat, and even when consulted in a mere translation, cannot fail to improve and refine the taste. In the line scenery of Calabria, he recognised the studies of Salvator Rosa, and in his progress through Italy, luxuriated in the treasures of ancient and modern art, then al- most a sealed book to his countrymen. Before his departure for Europe he had made VUl MEMOIR V I his first literary essays, in a newspaper of which his brother, Dr. P. Irvin{;, was editor. There is little doubt that these were not a few in num- ber, but none can now be identified, except the series of letters under the si{i^ature of Jonathan Oldstyle. These were collected, as a matter of bookselling speculation, after the literary repu- tation of their author was established, and pub- lished, although without his sanction. There is a touch of the futui-e writer of the Sketch Book in these juvenile papers : a touch of that happy, sly humour, tliat grave pleasantry (wherein he resembles Goldsmith so much) ; that quiet, shrewd, good-humoured sense of the ridiculous, which constitutes one of the chief excellencies of Geoffrey Crayon, and sets him apart from every English writer of the Georgian age. The visit to Europe occupied about two years, as he paused in every place of importance or in- terest, and tlie return of Mr Ikving to America iwas speedily followed by the appearance of the first number of "Salmagundi." Those who recur to this spri{j;htly work at the present day, cannot enter into the feelings with which it was received at the epoch at which it was published. They will, indeed, see that it is not unworthy of the reputation afterwards attained by those, who have admitted themselves to have been its au- thors. But the exact and skilful adaptation of its delicate and witty allusions to the peculiar circumstances of the times, the rich humour with which prevailing follies were held up to ridicule, and, above all, the exquisite good na- ture of the satire, that made it almost an honour to have been its object, rendered Sahnagundi the most popular work that had ever issued from the American press. Until it made its appear- ance, our literary efforts had been almost wholly confined to serious discussions upon general and local politics ; if a few works of fancy had been produced, the age was not ripe for their reception, and, as in the case of Brown, they procured foi* their authors no more than a post- humous fame. The well-founded belief, that Mr Irving had been the principal writer in Sal- magundi, placed him, at once, first in tite list of the living authors of America. Mr James K. Paulding, his intimate friend, was his associate in this work, and it has been suggested that the papers of Paulding are more sarcastic and bitter than those of Irving. It is undei-stood, however, that their respective articles were freely sub- mitted to each other for alteration, and the charge of bitterness cannot be fairly attributed to any of them. Mr James K. Paulding was born in the vil- lage of Grecnsburgh, on the banks of the Hud- son, where he passed his boyhood chiefly in I country sports and occupations, in the midst of | beautiful forest and river scenei-y. Much of his I time was spent at the farm of a kinsman of ec-l centric character, whom he has purlrayed wilhl mellow tints, as Mij Uncle John, in No. XI ofl Salmagundi. His mind was rich in originall ideas, and stored with rural imagery, and liisi thoughts flowed with grace and beauty and racyl humour from his pen. Among the characters of Salmagundi, there isl one of a fellow whoso name is Tom StraiUUeA an Englishman, a fair specimen of those EnglislJ tourists, who, if they ever were really admiltcdl in a New York drawing-room, seem to havel foully abused the privilege. Some years ago, al man who was prosecuted in Jamaica for a libcl-F lous publication, produced a volume of Salma-I gundi on his trial. This publication, it ap-j peared, had been copied literally, word for woixi, I from the chaiaclcr of Tom Straddle, printed,! sold, sent abroad mischievously enough, to be| sure, while one of those English travellers whon Irving had so delightfully hit off, was in Jamaia| exploring and astonishing the natives. This fact, alone, proves the truth of resemblance. The next literary production of Mr IrvingI was "The History of New York, by DiedrichI Knickerbocker." The idea of this humorousj work appears to have been suggested to him byl the establishment of a historical society in Newl York, and the announcement, that one of ilsT members was about to compile from its collec-l tlons a history of the early periods of our colo-j nial existence. Identifying himself, in imagil nation, with a descendant of the original Dulclij selders, he adopted, in his fictitious charactci| all the feelings and prejudices that might well ' supposed to be inherent in that race, with an aiij of gravity and veiisimilitude that is well caU culated to mislead a reader not previously aware of the deception. The public was pr( pared for the reception of the work by advepl tisements, ingeniously planned and worded, inl which the supposed landlord of the imaginaryf author expressed his anxiety for the safely ofl his guest, until it might fairly have been believcdl that the veracious historian had actually disa|>| peared from his lodgings. So perfect was ihel deception, that many commenced the work inl fuUbelief of its being serious, and gravely toiiedl through many of its pages before the wit, and anl interest too intense to be created by so trivial al '''IF* OF WASHINGTON IRVING. h. lubject as the annals of a little Dutcli borough, wd<«?ived them. The author freciuenlly de- |{;hle<J himself, and we arc sure must still recur* Vilh pleasure, to the anecdote of an aged and nost respectable clergyman, who, taking up the |»ork, without referrinj; to its title page or in- roduction, read many of its chapters in the full elief that it was the production of a clerical [iroiher, who had promised a histor'y of the ame period, and was only gradually aroused to suspicion of his mistake, by the continued va- fialion of the style from grave and solemn irony, llirough lively wit and poignant humour, until it lairly bordered on the ludicrous. Such is the Character of this veracious history, the mask is Ivorn at first with the greatest gravity, yet in Vich a manner as to give effect to the keenest jind most poignant satire, while as soon as it lines impossible for the reader to credit that is other than a work of fancy, the author gives ill play to his imagination, and riots in an excess (f delicate wit and playful humour. The object of the author was to take a ludi- Irous view of the society around him, and give a lood-humoured satire on the foibles of his native lily. The Burgomasters and Schepens were the lldurmen and assistant-aldermen of the present lay. The absurdities held up to ridicule were |ic follies of th(i presi^nt day ; and both were nercty arrayed in the antiquated garb that ap- ertained to the era of the Dutch dynasty. It nay be regarded as a spoilive jeu d'esprit ; but had also a moral tendency to correct and to eform. Yet are not these the sole merits of the work : [ is occasionally tender, and even pathetic ; often eplete with lively pictures, woithy, when of dia- meter and costume, of the pencil of a Teniers ; [hen of scenery, of that of Claude. In addition, lie style is the purest idiomatic English that had een written for many a year, and carries us ack to the glories of an Augustan age. It is marked contrast, not only with the barbarisms the American writers of his day, but with ^e corruptions of the pure fount that their En- lish critics are themselves guilty of. This [race and purity of style is also to be re- narked in all the subsequent writings of Mr itviNG ; but his Knickerbocker possesses, in ad- lition, more of nerve and force than they in ge- leral do. Its language is either tliat in which ps thoughts spontaneously flowed, or, if elabo- ated, ex hibits that perfection of art whieh hides lie means by which the effect is produced . Tlis jiher works do not always conceal the labour by which the polish has been attained, and the very grace and smoothness of the periods, some- times seems to call for a relief to the ear, like that which skilful musicians sometimes apply, in the form of an occasional discord. Were we, however, to be asked where we are to find the prose language of England in a high degree of perfection, we think we might safely point to the works of Mr Irving : these are composted in a style combining the grace and delicacy of Addison, with the humour and pathos of Goldsmith ; more idiomatic than that of the writers of the Scottish school ; and, while it takes advantage of the engrafiation of words of Latin and Grecian origin upon the Anglo-Saxon, it is far removed from the learned affectation of Johnson. The hours in which the papers of Salmagundi were composed, and the History of the New Netherlands compiled, were stolen from the dry study of the law. To this, Mr Irving seemed for a time to be condemned, and in spite of the gravity with which, as in the case of Murray, the heads of judges were shaken at him as a wit, he persevered in it, and obtained his license to practice. It is even said, that he opened an office, and that his name was seen painted on a sign, with the adjunct "Attorney at Law." But it was not predestined that Mr. Irvikg should merge these grave doubts in the honours of the woolsack. A client was indeed found hardy enough to trust his cause to the young barrister, but an oppressive feeling of difKdence caused him to shrink from trying it, and it was gladly abandoned to a brother lawyer of far less talent, but who possessed a more happy degree of con- fidence in his own forensic abilitios. This diffi- dence literary success has converted into an innate and unaffected modesty, that adds not a little to Mr Irving's agreeajjle qualities, and which is rare in a person possessed of so high a reputation as he enjoys. The lilerai-y pursuits of Mr Irving were in- terrupted for several years after the publication of Knickerbocker. During this interval, he was admitted by his brothers into a commercial es- tablishment, that they were then successfully carrying on, and in which, it appeared, he might be more profitably engaged than as an author. The business of this mercantile house being in- terrupted by the war with Great Britain, Mr Irving was left free to share in the general mili- tary spirit that the capture of Washington, and the threatenings of the enemy to attack New York, awakened in all classes of the community. |i U M ft M£MOIR His services were tendered to Governor Tomp- kins, then commanding the district of New York, and he was received into his staff as an aid-de-camp. In this employment he was long enffiged, and performed its duties with great r.c&\, not only in the immediate vicinity of his native city, but in several missions of importance to the interior of the state. The pen of Mr Ir- ving was applied to, at the same time, for a na- tional undertaking. The war with England was popular and glorious. The legitimate pride of the people was up ; when Hull look the Guerriere and broke the charm of the English ihvincibiUty on sea, the whole country broke out into accla- mation. They loaded him with honours, and the consequence was natural. The commanders of the American navy adventured every where with a patriotic ardour, and an irresistible bravery. Battle after battle was fought, victory after victory followed. Many American heroes wanted now but their Pericles to tell their glory. Mr. luviNG was the man. The Analytical Ma- gazine published a biography of the American naval captains in a series of monthly papers by our author. These papers arc eloquent, simple, clear, and beautiful. The peace put an end both to the military and literary duties of Mr. Irving, and he returned to his commercial pursuits, in the furlheiancc of which, he visited England in the spring of I8I0, taking up his abode at Bi'mingham. His previous visit to t^nj^land had been made in winter, and he had made no other excur- sion but in the mail from London to Bath, at a season when the shortness of the day gave but little opportuni'y to view the country. The peculiar beauties of English scenery, therefore, broke upon him with unexpected brilliancy. Birmingham, if it have in itself little to interest, except its rich and prosperous manufactures, is situated in a district of no little rural beauty ; and wiUiin a few hours ride, are to be found some of the sites that recall the most exciting passages of English History, or awaken the most pleasing literary recollections. Kcnilworth and Warwick exhibit, the one the most splendid re- mains of baronial grandeur, the othei- the only perfect specimen of tl'c feudal castle ; Slratford- on-the-Avon slill possesses the house in which Shakspeare drew his Hrst breath, and the pic- turesque Gothic church, in which his remains repose safely, under the protL>ction of his poetic malediction : the Lucics still inhabit the manor house, from whose park the deer was stolen that fixed the course of the great Uraiiiatist's existence. In every direction, episcopal ciiicij raised high the turrets of their venerable minj sters, and spread abroad their shadowy cloistersJ while hedge-row, and mead, and cultured fieldj spoke of the successful toils of a rural life, moid inviting, perhaps, to the romantic fancy, than agreeablo ;o those who are compelled to pursiiJ them. To one who had already celebrated tliJ restless enterprise of the swarms of the Nc\l England hive, wiio spread likf locusts over tli(| wilderness, destroying every tree, and layinJ waste every germ of natural beauty, Ihe caliij contrast afforded by the farmers of England! generations of whom are born in the same col j tage, and entombed beneath the same yews, waij a subject of agreeable study. The neighbourhood of Birmingha Jid nul long delay him, but served to excite iiis desirij to see more of England. He, theref\..'e, in tli<J summer that followed his arrival, joined afrienl in a tour through the valley of the Severn, GlouJ ceslersliire, and Wales. The Jetters addressed by liini at this period to his American frienditi would, if published, form the ino.<' .ntorestiiijl portions of his works, and exhibit, with greaiei freshness, descriptions of scenery and charactorj like the rich pictures that he afterwirds eiii'| bodi(Ml in the Sketch Book and P acebridj; Hall. Mr Irving's literary career mig been considered at an end ; his cor nociions appeai'cd to promise bin- than commensurate with his v unhappy revolution in the have no\J nercial cuiiJ vcallh, moij iies. But tliJ .siness of New York, that followed the ime> iipled proHts witlj which the (irst importation.' ,cve attended, pru strated the mercantile house- ith which he wa connected, along with many of the most ivj spectable, and even opulent merchants of lli( United States. This blow, however painful the time, had the happy effect of restoring hid to the world of literature. He prepared liJ "Sketch Book," and took measures to have itsil multaneously published in London andAmericJ Its success was complete. His own countrymcf hailed with joy the renewal of the exertions ii which they had b(!fore delighted, and the EnjJ lish nation joined to applaud the author, wliuj without abandoning his just national pride, wi yet sensible to those feelings in whicli EnglislJ men glory, and exhibited the honest exultaiioi of a descendant in the honours of the mi{;liij names that have embellished the liituary annall of Great Briiain. I'ho Sketch Book was admired, and its auiliui i.ii *y OF WASHINGTON IRVING. ^ XI same yews, waJ [\, and its aiiiiiJ >ught for ; the aristocratic ciixles of the British Metropolis received with open arms the trans- llantic writer; and names of no small note in kodern literature did not disdain to be ranked I the list of his imitators. He may justly pride limself on having pointed out a new track to a lost of aspirants, and to have, himself, sur- asscd all who followed him in it. Works upon [similar plan were eagerly asked from him; lieir appearance, at no distant intervals, in- reased his fame, and soon left him no cause regi'et the prostration of his commerciai |opes. 'Brace'uridge Hall," which appeared after the )ketch Book, is, perhaps, an ampliiication of a [articular part of it, devoted to the illustration If old English customs and manners as they ex- k in the mere prinjtive counti'ies, and enlivened ly just sufficient of narration to impress it on lie recollection as a whole. Mi* Irving has, in lie outset, fi-ankly disclaimed all intention of Iriting a novel. The ground-work which he las adopted is a very simple one, a mere thread, short, on which to string his scattei'cd pearls. the family of Bracebi-idge Hall is represented the discharge of much the same daily occu- lations as in the Sketch Book ; to break the [lonotony of which, sundry marriages, as well as bo''tive flirtations, occur among young and old, Icntle and simple : the company being reinforced Jy several personages,whocomplete thediamatis Bi'sonse of "every man in his humour." With he exception of these voluminous love-affairs, |ie incidents are detached and separate, and enerally introduced to give scope to a train of bflection, or a piece of humorous painting. Ihe accuracy of the pictures of old English cus- lims and sports, which Mr Irving represents flourishing under the influence of the bene- slent Squire, has been questioned by some fas- lious suburban readers. But in the opinion an eminent critic of the Quarterly Review, id according to his experience, there is nothing [)o hi{rhly coloured in them. • We have our- p\f known, says he, that village palladium, the (ay-pole, become the object of a serious foray Berks, and have witnessed Christmas carols lid mummery flourishing in alt their perfection 1 the most f'reo>:ent(»d part of Devon. In many Kstricts of Yorkshire, however, the county in jrhich the scene isjudiciously laid, ancient usages list in more entire preservation ; and all, or early all, the customs which are described as '"' • Vol. Slih. fostered by the hero, Mr Bracebridge, toge- ther with others of which no mention is made, were within the last sixteen years voluntarily kept up among the labouring classes as sources of annual enjoyment, and matters "coming home to their own business and bosoms." The poorest peasant would have considered the ne- glect of the genial ceremony of yule-cake, yule- candles, and yule-clog, as equivalent to the loss of caste : the paste-egg, or rather pasgcn-egg, was duly eaten at Easter, as in Russia, and the southern provinces of France and Spain, and when presented to a lady obtained the same pri- vilege as in the former country. The " Merry Night" was, and perhaps still is, duly celebrated in most farm-houses ; and instead of the duo- dance which the Squire considers as a relic of the ancient sword-dance, this Pyrrhic manoeuvre itself was exhibited by the young farmers of Cleveland in a manner requiring much grace, nerve, and dexterity, and as dangerous to an unpractised eye as the Indian wai-dance, per- formed tomahawk in hand. The festival of St Stephen, also, whom the Yorkshiremen have, by a convenient fiction, erected into as mighty a huntei' as Nimrod, is observed with most sportsman-like solemnity by every rank and de- gree of dog, horse, man, donkey, and leaping- pole, altogether composing a turbulent high- land host, amenable to no rules ever heard of in Leicestei-shire. We think, therefore, that, far from exceeding the limits of probability in this respect, Mr Irving has hardly made the full up of northern customs, which was really open to him. Nor can we see any thing oveixlrawn in the characters themselves. There are many whims which we daily see practised, much less natural, much less rational, than those of which the indulgence forms the business of the Squire's life; and, having selected him as the scape-goat, on whom the whole weight of oddity was to be laid, the author has accounted consistently fur these whims. As to Master Simon, the brisk paiTot-nosed bachelor, he only labours in his vocation as equerry to his patron's stud of hobby-horses ; and Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, the sturdy freeholder, stands on his own basis as a Yorkshire dalesman of the old school. Into these three characters, and into that of General Ilarbottle, the author has thrown all his strength. Like the great novelist of Scotland, Mr Ir- ving enters, with the eye of a Bewick, or a Ward, into all the little amusing habits and pre- dilections of the brute creation ; without going the lcn{;tlis of hailing the ass, brother, H x» MEMOIR I it!i -. lie bat a kind of inclination, or WealEoess, for what most people deem mere Termin, Lire animals, Btbor's Don /uan, and contrives to awaken that interest in the caprices and enjoyments of these humble friends, which laughingly, but effectually, serves the cause of humanity. This feeling, we will ven* ture to affirm, is a more essential one in a well- constructed mind, than the "music in the soul," which a gr;^t bard requires under such a heavy poetic ban. The whole chapter on the Rookery is an animal comedy, so happily kept up that we know not which part to select ; and m the taking of Starlight Tom, the dogs on both sides play their parts in a most characteristic, and we can hardly call it unnatural manner, which colours the whole scene. Cowper extols those who can see charms in the arch meaning of a kitten's face ; Hoffman has written the his* tory of a fantastic rat-catcher ; M. de Chateau- briand is not less a friend to the feline race ; but Mr Irving, by dint of a few demure traits of feline virtue, has contrived to interest us even in Dame Heyliger's old cat, and has fairly earned the gratitude of the species whom he so justly styles "a slandered people." As a satirical con- trast, the varieties of the canine fungus, called lap- dog, are admirably exact in the comic painting introduced by the author. The same good taste and minute observation characterize that fre- quent allusion to sylvan life, which in most hands would grow monotonous, but which, in Brace- bridge Hall, are made to address both the men- tal and bodily eye. In the chapter on Forest Trees, there is a meditative moral dignity, very much reminding us of Soulhey's early poem to the Holly, and which could hardly have been surpassed, had the mantle of Evelyn himself fallen on the American essayist. Geoffrey Crayon was now so great a favour- ite with the English public, that the English critics, weary of hearing Arisiidcs called the Just, and we Hnd the avowal of it in the Black- wood's Mayasinc, seemed longing and lying in wait for a new work to cry down the man like over-rated coin. Indeed, without mentioning the spite of national envy, the "bustling boiherbys" of the periodicals seldom patronize an author beyond his Hrst or second attempt : with these, Scott's last novel was sure to be vastly inferior to his former ones ; and Byron's mind was inevitably losing inspiration as he grew old. They delight in none but a new name— to be puffed for a day, and then abandoned to oblivion,— -a cockney draniatisij or a versifying peasant. Mr W. Irving theff would treat after the same fashion, when pubUsbed the Tales of a Traveller. But was difficult to deny that this new work possess the spirit of Bracebridge Hall, witlj more variety, in a larger field of obsei'vationJ In fact, the Tales are, for the most part, tol(| by the same imaginary narrator, and may 1 considered under the same head. Thus, tfa Stout Gentleman naturally stands at the head i the list of tales recounted by the nervous gen tleman, who is again introduced by Mr IrvingI in this new work. It is, indeed, a most amusing specimen of that piquant cookery which make somethmg out of nothing. The bulbous can-l dlewicks, and the bulbous man, his last lingering companion in the traveller's room ; the utterj desolation which the dripping stable-yard pre sents — the miserable drenched cock — the cov standing to be rained on— the vociferous ducki| — the dispirited cur — and the forlorn, spectra eyed horse — are in admirable keeping as fe turcs of a minute and rueful caricature. Thij "Bold Dragoon" is not inferior in its way. Bui too much praise cannot be bestowed on the tak of "Buckthorne," where, as a novelist, Mij Irving proves a rival to Goldsmith, whose lurij of mind he very much inherits, and of whos style he particularly reminds us in the life Dribble. Like him, too, Mr Irving possesse the art of setting lutltorous perplexities in l\A most irresistible point of view, and, we think] equals him in the variety as in the force of hil humour. But throughout the whole of llid burlesque incidents with which the tale aboundsf the American Goldsmith has never once abuse the latitude which the subject alTorded hitnl and of which Goethe has made such filthy use iJ Wilhelm Molster. With a hundred foibles, tlid hero is not suffered to become vicious, and l\\\ strictly moral tendency of the narrative is pre served to the last page. In the summer of 1822 ' Mr Irving made tour along the banks of the Rhine, viewing iij picturesque scenery, and inspecting many olj fortresses and castles renowned in history anl in the annals of the Secret Tribunal. He prof cecded into Germany, visiting its principal citie and exploring the forests and mountains con mcmorated among the wild legends of thai country. He sojourned a time in Prague, ti\\ ancient Bohemian capital, and passed the wintei ' June <83S. ,, v. OF WASHINGTON IRVING. XIII of 198S at Dresden, the capital of Saxony, where |ie was presented at court and received kind ci- vilities from the old king and queen, and other embers of the veteran royal family. His Icl- rs from Germany to his relations and friends rould form &n interesting and entertaining work If presented to the public. From Germany Mr Invmc returned to Eng- land, and passed the summer of 1834 partly in ondon, and partly in visits among his friends jn different parts of the country. The winter of 182a he passed in Paris, but employed the summer and autumn in an excur- sion into the beautiful country of Touraine, which he extended to Bourdeaux to witness the festivi- kies of the vintage among the celebrated vine- yards of Medoc. From Bourdeaux he proceeded early in the next year to make a long-project- pd journey into Spain, and passed nearly four veavs in different parts of that country, so in- teresting from its history and its romantic loorish Avars. The fame of Mr Irving as an essayist and novelist, was not limited to the climes, extensive Lhough they be, in which the English tongue is ^poken. Translations were made of his Sketch iook and his Tales, into most of the languages of the continent ; and when he visited France, jermany, Italy, and Spain, he found himself a popular author, like Lord Byron, Sir Walter cott, and Mr Fenimore Cooper. But he did liot content himself to have enlarged the circle of Sterne-travellers by adding another head to the ket, the tale-traveller ; he had a higher ambition In his mind. Columbus had already found his el in the United Slates, Joel Barlow; ' he has iiow his American historian. It was in Spain Mr Irving undertook the lask of giving lo his country and to Europe the lislory of the life of that hero, who, in the words )f his epitaph, gave a new world to Castile and licon, but who may be said, with more justice, lo have opened, to the oppressed of every clime, secure and safe refuge, a Held, in which the principles of freedom might be safely cultivated : Tlio name of Commonwealth is past and gone O'er the three fractions of the Rroaning globe j One yiKat clime, Whose Tigorous offsprinf? by dividing ocean Are l(cpt apart and nursed in the devotion Of Freedom, wliich llicir fnihers fought for, and Boquealh'd— a heritage of heart and hand, And proiid distinction from each other land, ■ The Columliiad. Whose sons mnst bow them at a monarch's motion. As if his senseless sceptre were a wand Full of the magic of exploded science — Still one great clime, in full and free defiance. Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime, ' Above the far Atlantic ! ,, Lord Bvaoif, on Venice. The enterprise of Mr Irving was not wanting in boldness, as it placed him in immediate compa.ison with one of the most celebrated among British historians ; but it was eminently successful. The abridgment has become an universally-adopted school-book in the United Suites, and America has got in one and the same man, her own Robertson, Goldsmith, and Addi- son. The History of Columbus is the most im- portant work of Mr W. Irving, completed now by the " Votjages and Discoveriet of the Compa- nions of Columbus," the brave partners of his perilous enterprise, we wish we could add, his imitators in humanity and benevolence. This book unites the marvellous of old romance with the sober charm of truth. Chivalry had left the land and launched upon the deep in the ships of these early Spanish discoverers. Contempt of danger, and fortitude under suffering, a passion for vainglorious exploits, are the characteristics of these marine knights-errant, the daring Ojeda, the unfortunate Nicuesa, the brave but credulous Ponce de Leon, and the enterprising but ill-fated Vasco Nunez de Balboa. In writing the history of Columbus, Mr Irving derived great assistance from the attention he had bestowed on the acquisition of various lan- guages. He had considered these studies as giving access to mines of intellectual wealth in the literature of different nations, and he was now enabled to trace every point in the life of his hero through the narratives, and often the errors of successive historians, up to its ori- ginal source, which he did with an industrious and persevering research. The idea of his two last publications, the "Conquest of Granada" and the "Alhambra," was suggested to Mr Irving while in Spain, occu- pied upon his History of the Life and Voyages of Columbus. The application of the great navigator to the Spanish Sovnrcigns for patron- age to his project of discovery, was made during their crusade against the Moors of Granada, and continued during the residue of that war. Columbus followed the court in several of its campaigns, mingled occasionally in the contest, and was actually present at the {;rand cata- strophe of ihe enlerprisc, the surrender of tho xi«> MEMOIR t* •V !|M iti \y' metropolis. The researclics of Mr Irving, in tracing the movement of his hero, led him to the various chronicles of the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. He became deeply interested in the details of the war, and was induced, while collecting materials for the biography he had in hand, to make preparation also for the '* Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada." He made subsequently a tour in Andalusia, visited the ruins of the Moorish towns, fortresses, and castles, and the wild mountain passes and defiles which had been the scenes of the most remark- able events of the war ; he passed some time in the ancient palace of the Alhambra, the once favourite abode of the Moorish monarchs in Granada. It was then, while his mind was still excited by the romantic scenery around him, and by the chivalrous and poetical association, which throw a moral interest over every feature of Spanish landscape, that lie completed the Chronicle and commenced the Alhambra. The Chronicle is an authentic body of facts relative to the war with the Moors, but arranged in such a manner as to be attractive to the reider for mere amusement. Mr Irving brings forth ever)' scene in its strongest light, and portrays the manners and customs of the age, with a graphic effect, by connecting them with the events and the splendid scenery amidst which they took place. Thus, while he preserves the truth and chronological order of history, he imparts a more impressive and entertaining character to his narrative than regular historians are accus- tomed to possess. By these means his Chronicle at times wears almost the air of romance ; yet the story is authenticated by frequent references to existing documents, proving that the fictitious Spanish monk. Fray Antonio Agapida, has sub- stantial foundation for his most extraordinary incidents. As his History of the^ Conquest of Granada was collected from ancient chronicles, and Mr Irving could not put implicit confidence in the cor- rectness of all the facts ; and as he was not will- ing to throw aside a picturesque and interesting incident whenever a shade of doubt was thrown over its authenticity ; he employed the interven- tion of Fray Antonio Agapida, an imaginary monk of the order of St Ilici'onymo. This in- termediate personage enabled him also to treat the bigotry and superstition and various grave absurdities of that era with a degree of irony and humour which, in his opinion, he could not decorously employ in his own cliaracter. How- ever visionary a person Agapida may have been, the reader is assuredly indebted to him for a great part of the entertainment he recr>v ■ '■■ > the perusal of this Chronicle. li The Alhambra is a sort of Spanish >. ')i<i Book : here we have our old Geoffrey C- > again. The fancy of most readers lakes pa with him when he says : "From earliest boy It m hood, when, on the banks of the Hudson, I first T P"^''*^ '' pored over the pages of an old Spanish story about the wars of Granada, that city has ever been a subject of my waking dreams, and often have I trod in fancy the romantic balls of the Alhambra." The Alhambra is the poetry of architecture, both in its former state, when -Carved cedar door«, Run inward over spangled doors, Broad-based flights of marble stairs Hung up with golden balustrade," m tl ,,ry to t Theofti 'his part, ar ne such a luation until 'turned honu jrcs at that lother minis! During this ■ Oxford coi 'L.L.D., in icter, and h( the month ons of the st int assembla{ While Mr li ic English co icier at the o illiamlV; : rni of his di attention frc id from i^aii and now, whe. ibe ivy creeps round its lattices, and the bats bi I in its towers, to the memory of former spleuuour it adds lingering beauty and actual ruin. Geoffrey Crayon enters those desolate and destroyed but still lovely walls, witli eyes turned towards the past, and full of that] enthusiasm which alone can understand the me- lancholy and the beautiful. In these delightfuljnages of the volumes, the sketches of Spanish scenery andP''' ^f'^'*^*^ "^ peasants are full of life and animation ; the description of the Alhambra is " painted in ricli words," and the ancient legends, told in a style worthy of the days when the story-teller sat on an embroidered carpet, while the music of a falling fountain accompanied his recital. We suspect these legends owe as much to Mr Irving, as the Arabian Nights to Mr Galland; and that] his fairy tales are '" Plus Aral)ei qu'en Arable ;" but we ought scarcely to complain if he wliol found the silk, has also wrought it into " graced ful broderie." This has been the mistake ofl all the late doers into English of Arabian fiction ;[ they have only given us the raw material, andl then boasted of their accuracy — as if accuracyl in a fairy tale could ever be asked by any but! an antiquary. Mr Irving, on the contrary,! narrates equally fancifully, and playfully, witlil a vein of quiet humour, admirably suited to tliisl age of disbelief. We know no more exquisite I specimen of this kind than the " Rose of the Al[ hainbra," and the "Three beautiful Princesses.'! When you read these pages you fancy yoursclf| at once in the Hall of Lions. kleration of tl On the reti untry, in th( illi a degree blic entei'tai e father of I any, he was ( naie and aff( neraiion tlia owded with ; c lileiature < |rst and succi leslion, " V ad he felt i ubiic entliu! nited Slates ivation. Bui lublic exhibit rrival in his on of the kir A few wee] Ir Irving coi hrough the d as into thos ostonandoti insofVermi d of the Wh OF WASHINGTON lUVING. XV m of architecture,! ' ,tlr Irving was an inmate of the Al- in the summer of i8!2), he was ap- y by the President of the United States, jjry to the Legation at the Court of I^on- * The office was unsolicited and unexpected 'his part, and he had always withheld himself m public life. He would not, however, de- ine such a mark of kindness, and he filled the nation until Mr Louis M'Lane, the minister, turned home, when he remained Ghargd d'AI- jrcs at that court until the appointment of other minister. Durin{; this interval, the Enghsh University Oxford conferred on Mr Irving the degree L.L.D., in consideration of his literary cha- icter, and he received the honours in person the month of June 1851, amid the acclama- ns of the students and graduates, and a bril- nt assemblage of spociaiors. While Mr Irving represented his country at c English court, he assisted in his ofHcial cha- iclur at the coronation of his present Majesty, iliiam IV ; and he received, during the short rni of his diplomatic career, repeated marks F attention from the sovereign and royal family, d from i^any of the most distinguished per- nages of the country, not merely on account of c office he filled, but also expressly in con- ideration of the works he had written. On the return of Mr Irving to his native unlry, in the spring of ISoii, he was greeted ilh a degree of warmth rarely equalled, in a blic entertainment at which Chancellor Kent, e father of ilie New York bar, presided. To any, he was endeared by the recollection of in- nate and affectionate intercourse, while a new .'ncraiion that had sprung up in his absence, owdcd with zeal to sec and honour the pride of e literature of America— the author, who had |rst and successfully answered the reproachful lestion, " Who reads an American book?" lad he felt inclinal to have encouraged the iiblic enthusiasm, liis tour throughout the Inited States might have been one continued vaiion. But he shrunk from the parade of ublic exhibition, and after his reception on his rrival in his native city, declined every invita- on of the kind. A few weeks after his return to New York, Ir Irving commenced a succession of journeys hrough the different states. His first excursion vas into those of the east, in which he visited iostonand other cities, crossed the Green Moun- ains of Vermont, and ascended the most celcbrat- id of the Whit*' Mountains of New Hampshire. His next journey was through the most inter- esting parts of his native state to the Falls of Niagara. From thence he proceeded by the lakes and the Ohio, visiting the states bordering on that river, and then ascending the Mississipi into the regions of the far West. Her^e joined a deputation commissioned to hold treaties with the Indians; and passing the frontier military posts, and the boundaries of civilization, pene- trated into the wilderness, to the wigwams and villages of the natives. In company with a party of mounted back- woodsmen, half Indian in their habits, he made an expedition of a month to the wild hunting ground of the warlike Pawnee tribes, scourinj; the woods and extensive prairies, and giving chase to buffaloes and wild horses ; sleeping at nights by fires kindled in the open air ; and sub- sisting on the produce of their rifles ; and keeping a vigilant guard against any sudden attack by the Indians. After this rude specimen of frontier life, he descended the Mississipi to New Orleans, whence he proceeded through the states border- ing on the Atlantic, to the city of Washington. Here he passed the first winter of his return in attending the debates of Congress during an in- teresting session, and made himself acquainted with the political differences, and the sectional rivalries and jealousies of his country, by com- munication with the intelligent statesmen assem- bled in the capital from all parts of the Union. But he mingled with them as a mere spectator, unconnected with any of their parties. His ab- sence during about sixteen years in Europe had accustomed him to regard his conntry with affec- tion from a distance, and with satisfaction when he compai'cd its government and institutions with those of othci' nations, but had kept him aloof from all its internal dissensions. He found also among the opposing candidates for the presi- dency, and leaders of parlies, gentlemen with whom he had been connected in personal friend- ship previous to his voyage to Europe, and from whom he had received many proofs of conside- ration and regard. Politics form, it is probable, more of a great game in the United Slates, where every man is eligible to every office, than in any other coun- try. Men of talents and ambition contend with each other to obtain the ascendancy and the rule. But whoever may succeed in the contest, will equally administer the government to the best of his judgment for the welfare and happi- ness of the country. It is to be lamented that the partisans of the distinguished (aiididates, i, . .i: XVI MEMOIR OF WASHINGTON IRVING. and in particular ihose who control the press, are apt to conduct the stru{jg;le with a person- ality and virulence which excite animosities, and greatly disturb the harmony of social inter* ooui-se. We have not heard that Mr Irving is, at present, engaged in any literary enterprise. We have, however, a pledge in the fertility of invention he has hitherto shown, that he is not idle, nor is his task accomplished ; still, it remains that he should pursue the career he has opened to himself in the annals of tliis continent. The downfal of the empires of the Aztecs ; Incas, asks for a worthy historian ; the generoij advocate of Philip of Pokanoket may yet fin an ample field in the early adventures of tli| British colonists, and in their struggles with ih warlike race, which, for a time, bravely witlj stood their superior civilization and intelligenc finally, his native Hudson claims of him that I who in his youth first made its banks vocal the strains of satire, shall, in his mature ag make them renowned, as the habitation of Historian of the Western continent. f CONTENTS. SALMAGUNDI. DILUBBl'S NOTICB I |o I.— Editor's adTertisement 2 I IntrodncUon to the work 2 I Theatrics— by William Wizard, Esq 4 New York assembly— by A. Evergreen, Gent. . . 5 |o II.— Laoncelot LangstafT's account of his friends. 6 Mr Wilson's concert— by A. Evergreen, Gent. . 8 I Some account of Pindar Cockloft 9 Poetical address form Pindar Cockloft, Esq. . . 10 Advertisement , il |i» m.— Account of Mustapha Rnba-dub Keli Khan, i I Letter of Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to Asem Haochem. ,, , 12 Fashions— by A. Evergreen, Gent 13 Fashionable morning-dress for walking. ... 14 The progress of Salmagundi 14 Poetical Proclamation— firom the mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq <5 |I<> IV. — Some account of Jeremy Cockloft the younger 16 Memorandums for a tour, to be entitled " the Stran- ger in New Jersey, or Cockney Travelling,"— by Jeremy Cockloft the younger 17 |)o v.— Introduction to a letter from Mustapha Rub- a-dub Keli Khan <8 Letter firom Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to Ab- dallahEb'natRahab 19 Account of Will Wizard's expedition to a modern Ball— by A. Evergreen, Gent 22 [jo VI.— Account of the Cfimily of the Cocklofts. . 23 •Theatrics-by Wflliam Wizard, Esq 27 |i« vn. — Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keti Khan to Asem Haochem 29 Poetical account of ancient Times— from the mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq 32 Notes on the above— by Will Wizard, Esq. . . 32 |!o Vin.— Anthony Evergreen's account of his friend Langstaff. 33 On Style-by WiU Wizard, Esq 55 The Editors and the Public 37 so IX.— Account of Miss Charity Cockloft 38 From the elbow-chair of the author 40 LetterfromRub<a-dtd>KeliKbantoAsemUacchem. 41 P^lry— from the mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq. . . 43 So X.— Introduction to the number 44 Letter from Demi Semiquaver to Launcelot Lang- slafl',Esq 45 Noteby the Publisher 47 No XI.— Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan toAsemUacchem 47 Account of "Mine uncle John." 50 No XII.— Christopher Cockloft's company. ... 52 The Stranger at home, or a tour in broadway— by Jeremy Cockloft the younger 55 Introduction to Pindar Cockloft's poem 57 A Poem— from the mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq. . 58 No Xni.— Introduction to WtU Wizard's plans for defending our Harbour , . S9 Plans for defending our hartMur— by Will Wiz- ard, Esq , 60 Aretro8pect,or" What you will." 62 To readers and correspondents 65 No XIV. — Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub KeH Khan to Asem Hacchem 65 Cockloft Hall— by L. Langstaff, Esq 68 Theatrical Intelligence— by William Wizard, Esq. 7 1 N" XV.— Sketches from nature— by A. Evergreen, ucnt. .............. 7« On Greatness— by L. Langstaff, Esq 74 No XVI.-Style at Ballston— by WUl Wizard, Esq. 77 Letter fi«m Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to Asem Hacchem 79 No XVU.— Autumnal reflections— by L. Langstaff, Esq 82 Description of the library at Cockloft Hall— by L. Langstaff, Esq 84 Chap. CIX of the chronicles of the renowned and ancient city of Gotham 85 NO XVin.— The LitUe Man inBlack-by L. LangslaCf. Esq 87 Letter firom Mustapha Rub-a-dnb Keli Khan to Asem Hacchem 90 No XIX.— Introduction to the number 92 Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to Mu- ley Helim al Raggi 92 Anthony Evergreen's Introduction to the winter campaign 95 Tea, a Poem— from the mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq 97 NO XX.— On the New Year 98 To the ladies— by A. Evergreen, Gent 100 Farewell address— by William Wizard, Esq. . . 105 ft ■I n y. ■ h H '4 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. rl ^<:i:oiiNT or tbb Authoi f05 BOOK I, CONTAINinO DIVIBS nOBFIIOUS TUBOHIB8 AND PBILOSOPHIC BPBCUL4TION8, CONCBBNINO TUB CBBA- TION AND POPULATION OV THB WORLD, AS CONNBUTBD WITH THB RISTOBT OF NlW-YORB 100 i;hap. I.~Descriplionofthe world 10!) Chap. H.— Cosmography, or creation of the world ; with h multitude of excellent theories, by which the creation of a world is shown to be no such dif- flcult matter as common folk would imagine. . Chap. III.— How that famous navigator, Noah, was shameiblly nick-named ; and how he committed III f'l will CONTENTS. H3 115 122 122 an unpardoiialile oversight in not having Tour son;. With the great troal)le ot philosophers caused thereby, and the discovery of America. . Cb4p. IV.— Showing the great dirilculty philoso- phers have bad in peopling America— and how the aborigines came to be begotten by accident —to the great relief and satisfaction of the au- thor Chap. V. — In which the author putsa mighty (iiies- tion to the rout, by the assistance of the Man in the Moon— which nut only delivers thousands of people from great embarrassment, but likewise concludes the introductory book 117 BOOK IT, TBEATIMG OF THE FIRST SETTLEUBNT OF THB PROVincE OF Nieuw-Nedehlandts Chap. I. — In which are contained divers reasons why a man should not write in a hurry. Also of master Ilendrick Hudson, hisdiscovery of a strange coun- try—and how he was magnificently rewarded by thcmunificenceof their High Mightinesses. . . Chap. II. — Containing an account of a mighty Ark which floated, under the protection of St Nicho- las, from Holland to Gibbet Island - the descent of the strangle animals therefrom— a great victory, and a description of the ancient village of Commu- nipaw 123 Chap. III. — In which is set forth the true art of mak- ing a bargain— together with the miraculous es- cape of a great metropolis in a fog— and the bio- graphy of certain Heroes of Commuuipaw. . . Chap. IV.— How the Heroes of Communipaw voy- aged to Hell-Gate, and how they were received there Chap. V.— How the Heroes of Communipaw re- turned somewhat wiser than they went— and how the sage Oloffe dreamed a dream— and the dream that be dreamed Chap. VI.— Containing an attempt at etymology— and of the founding of the great city of New-Ams- terdam 133 Cbap. Vn.— How the city of New-Amsterdam waxed great, under the protection of Oloffe the Dreamer. 1 33 BOOK HI, IN WHICH IS RECORDED THK GOLDEN BBIGN OF WOUTER VAN TWII.LER 137 Chap. L— Of the renowned Wouter vanTwiller, his unparalleled virtues— as likewise his unutter- able wisdom in the law case of Waudle Schoon- hoveu and Barent Bleecker— and the great admi- ration of the public thereat 137 Chap. II. — Containing some account of the grand council of New-Amsterdam; as also divers espe- cial good philnjuphical reasons why an alderman should be fat— with other particulars touching thestate of the province 139 Chap. HI.- How the town of New- Amsterdam arose out of mud, and came to be marvellously polish- ed and polite— together with a picture of the manners of our great great grandfathers. . . . Chap. IV.— Containing further particulars of the golden age, and what constituted a One lady and gentleinan in the days of Walter the Doubter. . Chap. V. — In which the reader Is beguiled into a delectable walk, which ends very differently from what it commenced Ii6 Cbap. VI. — Faithfully describing theingenioiu peo- ple of Connecticut and thereabont Showing, moixHiver, the true meaning of liberty of con- 127 129 <32 142 14 f i4 13 IS <d1 science, and a curiods device among the sturdy barlwrians, tokeepupa harmony of intercourse, and promote population It; CuAP. VH. — How these singular barliariang the Yanokies turned out to be notorious squatters. How they built air castles, and attempted to ini- tiate theNederlanders in the mystery of bundling. Cbap. VIII. — How the fort Goed Hoop was fear- fully beleaguered— how the renowned Wouter fell into a profound doubt, and how he finally eva- porated BOOK IV, CONTAINING THE CHRONICLES OF THE BKIGN OF VN'lLLIAM THE TeSTV i Chap. I.— Showing the nature of history in gene- ral; containing furthermore the universal ac(|uire- ments of William the Testy, and how a man may learn so much as to render himself good for nothing Chap II. — In which are recorded the sage projects ofa ruler ofuniversal genius. The art of fighting by proclamation;- and how that the viiliant Ja- cobus Van Curlet came to be foully dishonoured at Fort (locd Hoop Chap. HI. - Containing the fearful wrath of Wil- liam the Testy, and the great dolour of the New- Amsterdammcrs, because of the affair of Fort Goed Hoop. — And, moreover, how William the Testy did strongly fortify the city. — Together with the exploits of StofTel Brinkerhoff. . . . Chap. IV.— Phllasophicalreneclionson thefoHy of being happy in times of prosperity .-Sundry trou- bles on the southern frontiers.— How William the I'esty bad well nigh ruined the province through a cabalistic word. — As also the secret ex- pe<lition of Jan Jansen Alpendara, and his aston- ishing reward Chap. V.— How William the Testy enriched the province by a multitude of laws, and came to be the patron of lawyers and bum-bailiffs. And how the people became exceedingly enlightened and unhappy under his instructions id Chap. VI.— Of the great Pipe Plot— and of the dolor- ous perplexities into which William the Testy was thrown, by reason of his having enlightened the multitude ICi Chap. VU.— Containing divers fearful accounts of Border wars, and the Uagrant outrages of the Moss-troopers of Connecticut— with the rise of the great Amphictyonic Council of the east, and the decline of William the Testy book v, containing the first part of the reign of Peter Stuyvesant and his troubles with the Amphictyonic Council Chap. I. — In which the death of a great man is shown to be no very inconsolable matter of sorro\^ —and how Peter Stuyvesant ac(|uired a great name from the uncommon strength of his head. Chap. H.— Showing how Peter the Headstrong bestirred himself among the rats and the cobwelw on entering into office; and the perilous mistake he was guilty of, in his dealings with the Ampbic- tyons Chap. III.— Containing divers speculations ou war and negotiations— showing that a treaty of peace is a great national evil i' Chap. IV.— IlowPelerShiyvesont was greatly be- lied by his adversaries the Moss-troopers— and <7| CONTENTS. long the stnrdy of intercourse, barlMrians the rious squatters. Itempted to ini- er) of bundling. Hoop was fear- nvned Wouter wtiefinaliyeva- £8 Of THE lUGN listory in gene- liversal ac(|uire- liow a man may msclf good for lie sage projects leartofflgbting tlie valiant Ja- lly dishonoured I wrath of Wil- our of I lie New- ! affair of Fort ow William the city.— Together Brhoff. . . . IS on the folly of '.— Sundry trou- — IIow William 3d the province |lso the secret ex- and his aston- ty enriched the and came to be iliffs. And how nlightened and andofthedolor- lani the Testy iiig enlightened • • ■ • • rful accounts of [intrages of the vith the rise of }f the east, and IIP TUB HEIGN OP BLES WITH TUB great man is latter of sorro\^ quired a great th of his head, le Headstrong d the cobwebs crilous mistake Ih the Ampbic- ilations ou war treaty of peace i4 tcl his conduct thereupon 175 nf, v.— How the New-Amsterdammers became eat in arms, and of the direful cataitropbe of a Imigbty army— together with Peter Stuyvesanfi measures to fortify the city— and how be was the original founder of the battery 176 kAP. VI.— How the people of the East Country [were suddenly afOictcd with a diabolical evil— and I their judicious measures for theexlirpatioa there* liP. vn.— Which records the rise and renown I of a valiant commander, showing that a man, like la bladder, may be puffed up to greatness and im- I portance by mere wind 180 aK VI, CONTAIKIMG THE SECOKID PiHT OP TUB BElOH I OP Peter the Headstbong — and bis gallant I ACBiEVEMEMTS ON THE Delaware 182 nAP. I.— In which is exhibited a warlike portraitof I the great Peter— and how General Von Poffcn- [burgh distinguished himself at Fort Casimir. . 182 II.— Showing how profound secrets are of- Iten brought to light; with the proceedings of I Peter the Headstrong when he heard of themis- I fortunes of General Von Poffcnlnirgh. . . . t85 gAP. III.— Containing Peter Stuyvcsant's voyage up the Hudson, and the wonders and delights of that renowned river 187 BAP. IV.— Describing the powerful army thatas- Isembled at the city of New-Amsterdam— together I with the interview between Peter the Headstrong I and General Yon Poffenburgh, and Peter's sen- I timents touching unfortunate great men. . . 190 RAP. V. — In which the author discourses very in- Igeniously of himself.— After which is to be found I much interesting history about Peter the Head- I strong and his followers 192 HAP. VI.— Showing the great advantage that the (author has over his reader in time of battle— to- 1 gether with divers portentous movements ; which I betoken that something terrible is about to hap- IM an 205 |pen 194 HAP. VII.— Containing the most horrible battle lever recorded in poetry or prose ; with the admi- IraMeexploits of Peter the HcadKli'uug. ... 196 CiAP. vm.— In which the author and the reader, while reposing after the battle, fall into a very grave discourse- after which is recorded the con- duct of Peter Stuyvesant after bis victory. . . BOOK VU, CONTAINING THE THIRD PART OF TBB BBIOII OF Peter THE Headstrong — HisTROUBLUwmTRi British nation, and the deglinb and fall op tib Dutch dynasty Chap. I. — How Peter Stuyvesant relieved the ao- vereign people from the burthen of taking care of the nation— with sundry particulart of his con- duct in time of peace SOS ClAP. II.— IIow Peter Stuyvesant was much mo- lested by the Moss-troopers of the East, and the Giants of Merryland — and how a dark and horrki conspiracy was carried on in the British Cabinet against the prosperity of the Manhattoes. ' . . Chap. HI.— Of Peter Stuyvcsant's expedition into the East Country, showing that, though an old bird, he did not understand trap 207 Chap. IV.— 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 210 Chap. V.— Showing how the Grand Council of the New-Netherlands came to be miraculously gifted with long tongues. Together with a great triumph of Economy 21 f Chap. VI.— In which the troubles of New-Amster- dam appear to thicken— Showing the bravery, in time of peril, of a people who defend themselves by resolution 213 Chap. VII. — Containing a doleful disaster of An- thony the Trumpeter— And how Peter Stuy- vesant, like a second Cromwell, suddenly dis- solved a Rump Parliament 216 Chap. VIII.— How Peter Stuyvesant defended the city of New-Amsterdam for several days, by dint • ■ ofthc strength of his head 217 Chap. IX .—Containing the dignified retirement and mortal surrenderofPeter the Headstrong. . .219 Chap. X.— The Author's reflections upon what has been said 221 THE SKETCH BOOK. lAuthor's account of himself. 225 1 Voyage 226 roe 228 I Wife 251 [Van Winkle 255 |Hsh Writers on America 240 al Life in England 2'i5 I Broken Heart 24S ! Art of Book-making 247 ^oyalPoet 2S0 Country Church 25.'» I Widow and her Son 257 > Boar's Head Tavern 2.'>9 ! Mutability of Literature 263 al Funerals 267 ^InnKitchen 271 The Spectre Bridegroom. . . . .' 272 Westminster Abbey 277 Christmas 281 The Stage Coach 283 Christmas Eve 286 Christmas Day 290 The Christmas Dinner 294 Little Britain 299 Strafford-on-Avon 505 Traits of Indian Charaeter 511 Philip of Pokanoket 515 John Bull • •''21 The Pride of the Village 525 The Angler 329 TheLegendof Sleepy Hollow 352 L'Envoy ''•'* H II ^«'as greatly bc- Iroopers— and n CONTENTS. BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 11 i 'ill |(t ThflAathor. W5 The Hall W The Busy Man 548 Family Servants 5^9 TheWMow 351 The Lovers 355 Family Reliques 354 An Old Soldier 3S5 The "Widow's Retinue 356 Heady-Money Jack 357 Bachelors 359 Wives 360 Story-Telling 362 The Stout Gentleman 363 ForestTreci 366 A literary Antiquary 368 The Farm-House. . 370 Horsemanship 371 LoveSymptoms > 373 Falconry 375 Hawking 375 St Mark's Eve. 577 GentiUty 580 Fortune-Telling 381 Love-Charms 382 The Library 384 The Student of i English Country Gentlemen. A Bachelor's Confessions. . English Gravity Gipsies. May-Day Customs. Village Worthies. The Schoolmaster. The School. A Village Politician. The Rookery. May^Day. The Manuscript. . . Annette Delarbre. . Travelling Popular Superstitions. The Culprit. . . . Family Misfortunes. . Lovers' Troubles. The Historian. . . The Haunted House. Dolpb Heyliger. . . The Storm-Sbip. The Wedding 4l The Author's Farewell it TALES OF A TRAVELLER. t/i 4 To TBI RUDEI PART I.— Strange Stories , by a Nervous Geitfle- MAN. The Great Unknown The Hunting Dinner. The Adventure of my Uncle The Adventure of my Aunt The Bold Dragoon ; or, the Adventure of my Grand- father The > jivenu:re of the German Student. . . . Tbp Adventure of the Mysterious Picture. . . . T!ie Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger. . . The Story of the Young Italian. PART n. — Bdckthorne and bis friends. . . Literary Life A Literary Dinner The Club of Queer Fellows The Poor-Devil Author Notoriety A Practical Philosopher 477 478 478 478 480 484 492 495 497 507 507 508 509 511 518 519 Buckthorne; or, the Toung Man of great Expecta- tions Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man. . . . The Booby Squire The Strolling Manager PART m.— The Italian Banditti The Inn at Terradna The Adventure of the Little Antiquary The Belated Travellers The Adventure of the Popkins Family The Painter's Adventure The Story of the Bandit Chieftain The Story of the Young Robber The Adventure of the Englishman PARTFV.— TUK MONEI-DlGGERS Hell-Gate Kidd the Pirate The Devil and Tom Walker Wolfert Webber; or. Golden Dreams The Adventure of the Black Fisherman LIFE AND VOYAGES OF CHRISTOPHER COLURIBUS. Preface 605 BOOK 1 606 Introduction 606 Cbap. I.— Birth, Parentage, and Education of Co- lumbus 607 Cbap. U.— Early Life of Columbus 608 Cbap. IO. — Progress of Discovery under Prince Henry of Portugal 610 Cbap. FV. — Residence ofColumbus atLisbon. Ideas concerning Islands in the Ocean CIS Cbap. V. — Grounds on which Columbus founded his l)elief of the existence of undiscovered lands in the west Cbap. VI. — Correspondence of Columbns with Paolo Toscanelli. Events in Portugal relative to Discoveries. . Cbap. VII.— Proposilions ofColumbus to the Court of Portugal Cbap. Vm.— Departure of Columbus from Por- tugal, and Iiis Application to other Courts. . . CONTENTS. x\i ibustotbeConrt )KU 622 CaiP- I.— Fint Arrival of Colambus in Spain. . 622 Cbap. n.—Cl]aracters of Ferdinand and laabelia. . 623 I Cair> in.— Propositioos of Columbus totbe Court ofCa«Ule 625 CoiP. IV.— Columbus before tbe Council at Sala- manca 626 Chap. V.— Further Applications at tbe Court of Castile. Columbus follows the Court in its Cam- paigns 628 Cbap. VI.— Application to the Duke of Medina Cell. Return to the Convent of La Rabida 651 Cbap. VII.— Application to tbe Court at the time of the Surrender of Granada 632 Cbap. VHI.— Arrangement with the Spanish Sove- reigns 634 Cbap. IX.— Preparations for the Expedition at the Port of Palos 636 lOOK in 638 Chap. I.— Departure of Columbus on bis First Voyage 638 Chap, n.— Continuation of the Voyage. Varia- tion of tbe Needle 640 1 Chap, m.— Continuation of the Voyage. Various Terrors of the Seamen 641 I Chap. IV.— Continuation of the Voyage. Dis- covery of Land 643 )KIV 646 I Chap. I.— First Landing of Columbus in the New World 646 Chap. U.— Cruise among the Bahama Islands. . . 649 Cbap. m.— Discovery and coasting of Cuba. . . 652 Chap. IV.— Further coasting of Cuba 654 I Chap. V.— Search after the supposed Island of Ba- beque. Desertion of the Pinta. 657 I Chap. VI.— Discovery of Ilispaniola 658 Chap. VII.— Coasting of Ilispaniola 660 Chap. Vin.— Shipwreck 662 Ichap. IX.— Transactions with the Natives. . . . 6G3 I Chap. X.— Building of the Fortress of La Navidad. 665 I Chap. XL— Regulation of the Fortress of La Navi- dad. Departure of Columbus for Spain. . . 666 )K V 668 IChap. I. — Coasting towardu the Eastern End of Hispaniola. Meeting with Pinzon. Affair with the natives at the Gulf of Semana 668 ICuAP. n.— Return voyage. Violent storms. Arri- val at the Azores 670 JBAP. m.— Transactions at the Island of St Mary's. 675 ]hap. IV.— ArrivalatPortugal. Visit to the Court. 674 IChaf. v.— Reception of Columbus at Palos. . . 677 Chap. VI. — Reception of Columbus by the Spanish Court at Barcelona 678 Cbip. vn. — Sojournof Columbus at Barcelona. At- tentions paid him by the Sovereigns and Cour- tiers 680 "Zakv, Vin.—PapalBulI of Partition. Preparations for a second vd|age of Columbus 682 ]hap. IX.— Diplomatic Negotiations between the Courts of Spain and Portugal with respect to the New Discoveries 684 Jbap. X.— Further Preparations for the second Voyage. Character of Alonso de Ojeda. Dif- ference of Columbus with Suria and Fonseca. . 686 )K VI 688 []hap. L— Departure of Columbus on his Second Voyage. Discovery of the Caribbce Islands. . 688 Cbap. H.— Transactions at (he Island of Guada- loupe 690 Cbap. UI.— Cruise among tbe Caribbee Islands. . 692 Cbap. IV.— Arrival at the Harbour of La Navidad. Disaster of the Fortress 695 Cbap. V.- Transactions with the Natives. Suspi- cions Conduct of Guacanagari 698 Cbap. VI.— Founding oftbeCityof Isabella. Mala- dies of the Spaniards 700 Cbap. Vn.— Expedition of Alonso de Ojeda to ex- plore the Interior of the Island. Despatch of the Ships to Spain 702 Cbap. VIII.— Discontents at Isabella. Mutiny of Bernal Diaz de Pisa 704 Chap. IX.— Expedition of Columbus to the Moun- tains of Cibao 705 Chap. X.— Excursion of Juan de Luxan among the Mountains. Customs and Characteristics of the Natives. Columbus returns to Isabella. . . . 708 Cbap. XI.— Arrival of Columbusat Isabella. Sick- ness of the Colony 712 Chap. XII. — Distribution of the Spanish Forces in the Interior. Preparations for a Voyage to Cuba . 714 BOOK VII 715 Chap. I.— Voyage to the East End of Cuba. ... 715 Chap. II. — Discovery of Jamaica 716 Chap. III.— Return to Cuba. Navigation among tbe Islands called the Queen's Gardens. . . . 718 Chap. IV.— Coasting of tbe Southern Side of Cuba. 7 1 9 Chap. V.— Return of Columbus along the Southern Coast of Cuba 722 Chap. VI. — Coasting Voyage along the South Side of Jamaica 724 Chap. VII.— Voyage along the South Side of Ilis- paniola, and Return to Isabella 726 BOOK VIU 727 Chap. I.— Arrival of tbe Admiral at Isabella. Cha- racter of Bartholomew Columbus 727 Cbap. XL— Misconduct of Don Pedro Margarite, and bis Departure irom tbe Island 729 Chap. III. — ^Troubles with the Natives. Alonso de Ojeda besieged by Caonabo 730 Chap. IV.— Measures of Columbus to restore the quiet of tbe Island. Expedition of Ojeda to sur- prise Caonabo 732 Chap. V. — Arrival of Antonio de Torres with four Ships irom Spain. His return with Indian Slaves. 733 Chap. VI. - Expedition of Columbus against the In- dians of the Vega. Battle 736 Chap. VII.— Subjugation of tbe Natives. Imposi- tion of Tribute 738 Chap. VIII. — Intrigues against Columbus in the Court of Spain. Aguado sent to investigate the Affairs of Ilispaniola. 740 Cbap. IX. — Arrival of Aguadoat Isabella. His ar- rogant Conduct. Tempest in the HarlMur. . 742 Chap. X.— Discovery of the Mines of Ilayna. . . 744 BOOK IX 746 Chap. I.— Return of Columbus toSpain with Agua- do 746 Chap. II.— Decline of the Popularity of Columbus in Spain. His reception by the Sovereigns at Burgos. He proposes a Third Voyage. . . . 748 Chap. III.— Preparations for a Third Voyage. Dis- appointments and Delays 7£0 BOOKX 753 Chav. I.— Departure of Columbus from Spain on It ii ,1 '\ • I i I 11 X\ll WJ»- OONIENTS. Ilia Third Voyano. DiscoTen of TrIiiWIad. . . "">.) Chap. II.— Voyano lhr()ii);h llio (iiilf of I'nria. . 75(i Chap. III.— ConliiuialioD of the Vuyai;c through the Gulf of I'ariii. Itcturn to Ilispaniula. . . 75» Chap. IV.— Speculations of Columbus concerning; the Coast of Paria "61 BOOK XI 76J Chap. I.— Administration of the Adclantado. Ex- pedition to the Province of Xara^ua 'Pi Chap. II.— Establishment of a Chain of Military Posts. Insurrection of Guarioncx, the Cacique of the Vega 767 Chap, irr.— The Adelantado repairs to Xaraguato receive Tribute 769 Chap. IV.— Conspiracy of Roldan 77 1 Chap. V.— The Adclantado repairs to the Vega in relief of Fort Conception. His Interview with Roldan 772 Chap. VI.— Second Insurrection of Guarionex, and his Flight to the Mountains of Cigiiay. . . . 774 Chap. VII.— Campaign of the Adelantado in the Mountains of Ciguay 776 BOOK XII 778 Chap. I. — Confusion in Ilispaniola. Proceedings of ilicKelielsalXaragua 778 Chap. II.— Negolialion of the Admiral with the He- liels. Departure of Ships for Spain 780 Chap. HI. — Arrangement with the Rel)ols. . . 782 Chap. IV. — Another Mutiny of the Rebels; and Se- cond Arrangement with them 78 i Chap. V. — Grants made to Roldan and his Follow- ers. DepartureofsevcraloftheRebelsforSpain. 786 Chap. VI.— Arrival of Ojeda with a Squadron at the Western part of the Island. Roldan sent to meet him 788 Chap. VII.— Manoeuvres of Roldan and Ojeda. . 789 Chap. VIII. — Conspiracy of Guevara and Moxira. 791 BOOK Xin 795 Chap. I. — Representations at Court against Colum- bus. Bobadilla empowered to examine into his Conduct . Chap. II. — Arrival of Bobadilla at San Domingo. His violent Assumption of the Command. . . Chap. HI. — Columbus summoned to appear before Bobadilla CuAP. IV. — Columbusand his Brothers arrested and sent to Spain in Chains BOOK XIV Chap. I.— Sensation in Spain on the Arrival of Co- lumbiu in Imns. His appearance at Court. . . 802 Chap. II. — Contemporary Voyagesof Discovery. . 805 Chap. III.— Nicholas de Ovando appointed to su- persede Bobadilla 805 Chap. IV. — Proposition of Columbus relative to the Recovery of the Holy Sepulchre ' . 80S Chap. V.— Preparations of Columbus for a Fourth Voyage of Discovery 810 BOOK XV. . 812 Chap. I.— Departure of Columbus on his Fourth Voyage. Refused Admission to the Harbour of San Domingo. Exposed to a violent Tempest. 812 Chap. II.— Voyage along the Coast of Honduras. 814 Chap. HI.— Voyage along the Mosquito Coast, and Transactions at Cariari 816 Chap. IV.— Voyage along" Costa Rica. Specula- tions concerning the Istluniu; at Veragua. . . 818 Chap. V.— Discovery of Puerto Bello and El Reh-etc. 795 796 798 799 ^02 CulnmlNis alMiidons the Search after the Strait. Chap. VI.— Return to Veragua. Tlie Adelantado explores the country Chap. VII. — Commencement of a Settlement on the River Belen. Conspiracy of the Natives. Expedition of the Adelantado to surprise Quibian. Chap. VIII.— Disasters of the Settlement. . . . Chap. IX.— Distress of the Admiral no board of his Ship. Ultimate Relief of the Settlement. . . Chap. X.— Departure fmm the Coast of Veragua. Arrival at Jamaica. Stranding of the Ships. . BOOK XVI Chap. I.— Arrangement of l5iegoMondex with the Caciques for Supplies of Provisions. Sent to San Domingo by Columbus in quest of Relief. . . Chap. H.— Mutiny of Porras Chap. IH.— Scarcity of Provisions. Stratagem of Columbus to obtain Supplies from the Natives. Chap. IV.— Mission of Diego de Escobfir to the Ad- miral Chap. V. — Voyage of Diego Mendez and Bartho- lomew Fiesco in a Canoe to Hispaniola. . . . Chap. VI.— Overtures of Columbus to the Muti- neers. Battle of the Adelantado with Porras and his followers BOOK XVII Chap. I.— Administration of Ovando in Hispaniola. Oppression of the natives Chap. II.— Massacre at Xaragua. Fate of Ana- caona Chap. III.— War Avith the Natives of Higuey. . . Chap. IV.— Close of the War with Higuey. Fate of Cotabanama BOOK XVIII Chap. I.— Departure of Columbus for St Domingo. His Return to Spain Chap. H.- Illness of Columbus at Seville. Applica- tion to the Crown for a Restitution of his Ho- nours. Death of Isabella CuAP. IH. — Columbus arrives at Court. Fruitless Application to the King for Redress Chap. IV.— Death of Columbus Chap. V.— Observations on the Character of Co- lumbus APPENDIX No I.— Transportation of the Remains of Columbus from St Domingo to the Uavanna N'o H.— Account of the Descendants of Columbus. NO ID .-Fernando Columbus No IV.— Lineage of Columbus No v.— Birth-place of Columbus No VI.— The Colombos No MI.— Expedition of John of Anjou NO VIII.— Capture of the Venetian Galleys by Co- lombo the Younger No IX.— Amerigo Vespucci No X.— Martin Alonso Pinion No XI.— Rumour of the Pilot said to lAve died in the House of Columbus No Xn.— Martin Behem N'oXIH.-Voyages of the Scandinavians No XIV.— Circumnavigation of Africa by the Ancients. No XV.— Of the Ships of Cohunbus No XVI.— Route of Columbus in his First Voyage. No XVII.— Principles upon which the Sums mention- ed in this Work have been reduced into modem Currency Kt 821 8S &->) X\ III.— Marco Polo. aiX.-Thc Work of N > XX.— Sir John Mandi XXI.— The Zones. < XXII .—Of the Atalanii g2i • XXIII.— The imaginai Xj; » XXI v.— The Island of • XXV. — Discovery ofth » XXVI.— Las Casas. XXVII. -Peter Martyr. "XXVIIl.— Oviedo. VOYAGES A 8,32 LOXSO DE OJEDA, hi $5j HE WAS ACCOMPANIED B Tjap. I. — SomeAccoun Cusa. Of Amerigo V< the Voyage.— (A. D. CuiP. II. — Departure fn Coast of Paria. Cust( Cinp. 111.— Coasting of ppjilion of Ojeda. Cbap. IV.— Discovery ol Transactions tiicre. Penetrates to ^laracail Chip. V. Prosecution c Spain. EDRO A. NINO aud CB ICENTE YANEZ PINZ IIEGO DE LEPE AND iLONSO DE OJEDA, se LONSO DE OJEDA, tii Cbap. I.— Ojeda applies rival Candidate in Die( (1509) Cbap. II.— Fend betwe Ojeda and Nicuesa. Cbap. HI.— Exploits and Coast of Carthagena. de la Cosa. . . . Cbap. IV.— Arrival of N on the Indians. . . Chap. V.— Ojeda founds lian. Beleaguered b; Chap. VI.— Alonso de ( vages to have a charm to try the fact. . . Chap. VII.— Arrival of i bastion Chap. VHI.— Factions ii tionmade. . . . Chap. IX. — Disastrous ^ rate Ship Cbap. X.— Toilsome Ma panions through the i Chap. XL— Ojeda pcrfa Chap. XIL— Arrival of ( ceplion by Juan de I Chap. XIII.— Arrival o Domingo. Conclusia DIEGO DE NICUESA. Chap. I. — Nicuesa sails Shipwreck and subseq Chap. II. — Nicuesa am Island Oup. III.— Arrival of a Kit 821 82? 829 831 CONTENTS. XXill XVIII.— Marco Pok) XIX.— The Work of Marco Polo I XX.— Sir John Mandeville • XXI.— The Zones • XKII— or Ihc Atalanlwof Plato gjl • XXIII.— The imaginary Idand of St Brandan. »XXIV.— The Island of the Seven Cilies. . . . • XXV.— Discovery of the Island of Madeira. . . « XXVI.— Las Casa» "XXVlI.-I'eler Martyr • XXVIII.— Oviedo 901 9<)i 94)6 90(i 9(t7 90S 911 »ll 913 9l(i 918 N» XXrX.— Cura de Log Palaciot 919 N* XXX.—" Navigutione del Re de Castiglia delie Isolec Paese nuovamenteHitroTate;"— " Navi- Ratio Chri«lophori ColomU." 9I9 N» XXXI.— Antonio de lierrera 920 ?;» y.XXII.— Bishop Fonscca 920 No XXXIII.— Of the Situation of the Teireatrial Pa- radise 922 NO XXXIV.— W ill of Columbus 92t No XXXV.— Signature of Columbus 92K I.tiDiix 929 VOYAGES AND DISCOVERIES OF THE COxMPANlONS OF COLUMBUS. 853 8-,ll 83! iV 81 U U ^34 LONSO DE OJEDA, his riasr voyage, ik vtuica us HKn^s AccojiPANieD Bv AvEBico Vegpucci. . . 943 CsAP. I. — Some Account of Ojcda. Of Juan de la Cosa. Of Amerigo Vespucci. Preparations for the Voyage.— (A. D. 1499.) 9'i'i CuiP. II. — Departure from Spain. Arrival on the Coast of Paria. Customs of the Natives. . . 916 Chap. 111.— Coasting of Terra Finna. Military Ex- pedition of Ojcda 946 CuAP. 1\.— Discovery of the Gulf of Venezuela. Transactions there. Ojcda explores the Gulf. Ponelrates toMaracaibo 947 Cbap. V. Prosecution of the Voyage. Return to Spain 948 EDRO A. NINO akd CHRIS. GUERRA. ... 949 ICENTE YANEZ PINZON 9-i0 IIEGO DE LEPE AND R. DE BASITDES. . . 933 lOXSO DE OJEDA, skcond voyacb 935 LONSO DE OJEDA, thibd vovacb 956 Cbap. I.— Ojeda applies for a Command. Has a rival Candidate in Diego de Nicuesa. His success (1509) 956 Chap. II. — Feud between the Rival Governors Ojeda and Nicuesa. A Challenge 937 Cbap. UI.— Exploits and Disasters of Ojeda on the Coast of Carthagena. Fate of the veteran Juan de la Cosa 939 CoiP. IV. — Arrival of Nicuesa. Vengeance taken on the Indians 961 Cbap. V.— Ojeda founds the Colony of San Sebas- tian. Beleaguered by the Indians 962 Cbap. VI. — Alonso de Ojeda supposed by the Sa- vages to have a charmed life. Their experiment to try the fact 963 Cbap. VII.— Arrival of a Strange Ship at San Se- bastian 963 Cbap. VHT.- Factions in the Cdony. A Conven- tion made 964 Chap. IX. — Disastrous Voyage of Ojeda in the Pi- raleShip 965 Chap. X.— Toilsome March of Ojeda and his Com- panions through the morasses of Cuba. . . . 963 Cbap. XI.— Ojeda performs his Vow to the Virgin. 966 Chap. XII.— Arrival of Ojeda at Jamaica. His Re- ception by Juan de Esquibel 967 Chap. XIII.— Arrival of Alonso de Ojeda at San Domingo. Conclusion of his story 967 DIEGO DE NICUESA 968 Chap. I. — Nicuesa sails to the Westward. His Shipwreck and subsequent Disasters 968 Cbap. II. — Nicuesa and bis men on a desolate Island 970 91 Cbap. III.— Arrival of a Boat. Conduct of Lope de «0 83 83 83 81 s; 8S Olano 970 Chap. IV.— Nicuesa rejoins bis Crews 971 Chap. V.— Sufferings of Nicuesa and his men on the Coast of the Isthmus 971 CuAP. VI.— Expedition of the Bachelor Euciso in search oftheSeatof (Government of Ojeda. . . 972 Chap. VII.— The Bachelor hears unwelcome Tid- ings of his destined Jurisdiction 974 Chap. VIII. — Crusade of the Bachelor Enciso against the Sepulchres of Zenu 974 Chap. IX.— The Bachelor arrives at San Sebastian. His Disasters there, and sultsequent Exploits at Darien 973 Chap. X.— The Bachelor Enciso undertakes the Command. His Downfal 976 Chap. XI.— Perplexities at the Colony. Arrival ofColmenares 970 Chap. XII. — Colmenares goes in quest of Nicuesa. 977 Chap. XIII. — Catastrophe of the unfortunate Ni- cuesa 978 VASCO NUNEZ DE BALBOA, discovibxr of tbb Pacific Ocean 979 Chap. I.— Factions at Darien. Vasco Nunez ele- vated to the Command 979 Chap. II. — Expedition to Coyba. Vasco Nufiez re- ceives the daughter of a Cacique as hostage. . 980 Cuap. III.— Vasco Nunez hears of a Sea beyond the Mountains 981 Chap. IV.— Expedition of Vasco Nunez in quest of the Golden Temple of Dobayba 983 Cuap. V.— Disaster on the Black River. Indian Plot against Darien 984 Cuap. VI. — ^Further Factions in the Colony. Ar- rogance of Alonso Perez and the Bachelor Corral. 985 Chap. VII. — Vasco Nunez determines to seek the Sea l)eyond the Mountains 987 Chap. VIII.— Expedition in quest of the Southern Sea 987 Chap. IX.— Discovery of the Paciflc Ocean. . . 989 Chap, X. — Vasco Nuiiez marches to the Shores of the South Sea 990 Chap. XI.— Adventures of Vasco Nunez on the borders of the Pacific Ocean 991 Chap. XII. — Further Adventures and Exploits of Vasco Nuiiez on the t)orders of the PaciOc Ocean. 992 Chap. XIII. — Vasco Nrniez sets out on his Return across the Mountains. His Contests with the Sa- 995 Chap. XIV. — Enterprise against Tubanamft the warlike Cacique of the Mountains. Return to Darien 994 Chap. XV.— Transactions in Spain. Pedrarias Da- vilaappointedto the Command of Darien. Tid- XXIV CONTENTS. it ings receiTed in Spaia of the Discovery of the Pacific Ocean 996 Ciur. XVI.— Arrival and Rrand Entry of Don Pe- drarias Davila into Daricn 998 CiiAP. XVII.— Perfidious Conduct of Don Pedra- rias towards Vasco >ufiez 999 Chap. XVIII.— Calamities of the Spanish Cavaliers at Darien lOflO Chap. XIX.— Fruitless Expedition of Pedrarias. 1001 CuAP. XX.— Second Expedition of Vasco INuiiez in quest of the Golden Temple of DolKiylM. . . lOOt Chap. XXI.— Letters from the King in favour of Vasco NuKez. Arrival of Gabarito. Arrest of Vasco Nunez 1002 Chap. XXII. — Expedition of Morales and Pizarro to the shores of the Pacific Ocean. Their Visit to the Pearl Islands. Their disastrous Return across the Mountains 1003 Chap. XXIII.— Unfortunate Enterprises of the Officers of Pedrarias. Matrimonial Compact l)etween the Governor and Vasco Nunez. . . IflOG Chap. XXIV.— Vasco Nunez transports Ships across the Mountains to the Pacific Ocean 1007 Chap. XXV.— Cruise of Vaseo Nunez to the South- prnSea. Rumours from Ada * . 1008 Chap. XXVI.— Reconnoitring Expedition of Ga- rabito. Stratagem of Pedrarias to entrap Vasco Nuiiez 1008 Cbap. XXVII.— Vasco Nuiiez and the Astrologer. His return to Ada Chap. XXVUI.— Trial of Vasco Nunez. . . . Chap. XXIX.— Execution of Vasco Nuiiez. . . VALDIVIA AND HIS Companions MICERCODRO, the Astrologer JUAN PONCE DE LEON, CoKQUkBOB op Pobto Rico, and discovebeb op Flohiiia Chap. I.— Reconnoitring Expedition of Juan Ponce de Leon to the Island of Boriquen. Chap. II.— Juan Ponce aspires to theGovernment of Porto Rico Chap. III.— Juan Ponce rules with a strong hand. Exasperation of the Indians. Their experiment to prove whether the Spaniards were mortal. . Chap. IV —Conspiracy of the Caciques. Fate of Sotomayor Chap. V.— War of Juan Ponce with the Cacique Agueyliand Chap. VI. — Juan Ponce de Leon hears of a won- derful Counti y and miraculous Fountain. . . Chap. VII. — Cruise of Juan Ponce de Leon in search of the Fountain of Youth Chap. VIII.— Expedition of Juan Ponce against the Caribs. Ilis Death APPENDIX A Visrr to Paios Manifesto OP Alonso DE Ojeda 101 101 lUI m 102 t02 A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. iNTBODUCTIOn 1053 Chap. I.— Of the kingdom of Granada, and the tribute which it paid to the Castilian crown. . 1033 Chap. II.— How the Catholic Sovereigns sent to demand arrears of tribute from the Moor, and how the Moor replied 1033 Chap. IU.— How the. Moor determined to strike the first blow in the war 1036 €hap. IV.— Expedition of Aluley Aben Hassan against the fortress of Zahara 1037 Chap. V.— Expedition of the Marquis of Cadiz against Alhama 1038 Chap. VI.— How the people of Granada were af- fected on hearing of the capture of Alhama, and how the Moorish Kin|r sallied forth to regain it. lOil Chap. VIL— How the Duke of Medina Sidouia and the chivalry of Andalusia hastened to the relief of Alhama »0«3 Chap. VIIL— Sequel of the events at Alhama. . <0S3 Chap. IX.— Events at Granada, and rise of the Moorish King Boabdil d Chico 1016 Chap. X.— Royal expedition against Loxa. . . iOiS Chap. XI.— How Mulcy Abeu Hassan made a foray into the lauds of Medina Sidonia, and how ho was received lOSO Chap. XII.— Foray of theSpanish cavaliers among the mountains of Malaga 1033 Cbap. XIII.— Effects of the disasters among the mountains of Malaga 1037 Chap. XIV.— How King Boabdil el Chico marched over the border t038 Chap. XV.— How the Count de Cabra sallied forth tram his cattle, in «|awtt of King Boalidil. . . 1039 Cbap. XVf.— The battle of Luoena 1061 Chap. XVII.— Lamentations of the Moors for the battle of Lucena Chap. XVIII. — How Muley AImju Hassan profited by the misforiunes.of his son Boal)dil. . . . Chap. XIX.— Captivity of Boabdil d Chico. . . Chap. XX.— Of the treatment of Boabdil by the Castilian Sovereigns Chap. XXL— Return of Boabdil from captivity. . Chap. XXU.— Foray of the Moorish alcaydcs, and battle of Lopera Chap. XXIII.— Retreatofllametel Zegri.alcayde of Ronda Chap. XXIV. — Of the high and ceremonious re- ception at court of the Count de Cabra and the alcayde de los Donzeles Chap. XXV.— How the Marquis of Cadiz concerted to surprise Zahara, and the result of his enter- prise Chap. XXVI.- Of the forlj-ew of Alhama j and how wisely it was governed by the Count dc Tendilla Chap. XXVIL— Foray of Christian knights into the territories of the Moors Chap. XXVIIL— Attempt of El Zagal to surprise Boabdil in Almeria Chap. XXIX.— How King Ferdinand commenced another campaign against the Moors, and how ho laid siege to Coin and Cartama Chap. XXX.— Siege of Ronda Chap. XXXL— How the people of Granada invit- ed El Zagal to the throne ; and how he marched to the capital Chap. XXXIL— How the Count do Cabra attempt- ed to rapture another king, and how ho fared in his attejnpt. Chap. XXXlII.-E.xpediliou against the Caslli-s of lOi (01 id; lo; lo; m im Cambil and Atliahai Chap. XXXIV.— Ente lalrava against Zaie Cbap. XXXV.— Death Cbap. XXXVI.— Of th sembled at the city Cbap. XXXVIL— Hov out in Granada, and to allay them. . Cbap. XXXVUI.-Ho council of war at the Cbap. XXXIX.— How Itefore the city of Lox and ofthc doughty a carl Chap. XL.— Conclusio Chap. XLI. — Capture < Chap. XLII.-Of the a the camp before Mocl of the English carl. Chap. XLIII.-How Moclin, and of thest its capture. . . . Chap. XLIV.— How K vuga;andofthefateo Cbap. XLV.— Attempt Boal)dil; and how the Chap. XLVI.— How B Granada ; and how h( Chap. XLVIL— How to Vdez Malaga. . Chap. XLVIII— How army were exposed Velez Iklalaga. . . Chap. XHX.— Result c to surprise King Fci Chap. L. — How the pe the valour of El Zaga Cbap. LL— Surrender places Chap. LIL— Of the cit ants Chap, LIIL— Advance Malaga Cn»p. LIV.— Siege of 1 Cn.ip. LV.-Siege of I nacy of Ilamet el Z Chap. LVL— Attack of (tibralfaro. . . . Chap. LVII. -Siege ol tagems of various kii Chap. LVIIL— Sufferi Chap. LIX.— How a 1 lo deliver the city of its enemies, . . . Chap. LX.— How Han ill his olwtinacy by tl loger Chip. LXI. -Siege of] Hon of a tower by drid Chap. LXII.-How th tulated with Ilamet c Chap. LXIII.-How II with the lacrcd bann ramp Chap. LXI V. -How tl« im >z. . , toi • Ifll . . . 101 F POBTO . toi sr Juan n. toi ernmcnt • • 101 ig band. ^eriment aortal. . lUI Fate of . • toi Cacique . • . m »f a won- iii. . . m Leon in . . . 102 against • 102 . 102 (02 . . lo; ... toe profltcd . . . m o. . . loe I Ity tlic . . "loe vity. . 106 des, and . . . lOCi atcayde . . . lo;, ious re- aud the . . lo;; tnccrted B cnler- . . fo: la; and mnt dc . . mi lits into . . (O'l lurprise . . tOI! incnced [id how . . m . . m a invit- lorcticd , . I ttenipl- a fared isiii>8 or CONTENTS. XXV Cambil and Albahar 1088 Cii»p. XXXIV.— Enterprise of the knights of Ca- lalrava against Zaiea 1090 Cbap. XXXV.— Deatli of old MuIeyAI)en Hassan. 1091 CstP. XXXVI. — Of the Cliristian array, which as- sembled at the city of Cordo?a t092 Chap. XXXVII. — How fresh commotions broke out in Granada, and how the people undertook toallaythem 1094 CaiP. XXXVUI.— How King Ferdinand hcla a council of war at the Rock of the Lovers. . . 1095 Caip. XXXIX.— How the royal army appeared Iwfore thecity of Loxa, and how it was received, and of the doughty achievements of the English carl 1096 Chap. XL.— Conclusions of the siege of Loxa. . 1098 Chap. XLL— Capture of Illora <099 Chap. XLII.— Of the arrival of Queen Isabella at the camp before Moclin, and the pleasant sayings of the Enjilisli carl 1099 Chap. XLIII.-IIow King Ferdinand attacked Moclin, and of the strange events that attended its capture KOI Chap. XLIV. — How King Ferdinand foraged the vega ; and of the fa te of the two Moorish brothers. { 1 02 Chap. XLV.— Attempt of El Zagal upon the life of Boalidil; and how the latter was roused to action. 1 104 Chap. XLVI.— How BoalKlil returned secretly to Granada; and how he was received It 03 Chap. XLVIL— How King Ferdinand laid siege to Veicz Malaga 1106 Chap. XLVIII. —How King Ferdinand and his army were exposed to imminent peril before Velez Malaga 1109 Chap. XLIX.— Result of the stratagem of El Zagal to surprise King Fci-dinand III! Chap. L. — How the people of Granada rewarded the valour of El Zagal ; . 1112 Chap. LL— Surrender of VelezMalaga, and other places 1113 Chap. LII. — Of the city of Malaga and its inhabits ants 1114 Chap. LIIL— Advance of King Ferdinand against Malaga 1116 Chap. LIV.— Siege of Malaga 1117 CuAP. LV.-Siege of Malaga continued. Obsti- nacy of Hamet el Zcgri 1118 Chap. LVI.— Attack of the Marquis of Cadiz upon (iihralfaro 1119 Chap, LVII.— Siege of Malaga continued. Stra- tagems of various kinds 1120 Chap. LVllL— Sufferingsofthe peopleofMalaga. 1121 Chap. LIX.— How a Moorish santon imdortook to deliver the city of Malaga from the power of ils enemies (122 Chap. LX.— How Hamet el Zegri was hardened in his obstinacy by the arts of a Moorish astro- loger 1124 Chap. LXL— Siege of Malaga continued. Destruc- tion of a tower by Francisco Romirez de Ma- drid 1123 Chap. LXII.— How the people of Malaga expos- tulated with Hamet el Zegri 1123 Chap. LXIII.— How Hamet el Zegil sallied forth, with the sacred banner, to attack the Chrbtian romp 1126 Chap. LXIV.~Uow thocily ofMalaga capitulated. 1 128 Cbap. LXV.— FalfUment of the prophecy of the dervise. Fate of Hamet el Zegri 1129 CBiP. LXVI.— How the Gastilian Sovereigns took possession of the city of Malaga, and bow King Ferdinand signalised himself by hit skill in bar- gaining with the inhabitants for their ransom. 1130 Chap. LXVII. — How KingFerdinand prepared to carry the war into a different part of the territo- ries of the Moors 1132 Chap. t.XVIIL— HowKingFerdinandinvadedtbe eastern side of the kingdom of Granada ; and how be was received by El Zagal (133 Chap. LXIX. — How the Moors made various en- terprises against the Christians 1133 Chap. LXX.— How King Ferdinand prepared to besiege the city of Baza,- and how the city pre- pared for defence I(3(t CuAP. LXXI.— The battle of the gardens before Baza 1137 CuAP. LXXII. — Siege of Baza. Embarrassment of the army 1139 Chap. LXXIII.— Siege of Baza continued. How King Ferdinand completely invested Uie city . . II 40 Chap. LXXIV.— Exploit of Hernando Perez del Pulgar, and other cavaliers 1141 Cbap. LXX v.— Continuation of the siege of Baza. 1 1 42 CuAP. LXXVI.— How two friars arrived at the camp, and how they came from the Holy Land. I i 43 Chap. LXXVIL— How Queen Isabella devised means to supply the army with provisions. . . 1143 Chap. LXXVIIL— Of the disasters which bcfcl the camp 1146 Chap. LXXIX.— Encounter between the Chris- tians and Moors before Baza ; and the devotion of the inhabitants to the defence of the city. . . 1147 Chap. LXXX. — How Queen Isabella arrives at the camp; and the consequcncesoflierarrival. . . II4K CuAP. LXXXI.— Surrender of Baza 1149 Chap. LXXXII.— Submission of El Zagal to the Castilian Sovereigns ll.lil Chap. LXXXIII.— Events at Gt-anada subsequent to the submission of El Zagal 1IS2 Chap. LXXXIV.— How King Ferdinand turned his hostilities against the city of Granada . . . 1 1 54 Chap. LXXXV.— The Fate of the castle of Roma. 1133 Chap. LXXXVI.— How Boabdil el Chico took the field ; and his expedition against Alhendin. . . 1136 Chap. LXXXVII.— Exploit of the Count do Ten- dilla II.W Chap. LXXXVIII.— Expedition of Boabdil el Chi- co against Salobrcfia. Exploit of Hernando Perez del Pulgar 113!) Chap. LXXXIX.— How King Ferdinand i>f;»?ed the people of Guadix, and how El Zagal finish- ed his royal career 1161 Chap. XC— Preparations of Granada for a des- perate defence 1162 Chap. XCI. — How King Ferdinand con lucted the siege cautiously, and how Queen Isabella arrived at the camp 1161 Chap. XCIL— Of the insolent dennncf ofTarfo, the Moor, and the daring exploit of Hernaujo Perez del Pulgar <|6{ Chap. XCIII.-How Queen Isabella took a vietv of the city of Granada, and how hci- curiosity cost the lives of many Christians and Mooi-s. 1 IC3 Chap. XCIV. — CocUagrutiou of the .Christian xxvi CONTENTS. camp Chap. XCV.—Tbe last ravage before Granada. Chap. XGVI.— Building of the city of Santa Fi Despair of the Moors Chap. XCVII.— Capihilation ofGranada. . . Chap. XCVIU.— Commotions in Granada. . CoAP. XCIX.— Surrender ofGranada. 1167 1168 1169 1170 <I72 1175 Cbap. C— How the Castilian Sovereigns toolc pos- session of Granada li;i APPENDIX 1175 FateofBoabdilEIChico |i7j Death of the Marquis of Cadiz H76 The legend of the death of Don AlonsodeAguilar. . 117/ THE ALHAMBRA. TheJonmey 1185 Government of the Alhambra 1189 Interior of the Alhambra 1190 The Tower of Comares 1192 Reflections on the Moslem Domination in Spain. . 1 194 The Household 1195 The Truant 1196 The Author's Chamber 1 197 The Alhambra by Moonlight 1199 Inhabitante of the Alhambra 1200 The Court of Lions 1201 Boabdil el Chico 1205 Mementos of Boabdil 1204 TlieBalcony 1203 The Adventure of the Mason 1207 A Ramble among the Hills 1208 {.oical Traditions 1211 The House of the Weathercock 1212 Legend of the Arabian Astrologer (212 The Tower of Las Infantas 12|8 Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses. . . . <2I9 Visitors to the Alhambra J226 Legend ofthePrinceAhmedalKamcI; or, the Pilgrim ofLove 1228 Legend of the Moor's Legacy 1239 Legend of the Rose of the Alhambra ; or, the Page and the Ger-Falcon i2i(j The Veteran t2.il The Governor and the Notary J2,")| Governor Manco and the Soldier J2o» Legend of the two Discreet Statues 1259 Muhamcd Abu Alahmar |2e,"> Yusef Abul Uagig lofiif m ■^''■ ^■^■,; PUBLISH! Tat volumes now laid b< tst writings of an Americ ma, who has lately attrac ime of Geoffrey Crayon, Bracebridge-Uail," and few-York." The first of these works, ' men and manners, geuer elic.and sometimes shade srlraying some of the mos t that have fallen under tl Europe. The second, Bbacebbidg Dolinuation of the former, terwoven with the bislor Ki'cut gentry in Yorkshire the other work. The esi orately finished as Uiosc ii as originally published at imposed of only three or I De another, and requiring Mpletc in itself. In Bha tars to have had morn regi roducing effect as a whole rought out by simple tou lereiy to give a dramatic i ons. The papers, there ombination, a morn interc: {greater unity of object. The third, Kkcickerbockei lineal work, in which thi resent day are humorously >!od( somewhat after the I igs) in the grotesque cost isis, who originally settled cw-York. The scene is I iprcinlly directed to that y irronces in the history of 1 le mcnsures pursued by it itr, is aimed at human cl Mfore be generally felt. SALMAGUNDI: OR, THR lDI)im-iDI)am0 anii ©pinian^ OF LAUiVGELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. AND OTHERS. In hoc est hoax, cum quiz et jokesez, Et smokem, toastem, roastem folkscz. Fee, faw, fum. Psalmanasar. With baked, and broil'd, and stcw'd, and toasted, And fried, and buil'd, and smoked, and roasted, We treat the town. PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. Tbe volumes now laid before the Public contain the car- tst writings of an American gentleman, Mr Washington mo, who has lately attracted attention under the assumed ime of Geoffrey Crayon, author of " The Sketch Book," Braccbridge-llall," and " Knickerbocker's History of ew-York." The first of these vorks. The Sketch Book, exhibits views men and manners, generally humorous, occasionally pa- «lic, and sometimes shaded with a dash of misty antiquity ; orlraying some of the most striking scenes of picturesque fe that have fallen under the author's eye, in America and Europe. The second, BaAGEBBincE-Hut, may be considered a Dotinuation of the former. It consists of similar sketches, iterwoven with the history of an old-fashioned family of Kicnt gentry in Yorkshire, who play a considerable part the other work. The essays, individually, are not so ela- oratcly finished as Ihosein "The Sketch Book;" ^Mi,tx as originally published at New- York, in numbers, each Moposcd of only three or four articles, disconnected with ne another, and requiring, therefore, that each should be uplete in itself. In Bhacebridue-IIall, the author ap- earsto have had mort^ regard to a general plan, and to the roducing effect as a whole. The characters arc gradually ruu|;iit out by simple touches, and are often introduced lerely to give a dramatic interest to the author's specnla- Thc papers, therefc-re, have a more harmonious mbination, a more interesting relation to each otl:er, and greater unity of object. The Ihii-d, Knickehbocker's New-York, is n whimsical and ilirical work, in which the peculiarities and follies of the tfseut day are humorously depicted in the |)crsous, and ar- i;cd( somewhat after the ludicrous style of Flemish paint- igs) in the grotes(|ue costume of the aniiient Dutch colo- isls, who originally settled and founded the present city of icff-York. The scone is local, and the ap|)lication more ijioclally directed to that particular city, and lo r«>cent oc- irrenccs in the history of the United Slates, together with le measures pursued by its government : the satire, how- <tt, is aimed at human character and conduct, and may nvforo be generally felt. The papers contained in the following pages, under the title of SALMAGUNni, were the joint production of Mr Wash- ington Ibvino, and Mr James K. Paulding, with the excep- tion of the poetry, and some sketches and hints for a few of the essays, which were furnished by a third hand. The authors were all natives of New-York. The work appear- ed in numbers, which were written for mere amusement, and with little heed, by very young men, who did not expect that they would have more than a transient and local cur- rency. An original work, however, and one treating of national scenes and manners, was, at that time, so great a rarity in America as to attract general attention. It was received with great welcome, underwent numerous repu- blications, and has continued in popular circulation ever since. The present edition has been submitted to the revision of one of the authors, who, at first, contemplated making es- sential alterations. On further consideration, however, he contented himself with correcting merely a few of what he termed the most glaring errors and flippancies, and judged it best to leave the evident juvenility of the work to plead its own apology. The first number was originally introduced with the fol- lowing whimsical notice, which has been dropped in suIh sequont American editions. The commencing paragraph is probably by the authors; the latter one is evidently by the publisher, David Longworth, an eccentric booksillcr, who hiid filled a large (tpartment with the valuable engravings of " Boydell's Slidkspeare Gallery," magnificently framwl, ond had nearly obscured the front of his house with a huge sign, —a colossal painting, in rhiaro sruro, of the ci'owning of Shakspenre. Longworth had an extraordinary propensity to publish elegant works, to the gi-eat grotlflcalion of per- sons of last}, and the no small diminution of his own slender fortune. He alludes ironically to this circiunslanco in the present notice. ,, "PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. "SHAKSPEARE (IALLERV, NEW-YORK. " This work will he published and sold by D. Longwobth. It will be printed on hot-prossed vellum pa|)er, as that is held in highest estimation for buckling up young ladies' hair— a purpose to which similar works are usually appnK- priated ; it will be a small neat duodecimo size, so that, when i iir ii>' J! ¥ fi m: a SAUIAGUNDI. enough nionbers arc written, it may form a volume, sufH- ciently portable to lie carried in old ladies' pockets and young ladies' work-bap;s. " As the above work will not come out at stated periods, notice will he given when another numtier will be publish- ed. The price will depend on the size of the nundtcr, and must be paid on delivery. The publisher professes the same sublime contempt for money as his authors. The liberal patronage bestowed by his discerning fellow-citizens, on various works of taste which he has published, has left him no inclination to ask for fiu'ther favours at their hands; and he publishes this work in the mere hope of requiting their bounty." e«»B>» f ><««e»»» No. I.— SATUKDAV. .lANUAUY 21, 1807. As every body knows, or ought to know, what a Salmacuadi is, we shall spare ourselves the trouble of an explanation; besides, we despise trouble as we do evei7 thing that is low and mean, and hold the man who would incur it unnecessarily, as an object worthy our highest pity and contempt. Neither will we puzzle our heads to give an account of ourselves, for two reasons : first, because it is nobody's business; secondly, because if it were, we do not hold ourselves bound to attend to any body's business but our own; and even that we take the liberty of neglecting when it suits our inclination. To these we might add a third, that very few men can give a tolerable account of them- selves, let them try ever so hard : but this reason, we candidly avow, would not hold gootl with ourselves. There are, liowever, two or three pieces of infor- mation which we bestow gratis on the public, chiefly because it suits our own pleasure and convenience that they should be known, and partly l)ecause we do not wish that there should be any ill will between us at the commencement of our acquaintance. Our intention is simply to instruct the young, re- form the old, correct the town, and castigate the age : this is an arduous task, and therefore we undertake it with confidence. We intend for this purpose to pre- sent a striking picture of the town; and as every body is anxious to see his own phiz on canvas, however stupid or ugly it may be, we have no doubt but the whole town will Hock to our exhibition. Our picture will necessarily include a vast variety of figures : and should any gentleman or lady be displeased with the inveterate truth of their likenesses, they may ease their spleen by laughing at those of their neigh- bours—this being what we understand by poetical justice. Like all true and able editors, we consider oursel- ves infallible; and therefore, with the customary dif- fidence of our brethren of the (|uill, we shall take the liberty of interfering in all matters either of a public or private nature. We are critics, amateurs, dilet- tanti, and cognoscenti; and as we know, "by the pricking of our thumbs," that every opinion which we may advance in cither of those characters will be ' coiTcct, we are determined, though it may be ques tioned, contradicted, or even controverted, yet it slu never l)e revoked To conclude, we invite all editors of newspap«i and literary journals to praise us heartily in advance as we assure them that we intend to deserve iliei praises. To our next-door neighbour., "Town,'" « liold out a hand of amity, declaring to him that, afle ours, his paper will stand the best chance for ininior tality. We proffer an exchange of civilities : he sha furnish us with notices of epic poems and tolwcco- and we, in return, will enrich him with original spe culations on all manner of subjects, together will " the rummaging of my grandfather's mahogany dies of drawers," "the life and amours of mine unci John," "anecdotes of the Cockloft family," an learned quotations from that unheard-of writer o folios, Linkum Fidklius. PROM THE ELnOW-CHAIR OF LALKCF.LOT LAKtiSTAFF, ESQ. Wk were a considerable time in deciding w^hetlie '"'"^'^^: we should be at the pains of introducing ourselves t the public. As we care for uoboily, and as we not yet at the bar, we do not feel bound to hold u our hands and answer to our names Willing, however, to gain at once that frank, con fidential footing, which we are certain of ultimatel possessing in this, doubtless, "best of all possible ties;" and anxious to spare its worthy inhabitants tli trouble of making a thousand wise conjectures, no one of which would be worth a tobacco-stopper, w have thought it in some degree a necessary excrti« of charitable condescension to furnish them with slight clue to the truth. )atrons of this city not tee we make : — we i eniuses, who swarm in lis, or rather by the 1 )(1 who spoil the genui leir daughters with Fi nent. We have said we do n owe write for fame. le nature of public oiiii : ffe care not x^'hat tli ispecl, before we read it know what to thini rite for no other earthi Ires ; and this we sha t all three.of us detem with what we write, eedify, and instruct, a lietter for the public ilge, that so soon as w( orks, we shall discontii , whatever the f e continue to go on, w it will be but » e shall be muresolicito an cry — for we are laug of opinion, that wisdo dame, who sits in rrily at the farce of li oralize iiy !C Before we proceed further, however, we advis eveiy botly — man, womiiin, and child — that can reai or get any friend to read for them, to purchase paper; — not that we write for money; for, in com mon with all philosophers, from Solomon downwards we hold it in supreme contempt. Wa beg the piibli particularly to understand that we solicit no patron age. We are determined, on the contrary, that Ih patronage shall be entirely on our side. The piiLli are welcome to buy this work, or not— just as llu choose. If it be purchased freely, so nuich the belli for the public — antl the publisher : we gain not a sli ver. If it be not purchased, we give fair warning we shall burn iill our essays, criti(|ues, and epigram in one promiscuous blaze; and, like the hooks of III <^>^' sibyls, and the Alexandrian library, they will be loi for ever to posterity. For the sake, therefore, of ou w publisher — for the sake of the public— and for tli ''"pe sake of the public's children to the nineteenth genera lion, we advise them to purchase our paper; if the do not, let them settle the affair with their own coii sciences and posterity. We Iwg the respectable oi ■ The tillp of a nowspapcr piiWiRlird In Now-Vork, the coliirai of wlilcli, among uthcr DilNCi'llnnroiis topics, occasionally coiitaii c(l sU'icturi's on the pcrfovinaiicvs at the Ihcalro.— /rtjit. shi We intend parlicularl; liionable world ; — nor by that carping spirit Mkwurni cynics squint tion; but with that lib fry man of fashion. trberus watch over the tyand decorum — wes ri«;litliness of demeani aracter. Itefore we a list let it be understooi all prejudice or partial oik are the fairest, the I I, lite most bewitching atwalk, creep, crawl, any or all of the foure ant to be cured of certai iseemly conceits, by o iKler them absolutely pe ive a large portion of Tashionable world ; m away tiieir time in our currying : — w lio sit stock-still u|K)ntl ord, and then complain Mrs 's party. Tills department will m and control of A nth liom all communicalioni KmH, This geiillema nay be ques ed, yet it slial f newspaper ly in advance deserve lliei 'Town,'" \» lim that, afte ce for ininior lities : he sha ind toliacco- 1 original spe together w alioganyches if mine unci family," ant l-of writer lSQ. SALMAGUNDI. latrons of tliis city not to be alarmed at the appear- gce we make : — we are none of those outlandish eniuses, who swarm in New-York, who live by (lieir ils, or rather by tiie little wit of their neighbours; id who spoil the genuine honest American tastes of J ... »«.a.n.c ^.^ (laughters with French slops and fricasseed sen- ■Bient. We have said we do not write for money ; — neither ) we write for fame. We know too well the vari- ile nature of public opinion, to build our hopes upon we rare not what the public think of us; and we ispecl, before we reach tlie tenth number, they will Hi know what to think of us. In two words — we rite for no other earthly purpose but to please our- Ives ; and this we shall be sure of doing, — for we t all three of us determined beforehand to be pleas- « ith what we write. If in the course of this work eeilify, and instruct, and amuse Ihe public, so much elteller for the public; — but we frankly acknow- Jge, that so soon as we get tired of reading our own orks, we shall discontinue them without the least dinff whetlie '"'""'"*^' whatever the public may think ofil. While e continue to go on, we will g'» on merrily : if we nd as we ar '^^^^^^ •' ^^'" ^ '^"^ seldom ; and on all occasions nd to hold u ' ^''•'" ^^ '""'^® solicitous to make our readers laugh an cry — for we are laughing philosophers, and clear- lal frank con "f "^P'^'on, that wisdom, true wisdom, is a plump, 1 of ultimalel "^ Jame, who sits in her arm-chair, laughs riglit all possible c ''"'^ '"'^ ^''^ ^^^'^^ ^^ ''''^' ^"^ '•'''^ '**^ world as nhabitantstli ^^• niectures m ^^^ intend particularly to nqtice the conduct of the o-stonper w ''''•"'•''ble world ; — nor in this shall we be govern- isary exerlio ' ''^ '''^'' '^^T^'o '^P""''^ with which narrow-minded them with '"''^'"■'■n cynics squint at the little extravagances of £ ton; but with that liberal toleration which actuates ler we advis ^^ '"^" "^ fashion. While we keep more than a that can re* orlx"""* watch over the golden rules of female deli- purchase tlii *y '''"'' decorum — we shall not discourage any little for in rom (>Dl>ll>iici>s of demeanour, or innocent vivacity of „ downwards laracter. Before we advance one line further we )eg the nubli ^^ '^'' '*' ^'^ understood, as our firm opinion, void cit no patron "" piejudice or partiality, that the ladies of New- rary, that Ih "i^ ■'^'''^ ^'>*^ fairest, the linest, the most accomplisii- The ptiLli 'i "'^ i^'^'^'' bewitching, the most ineffable beings, -just as tiie ''walk, creep, crawl, swim, lly, lloat, or vegetate, uch the belle '"'Y o'' ^" ^^^ ^^^^ f"^''' elements ; and that they only ain not a sli ">' '<> ^ cured of certain whims, eccentricities, and jir warninjt- i*tmly conceits, by our superintending cares, to and epigrams inlt'i' them absolutely perfect. They will, therefore, e lK)oks of til *«ive a •ai"g« portion of those attentions directed to ey will be lot ' fashionable world ; nor will the gentlemen, who irefore, of oii w away their time in the circles of the /(aiit-(o», —and for 111 ''"P* our currying : — we mean those sapient fellows ho sit stock-still uimn their chuii's, without raying a ord, and then complain how damned stupid it was Mrs 's party. Tills department will be under the peculiar direc- mand control of A>'Tiio>v EvEiiGnEKN, Gent, to wioiiati'y coi'lii '"••" "" communications on this subject are to be ad- .—Kdit. petiscd. This gentleman, from his long experience eenlh genera laper; if tlio leir own con ?spectal)Ie ol in the routine of balls, routs, and assemblies, is emi- nently qualified for the task he has undertaken. He is a kind of patriarch in the fashionable world, and has seen generation after generation pass away into the silent tombof matrunony, while he remains unchange- ably the same. lie can recount the amours and courtships of the fathers, mothers, uncles, and aunts, and even granddames, of all the l)elles of the present day— provided their pedigrees extend so far back with- out being lost in obscurity. As, liowever, treating of pedigrees is rather an ungrateful task in this city, and as we mean to be perfectly good-natured, he has pro- mised to be cautious in this particular. He recollects perfectly the time when young ladies used to go a sleighriding, at night, without their mammas or grand* mammas; in short, without being matronized at all; and can relate a thousand pleasant stories about Kiss- ing-bridge. ■ lie likewise remembers the time when ladies paid tea-visits at three in the afternoon, and re- turned before dark to see that tiie house was shut up and the servants on duty. He has often played cric- ket in the orchard in the rear of old Vauxliall, and re- members when the Bull's-head was quite out of town. Though he has slowly and gradually given in to mo- dern fashions, and still nourishes in the heau-nionde, yet he seems a little prejudiced in favour of the dress and manners of the old school: and his chief com- mendation of a new mode is, " that it is the same good old fashion we had before the war." It has cost us much trouble to make him confess that a cotillon is superior to a minuet, or an unadorned crop to a pig- tail and powder. Custom and fashion have, however, had more effect on him than all our lectures; and he tempers, so happily, the grave and ceremonious gal- lantry of the old school with the hail fellow familiarity of the new, that, we trust, on a little acquaintance, and making allowance for his old-fashioned preju- dices, he will become a very considerable favourite with our readers; if not, the worse for themselves— as they will have to endure his company. In the territory of criticism, Williajm Wihahd, Esq. has undertaken to preside; and though we may all dabble in it a little by turns, yet we have willingly ceded to him all discretionary powers in this respect. Though Will has not had the advantage of an educa- tion at Oxford or Cambridge, or even at Edinbingh or Al)erdeen, and though he is but little versed in He- brew, yet we have no doubt he will be found fully competent to the undertaking. He has improved his taste by a long residence abroad, particularly at Can- ton, Calcutta, and the gay and polished court of Hayti. He has also had an opportunity of seeing tlie best sing- ing-girls and tragedians of China; is a great connois- seur in mandarine dresses, and porcelain, and particu- ■ AiiioiiRst the atniisetncnts of llic nitizons, in (lines gone by, was Uiat of making cxcur.sioim in llic winter i!vcnin.i;s, on nlcigli!), to wmic nciglilNiuring villagu, wlicre llio wH^ial parly liad a Itall and 8ii|)|icr. hhsiiuj-liridge was so dononilnatiHl from llio circuin- stance ttiat hnic lliu Iwanx exacled from llieir fair companions tlie forfeiture of a liiss befoie (wrmitling their Iravolling velilcks to pam over.— Brf«. SALMAGUNDI. «'. If II \\v larly valucs himself on his intimate knowled^'e of the buffalo and war dances of the Northern Indians. He is likewise promised the assistance of a gentleman, lately from London, who was born and bred in that centre of science and bon gout, the vicinity of Fleet- market, where he has been edified, man and boy, these six-and-twenty years, with the harmonious jin- gle of Bow-bells. His taste, therefore, has attained to such an exquisite pitch of refinement, that there are few exhibitions of any kind which do not put him in a fever. He has assured Will, that if Mr Cooper emphasises " and" instead of " but," — or Mrs Old- inixon pins her kerchief a hair's-breadth awry — or Mrs Darley offers to dare to look less than the " daughter of a senator of Venice," — the standard of a senator's daughter being exactly six feet — they shall all hear of it in good time. — We have, however, advised Will Wizard to keep his friend in check, lest by opening the eyes of the public to the wretchedness of the ac- tors, by whom they have hitherto been entertained, he might cut off one source of amusement from our fellow-citizens. We hereby give notice, that we have taken the whole corps, from the manager in his mantle of gorgeous copperlace, to honest John in his green coat and black breeches, under our wing— and woe be unto him who injures a hair of their heads.— As we have no design against the patience of our fellow- citizens, we shall not dose them with copious draughts of theatrical criticism : we know that they have al- ready been well physicked with them of late. Our theatrics will take up but a small part of our paper; nor will they be altogether confined to the stage, but extend from time to time to those incorrigible offend- ers against the peace of society, the stage-critics, who not unfrequently create the fault they find, in order to yield an opening for their witticism; censure an actor for a gesture he never made, or an emphasis he never gave; and, in their attempt to show off new readings, make the sweet swan of Avon cackle like a goose. If any one should feel himself offended by our remarKs, let him attack us in return — we shall not wince from the combat. If his passes he successful, we will be the first to cry out, a hit! a hit ! and we doubt not we shall frequently lay ourselves open to the weapons of our assailants. But let them have a care how they run a-tilting with us; they have lo deal with stubborn foes, who can bear a world of pommelling; we will be relentless in our vengeance, and will fight " till from our bones the flesh be hack'd." What other subjects we shall include in the range of our observations, we have not determined, or ra- ther we shall not trouble ourserves to detail. The public have already more information concerning us than we intended to impart. We owe them no fa- vours — neither do we ask any. We again advise them, for their own sakes, to read our papers when they come out. We recommend to all mothers to purchase them for their daughters, who will be ini- tiated into the arcana of the bon ton, and cured of all those rusty old notions which they acquired during the last century : parents shall be taught how to vern their children, girls how to get husbands, ao^Town). old maids how to do without them. As we do not measure our wits by the yard or el, and as they do not flow periodically nor consta ly, we shall not restrict our paper as to size or time of its appearance. It will be published whea ever we have sufficient matter to constitute a numbd and the size of the number shall depend on the in hand. This will best suit our negligent habits, leave us that full liberty and independence which the joy and pride of our souls. Is there any one who wi.ihes to know more us? — let him read Salmagundi, and grow wise Thus much we will say — there are three of us, " dolph, Peto, and I," all townsmen good and Many a time and oft have we three amused the without its knowing to whom it was indebted ; ai many a time haA'e we seen the midnight lamp twii faintly on our studious phizzes, and heard the mon ing salutation of" past three o'clock" before we sougl our pillows. The result of these midnight studies Dgi now offered to the public : and little as we care the opinion of this exceedingly stupid world, we take care, as far as lies in our careless natures, to h fil the promises made in this introduction;- if we not, we shall have so many examples to justify tliat we feel little solicitude on that account. xt number of a paper c bnsl icbeth iecl ndle stoc (n an ore ' aboi !apaa Bai [her trni isses tow laracter ; an ilea, < ink lactly lei THEATRICS, Containing the quintessence of Modern Criticism. ir BT WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. Ihous ILiii Sco Machi\ nagery, lakedi Macbeth was performed to a very crowded andmuch to our satisfaction. As, however, our nei^ hour Town has been very voluminous already his criticisms on this play, we shall make but fe remarks. Having never seen Kemble in this ter, we are absolutely at a loss to say whether 5 Cooper performed it well or not. We think, howev( there was an error in his costume, as the learned Fid. is of opinion that, in the time of Macbeth, the did not wear sandals but wooden shoes, i^ also was noted for wearing his jacket open, that might play the Scotch fiddle more conveniently ;— 111 being an hereditary acconiplishnient in the family. We have seen this character performed in by the celebrated Chow-Chow, the Roscius of tit great empire, who in the dagger scene always trifled the audience by blowing his nose Uke a trumpc Chow-Chow, in compliance with the «^p..i. of sage Linkum, performed Macbeth in wo.>uen shoes this gave him an opportunity of protlucing great feet— for on first seeing the " air-drawn dagger," always cut a prodigious high caper, and kicked shoes into the pit at the heads of the critics ; upon the audience were marvellously delighted, rished their hands, and stroked their whiskers times; and the matter was carefully reported iii We were much pleas< but we think si t to the night-sceni in her hand, or s liicli is sagaciously cei had stuck it in her i extremely picturesc strongly the deran Mrs Villiers, howevei lough for the character our opinion, a woman race of the giants, m " little hand ; " \ for nothing. W in the hands o ktt, queen of (he gia of imperial din well shaved, of a m( she appears also to b age she will read a h air, and such commo shalnnalurally surprised. Town." We are happy to obs« instructions of frieni igger in blood so deep n inch or two. This immortal bard. A is reading of the woi e are of opinion the k irown on the word sig n, a short time befoi igged with an aerial di 16 daggers actually in hi ley were not mere sIk charaAioy have termed it, s) stablish our skill in nen Tin this respect from ( larlily agree with him lilting that passage si ," etc., beginn new-born babe," ^esofShakspenre whi Glaiii )r the purpose of showi loet could talk like a Chii ilainly, like the famous As it is the first duty profess and do actua 'Town," we warn bin leddle with a lady's " bttoni. In the first in , and in he second ndgment a^'ainst him- is no knowing wli wherelilace it. We would nt lloiaockets, see Town flon auspices of an ass's Montero Cap. elc( »e jr; here i Hire he II his 1 SALMAGUrO)!. ;bt how to gg It number of a paper called tlie FItm Flam {English liusbands, an Town). We were much pleased with Mrs Yilliers m Lady ! yard or bush tcbeth ; but we think she would have given a greater ' nor constant feet to the night-scene, if, instead of holding the to size or th ndle in her hand, or setting it down on the table, blished when liicli is sagaciously censured by neighbour Town, lute a numbei e had stuck it in her night-cap. — This would liave A on the stoc «n extremely picturesque, and would have marked ent habits, an ore strongly the derangement of her mind, ence whicli Mrs Villiers, however, is not by any means large loiigh for the character— Lady Macbeth having been, w more aboi our opinion, a woman of extraordinary size, and of )w wise apaci le race of the giants, notwithstanding what she says e of us, " Bai [her " little hand ; " which being said in her sleep ood and trui L«ses for nothing. We should be happy to see tliis jsed the towi aracter in the hands of the lady who played G lutn- indebted ; an ilea, queen of the giants, in Tom Thumb : 'she is t lamp twinki aclly of imperial dimensions ; and, provided she ard the morn well shaved, of a most interesting physiognomy : fore we sougl s slie appears also to be a lady of some nerve, I dare light studies ngage she will read a letter about witches vanishing as we care ( lair, and such coinmioii occurrences, without being trorld, wesha nnaturally surprised, to the annoyance of honest natures, to fo Town." ion ;— if we ( We are happy to observe that Mr Cooper profits by 3 to justify u 18 instructions of friend Town, and does not dip the agger in blood so deep as formerly by the matter of D inch or two. This was a violent outrage upon ur immortal bard. We differ with Mr Town in is reading of the words "this is a sorry sight" Ve are of opinion the force of the sentence should be irown on the word sight — because Macbeth having rowded hous een, a short time before, most confoundedly hum- ver,our neigl pgged with an aerial dagger, was in doubt whether )us already i ledaggers actually in his hands were real, or whether nake but fe hey were not mere shadows; or as the old English inthischarai \ay have termed it, syjijitB (this, at any rate, will jT whether) slablish our skill in new readt)i(/s). Though we dif- link, howeve irin this respect from our neighbour Town, yet we ! learned Lin earlily agree with him in censuring Mr Cooper for 6cf/j, theSco milting that passage so remarkable for "beauty of oes. Macbti nagery," etc., beginning with "and pity, like a open, tliatt lajsed new-born babe," etc. It is one of those pas- niently ;— th ages of Shakspeare which should always be retained, in the Glam )r the purpose of showing how sometimes that great loet could talk like a buzzard; or, to speak more med in Chin liainly, like the famous mad poet Nat Lee. loscius of til As it is the first duty of a friend to advise; and as B always ek k profess and do actually feel a friendship for honest likeatrumpe 'Town," we warn him, never in his criticisms to oji.i.i. oflh neddle with a lady's "petticoats," or to quote Nic »'oi/clen sho« lottom. In the first instance he may " catch a tar- cing great e ar;" and in ,he second, the ass's head may rise in n dagger," h adgment a^' ainst him— and when it is once afloat md kicked li liere is no knowing where some unlucky hand may ritics; when Jaceit. We would not, for all the money in our elighted, floi lockets, see Town flourishing his critical quill under vhiskers tlin he auspices of an ass's head, like the great Franklin eporled in ili n his Montero Cap. ' - - v ount. I Criticism. NEW-YORK ASSEMBLY. BT ANTBONT ETEBGBBIN, GEIfT. The assemblies this year have gained a great ac- cession of beauty. Several brilliant stars have arisen from the east and from the north, to brighten the fir- mament of fashion : among the number I have disco- vered another planet, which rivals even Venus in lustre, and I claim equal honour with Herschel for my discovery. I shall take some future opportunity to describe this planet, and the numerous satellites which revolve around it. At the last assembly the company began to make some show about eight, but the most fashionable de- layed their appearance until about nine — nine being the number of the muses, and therefore the best pos- sible hour for beginning to exhibit the graces. — (This is meant for a pretty play upon words, and I assure my readers that I think it very tolerable.) Poor Will Honeycomb, whose memory I hold in special consideration, even with his half century of experience, would have been puzzled to point out the humours of a lady by her prevailing colours ; for the "rival queens" of fashion, Mrs Toole and Madame Bouchard, ' appeared to have exhausted their wonder- ful inventions in the different disposition, variation, and combination of lints and shades. The philosopher who maintained that black was white, and that, of course, there was no such colour as white, might have given some colour to his theory on this occasion, by the absence of poor forsaken white muslin. I was, however, much pleased to see that red maintains its ground against all other colours, because red is the colour of Mr Jefferson's*****, Tom Paine's nose, and my slippers. " Let the grumbling smellfungi of this world, who cultivate taste among books, cobwebs, and spiders, rail at the extravagance of the age; for my part, I was delighted with the magic of the scene, and as the la- dies tripped through tlie mizes of the dance, spark- ling and glowing and dazzling, I, like the honest Chi- nese, thanked them heartily for the jewels and finery with which they loaded themselves, merely for the entertainment of by-standers, and blessed my stars that I was a bachelor. The gentlemen were considerably numerous, and being as usual equipt in their appropriate black uni- forms, constituted a sable regiment, which contribut- ed not a little to the brilliant gaiety of the ball-room. I must confess I am indebted for this remark to our friend, the cockney, Mr 'Sbidlikensflash, or 'Sbid- likens, as he is called for shortness. He is a fellow of infinite verbosity— stands in high favour— with him- self—and, like Caleb Quotem, is "up to every thing." ■ Two fashionable milliners of rival celebrity in the city of New- Yoi-k.— Krfi^ > In this instance, as well as on several olher occasions, a litllo innocent pleasantry is indulged at Mr Jefferson's exijcnse. The alhislon made here is to the r'M velvet small-clothes with which tl'R President, in defiance of Rood taste, used to attiro himself on levec-dayg and other public occasions.— J?rf<t. ; H I i I J. e S.VLMAGLNDI. I remember wlien a comfortable |>himp-looking ci- tizen led into tbe room a fair damsel, who looked for all the world like the personification of a rainbow, 'Sbidlikens observed, tliat it reminded him of a fable, which he had read somewhere, of the maiTiage of an honest pains-taking snail, who had once walked six feet in an hour, for a wager, ^ a buttertly whom he used to gallant by the elbow, with the aid of much puffing and exertion. On being called upon to tell where he bad come across this story, 'Sbidlikens ab- solutely refused to answer. It would but be repealing an old story to say, that the ladies of New- York dance wellj and well may they, since they learn it scientifically, and l»egin their lessons l)efore they have quitted their swaddling clothes. The immortal Duporl has usurpetl despotic sway over all the female heads and heels in this city; hornbooks, primers, and pianos, are neglected to at- tend to his positions; and poor Chilton, with his pots and kettles and chemical crockery, finds him a more potent enemy than the whole collective force of the " North-river Society," ■ 'Sbidlikens insists that this dancing mania will inevitably continue as long as a dancing-master will charge the fashionable price of live-and-twenty dollars a quarter, and all the other accomplishments are so vulgar as to be attainable at "half the money;"— but I put no faith in 'Sbidlikens' candour in this particular. Among his infinitude of endowments he is but a poor proficient in dancing; and though he often flounders through a cotillon, yet he never cut a pigeon-wing in liLs life. In my mind there's no position more positive and unexceptionable 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 daiice cotillons, holding them to be monstrous distorters of the hu- manframe, and tantamountin their operations to being broken and dislocateil on the wheel, I generally take occasion, while they aregoingon, to make my remarks on the company. In llie courseof these observalions I was struck wilh the energy and eloquence of sun- dry limbs, which seemed to be flourishing about with- out ; pperlaining to any Iwdy. After much invpsli- gation and difliculty, I at length traced them to their respective owners, whom I found to be all French- men 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 delernuncd, that a Frenchman passes at least Jhrec-fiflhs of his time between the heavens and the earth, and partakes eminently of the nature of a gos- samer or soap-bubble. One of these jack-o'-lantern heroes, in taking a figure, which neither Euclid nor ■ The J\'oith-rh'er soHftij, An imaginary assoclalion, tlu! ob- ject of wliicli was to 9i!l tlic Nortli-i-ivci- Ulic Hudson) on liiv. A number ut' young men of some fastliion, liltle tolcat, aiul great i>rc- (ension, were ridiculed an members.— £'rff(. >c, sliow tliat I intend to b Tlie other night Will V upon me, to pass away Pythagoras himself could demonstrate, unfortuiiate wound himself— I mean his foot — his better part into a lady's cobweb muslin rolie; but perceiving ii the instant, he set himself a spinning the other waAouletcnnined, therefoi like a top, unravelled his step, without omitting oi [oour divan ; and I shall angle or curve, and extricated himself without breai ing a tiu'ead of the lady's dress ! he then sprung u like a sturgeon, crossed his feet four times, and finu ed this wonderful evolution by quivering bis left lei J hold a kind of coiuici as a cat does her paw when she has accidentally di r evening, I uncorked a ped it in water. No man "of woman born," who vri lich has grown old will not a Frenchman, could have done the like. js to excite a smile in ll Among the new faces, I remarked a blooniin mies, to whom alone nymph, who has brought a fresh supply of roses fi-oi lie time tlie conversatioi the country to adorn tlie wreath of beauty, where I ced by our first mimbei lies too much predominate. As I wish well to evei sweet face under heaven, I sincerely hope her vm may siirvive the frosts and dissipations of winter, an nise us for our merrim lose nothing by a comparison with the loveliest offei rergreen, who is equallj ings of the spring. 'Sbidlikens, to whom I made si milar remarks, assured me that they were very jus uils; and it was highly and very prettily expressed ; and that tbe lady in ques t characters were tickl tion was a proiligious fine piece of flesh and blow le old folks were deligli Now could I find it in my heart to baste these cock neys like their own roast-beef— Ihey can maken distinction between a line woman and a fine hoi-$e. I would praise the sylph-like grace wilh which an iug the lead; yet at the opposed to my opinion, , my opinion general other young lady acquitted herself in the dance, Ihi ssing-bridge. It recall (hat she excels in far more valuable accomplisluDenIs Who praises the rose for its beauty, even though il i beautiful ? The company retired at the customary hour to tin i»lit be preserved for tbt supper-room, where the tables were laid out will inrormation, and I assur most unceremoniously our junto towards the liciilarly noticed a wc quaintance, who had b( V, whose eyes brighten his youthful exploits, hich lie seemed to dwe It-complacency :— he ho monimient of the gallai No II.— WEDNESDAY, FKUUUARV 4, 1807. FnOM TIIK ELnOW-CIIAIR OF LAUNCELOT LANGSTAIT, ESQ. In the conduct of an epic poem, it has been custom, from time inmiemorial, for the poet occusino ally to intnxluce his reader to an intimate acquaint ance with tbe heroes of his story, by conducting into their tents, and giving him an opportunity ofoli- serving them in their night- gown and slippers. How ever I despise the servile genius that would (lesccm to follow a precedent, though furnished by IluiiieAi without husbands;—! himself, and consider him as on a par with the cart that follows at the heels of the horse, without ever iheir usual splendour and profusion. My friendAd even hinted at the ex 'Sbidlikens, with tbe native forelhought of a cockney ite there, to collect the bad carefully stowed his pocket with cheese and crack « most flattering testir crs, that he might not Ite tempted again to ventiin his limbs in the crowd of hungry fair ones who tliroiiAver laughed but once in tbe supper-room door : his precaution was unnecessa nciiision of the last wj ry, for the company entered the room wilh siirprisiiij md Anthony in the ver order and decorum. No gowns were torn — noladie reperously at thedescr fainted — no noses bled — nor was there any need o rencliman. Now it glac the interference of either managers or peace-oflicers fusions have such a plea wl, and joy whenever w flowers in their path. The young people wei le account of the assembl ice of opinion respectir Doming nymph from tin iinent paid to the fasciuii gracefidly— every lady Evergreen mentioned ere extremely anxious t iging their beaux; and as chaste as an icicle, inters pass over her hea erlliousands, wished to KHit the matter, she " ( feral ladies expressed iinrorluiiati belter part erceiviiig ii opposed (0 my opinion, and wlienever tliis is Uie , my opinion generally sun'cnders at discretion. le otlier waAni (ietcrniined, therefore, to give tlie town a peep omitting oi looiir divan ; and I sliall repeat it as often as I please, iiliow liiat I intend to be sociable. Tlie other night Will Wizard and Evergreen call- upon me, to pass away a few honrs in social cliat. ithout breal n sprun;;; u is, and finis his left l({ i imld a kind of council of war. identallydi ■n," wliow ike. well to I'vci >pe her ros f winter, an i these cock :an make II \ SAUIAGUNDI. ig the lead; yet at the present moment my whim To give a zest to revelling, I uncorked a bottle of London particular, licii has grown old with myself, and which never Is to excite a smile in the countenances of jiiy old a blooniin mics, to whom alone it is devoted. After some of roses fr« ile time the conversation tmned on the effect pro- ity, where I ce(l by our first number ; every one had his budget information, and I assure my readers that we laugh- most uncei'emoniously at their expense : they will rase us for our merriment — 'tis a way we've got. Bveliest oHei ergreen, who is equally a favourite and companion m I made si young and old, was particularly satisfactory in his ;re very jiisi uils; and it was highly amusing to hear how differ- iladyinques t characters were tickled with different passages, h and blow le old folks were delighted to find there was a bias our junto towards the "good old limes;" and he ticularly noticed a worthy old gentleman of his line hoi-se, quaintance, who had been somewhat a l)eau in his Ihwhiciian y, whose eyes brightened at the Lure mention of le dance, Ira ssing-bridge. It recalled to his recollection several mplishnienls 1 though it i ;ace-of(icers 1807. Q. >ns been tlie jet occiisioii- le ac(|uaint ducting hint lunity ofolH )ers. How uld descciu his youthful exploits, at that celebrated pass, on hich he seemed to dwell with great pleasure and It-complacency : — he hoped, he said, that the l)ridge r hour to ih igiit be preserved for the benefit of posterity, and as aid out will monument of the gallantry of their grandfathers ; My friend id even hinted at the expediency of erecting a toll- [)f a cockney te there, to collect the forfeits of the ladies. But se and crack e most flattering testimony of approbation which II to venliin r work has received was from an old lady, who who lliioiij iver laughed but once in her life, and that was at the s unnecesss ncliision of the last war. She was detected by lb siirprisiiij ^-nil Anthony in the very fact of laughing most ol>- n— noiaiiie reperously at the description of the little dancing any iiewl o^nciiman. Now it glads my very heart to fnul our iisions have such a pleasing effect. I venerate the «<i, and joy whenever it is in my power to scatter a A' flowers in their path. The young people were particularly interested in le account of the assembly. There was some differ- ice of opinion respecting the new planet, and the Doming nymph from the country ; but as to the com- iinent paid to the fascinating little sylph who danced gracefully — every lady took that to herself. Evergreen mentioned f'.so that the young ladies 'ere extremely anxious to learn the true mode of nia- iging their beaux; and Miss Diana Wearwell, who as chaste as an icicle, has seen a few superfluous inters pass over her head, and boasts of having slain er thousands, wished to know how old maids were to by Homer » without husbands ;— not that she was very cu ions ith the carl loiit the matter, she " only asked for information." nihout ever cveral ladies expressed their earnest desire that we would not spare those wooden gentlemen who per- form the parts of mutes, or stalking-horses, in their drawing-rooms; and their mothers were equally anxious that we would show no quarter to those lads of spirit, who now and then cut (heir Itottles to enliven a tea-party with the humours of the dinner-table. Will Wizard was not a little chagrined at having been mistaken for a gentleman, " who is no more like me," said Will, " than I like Hercules."—" I was well assured," continued Will, " that as our charac- ters were drawn from nature, the originals would lie found in every society. And so it has happened— every little circle has its 'Sbidlikens ;— and the cock- ney, intended merely as the representative of his spe- cies, has dwindled into an insigniflcant individual, who having recognised his own likeness, has foolishly appropriated to himself a picture for which he never sat. Such, too, has been the case with Dimj-domj, who has kindly undertaken to be my representative ; —not that I care much aliout the matter, for it must lie acknowledged that the animal is a good-natured animal enough; — and what is more, a fashionable animal — and this is saying more than to call him a conjuror. But I am much mistaken if he can claim any afflnity to the Wizard family. Surely every iMxly knows Ding-dong, the gentle Ding-tlong, who pervades all space, who is here and there and every where ; no lea-party can be complete without Ding- dong — and his appearance is sure to occasion a smile. Ding-dong has been the occasion of much wit in his day ; I have even seen many puny whipsters attempt to be dull at his expense, who were as much inferior to him as the gad-fly is to the ox that he buzzes about. Does any witling want to distress the company with a miserable pun? — noltody's name presents sooner than Ding-dong's; and it has been played upon witii equal skill and equal entertainment to the by-standers as Trinity-bells. Ding-dong is profoundly devote<l to the ladies, and highly entitled to their regard ; for I know no man who makes a better bow, or talks less to the purpose than Ding-dong. Ding-dong has ac- (|uired a prodigious fund of knowledge by reading Dilworlh when a lioy; and the other day, on being asked who was the author of Macl>etli, answeretl, without the least hesitation— Shakspeare ! Ding-dong has a quotation for every day of the year, and every hour of the day, and every minute of the hour ; but he often commits petty larcenies on the poets— plucks the gray hairs of old Chaucer's head, and claps Ihcni on the chin of Pope; and lilches Johnson's wig, to cover the bald pale of Homer;— but his blunders pass undetected by one half of his hearers. Ding-dong, it is true, though he has long wrangled at our bar, cannot boast much of his legal knowledge, nor docs his forensic elo(|ucnce entitle him to rank wilh a Ci- cero or a Demosthenes ; but bating his professional deliciencics, he is a man of most delectable discourse, aiul can hold forth for an hour upon the colour of n riband or I he construction of a work-bag. Ding-tlong is now in his fortieth year, or perhaps a little more— 8 SALMAGUNDI. I 'I rivals all the Utile beaux in town, in his attentions to the ladies— is in a state of rapid improvement; and there is no doubt but that, by tlie time be arrives at years of discretion, he will be a very accomplished, agreeable young fellow." — I advise all clever, good- for-nothing " learned and authentic gentlemen," to take care how they wear this cap, however well it fits; — and to bear in mind that our characters are not individuals, but species : if, after this warnuig, any person chooses to represent Mr Ding-dong, the sin is at his own door ; — we wash our hands of it. We all sympathized with Wizard, that he should be mistaken for a person so very different; and I hereby assure my readers, that William Wizard is no other person in the whole world but William Wizard ; so I beg I may hear no more conjectures on the sub- ject. Will is, in fact, a wiseacre by inheritance. The Wizard family has long been celebrated for knowing more than their neighbours, particularly concerning their neighbours' affairs. They were anciently called Josselin; but Will's great uncle, by the father's side, having been accidentally burnt for a witch in Connec- ticut, in consequence of blowing np his own house in a philosophical experiment, the family, in order to perpetuate the recollection of this memorable circum- stance, assumed (he name and arms of Wizard, and have borne them ever since. In the course of my customary morning's walk, I stepped in at a book-shop, which is noted for being the favourite haunt of a number of literati, some of whom rank high in the opinion of the world, and others rank equally high in their own. Here I found a knot of queer fellows, listening to one of their com- pany, who was reading our paper : I particularly no- ticed Mr Ichabod Fungus among the number. Fungus is one of those fidgeting, meddling quid- nuncs, with which this unhappy city is pestered ; one of your "Q in the corner fellows," who speaks vo- lumes with a wink — conveys most portentous infor- mation, by laying his finger beside his nose — and is always smelling a rat in the most trifling occurrence. He listened to our work with the most frigid gravity — every now and then gave a mysterious shrug — a humph — or a screw of (he mouth; and on being ask- ed his opinion at the conclusion, said, he did not know what to think of it— he hoped it did not mean any thing against the Government — that no Itnking treason was couched in all this talk. — These were dangerous times — times of plot and conspiracy ; — he did not at all like those stars after Mr Jeffer- son's name ; they had an air of concealment. Dick Paddle, who was one of the group, undertook our cause. Dick is known to the world as being a most knowing genius, who can see as far as any body — into a millstone ; maintains, in the teeth of all argument, that a spade is a spade; and will labour a good half hour by St Paul's clock, to establish a self-evident fact. Dick assured old Fungus, that those stars merely stood for Mr Jefferson's red what-d'ye-call'ems: and that so far from a conspiracy against their peace and pro- sperity, the authors, whom he knew very well, v only expressuig their high respect for them. The man shook his head, shrugged Iiis shoulders, gave mysterious Lord Burleigh nod, said he hoped it ini{ be so; but he was by no means satisfied with this tack upon the President's breeches, as "thereby han| a tale." * Mr WILSON'S CONCERT. BT ANTnONT EVERGBEEN, GEilT. In my register of indisputable facts, I have noted conspicuously, that all modern music is but the dregs and draining of the ancient, and that all spirit and vigour of harmony has entirely evaporai in the lapse of ages. Oh ! for (he chant of (he Naiad and Dryads, the shell of the Tritons, and the swi warblings of the mermaids of ancient days ! \V now shall we seek the Amphion, who built val with a turn of. his hurdy-gurdy, the Orpheus, vl made stones to whistle about hi3 ears, and trees In in a country -tlance, by the mere quavering of his diestick ! Ah ! had I the power of the former, ho soon would I build up the new City-Hall, and the cash and credit of the corporation; and ho'y mui sooner would I build myself a snug hoi s» i'l way ; — nor would it be the first time a ho'jse has obtained there for a song. In my opinion, i!.e Scot( bag-pipe is (he only instrument tliat rivals (he cient lyre; and I am surprised it should be almost only one enlirely excluded I'rom our concerts. Talking of concerls reminds me of that given a fei nights since by Mr Wilson; at which I had (he niij fortune of being present. It was attended by a ni merous company, and {^re^t satisfaction, if I may allowed to j'ldge from t.ie frequent gapings of audience ; though I will not risk my credit as a noisseur, by saying whether they proce^-ed wonder or a violent inclination to doze. I was di lighted to find, in the mazes of the crowd, my cular friend 'Sbidlikens, who had put on his cogni scenti phiz — he being, according to his own a profound adept in the science of music. He « tell a crotchet at first sight; and, like a true EnglisI man, is delighted with the plum-pudding of a semibrief ; and, in short, boasts of having incoi tinenlly climbed up Paff's musical tree," which every day upon the poplar, from the fundainenii concord, to the fundamental major discord ; andsoo from branch to branch, until he reached the very lop where he sung "Rule Britannia," clapped his wings and then — came down again. Like all true trans atlantic judges, he suffers most horribly at our musi cal entertainments, and assures me, that what w the confounded scraping, and scratching, and gratin of our fiddlers, he thinks the sitting out one of ourcon certs tantamount to the punishment of that unforia natc saint, who was frittered in two with a handsai Mr Wilson gave me infinite satisfaction by ■ An emblcmalical device, suspended from a poplar in fronli the shop of Faff, a music-seller in Broadway.— £di(. utility of his demeanoi Iff and then cast at the ssive modesty threw hi r he absolutely forgot arse of his entrances an IV to the audience. < ink he has a fine voice, '. rery motlest, good-loc ive to repeat the advice ious tenants of the (heat men who are charged lirs and tables — "mal! ;e a bow ! " cannot, on this occasi certain amateurs sho considering what s :eofmusic is playing, lanity, and who has i contemplate the conn victims of a fiddle-i nent of compassion. I] rolls up his eyes, as in thunder," and t him like a fit of ( (0 sympathize at ev helieard at that momen lal that had been sa the hero of the nrch< on as the signal is givei a most horrible g m his music-book, as ( otchet and quaver out of nes particularly noticed i tents a huge bass viol iginalof the famous "lis in frightening n The person who playec in his way; but performance, having s inCothan a style infinitely superii lyceascd to exhibit this ', it was whispered, a ferryman, who had los was, that he die ny so frequently as befi me till ake K at( he rtS' ece una ippy sai ick Broa( «n hel lima *sl oni akes rme con fra potent i jd( The pel part cellenti sp accoiin Mnamateuri • roluiidil i"ng: han. quence' ning SiniNG late (he other ( ing in that kind of »nsider the perfection ( from my reverie by th the Cockloft livery, wh ig the following addt ege chum, Pindar Cc Honest Andrew, as he it his master, who resii reading a small pamph bbed his hands with syr The numbers ofSalmaftund ;nT, have noted but the inei SALMAGUNDI. 9 ry well, vm j,,jmy of his tlemeanoiir, and the rogtiisli looks he em. Theol ,^ and tlien cast at the ladies; but we fear his ex- ilders, gaye ^j^g modesty threw him into some little confusion, oped it migi ^ |,g absolutely forgot himself, and in the whole I with this ] ji^ of his entrances and exits, never once made his thereby kan{ ^^ („ ihe audience. On the whole, however, I ink he has a fine voice, sings with great taste, and is very modest, good-looking little man; but I beg ave to repeat the advice so often given by the illus- ious tenants of the theatrical sky-parlour, to the gen- men who are charged with the "nice conduct" of that all il ^''"^ ^"** tables— "mafie a bow, Johnny— Johnny, ilyevaporat, *eabow!" of the Naiad ' cannot, on this occasion, but express my surprise nd the swe ^' certain amateurs should be so frequently at con- avs ! Wiia '^^ considering what agonies they suffer while a 10 built wal ^^ of music is playing. I defy any man of common Drpheus vl ■""^"'^Y' ^^^ ^vl)(> l><>s not the heart of a Choctaw, and trees h« contemplate the countenance of one of these un- ring of hisfu W ^''^t™s of a flddle-stick, without feeling a sen- former ho nc"' of compassion. His whole visage is distorted; [all and sai '™"^ "P '"^ ^Y^*' ^* M'Sycophant says, "Hkea i!>«l ho'y raw "'' '" '''""'^cr," and the music seems to operate ii'Sfl in Broa( *" '"'" ^'^^ ^ ''^ ^^ *'^^ cholic : his very bowels lo'jse has b« '*" ''^ sympathize at every twang of the cat-gut, as 9n i! e Scoti l>elieard at that moment the waitings of the helpltss rivals the ai ''"'^' ^^^^ ''""^ ^^^ sacrificed to harmony. Nor be ahiiost tl ** '''* ''*'"** ^'^ "** orchestra seem less affected : as icerts. "^ ^^ ^^^ signal is given, he seizes his fiddle-stick, at given a fe '''** ■• ^^^^ horrible grimace, and scowls fiercely had the niis ""' '"* music-book, as though he would grin every ided by a ni ^'^^^^ ^"''' ^'-^^ver out of countenance. I have some- if I may li nesparticulariy noticeda hungry-looking Gaul, who anin"-s of lli '^^^^ ^ l>"§f^ ^^^^ viol? <tnd who is doubtless the :dit as a coi iginalof the famous "Raw-head-and-blootly-bones," oce^-ed frn potent in frightening naughty children. I was di '^'•e person who played the French horn was very vd my pari c^Uc'it^ i" bis way ; but 'Sbidlikens could not relish )n his coj^t s performance, having some time since heard a gen- man amateur in Gotham play a solo on his /)ro5osds, a style infinitely superior. This gentleman had lat- true En'HisI rly ceased to exhibit this prodigious accomplishment, in$; rolundil ^'"Si '^ was whispered, hired out his musical feature a ferryman, who had lost his conch-shell ; — the con- which han; quence was, that he did not show his nose in coin- fundainenti ny «> frequently as before. >rd; and SCO the very lop led his wingi II true Iran! ' at our musi lat what wil 5, and gralin ineofoureon that unforlo own accoiml isic. He C3 iction by ih loplar in front dU. SiniNG late the other evening in my elbow-chair, ing in that kind of indolent meditation which »nsider the perfection of human bliss, I was rous- from my reverie by the entrance of an old servant the Cockloft livery, who handed me a letter, con- ning the following address from my cousin and old liege chum, Pindab Cockloft. Honest Andrew, as he delivered it, informed me h a handsaw " '"* master, who resides a little way from town, reading a small pamphlet in a neat yellow cover,' bbed his hands with symptoms of great satisfaction, Thrnuml)ersof$atniagundi were originally publialied In lliis m. called for his favourite Chinese ink-stand, with two sprawling mandarines for its supporters, and wrote the letter which he had the honour to present me. As I foresee my cousin will one day become a great favourite with the public, and as I know him to be somewhat punctilious as it respects etiquette, I shall take this opportunity to gratify the old gentleman, by giving him a proper introduction to the fashionable world. The Cockloft family, to which I have the comfortof being related, has been fruitful in old ba- chelors and humorists, as will lie perceived when I come to treat more of its history.— My cousin Pindar is one of its most conspicuous members — he is now in his fifty-eighth year— is a bachelor, partly through choice, and partly through chance, and an oddity of the first water. Half his life has been employed in writing odes, sonnets, epigrams, and elegies, which he seldom shows to any body but myself after they are written; — and all the old chests, drawers, and chair-bottoms in the house, teem with his produc- tions. In his younger days he figured as a dashing blade in the great world ; and no young fellow of the town wore a longer pig-tail, or carried more buckram in his skirts. From sixteen to thirty he was continually in love ; and during that period, to use his own wonls, he tiescribbled more paper than would serve the theatre for snow-storms a whole season. The evening of his thirtieth birth-day, as he sat by the fireside, as much in love as ever was man in this world, and writ- ing the name of his mistress in the ashes, with an old tongs that had lost one of its legs, he was seized with a whim-wham that he was an old fool to be in love at his time of life. It was ever one of the Cockloft cha- racteristics to strike to whim : and had Pindar stood out on this occasion, he would have brought the repu- tation of his mother in question. From that time he gave up all particular attention to the ladies; and though he still loves their company, he has never been known to exceed the bounds of common courtesy in his intercourse with them. He was the life and or- nament of our family circle in town, until the epoch of the French revolution, which sent so many unfor- tunate dancing-masters from their country to polish and enlighten our hemisphere. This was a sad time for Pindar, who had taken a genuine Cockloft preju- dice against every thing French, ever since he was brought to death's door by a lagoitf : he groaned at ^a Ira, and the Marseilles Hymn had much the same effect upon him that sharpening a knife on a dry whetstone has u[K)n some people — it set his teeth chat- tering. He might in time have been reconciled to these rubs, had not the introduction of French cock- ades on the hats of our citizens absolutely thrown him into a fever. The first time he saw an instance of this kind, he came home with great precipitation, packed up his trunk, his old-fashioned writing-<lesk, and his Chinese ink-stand, and made a kind of growl- ing retreat to Cockloft-Hall, where he has resided ever since. 3 lU SALMAGUNDI. 4 ! i'ti' m My cousin Pinilar is of a mercurial tiisposition — a liiiniorist without ill-nature;— lie is of (he true gun- |)ow(ler temper — one flash, ami all is over. It is true, when the wind is easterly, or the gout gives him a gentle twinge, or he hears of any new successes of the French, he will become a little splenetic; and heaven help the man, and more {tarticularly the woman, that crosses his humour at that moment — she is sure to re- ceive no quarter. These are the most sublime mo- ments of Pindar. I swear to you, dear ladies and gentlemen, I would not lose one of those splenetic bursts for the best wig in my wardrobe — even though it were proved to be the identical wig worn by the sage Linkum, when he demonstrated before the whole university of Leyden, that it was possible to make bricks without straw. I have seen the old gentle- man blaze forth such a volcanic explosion of wit, ridi- cule, and satire, that I was almost tempted to believe liim inspired. Rut these sallies only lasted for a mo- nient, and passed like summer clouds over the bene- volent sunshine which ever warmed his heart and lighted up his countenance. Time, though it has dealt roughly with his person, hiis passed lightly over the graces of his mind, and left him in full possession of all the sensibilities of youth. His eye kindles at the relation of a noble or generous action — his heart melts at the story of dis- tress—and he is still a warm admirer of the fair. Like all old bachelors, however, he looks back witlia fond and lingering eye on the period of his boyhood, and would sooner suffer the pangs of matrimony, than acknowledge that the world, or any thing in it , is half so clever as it was in those good old times that are "gone by." I believe I have already mentioned, that with all his good qualities he is a humorist, and a humorist of the highest order. He has some of the most into- lerable whim-whams I ever met with m my life, and his oddities are sufficient to eke out a hundred to- lerable originals. But I will not enlarge on them; enough has been told to excite a desire to know more : and I am much mistaken if, m the course of half a dozen of our numbers, he don't tickle, plague, please, and perplex tlie whole town, and completely esta- blish his claim to the laureatship he has solicited, and with which we hereby invest him, recommending him and his effusions to public reverence and respect. Laukcelot Langstaff. to i.auncelot langstaff, ksq. Dear Launce, An I nnd you 1)avc taken the quill, To put our gay town and its fair under drill, I offer my Iiopes for success to your cause, And scud you unvaniish'd my mite of applause. Ah, Launce, this poor town has been woefully fash'd ; Has long been be-fircnchman'd, be-cockney'd, be-trash'd ; , And our ladies be^evil'd, bcwildcr'd astray, From the rules of their (;rand-<lames have wander'd away. No longer that modest demeanour we meet. Which whilom the eyes of our fathers did greet ;— Nil longer be-inohbled, l)c-rMft1ed, be^uill'd. ne-powder'd, bc.hoadrd, lioiMtch'd, and br-frili'd. >i> longer our fair ones Uieir grograms dis|>lay, And stiff ill brocade, stmt "like castles" away. Oh, how fondly my soul forms de|tartc<l has traced, . When our latiirs in st.iys, ,'md in htxiice well laced, When lii.Hho|i'd, and cushion'd, ami lioop'd to the chin. Well calash'd without, and well liolstcr'd within ; All cased in their buckrams, from crown down to tail. Like U'Brallagan's mistress, were sliaped like a pail. Well— pc,icc to those fashions— the joy of our eyes— Tem|iora mutantur— new follies will rise; Yet, "like joys thatarepast," they still crowd on the mini In moments of thought, as the soul looks behind. Sweet days of our boyhood, gone by, my dear Launce. Liki- the shadow s of night, or thi; forms in a trance : Yet oft we retrace those bright visions again ; >'os mutamiir, 'tis Inw. — but those visions remain. I recall w ilh delight, how my liosom would creep. When some delicate foot from its chamber would peep ; And w hen I a neat stocking'd ankle could spy- By the sages of old, I was rapt to the sky ! All then was retiring— was inoilest— <liscreet ; Tiie beauties, all shrouded, were left to conceit; To the visions which fancy woukl form in her eye, Of graces that snug in soft ambush would lie; And the heart, liki; the |io<is, in thought would pursue The elysium of bliss, which wasveii'd from its view. We are old-fash ion'd fellows, our nieces will say : 01d-fa.shion'd, imleed, coz— and swear it they may- Fur I freely confess that it yields me no pride. To sec them all show what tlieir mothers would hide. To see them, all shivering, some cold winter's day. So lavish their Iwauties and graces di.splay. And give to each fopling that offers his hand. Like Moses from Pisgah— a peep at the land. But a tnice with complaining— the object in view Is to offer my help in the work you pursue ; And as your effusions and labours sublime May need, now and then, a few touches of rhyme. I humbly solicit, as cousin and friend, A quidd-.ty, (|uirk, or remonstrance to send : Or should you a laureate want in your plan. By the muff of my grandmother, I am your man ! Y'ou must know I liave got a poetical mill. Which with odd lines, and couplets, and triplets I R\\ ; And a poem I grind, as from rags white and blue The paper-mill yields you a sheet fair and new. I can grind down an ode, or an epic that's long, Into sonnet, acrostic, conundnun, or song : As to dull hudibrastic, so boasted of late. The doggerel disch.irge of some muddle-brained pale. I can grind it by wholesale— and give it true point. With Billingsgate dish'd up in rhymes out of joint. I have read all the poets — and got them by heart ; Can slit them, and twist tliem, and lake them apart ; Can cook up .in ode out of patches and shreds. To muddle my readers, and liother their heads. Old Homer, and Virgil, and Ovid, I scan, Anacreon, and Saiipho ( who changed to a swan )— Iambics and Sapphics I grind at my w ill, And with ditties of love every noddle can till. ADVERl Pfjuiaps the most frii 1 meiry writer who, k dtlie public, employs I iracters from imaginatii his pen, but every J inted directly at himsel L<, throw a fool's cap at eer fellow insists upon | clialk an outlandish fl; litis is eager to write rever we may be mort ii individually think li ence to engage our attei h about it, if they did nplain of having been il is not in our hearts to hi rial, by holding him i irever, we are aware, ti s a thwack in the crow was intended exclusi unreasonable anger, se crusty gentry know r are to expect from us t, fur three special reas i( all events extremely nl, particularly at this s ause if either of us shui uld lie a great loss to the a 1^)0(1 laugh we have ir 1 lliird, because if we si sary, as is most likely- it balls u|>on razors an a loss to our publisher, tomer. If any gentlen good reasons for iiglitin leset of Salmagundi for iiit though we do not fi s, let it not be suppos pie satisfaction to all tlu od it— for this would be Imle, and lead very va what is called a quant Ml and one pities that an limselfthecapand bell: acceptance, should no ^iled into the bargain. ing salisfactioii in every loiillthatofii; ipping heroes of the tl Oh, 'twould do your heart good, Launce, to see my mill pi jj^gj ^f ^^^ gin'terbreai Old stuff iiito verses, and poems refined; Dan Spencer, Dan Chaucer, those poets of old. Though cover'd with dust, are yet true sterling gold : lean grind off tlieir tarnish, and bring them to view, New modell'd, new mill'd, and improved in their \w.\ But I promise no more— only give me the place, And I'll warrant I'll Tdl it with credit and grace : By the powei-s! I'll figure and cut you a dash- As hold as Will Wizard, or 'Sbidlikeiisflasli ! PiNDAB Cockloft. •ghting. rry an old stuff petticoat ulorsof Rome or aldermi isker their mttflin faces w >t valiant warriors, arm mill therefore any great Meat our good-natured iffend nobody under hea uy hour after twelve SALMAGUNDI. It ADVERTISEMEI*'''. Pfjuiaps the iiioiil friiitrul sourv.^ of mortificdiiuii ineiry writer who, for the ainiiseinent of himself J the public, employs his leisure in sketchin;^ odd traders from imai^ination, is, that he cannot iloiir- his pen, hut every Jack-pudding imagines it is inted directly at himself; — he cannot, in his gani- Ls, throw a fool's cap among the crowd, but every eer fellow insists upon putting it on his own head ; clialk an outlandish figure, but every oullnndisli liiis is eager to write his own name un«lcr it.— wever we may be mortified, that these men should lb individually think himself of suflicient conse- ence to engage our attention, we should not care a ill about it, if they did not get into a passion and nplain of having been ill used. I is not in our hearts to hurl the feelings of one single irtal, by holding him up to public ridicule. As, irever, we are aware, that wlien a man by chance s a thwack in the crowd he is apt to suppose the m- was intended exclusively for himself, and so fall unreasonable anger, we have determined to let se crusty gentry know what kind of satisfaction y are to expect from us. We are resolved not to It, fur three special reasons ; first, because fighting It all events extremely troublesome and inconve- nl, particularly at this season of the year ; second, ause if either of us should happen to l»e killed, it uldl)ea great loss to thepublic, and rob tlieniof ma- a ptod laugh we have in store for their amusement; third, because if we shoidd chance to kill our ad- saiy, as is most likely — for we can every one of us it balls u|ion razors and snutT candles — it would a loss to our publisher, by depriving him of a good tomer. If any gentleman casuist will give three guod reasons for fighting, we promise him a com- leset of Salmagundi for nothing. lut though we do not fight in our own proper per- s, let it not be supposed that we will not give pie satisfaction to all those who may choose to de- ad it— for this would be a mistake of the first ma- ilude, and lead very valiant gentlemen, perhaps, owhat is called a quandary. It would l)e a ihou- dand one pities that any honest man, after taking limself the cap and bells which we merely offereil lis acceptance, shoidd not have the privilege of being Igeiled into the bargain. We pride ourselves upon ing satisfaction in every dei>artment of our paper ; to fill that of fighting, have engaged two of those ipping heroes of the theatre, who figure in the inues of our gingerbread kings and queens — now 17 an old stuff petticoat on their backs, and strut mors of Rome or aldermen of London — and now be- isker their muffin faces with burnt cork, and swagger ht valiant warriors, armed cap-d-pie, in buckram. lid therefore any great little man about town lake at our good-natured villany, though we intend Tend nobody nnder heaven, he will please to apply aiy hour afler Iwelve o'clock, as oin* champions will then be off duty at the theatre, and ready for any thing. They have promised to light" with or with- out balls " — to give two tweaks of the ntise for once — to submit to l)e kicked, and to aidgel their ap|)li- canl most lieartily in return ; this tieing whal we un- derstand by "the satisfaction of a gentleman." No. III.— FHinAY, FEBKLAHV 13. IHOT. PBOM MV ELB()\V-4:il*IH. As I delight in every thing novel and eccenlrir, and would at any lime give an old coal for a new- idea, I am particularly attentive to the manners and conversation of strangers, and scarcely ever a traveller enters this city, whose appearance promises any thing original, but by some means or another I form an aLxjuaintance with him. I must confess I often suf- fer manifeld afflictions from the intimacies thus con- tracted : my curiosity is frequenllv punished by the stupid details of a blockhead, or the shallow verLtosity of a coxcomb. Now I would prefer at any time to travel with an ov-teaui thiuugh a Carolina sand-llal, rather than plod through a heavy unmeaning conver- sation with the former ; and as to the latter, I would sooner bold sweet converse with the wheel of a knife- grinder than endure his monotonous chattering. In fact, the strangers who flock to this most pleasant of all earthly cities are generally mere birds of passage , whose plumage is often guy enough, I own, but their notes, " heaven save the mark, " are as unmusical as tlit)se of that classic night bird, which the uiicienis humorously selected as the emblem of wisdom. 'J'liosc from the south, it is true, entertaui me with their hoi-ses, equipages, and puns : and it is excessively pleasant to hear a couple of these four in /(«)!(/ gentle- men detail their exploits over a lN)ttlc. 'J'hose from the east have often induced me to doubt the existence of the wise men of yore wlu) are said to liave flourish- ed in that quarter; and as for those from parts beyond seas — oh I my masters, ye shall hear more from me anon. Heaven help this unhappy town ! — hath it not goslings enow of its own hatching and rearing, that it must be overwhelmed by such an inundation of ganders from other climes? I would not have any of my courteous and gentle readers siq)pose that I am running a mucli, full tilt, cut and slash, upon all fo- reigners indiscriminately. I have no national anti- pathies, though related to the Cockloft family. As to honest John Bull, I shake him heartily by the hand, assuruig him that I love his jolly countenance, ami moreover am lineally descended from him ; in proof of which I allege my invincible predilection for roast beef and pudding. I therefore look upon all his chil- dren as my kinsmen ; and I l)eg, when I tickle a cockney, I may not lie understood as trimming an Englishman, they being very distinct animals, as I shall clearly demonstrate in a future number. If any one wishes to know my opinion of the Irish and Scotch. $. I 12 SALMAGUNDI. M i i he may And it in the characters of those nations, drawn by the first advocate of the age. But the French, I must confess, are my favourites, and I have taken more pains to argue my cousin Pindar out of his antipatliy to them than I ever did about any other tiling. When, tiierefore, I clioose to hunt a Mon- sieur for my own particular amusement, I beg it may not be asserted that I intend him as a representative of his countrymen at large. Far from this — I love the nation, as being a nation of right merry fellows, possessing the true secret of l)eing happy ; which is nothing more than thinking of nothing, talking about any thing, and laughing at every thing. I mean only to tune up those little thing-o-mys, who represent nobody but themselves ; who have no national trait about them but their language, and who hop about our town in swarms like little toads after a shower. Among the few strangers whose acquaintance has entertained me, I particularly rank the magnanimous Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan, a most illustrious captain of a ketch, who figured, some time since, in our fashionable circles, at the head of a ragged regi- ment of Tripolitan prisoners. ■ His conversation was to me a perpetual feast; — I chuckled with inward pleasure at his whimsical mistakes and unaffected ob- servations on men and manners ; and I rolled each odd conceit " like a sweet morsel under my tongue." Whether Mustapha was captivated by my iron- bound physiognomy, or flattered by the attentions which I paid him, I won't determine ; but I so far gained his confidence, that, at his departure, he pre- sented me with a bundle of papers, containing, among other articles, several copies of letters, which he had written to his friends at Tripoli. The following is a translation of one of them. The original is in Arabic- (Ireek; but by the assistance of Will Wizard, who understands all languages, not excepting that manu- factured by Psalmanazar, I have been enabled to ac- complish a tolerable translation. We should have found little difficulty in rendering it into English, had it not been for Mustapha's confounded pot-hooks and hangers. LETTER rilOM MIJ8TAPIIA lllll-A-nLD KELI KUAN, Ciiplain of a Ketch, to Asem llacihem, principal Slave- driver to his Highness the liashaw of Tripoli. Tiioii wilt learn from this letter, most illustrious disci(tle of Mahomet, that I have tor some time resid- ed in New-York; the most polished, vast, and ma- Ruilicenl city of the United States of America. — But what to me are its delights! I wander a captive through its splenilid stree'* • I turn a heavy eye on evei7 rising day that beholtis me banished from my Country. I'he christian husbands here lament most bitterly any short absence from home, though they ■ Scvoral Tri|)olitan prigoiirra lal(cn by an American wiiiaclron, in an action off Tripoli, wore liroughl lo New-York ; wliere llicy livrfl at larKc, ohjecti of llic curiosity and liuspilalily nf tlin in- lialtilanlA, iinlil an opport\inily prrscntcil lo restore Ihein lollicir Dwnconnlry.— Frf/^ epublic dinirai ither i memo (hereat ■ habi (C-l tlw igiy Ult inlii Resident. J' tee; Incredil haw Itol leave liut one wife behind to lament their deparlurt — what then must be the feelings of thy unhapi lin kinsman, while thus lingering at an inuneasiiral distance from tliree-and-twenty of the most Im and obedient wives in all Tripoli ! Oh, Allah ! si thy servant never again return to his native land, behold his beloved wives, who beam on his beautiful as the rosy morn of the east, and graceful Mahomet's camel ! Yet beautiful, oh, most puissant slave-driver, are my wives, they are far exceeded by the wom«hey of this country. Even those who run about the stretlwb. with bare arms and necks {et cwtera), whose ments are too scanty to protect them either from inclemency of the seasons, or the scrutinizing glane^ned of the curious, and who it would seem belong to body, are lovely as the houris that people the elysii of (rue believers. If, then, such as run wild in highways, and whom no one cares to appropriate, thus beauteous; what must be the charms of who are shut up in the seraglios md never permill to go abroad ! Surely the region of beauty, the of the graces, can contain nothing so inimitably But, notwilhstanduig the charms of these women, they are apt to have one fault, which is tremely troublesome and inconvenient. Wouldst IhSiob believe it, Asem, I have been positively assured li| famous dervise (or doctor as he is here called), that least one fifth part of them — have souls ! as it may seem to thee, I am the more inclined lieve them in possession of this monstrous superflui from my own little experience, and from tlie iniipining mation which I have derived from others. In wal ing the streets I have actually seen an exceeding goMhe looking woman with soul enough to box her husban hat ears to his heart's content, and my very wliiski trembled with indignation at the abject state of thAfthe wretched infidels. I am told, moreover, that some the women have soul enough to usurp the of the men, but these I suppose are married and ki be close; for I have not, in my rambles, met with any extravagantly accoutred. Others, I am informed, lu soul enough to swear!— yea! by the beard of great Omar, who prayed three times lo each one hundred and twenty-four thousand prophets ofoftiiich most holy faith, and who never swore but once in life— they actually swear ! (let thee to the mosque, good Asem! return (liai lo our most holy prophet that he has been thus fill of the comfort of all true Mussulmen, and !j;iven them wives with no more souls than cats dogs, and other necessary animals of the houselio Tluui wilt doubtless be anxious to learn our reci lion in this country, and how we were treated people whom we have been accustomed lo coiisii as unenlightened barbarians. On landing we were wailed upon to our I suppose according to the directions of the inui palily, by a vast and respectable escort of Itoys negroes, who shouted and (brew up their hats. to do honour to the ofaketch; they wei their equipments, bu ican simplicity. dmiration, threw an oh an ungentle salul I was not a lit refer informed us that t I which great men we nd that the more distin were subjected to t Upon tills I bow hands to my turbai Greek, which gave a shower of old ! ras exceedingly refresh Thou wilt not as yet n account of the laws s lill reserve them for soi more experienced in y contradictory natu This empire is govern bashaw, whom tl He is cliosei an assembly, electei is called the soverei ; the body politic do ihich is best governed I is a very plain old of a humorist, as he butterflies and pickli in popularity, h earing red breeches, a people of the Uni they themselves are inder the sun ; but thou desert, who assen » shoot their arrows a breecvder to extinguish his I same boast; — whici jaim, I shall not altem]; I have observed, with le men of this country of#>n)modate themselves alone the laws ] rardiiess is probabi lieir absolutely having r rhoii knowest how inva miiftii'iions ; what a price it what entertaining v itful entertainment a he lackwi iglil b "«•' Tliis is anotlier allnsioii U wlio, even wliilc llic FIrsI tcaiions when a litllc of tlin ' iWild not liave Iteen iiiconip ustometl to(li-i'a.s in tl)c plaint lodgin (wiijiuut an attendant ; m lli; umiglil be seen, wlien the In (nil presence, riding np nioiv ijtlon, and, haviiiR tied IiIk » (lie iinporlant biiitiiifi iloii rinuui I SALMAGUNDI. 13 eii- deparlurt iss to do honour to the magnanimous Muslapiia, cap- thy unhapi ijn of a ketch ; they were somewhat ragged and dirty inuneasnralU i their equipments, but this was attributed to their le most love jipubiican simplicity. One of them, in tlie zeal of I, Allah ! sit (iiniration, threw an old shoe, which gave thy friend ative land, n ither an ungentle salutation on one side of the head, n his memo rhereat I was not a little offended, until the inter- and graceful reter informed us that this was the customary manner I which great men were honoured in this counti7; ave-driver, nd that tlie more distinguished they were, the more by the wonn bey were subjected to the attacks and peltings of the wut the stra wb. Upon this I bowed my head three times, with whose habi ly iiands to my turban, and made a speech in Ara- ;ither from l| jc-Greek, which gave gi-eat satisfaction, and occa- jnizing giant ioned a shower of old shoes, hats, and so forth, that I belong to n ras exceedingly refreshing to us all. )le the eiysJD Thou wilt not as yet expect that I should give thee jn wild in il n account of the laws and politics of this country. I ppropriate, j nil reserve them for some future letter, when I shall larms of tlw e more experienced in their complicaled and seem- ever permill igly contradictory nature. luty, the valii This empire is governed by a grand and most puis- nimitably fai mt bashaw, whom they dignify with the title of 3f these inlii tesident. He is chosen by persons, who are chosen t, which is e y an assembly, elected by the people— hence the Wouklstlh wb is called the sovereign people— and the country, y assured lij pee; the body politic doubtless resembling a vessel, calletl), thai rliich is best governed by its tail. The present ba- s ! Incredil baw is a very plain old gentleman— something they inclined tol ay of a humorist, as he amuses himself with impal- )us superflui ig butterflies and pickling tadpoles ; he is rather de- rom the infi lining in popularity, having given great offence by ers. In wal rearing red breeches, and tying his iiorse to a post.' xceedinggot lie people of the United States have assured me (herhusban hat they themselves are the most enlightened nation very whiski inder the sun; but thou know est that the barbarians It state of tlH if the desert, who assemble at the summer solstice, »', that some o shoot their arrows at that glorious luminary, in 'P the breed mler to extinguish his burning rays, make precisely trricd and ki he same boast ; — which of them have the superior net with any ilaim, I shall not attempt to decide, informed, lu I have observed, with some degree of surprise, that I beard of I he men of this country do not seem in haste to ac- I (o each of I mmodate themselves even with the single wife prophets ofo vhich alone the laws permit them to marry; Ibis but once in ackwardness is probably owing to the misfortune of heir absolutely having no female mules among them. ! return thai fhou knowest how invaluable are these silent com- een thus mil anions; what a price is given for them in the east, hnen, and 1 ml what entertaining wives they make. What de- than CHls a iglilful entertainment aiises from beholding the si- the houselio tarn our rect ' This is another alliisiflii to the primitive hahiU of Mr JolTi'r- rt treated b "*' *''"• "vcn while the Flwt MaRlslrate of the Uei)ul)lic, aiul on pH Io ronsil '""'''"' ^•""' •'''""•' "'"'«" l>""U>a'«l«iroi"»slaiien" of office e« 10 toi ,D,|U ^^^ ii^yg li^^ij incoiiipatihie with that situation, was ac- wtotncil toflresH in the plainest Rarb. anil when on huwchack to witlmiil an attcnilant ; no that it not nnfrequeiitly happeninl that of the nmn '""'S''' ^- m*"- when Uie Inwinesd of the Stale iwinii-cil his |ier- JmuI presence, riding up alone to the government house at Wash- Won, anil, haviuR lied his steed to the nearest |io»t, prucccd to •nuct the important business of tlie nation.— ^;rf<^ )rtof iKiysi pirhals.doii lent eloquence of their signs and gestures; but a wife possessed both of a tongue and a soul — monstrous ! monstrous ! Is it astonishing that these unhappy in- fidels should shrink from a union with a woman so preposterously endowed? Thou hast doubtless read in the works of Abul Fa- raj, the Arabian historian, the tradition which men- tions that the muses were once upon the point of fall- ing together by the ears about the admission of a tenth among tneir number, until she assured them, by signs, that she was dumb; whereupon they received her with great rejoicing. I should, perhaps, inform thee that there are but nine Christian muses, who were formerly pagans, but have since been converted, and that ui this country we never hear of a tenth, unless some crazy poet wishes to pay an hyperl)oiical com- pliment to his mistress; on which occasion it goes bard but she figures as a tenth muse, or fourth grace, even though she should be more illiterate than a Hot- tentot, and more ungraceful than a dancing bear ! Since my arrival in this country, I have met not less than a hundred of these supernumerary nmses and graces — antl may Allah preserve me from ever meet- ing any more ! When I have studied this people more profoundly, I will write thee again ; in the mean time watch over my household, and do not beat my beloved wives, unless you catch them with their noses out at the window. Though far distant, and a slave, let me live in thy heart as thou Uvest in mine : — think not, O friend oi my soul, that the splendours of this luxu- rious capital, its gorgeous palaces, its stupendous mosques, and the beautiful females who run wild in herds about its streets, can obliterate thee from my remembrance. Thy name shall still be mentioned in the five-and-twenly prayers which I offer up daily ; and may our great prophet, after bestowing on thee all the blessings of this life, at length, in a good old age, lead thee gently by the hand, to enjoy the dig- nity of bashaw of three tails in the blissful bowers of Eden. Mustapiia. FASIIIOISS. »Y A^TUO^iY KVIiUUItllKiH, liKKT. The following avlide is furnished tne lnj a young iMdij of unquestionable taste, and who is tlic orarle of fashion and frippenj. lieing deeply Initiated into all the m ijsteries of the toilet, site lias promised me, from time to time, a simi- lar detail. Mhs Toolk has for some lime reigned unrivalled in the fashionable world, and had the supreme direc- tion of caps, buiniets, feathers, flowers, and tinsel.— She has dressed and undressed our ladies just as she pleased; now loading them with velvet and wail- ding, now turning them adrift upon the world, to run shivering throiigli the streets with scarcely a covering to their- backs; and now obliging them to drag a long traui at their heels, like the tail of a paper kite. Her despotic sway, however, threatens to be limited. A (laiip'f>rous rival has sprung up in the person of Madame nouehiird, an intrepid little wuniaii, IVesh 14 SALMAGUNDI. if 1 1 I i ■ from the head qnarters of fashion and folly, and who has burst like a second Bonaparte upon the fashion- able world.— Mrs Toole, notwithstanding, seems de- termined to dispute her ground bravely for the honour ofoldEnglaiiii. The ladies have begun to arrange themselves under the banner of one or other of these herouies of the needle, and every thing portends open war. Madame Bouchard marches gallantly to tl>.e Held, flourishing a flaming red robe for a standard, " flouting the skies ; " and Mrs Toole, no ways dis- mayed, sallies out under cover of a forest of artificial flowers, like Malcolm's host. Both parties possess great merit, and both deserve the victory. Mrs Toole charges the highest, but Madame Bouchard makes tlie lowest courtesy. Madame Bouchard is a little short lady — nor is there any Iwpe of her growing larger; but then she is perfectly genteel — and so is Mrs Toole. Mrs Toole lives in Broadway, and Ma- dame Bouchard in Courlland-street; but Madame atones for the inferiority of her stand, by making two courtesies to Mrs Toole's one, and talking French like an angel. Mrs Toole is the best looking — but Ma- dame Bouchard wears a most bewitching little scrub- by wig. Mrs Toole is the tallest — but Madame Bou- chard has the longest nose. Mrs Toole is fond of roast beef— but Madame is loyal in her adherence to onions : in short, so equally are the merits of the two ladies balanced, that there is no judging which will " kick the beam." — It however seems to be the pre- vailing opinion, that Madame Boudiard will carry the day, because she vfnars a wig, lias a long nose, talks French, loves onions, and does not charge above ten times as much for a thing as it is worth. Under the direction of these high priestesses of the beuii- monde, the following is the fashionable nwming-dress for tvaUttng .— If the weather be very cold, a thin muslin gown, or frock, is most advisable — because it agrees with the season, being perfectly cool. The neck, arms, and particularly the elbows bare, in order that they may be agreeably painted and mottled by Mr John Frost, nose-painter-general, of the colour of Castile soap. Shoes of kid, the thinnest that can [mssibly be pro- curetl— as they tend to promote colds and make a lady look interesting— (i. c. grizzly). Picnic silk stockings, with lace clocks— flesh-coloured are most fashionable, as they have the appearance of bare legs— inidity being all llie rage. The stockings carelessly bespattered with mud, to agree with the gown, which should he Itordereil about three inches deep with the most fashionably coloured mud that can be found : the ladies permitted to hold up their trains, after they have swept two or three streets, in order to show— the clocks of their stockings. The shawl scarlet, crimson, flame, orange, salmon, or any other combustible or brimstone colour, thrown over one shoulder, like an Indian blanket, with one end dragging on the ground. IN. B.— If the ladies have not a red shawl at hand, a red petticoat turned topsy-turvy, (wer the shoul- ders, would do just as well. This is caUed beini dressed a-la-drabble. When the ladies do not go abroad of a morning, nsual chimney-corner dress is adotted, spotted, or cross-barred gown — a yellowish, whitish, smokisi dirty-coloured shawl, and the hair curiously mented with little hits of newspapers, or pieces of better from a dear friend. This is called the "Cii derella dress." The recipe for a full-dress is as follows : — Take o spider-net, crape, satin, gymp, cat-gut, gauze, whali bon<>, lace, bobbin, riltands, and artificial flowers, much as will rig out the congregation of a church; to these add as many spangles, beads, an gew-gaws, as would be sufficient to turn the heads all the fashionable fair ones of Nootka S«)und. Mrs Toole, or Madame Bouchard, patch all these tides together, one u|)on another, dash them plenti- fully over Avith stars, l3ugles, and tinsel, and they wil altogether form a dress, which, hung ufton a lady'i back, cannot fail of supplying the place of beautr, youth, and grace, and of reminding the spectator that cdebrated region of finery, called Rag Fair. smile by their effusion we modestly doubt le burthen of Salmagu striped « a whole fortnight, as D, until the whole to' oro) lugliing philosophers HI >ntion, however, of und ut villagi ersons VVhi] ehind w i «led ler inciden tracy udi W( ««» spectable tlrt ipitol llij, hale^ lonj racy '^" Hi II. even "se ive One of the greatest sources of amusement to our humorous knight-errantry is to ramble abod and hear the various conjedures of the town respect' ing our worships, whom eveiy body pi-etends to knon as well as Falstaff did Prince Hal at Gads-hill have sometimes seen a sapient, sleepy fellow, on beiiif tickled with a straw, make a furious effort, and fam he had fairly cauglit a gnat in his grasp; so, many-headed monster, tlie public, who with all lia heads is, we fear, sadly off for brains, has, after hovering, come souse down, like a king-fisher, on tli authors of Salmagundi, and caught them as certaiiil| as llie aforesaid honest fellow caught the gnat. Would that we were rich enough to give one of our numerous readers a farthing, as a rewani for their ingenuity ! not that they liave really conjec- tured within a thousand leagues of the truth, biitllul we consider it a great stretch of ingenuity even have guessed wrong ; — and that we hold oursclvi much obliged to tlieni for having taken the trouble guess at all. One of the most tickling, dear, mischievous plea sui-es of this life is to laugh in one's sleeve — to sit sm in a corner, unnoticed and unknown, and hear iIk wise men of Gotham, who are profound judgi horseflesh, pronounce, from the style of our woii, who are the authors. This listening incog, and I'c- ceiving a hearty prhising over another man's back, b a situation so celestially whimsical, that we have done little else than laugh in our sleeve ever since our first numl)er was published. The town has at lioglii allayed the titillalions curiosity, by fixing on two young gentlemen of lile- rary talents— that is tn say, they are equal to the com position of a iiewspapcc stpiib, a hodge-|>ndge vrili' cism, or some such trifle, and may occasionally raist jgli nu; l'8-fli young men, whom I common acceptation, Were we ill-natured, lat would get our rep far be it from us to to whom we arc While they stand befc the sevenfold sh n our sportive arrow itiict a wound, unless 1 to some conscic Another marvellous g Ibe abuse our work ha 1 gentlemen, whose ce we did any thing ir eclared open war again ECted to receive no qua of all the blockh our indisputable facts ler by the tail, the le and all, have a fellov to cackle and hiss 11 we have a profound e birds, on the , we hereby dech lialever by comparing We have heart Salmagundi, as almoti liere, asintheeast, 1 Every silly roiste of anticipated dati Hidemned us without ni It would have morl !n disappointed in this been apprehensive « ground, innocent of e numskull. Ourefl onderful success. All Hats, the noddies, a mtlenien, are pointing eare threatened with a " pigmies and cranes icked by the heavy-ari upidily. The veriest ti mentji are thus realize mures of the wise, th ill ever be sacred from e wise, love the good, ourselves champion m nality— and we thi wld besides. While we profess an«l ililio applause as at fir are called beiii rs : — Take ( :auze, whali SALMAGUNDI. 15 sinile by their effusions; but pardon us, sweet sirs, we modestly doubt your capability of supporting norning, (hAie burthen of Salmagundi, or of keeping up a laugh tted, striped tr a whole fortnight, as we have done, and intend to ish, smokish d, ""l"! *'*« whole town becomes a community of iously oriu lugliing philosophers like ourselves. We have no m- r pieces of d the "Cii ntion, however, of undervaluing the abilities of those young men, whom we verily believe, according ) common acceptation, young men of promise. Were we ill-natured, we might publish something lat would get our representatives into difliculties; 1 flowers, 1 it far be it from us to do any thuig to the injury of of a \\lh«{ ersons to whom we are under such obligations, beads an VVhile they stand before us, we, like little Teucer, the heads o chind the sevenfold shield of Ajax, can launch un- Sound. U *" •'"'■ sportive arrows, which we trust will never 1 all these ar >'l><^' '^ wound, unless like his they fly, "heaven di- them plenti' Kted," to some conscious-struck bosom, and they wil Another marvellous great source of pleasure to us ition a ladv' "i^ abuse our work has received from several wood- « of beauty > gentlemen, whose censures we covet more than I spectator o ''>' ^'^ ^'^^ ^i^Y ^'^'"S '" <'"'' ''^^s. The moment we Hag Fair. eclared open war against folly and stupidity we ex- icted to receive no quarte>\ and to provoke a confe- nent incident cracy of all the blockheads in town. For it is one ramble about "i"' indisputable facts, that so soon as you catch a town respect- od*^!' ^y l^'^^ t^''> ^^^ whole flock, geese, goslings, ends to knoi ^ ""^ '*"> l'*'^^ ^ fellow-feeling on the occasion, and ds-hill. Wi 6>" to cackle and hiss like so many devils bewitched, low, onbeiiii ^ we have a profound respect for these ancient and irt and faiiq ^table birds, on the score of their once saving the asp- so, tlm ^pit"'; ^ve hereby declare, that we mean nooifence } with all lii tiatcver by comparing them to the aforesaid confe- us after loni ^racy. We have heard in our walks such criticism iishcr on tiK > Salmagundi, as almost induced a belief that lolly I as certainli xlli^i'^; «s in the east, her moments of inspired idio' gnat. Qi. Every silly roister has, as if by an instinctive nse of anticipated danger, joined in the cry, and mdemned us without mercy. All is thus as it should It would have mortiiied us very sensibly had we eii disappointed in this particular, as we should then uity even tii i^*^ ^c<^" apprehensive that our shaits had fallen to aid oursclve e ground, innocent of the " blood or brains" of a Lhe trouble to ugle numskull. Our efforts have been crowned with onderful success. All the queer Hsh, the grubs, lievous plea- ' 'l^t^^ tlic noddies, and the live oak and timber , lo sit ,snii{| ^itlenien, are pointing their empty guns at us ; and give even as a reward eally conjvo -nth, biittliU ind hear tlie of our wdii. cog. and re- ive have duiit iiice our lirsl eare threatened with a most puissant confederacy of d jiidg(>s-«i ^ " pigmies and cranes," and other " light militia," icked by the heavy-armed artillery of dulness and upidily. The veriest dreams of our most sanguine laii's back, is oments are thus realized. We have no fear of the iiujuies of the wise, the good, or I he fair ; fur they ill ever be sacred from our attacks. We reverence le wise, love the gootl, and adore the fair; we de- re ourselves champions in their cause— in the cause iiDiality— and we throw our gauntlet to all the wid besides. W hile we profess and feel the same indifference lo Mf applause as at lirst, we most earnestly invite tilillalioiis einen of lile-| illothecoin -|MHlge' orili sionally raisfl the attacks and censures of all the wooden warriors of this sensible city, and especially of that distinguished and learned body, heretofore celebrated under the ap- pellation of " the North-river Society." The thrice valiant and renowned Don Quixote never made such work amongst the wool-r' d warriors of Taprol)an, or the puppets of the itinerant showman, as we promise to make amongst these fine fellows > and we pledge ourselves to the public in general, and the Albany skippers in particular, that the North-river shall not be set on fire this winter at least, for we shall give the authors of that nefarious scheme ample employment for some time to come. PROCLAMATION, FBOM THE MILL OP PINDAH COCKLOFT, ESQ. To all llie young l)eltes wlio enliven our scene, From ripe rive-and-forty, to blooming fillcen; Who racliet at routs, and wh . raUlc at plays, Wlio visit, and fidget, and dance out tlicir days ; Wlio conquer all hearts with a shot from the eye. Who freeze with a frown, and wlio thaw witli a sigh :— To all those brig'nt youths who embellish the age. Whether young boys, or old boys, or numskull or sage ; Whether dull dogs, who cringe at their mistress' feet, Who sigh and who whine, and who try to look sweet ; Whether tough dogs, who squat down stock-still in a row. And play wooden genUemcn stuck up for show ; Or sud dogs, who glory in nmning their rigs. Now dash in their sleighs, and now whirl in their gigs ; Who riot at Dyde's on imperial champaign. And then scour our city— the peace to maintain : To whome'er it concerns or may happen to meet. By these presents their worships I lovingly greet. Now know ye, that I, Pindar Cockloft, esquire. Am laureate appointed at special desire ;— A censor, self-tlubb'd, to admonish the fair. And tenderly take the town under my eare. I'm a ci-ilevant beau, cousin Launcelot has said— A remnant of habits long vanish 'd and dead : But still, thougli my heart dwells with rapture sublime On the fashions and customs which reign 'd in my prime, I yet can perceive— and still candidly praise, Some maxims and manners of these "latter dayst" Still own that some wisdom and beauty appears. Though ahnost cntomb'd in the rubbish of years. No tierce nor tyrannical cynic am I, Who frown on each foible 1 chance to espy ; Who pounce on a novelty, just like a kite, And tear up a victim through malice or spite i Who expose to the scoffs of an ill-natured crew A trembler for starting a whim that is new. No, no— I shall cautiously liokl up my glass, To the sweet Utile blossoms who heedlessly pass; My remarks not too pointed to wound or offend. Nor so vague as to miss their licnevolent end : liach innocent fashion shall have its full sway ; New modes shall arise to astonish Broadway ; lied hats and n-d shawls still illumine the town. And each belle, like a l>onfiix>, blaze up and down. Fair spirits, who brighten the gloom of our days. Who eheer this dull scene with your heavenly rays. No mortal can love you more firmly and true, From the crown of the head, to the solo of your shoo. I'm old-fashion 'd, 'tis true— but still runs in my heart That affectionate stn-am, to which youth gave the start— More calm in Its current— yet |iotent in foi-ee t l-ess rufdMl by gales— but still steadfast in course. Though the lover, enraptumi, no longer ajipears.- - ' ris the guide ami the guardian -nllghteii'd by yeari. Id SALMAGUNDI. i . I l-.m !^l All ripen'd, and mellow'd, and soften'd by time, The asperities polish "d which chafed in my prime: I am fuUy prepared for that delicate end, The fair one's instructor, companion and friend. —And should I perceive you in fashion's gay dance. Allured by the frippery-mongers of France, Expose your weak frames to a chill wintry sky, To be nipp'd by its frosts, to be torn from the eye ; My soft admonitions shall fall on your ear- Shall whisiier those parents to whom you are dear- Shall warn you of hazards you heedlessly run. And sing of those fair ones whom frost has undone ; Bright suns that would scarce on our horizon dawn. Ere shrouded from sight, they were early withdrawn : Gay sylphs, who have floated in circles below, As pure in their souls, and as transient as snow ; Sweet roses, that bloom'd and decay'd to my eye. And of forms that have flitted and pass'd to the sky. But as to those brainless pert bloods of our town. Those sprigs of the ton who run decency down; Who lounge and who loot, and who booby about. No knowledge within, and no manners without; Who stare at each beauty with insolent eyes, Who rail at those morals their fathers would prize ; Who are loud at Uie play— and who impiously dare To come in their cups to the routs of the fair; I shall hold up my mirror, to let them sui-vey The ligures they cut as they dash it away ; Shoukl my good-humoured verse no amendment produce, Like scarecrows, at least, they shall still be of use ; I shall stitch them, in efflgy, up in my rhyme, And hold them aloft through the progi-ess of time, As figures of fun to make the folks laugh. Like that queer-looking angel erected by Paff, " What shtops," as he says, " all dc people what come ; " What smiles on dem all, and what peats on dc Iruni." No. IV.— TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1807. FROM MV KLDOW-CIIAIR. Perhaps there is no class of men to which the cu- rious and literary are more indebted than travellers; — I mean travel-mongers, who write whole volumes about themselves, their horses and their servants, in- terspersed with anecdotes of inn-keepers,— droll say- ings of stage-drivers, and interesting memoirs of— the lord knows who. They will give you a full account of a city, its manners, customs, and manufactures; though perhaps all their knowledge of it was obtained l)y a peep from their inn-windows, and an interesting conversation with the landlord or the waiter. Ame- rica has had ils share of these buzzards ; and in the name of my countrymen I return their profound thanks for the compliments they have lavished u[M)n us, and the variety of particulars concerr.ing our own country which we should never have dlicovered without their assistance. Iniluenced by such sentimeits, I am delighted to find that the Cockloft family, am-uig ils oliier whim- sical and monstrous productions, is about to be enrich- ed with a genuine travel-writer. This is no less a personage than iVir Jkuemv Cockloft, the only son and darling pride of my cousin, Mr Christopher Cock- loft. Jeremy is at present in his nne-and-twentietli year, and a young fellow of wonderful quick parts, if r( ;paii ire- ■and, ;oftl ice •Ch you will trust to the word of his father, who, havii^ begotten him, should be the best judge of the matte He is the oracle of the family, dictates to lu's sisters every occasion, though they are st>me dozen or years older than himself;— and never did son mother better advice than Jeremy. As old Cockloft was determined his son should both a scholar and a gentleman, he took great with his education, which was completed at our versity, where he became exceedingly expert in zing his teachers and playing billiards. No stndeii made better squibs and crackers to blow up the chi mical professor— nj one chalked more ludicrous caii catures on the walls of the college — and none w« more adroit in shaving pigs and climbing lightnini rods. He moreover learned all the letters of the Gref alphabet; could demonstrate that water never " of i own accord" rose above the level of its source, an that air was certainly the principle of life, for he been entertained with the humane experiment o( cat worried to death in an air-pump. He once si down the ash-hoiise, by an artiricial earthquake; nearly blew his sister Barbara, and her cat, out window with detonating powder. He likewise exceedingly of being thoroughly acquainted with composition of J^acedemonian black broth ; and oi made a pot of it, which had well nigh poisoned whole family, and actually threw the cook-maid ii convulsions. But above all, he values himself upopory his logic, has the old college conundrum of the with three tails at his fingers' ends, and often hampe his father with his syllogisms, to the great delight the old gentleman ; who considers the major, mil and conclusion, as almost equal in argument to pulley, the wedge, and the lever, in mechanics, fact, my cousin Cockloft was once nearly with astonishment, on hearing Jeremy trace the vation of Mango from Jeremiah King;— as Jeremii King, Jerry King ! Jerking, Girkin I cuctimber. In short, had Jeremy been a student at Oxford or bridge, he would, in all probability, have been moted to the dignity of a senior wrangler. Having made a very pretty speech on graduatii to a numerous assemblage of old folks and young I) dies, who all declared that he was a very fine youi man, and made very handsome gestures, Jeremy vi seized with a great desire to see, or rather to be by the world ; and as his father was anxious to gii him every possible advantage, it was determitied Ji remy should visit foreign parts. In consequence this resolution, he has s|)ent a matter of three or fu months in visiting strange places ; and in the ci of his travels has tarried some few days at the splendi metropolises of Albany and Philadelphia. Jeremy has travelled as every modern man of sci .should do; that is, he judges of things by the samp next at hand; if he has ever any doubt on a sii always decides against the city where he happens sojourn ; and invariably takes home as the slainlai by which to direct his judgment. .Mango Going into his rcom t ened to be absent, I foui his table; and was o' "^^i^vs and huits for a boo . He seems to rnvel-mouger for his mc ork will be equally in lat of his prototype. 1 "■liftaets, which may not pn MEMORANDU TO BE •THE STRANGEl OB, COCKNE Bij Jeremtj Coc CII The man in the moo I— hints to travellers ■sii'aps, buckles ant' be^ hofjociii^!/ — five tnmks — th a medicine-chest, of my two sisters— (| boajBgrticular in their cautioi escription of Powles I Hiverted into gun-boats, e!l with Albany sloops- ;haron— river Stjx- ; — ferryage nitie-pen( the spot where the folk le the devil fiddled ;- lites talk Dutch? — story ino mfiision of tongues — gel •famous fellow for rtnui issengers and crippled n annihilaliye— philosophical reaso luseway — ditch c ranious place for sk larapins— roast thei CaiiB"atoes— query, may th lians are all turtle good painting of a blue 1— wonder who it wa Jiaroit de Gusto aboti ;e-hill, so called from ■salt marsh, surmountet hay-stack;— more t liladelphians don't estal patent for it?— bridgt l-description of toll-b< dei wg— cai ilu— fa pn (ielphii in- lake is« ry coiin ling eiH lubjed Kile Ills not a little singular, tli pitKluctionsof sir John i uld have been successfiilly ai two writers placed in dilfei-ei lly Pockcl-Book " appeared li lerthe publication of these " nclttier writer could possib by its ingenious itlcasaiitr host of buok-making tou (Irhcad.— KrfU. ' Vide carr's Stranger in Irel ' vide Weld. who, havio ifthematta never " of i s source, an SALMAGUNDI. 17 Going into his iTom the other day, when he hap- ■ened to be absent, I found a manuscript volume lying lus sisters ^ ),is table; and was overjoyed to find it contained ozen or nw jjfj, and hints for a book of travels which he intends did son gii g])|ig|)ing. He seems to have taken a late fashionable utel-motiger for his model, and I have no doubt his on should li ^of^ ^yill be equally instructive and amusing with k great paii ui of his prototype. The following are some ex- d at our uni jjts, which may not prove uninteresting to my read- Kpert in quii j^ No stndei memorandums for a tour, f up the chi iidicrous cat id none wa ng lightnini softheGro TO BE ENTITLED "THE STRANGER IN NEW-JERSEY: OB, COCKNEY TBAVELLING."' liij Jeremy Cockloft, the Younger. CHAP. I. The man in the moon ' — preparations for depar- fe, for he luBire— hints to travellers about packing their trunks ^ periment o( -suaps, buckles anc' bed-cords— case of pistols, a la ie once shot «knetj — five tninks— three bandboxes— a cocked hat thquake; an -and a medicine-chest, « hi /"raiiraise- parting ad- cat, out of tl ice of my two sisters — query, why old maids are so ikewise boaj articular in their cautions against naughty women — nted with Hi Escription of Powles Hook ferry-boats— might l)e »th ; and on inverted into gun-boats, and defend our port equally poisoned li *!! with Albany sloops — Brom, the black ferryman ook-maidini -Charon— river Styx— gliosis;— Major Hunt— good himself up« ory— ferryage nine-pence ;— city of Harsimus— built im of the i the spot where the folk once danced on their stumps often hampe hile the devil fiddled ;— query, why do the Harsi- lilestdlk Dutch? — story of the tower of Babel, and najor, minoiBmfiision of tongues— get into the stage— driver a wag ument to lli famous fellow for runiiiug stage races— killed three echanics. 1 isseugers and crippled nine ui the coui-se of his prac- y annihilate ce— philosophical reasons why stage drivers love trace the da flg— causeway— ditch on each side for folk to tumble -as Jeremii l«)-famous place for skilhj-pois ; Philadelphians call nber, Mango m larapins— roast them under the ashes as we do xford or Can Jtatoes— (piery, may this be the reason thai the Phi- ive been pn delphians are all turtle heads ?— Hackensack bridge er. 5»<tl painting of a blue horse j timping over a moun- 1 gradualii^ in-wonder who it was paintoii by;— mem. to ask and young li « B«»o»i de Gusto about it on my return ;—Rattlo- y fine youn lake-liill, so called from abounding with butlertlies ; , Jeremy w -salt marsh, sunnounted here and there by a soli- lertobesei ry hay-stack;— more tarapins— wonder why the ixious to gii hiladelphians don't establish a fishery here, and get itermined J( patent for it ?— bridge over the Passaic— rate of insequence i H-description of toll-boards— toll-man had but one tlir66 or fon • 1 1 n m ' " '" ""' " "'"" ''"«"•'"'• "'•'" "''» 'n«'e of ridlcullnR the gos- in ine COim ||„g pitKluctloiw of sir Jolm Oarr, anJ oilier lourlslg of llie day, It llie splendi wid have been successfully ailopled almost at the sanio moment two writers placed In dirfeivnt and distant quarlers of (lie glolH*. man of sera *'' ■'"cket-Book " appeaixnl in London only two or three wtrks L , fflliepuWication oflheso "Memorandums" ill Ne\v.York—«o By the samp u „citin.r writer could possibly have bon owed fmin the other- Oil a suhjed il by its ingenious pleasantry and poignant satire, crushed a lie happens I ^''o** of Iwok-making tourists, willi the liicklcu Knight at .u- ..,,,,1., '^'^»>i-f:dil. the siamiH , ,1,,^ ^^^.^ g,^^^^^, ^^ ^^^^^ ' Vide Wold. eye— story how it is possible he may have lost the other— pence-table, etc— CHAP. II. Newark— noted for ils fine breed of fat mosquitoes —sting through the thickest boot'— story alwut Gal- ly-nipers— Archer Giffoid and his man Caliban- jolly fat fellows;— a knowing traveller always judges of every thing by the inn-keepers and waiters ; ^— set down Newark people all fat as butter— learned dissertation on Archer Gifford's green coat, with pliilosophical reasons why the Newarkites wear red worsted night-caps— Newark academy full of win- dows—sunshine excellent to make little boys grow — Ilizabeth-town— fine girls— vile mosquitoes- plenty of oysters— query, have oysters any feeling ?— good story about the fox catching them by his tail— ergo, foxes might be of great use in the pearl fishery ;— landlonl memlier of the legislature — treats every body who has a vote— mem. all the inn-keepers inembers of legislature in New-Jersey ;— Bridge-town, vul- garly called Spunk-toirii, from a story of a quondam parson and his wife— real name. Bridge-town, from bridge, a contrivance to get dry-shod over a river or brook ; and town, an appellation given in America to the accidental assemblage of a church, a tavern, and a blacksmith's shop— Woodbridge— landlady mending her husband's breeches — sublime apostrophe to con- jugal affection and the fair sex; <— Wootlbridge fa- mous for its crab-fishery— sentimental correspondence between a crab and a lobster— digression to Abelard and Eloisa ;— mem. when the moon is in Pisces, she plays the devil witli the crabs. CHAP. HI. Brunswick— oldest town in the state— division line between two counties in the middle of the street;— posed a lawyer with the case of a man standing with one foot in each county — wanted to know in which he was domieil — lawyer couldn't tell for the soul of him — mem. all the New-Jersey lawyers nums; — Miss Hay's boarding-school — young ladies not allowed to eat mustard— and why; fat story of a mustard-pot, with a good saying of Ding-Dong's; — Vernon's ta- vern—line place to sleep in, if the noise would let you— another Caliban; — Vernon .<sJeir-eyed— people of Brunswick, of course, all squint ; — Drake's tavern — fine old blade — wears square buckles in his shoes — tells bloody long stories about last war — people, of course, all do the same ; — Hook' em Siiivy, the famous fortune-teller, born here— contemporary with Mo- tkier Shoulders — particulars of his history — died one day — lines to his memory, which found their way into my pocket-book;" — melancholy reflections on the death of great men— beautiful epitaph on myself. ' VideCarr. ' Vide Weld. 3 vide Weldj vide Parkinson; vide and vide Mes.srs Tag, Rag, and Hoblail. 4 vide the sentiinenlal Kolzebuc. s Vide Cnrr and Pllnd Ret ! Prlesl ; vide Link. Fid-i lil'i 11;' ,lu. 18 SALMAGUNDI. CHAP. IV. Princeton — college — professors wear boots ! — stu- dents famous for their love of a jest — set the college on fire, and burnt out the professors; an excellent joke, but not worth repeating — mem. American students very much addicted to burning down colleges — reminds me of a good story, nothing at all to the purpose — two societies in the college — good notion — encourages emulation, and makes little hoys fight; — students famous for their eating and erudition — saw two at the tavern, who had just got their allowance of spending-money — laid it all out in a supper — got fuddled, and d — d the professors for nincoms. N. B. Soulhemgentlemen— churchyard— apostrophe to grim death— saw a cow feeding on a grave — metempsy- chosis — who knows but the cow may have been eat- ing up the soul of one of my ancestors — made me me- lancholy for fifteen minutes ; — man planting cabbages' — wondered how he could plant them so straight — method of mole-catching— and all that— query, whe- ther it would not be a good notion to ring their noses as we do pigs— mem. to propose it to the American Agricultural Society — geta premium, perhaps;— com- mencement — students give a ball and supper — com- pany from New- York, Philadelphia, and Albany — great contest which spoke the best English — Alba- nians vociferous in their demand for sturgeon— Phi- ladelphians gave the preference to racoon ' — gave them a long dissertation on the phlegmatic nature of a goose's gizzard — students can't dance — always set off with the wrong foot foremost — Duport's opinion on that subject — Sir Christopher Hatton the first man who ever turned out his toes in dancing — great fa- vourite with Queen Bess on that account — Sir Walter Raleigh — good story about his smoking — his descent into New-Spain— El Dorado — Candid — Dr Pangloss — Miss Cunegunde — earthquake at Lisbon— Baron of Thundertentronck — Jesuits — Monks — Cardinal Wol- sey — Pope Joan — Tom Jefferson- -Tom Paine, and Tom the whew !— N. B. Students got drunk as nsual. CHAP. v. Left Princeton— country finely diversified with sheep and hay-slacks ^ — saw a man riding alone in a waggon ! why the deuce didn't the blockhead ride in a chair? fellow must be a fool — particular account of theconstruction of waggons, carts, wheelbarrows and quail-traps — saw a large flock of crows — concluded there must be a dead horse in the neighbourhood — mem. country remarkable for crows— won't let the horses die in peace— anecdote of a jury of crows — —stopped to give the horses water— good-looking man came up, and asked me if I had seen his wife ? Heavens! tho..ght I, how strange it is that this virtuous man should ask me about his wife— story of Cain and Abel— stage-driver took a swi{/— mem. set down all the people as drunkards— old house had moss on the top— swallows built in the roof— better place than old Vide Can-. » Vide Pricdt. men's beards— story about that — derivation of worti kippy, kippy, kippy and shoo-pig' — negro-drive could not write his own name — languishing state i literature in this country;— philosophical inquiry ( 'Sbidlikens, why the Americans are so much inferio to the nobility of Cheapside and Shore-ditch, an why Ihey do not eat plum-pudding on Sundays; perfine reflections about any thing. ■, CHAP. VI. I' m remin the B' I Trenton— built above the head of navigation to courage commerce — capital of the slate — only wai a castle, a bay, a mountain, a sea, and a volcano, bear a strong resemblance to the bay of Naples '— sn preme court silting— fat Chief Justice— used to asleep on the bench after dinner— gave judgment, suppose, like Pilate's wife, from his dreams- ed me of Justice Bridlegoosfe deciding by a throw of die, and of the oracle of the holy bottle— attempii to kiss the chambermaid— boxed my ears till rung like our theatre bell— girl had lost one too'J mem. all the American ladies prudes, and have teeth; — Anacreon Moore's opinion on the matter, Slate-house- fine place to see the sturgeons jump —query, whether sturgeons jump up by an im the tail, or whelher they bounce up from the bottom the elasticity of their noses— Link. Fid. of the latter nion— I too— sturgeon's nose capital for tennisball learnt that at school— went to a ball— negro went principal musician! N. B. People of America haven fiddlers but females !— origin of the phrase, " fiddle your heart" — reasons why men fiddle better than women ;— expedient of the Amazons who were expn at the bow ;— waiter at the cily tavern— good sloi his— nothing to the purpose — never mind — fill up n book like Carr— make it sell.— Saw a democrat into the stage, followed by his dog. N. B. This to« remarkable for dogs and democrats— ciperfine senii ment ' — good story from Joe Miller — ode to a of butter— pensive meditations on a mousehole— mal a book as clear as a whistle ! an, oAbdallahEb'nal Rah( centinel at the gati Thou hast heard, O , Muley Fuz, who c Icssed with all the ely [glade and grove, of fi ightful, solitary and fo his wand could transi imet into grinning a] ely, thought I to mys liiley has been exercisi ihappy infidels. List( night I committed n with all the monotom orning 1 awoke, envel clangour, and the s changed as if by ina as( pulsei rongi'P^ like mushro ibblers, tailors, and tir ' vide Carr. No. v.— SATURDAY, MAUCH 7, 1807. PROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. at The following letter of my friend Mustapha lo have been written some time subsequent to Uie already published. Were I to judge from its content I should suppose it was suggested by the splendid n clion. view of the twenty-fifl of last November; when a pa of colours was presented, at the City-Hall, to the gimenls of artillery, and when a huge dinner va(scent devoured, by our corporation, in the honoural remembrance of the evacuation of this cily. I happy to find that the laudable spirit of military lation which prevails in our city has attracted the aUei|rai!;li ■ vide Carr'i teamed deilvatlon of gee arid whon. » Carr. ' Carr. Mil on of a stranger of Diulation I mean that at, the length of a fa sword belt. feati nOM MUSTiPBA e nodding plume; had eye, helmeted heroes Alarmed at the beatii nmpets, andtheshoutii yself in haste, sallied crowd of people t( his is so denominated, defended with foi hich in the course of a to pieces by an ect ibttted for fire wood an the hint of a cunning it was the only wa; ever be able to kec f friend, is the watch- en studying for a nioi f, but truly am as muc nd of national slarvatio mforts and necessarie: ived of before it peris a lamentable degree appeai^rethe fate of the Aral he could live with just as he had broi I OUSI iry *•> died I piggi em DUld( me renii jng On arriving at the batti six hundred men, dra At first I supi myself, but my interpi merely for wanto able to afford the It line. As I expe olulions and military i main a tranquil sfiectal lion of word -negro-drive ihing state g al inquiry < nach inferio re-ditch, ag jundays ; I— only wani a volcano, SALMAGUNDI. 19 on of a stranger of Mnstapha's sagacity ; by military mulation I mean that .spirited rivfllry in the size of a at, the length of a feather, and the gingerbread finery fa sword belt. V LETTER FBOX MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KDAN,' Abdallah Eb'n al Rahab, surnamed the Snorer, military centinel at the gate of his Highness' Palace. Thou hast heard, O Abdallah ! of the great magi- i^ation to ent"*' ^^"'^Y ^"2> ^^^ could change a blooming land, Icssed with all the elysian charms of hill and dale, fgiade and grove, of fruit and flower, into a desert, Naples "^B io'"'f"'> solitary and forlorn;— who with the wave ,,ggj ^Q a, [his wand could transform even the disciples of Ma- ; judgment ""^^^ '"'^ grinning apes and chattering monkeys. jj,,^ remiiK "f^'y' thong''' I to myself this morning, the dreadful r a throw of '"'^^ ^^ ^^^ exercisuighis enchantments on these lg attemni( ^WY infidels. Listen, O Abdallah, and wonder ! ears till tht ist night I committed myself to slumber, encompass- ;t one tooth- '^''^ ^'' ^'^^ monotonous tokens of peace, and this and have tm of'"? ^ awoke, enveloped in the noise, the bustle, the matter." * clangour, and the shouts of war. Every thing eons iunip g is changed as if by magic. An immense army had r g„ itnpulsei "^"g "P' '"'^ mushrooms, in a night; and all the the bottom b ^^^j tailors, and tinkers of the city had mounted f thelatteroi ^nodding plume; had become, in the twinkling of r tennisballs- '*y^' helmeted heroes and war-worn veterans, -neo'ro went Alarmed at the beating of drums, the braying of lerica haven )se, " fiddlei DOipets, and the shouting of the multitude, I dressed yself in haste, sallied forUi, and followed a prodi- tetter than th "i^ crowd of people to s. place called the Battery. 10 were expti his is so denominated, I am told, from having once -(rood story I ^^ defended with formidable wooden bulwarks, ,d fill upn Wch in the course of a hard winter were thriftily democrat a >"^ to pieces by an economic corporation, to be dis- B. This ton isehole- t807. stapha appes ibuted for fire wood among the poor ; this was done iperfine senii '1^ hint of a cunning old engineer, who assured de to a pigti ™ >t was the only way in which their fortifications mai raid ever be able to keep up a warm fire. Economy, f friend, is the watch-word of this nation ; I have «n studying for a monlli past to divine its mean- f, but truly am as much perplexed as ever. It is a nd of national starvation ; an experiment how many imforts and necessaries the body politic can be de- lved of before it [>eri$hes. — It has already arrived a lamentable degree of debility, aud promises to ■are the fate of the Arabian philo opher, who proved iienttotheoi at he could live without food, but unfortunately m its content ed just as he had brought hi$ experiment to per- le splendid n ction. On arriving at the battery T found an immense army six hundred men, drawn up in a true Mussulman p; when a pa lall, to the ^e dinner w wcent. At first I supposed this was in compliment »e honouraU myself, but my interpreter informed me that it was is city. I a me merely for want of room ; the corporation not military em ijng ai,|e to afford them sufficient to display in a icted the alte^aiitht line. As I expected a display of some grand olulions and military manntuvres, I determined to hon. Bmain a tranquil sitectator, in hopes that I might pos- sibly collect some hints which might be of service to Ills Highness. This great body of men I perceived was under the command of a small bashaw, in yellow and gold, with while nodding plumes and most formidable whiskers; which, contrary to the Tripolitan fashion, were in the neighbourhood of his ears instead of his nose.— He had two attendants called aides-de-camp (or tails), being similar to a bashaw with two tails. The bashaw, though commander-in-chief, seemed to have little more to do than myself; he was a spectator within the lines and I without : he was clear of the rabble, and I was en- compassed by them ; this was the only difference be- tween us, except that he had the best opportunity of showing his clothes. I waited an hour or two with exemplaiy patience, expecting to see some grand mi- litary evolutions or a sham battle exhibited ; but no such thing took place ; the men stood stock-still, suit- porting their arms, groaning under the fatigues of war, and now and then sending out a foraging party to levy contributions of beer and a favourite beverage which they denominate grog. As I perceived the crowd very active in examinhig the line, from one extreme to the other, and as I could see no other pur- pose for which these sunshine warriors should be ex- {wsed so long to the merciless attacks of wind and weather, I of course concluded that this must lie the review. In about two hours the army was put in motions, and marched through some narrow streets, where the economic corporation had carefully provided a soft carpet of mud, to a magnificent castle of painted brick, decorated with grand pillars of pine Iwards. By the ardour which brightened in each countenance, I soon perceived that this castle was to nndergo a vigorous attack As the ordnance of the castle was perfectly silent, and as they had nothing but a straight street to advance through, they made their approaches with great courage and admirable regularity, until within about a hundred feet of the castle a pump opposed a formidable obstacle in their way, and put the whole army to a nonplus. The circumstance was sudden and unlooked for : the commanding officer ran over all the military tactics with which his head was cram- med, but none offered any expedient for the present awful emergency. The pump maintained its post, and so did the commander ; — there was no knowing which was most at a stand. The commanding officer oi-dered his men to wheel and take it in flank ; — the army accordingly wheeled and came full butt against it in the rear exactly as they were before.—" Wheel to the left!" cried the officer : they did so, and again, as before, the inveterate pump intercepted their pro- gress. " [light about, face !" cried the officer : the men obeyed, but bungled— they faced hack to back. U|)on this the bashaw will) two tails, with great cool- ness, undauntedly ordered his men to push right for- ward, pell-inell,pump or no pump : they gallantly obey- ed. After unheard-of acts of bravery, the pump was carried, without the loss ofaman, and the army firmly 20 SALMAGUNDI. entrenched itself under the very walls uf the castle. The bashaw had then a council of war with his ofli- cers ; the most vigorous measures were resolved on. An advance guard of musicians were ordered to attack the castle without mercy. Then the whole hand opened a tremendous battery of drums, fifes, tamlmu- rines, and trumpets, and kept up a thundering assault, as if the castle, like the walls of Jericho, spoken of in the Jewish Chronicles, would tumble down at the blowing of rams' horns. After some time a parley en; ued. The grand bashaw of the city appeared on the battlements of the castle, and, as far as I could un- derstand from circumstances, dared the little bashaw of two tails to single combat; — this, thou knowest, was in the style of ancient chivalry. The little ba- shaw dismounted with great intrepidity, and ascended the battlements of the castle, where the great bashaw waited to receive him attended by numerous digni- taries and woithies of his court, one of whom bore the lunners of the castle. The battle was carried on en- tirely by words, according to the universal custom of this country, of which I shall speak to thee more fully hereafter. The grand bashaw made a furious attack in a speech of considerable length; the little bashaw, by no means appalled, retorted with great spirit. '± ne grand bashaw attempted to rip him up with an ar- gument, or stun him with a solid fact ; hut the little bashaw parried them both with admirable adroitness, and ran him clean through and through with a syllo- gism. The grand bashaw was overthrown, the ban- ners of the castle yielded up to the little bashaw, and the castle surrendered after a vigorous defence of three hours — during which the besiegers suffered great ex- tremity from muddy streets and u drizzling atmo- sphere. On returning to diiuier, I soon discovered that as usual I had been indulging in a great mistake. The matter was all clearly explained to me by a fellow lodger, who on ordinary occasions moves in the humble character of a tailor, hut in the present in- stance figured in a high military station, denomi- nated corporal. He informed me that what I had mistaken for a cnstle was the splendid palace ot the municipality, and that the supposed attack was no- thing more than the delivery of a Hag given by the authorities to the army, for its magnanimous defence of the town for upwards of twenty years past, that is, ever since the last war! O my friend, surely every thing in this country is on a great scale ! The conversation insensibly turned upon the military es- tablishment of the nation ; and I do assure thee (hat my friend, the tailor, though being, according to the nalionni proverb, hut the ninth part of a man, yet acquitted hiinseiron military concerns as ably as the grand bashaw of the empire himself. He observed that their rulers had decided that wars were very useless and expensive, and ill beiitting an economic, philosophic nation ; they had therefore made up their minds never to have any wars, and conse(iuently (here was no need of soldiers or military discipline. As, however, it was Ihonglit highly ornamental to city to have a number of men drest in fine cI and feathers strutting about the streets on a holidAded — and as the women and children were particniaii fond of such raree shows, it was ordered that tailors of the different cities throughout the clotln idi at J empii sign un needit uch istress j vliH should forthwith go to work, and cut out and mam facture soldiers as fast as their shears and would permit. These soldiers have no pecuniary pay; and thi only recompense for the immense services which render their country, in their voluntary parades, the plunder of smiles, and winks, and nods, w they extort from (he ladies. As they have no oppot tunity, like the vagrant Arabs, of making inroads their neighbours, and as it is necessary to keep their military spirit, the town is therefore now an then, but particularly on two days of the year, up to their ravages. The arrangements are contrive nel with admirable address, so that every officer hasliaw down to the drum-major, the chief of eunuchs or musicians, shall have his share of that valuable booty — the admiration of the fair. As the soldiers, poor animals, they, like the privates all great armies, have to bear the brunt of dangi and fatigue, while (he officers receive all (he gl( and reward. The narradve of a parade day exemplify (his more clearly. The chief bashaw, in the plenitude of his authorilj orders a grand review of the whole army at t? o'clock. The bashaw with two tails, that he have an opportunity of vapouring about as the gi est man on the field, orders (he army (o assemble (welve. The kiaya, or colonel, as he is called, tl is, commander of one hundred and twenty men, ders his regiment or tribe to collect one mile at from the place of parade at eleven. Each captaii or fag-rag as we term them, commands his squad meet at ten, at least a half mile from the parade; and to close all, the chief of the eunuclis ders his infernal concert of fifes, trumpets, cymbal and drums to assemble at ten ! From that moim the city receives no quarter. All is noise, hootii and hubbub. Every window, door, crack, and loop hole, from (he gan'e( (o the cellar, is crowded ml the fair of all ages and of all complexions. The I lea inble, regiment latrons tress smiles through the windows of (he drawin; room; (he chubby chambermaid lolls out of the all casement, and a host of sooty wenches roll (heir whil eyes and grin and cha<t(er from (he cellar door. Ever nymph seems anxious to yiekl voluntarily that which the heroes of (heir coun(ry demand. stru(s the chief eunuch or drum-major, at (he liei of his sable band, magnificently arrayed in tarnisln scarlet. Alexander himself could not have spun the earth more superbly. A host of ragged bei shout in his train, and inflate the Iwsom of the >vai rior with tenfold self-complacency. After he Ii rattled his drums thro\igh the town, and swelled r swaggered like a turkey-cock licfore all the dini t oras, and Dianas, and jntance, he repairs with a rich booty comes the fag-rag mighty band, consi or mute, four s« nimer, one fifer, an the better for him mental parade he is su lane which is honour or intended, wl heavy contribution. '. tliese heroes, as ances at the upper wit nods, and the winks les lavish profusely on t The fag-rags having « regiments, th( a bashaw with n to him; and tli the drummers, hav iv, are confounded an colonel set« his wh( unted on a mettleson capers, and plunges lent of the multi(u< and his neighhoi If, his trappings, his h e at length arrives at t HIS, blessed with the omen. I shou of hardy veterans, al of service during tli their existence, and w tight green jackets an and gallop and rough every street, a ity, (0 the great dreat with yoimg chil lis is what I call niakin Oh, my friend, or ling in this country ! iring Arabs of the des( Hacked, or a hamlet to for weeks beforel larcliing and counter-ii ntrate their ragged foi lal before they can brii liole enterprise is blow The army being all Y though, perhaps, ( it is now the ti to distinguish him implanted alike in evi from the bashav ihaw, fireil with that m the noble mind, is the laurels of the day plunder. The d le standards wave pre giv( specdve i Irive nel, a frointh reeled Kit el he( inme imself < )untryw( irea ran tribul Fin ointed. osom ash f male i rnamental to in fine i on a re particulaii ext lered that ut the tut and s and needl( clollK holidj jded tv s empii sign manii nmmer, )ay; and tin ces which tin ry parades, i nods, will lave no oppa ing inroads iry to keep fore now a he year, sare fllcer e chief of lare of that e fair. As he privates lint of all the gl rade day lid lest contrive nel fromth reeled idl ely, he( on dangi ii f his authoril] army at ti , that he t as the gl [ I captain irougli regimeiHi latrons usi ymbal to assemble is called, tl enty men, e mile at Each Is his squad :he le eunuclis pets, c I that moini noise, hoolii ack, and crowded wil ns. The the drawi ul of the all •oil their whil rdoor. Ever ily that tribul ::mand , at the liei II in tarnislii have f ragged n of the wai After he In d swelled s all the dinj! SALMAGUNDI. 21 oras, and Dianas, and Junos, and Didos of his ac- lintance, he repairs to his place of destination with a rich booty of smiles and approbation, comes the fag-rag, or captain, at the head of mighty band, consisting of one lieutenant, one or mute, four sergeants, four corporals, one one fifer, and if lie has any privates so uch the better for himself. In marching to the re- niental parade he is sure to pass through the street lane which is honoured with the residence of his istress or intended, whom he resolutely lays under heavy contribution. Truly it is delectable to he- ld these heroes, as Ihey march along, cast side inces at the upper windows ; to collect the smiles, nods, and the winks, which the enraptured fair lavish profusely on the defenders of their country. The fag-rags having conducted their squads to their givAspective regiments, then comes the turn of the co- , a bashaw with no tails, for all eyes are now to him; and the fag-rags, and the eunuchs, the drummers, having had their hour of noto- , are confounded and lost in the military crowd, colonel set« his whole regiment in motion; and lunted on a mettlesome charger, frisks and fidgets, capers, and plunges in front, to the great enter- inment of the multitude, and the great hazard of imself and his neighbours. Having displayed him- if, his trappings, his horse, and his horsemanship, e at length arrives at the place of general rendez- ws, blessed with the universal admiration of his Nintry women. I should, perhaps, mention a squa- of hardy veterans, most of whom have seen a al of service during the nineteen or twenty years their existence, and who, most gorgeously equipped tight green jackets and leather breeches, trot and lea nble, and gallop and scamper, like little devils 1 every street, and nook, and corner of the ty, to the great dread of all old people and sage with young children. This is truly sublime ! is what I call making a mountain out of a mole- Oh, my friend, on what a great scale is every ling in this country ! It is in the style of the wan- ring Arabs of the desert FA-tih. Is a village to be loo|i|ltacked, or a hamlet to be plundered, the whole de- rt, for weeks beforehand, is in a buzz; — such ini larcliing and counter-marching, ere they can con- ntrate their ragged forces ! and the consequence is, lat before they can bring their troops into action the iiole enterprise is blown. The army being all happily collected on the bat- :ry, though, perhaps, two hours after the time ap- FirsBointed, it is now the turn of the bashaw, with two to distinguish himself. Ambition, my friend, implanted alike in every heart ; it pervades each from the bashaw to the drum-major. The fired with that thirst for. glory, inseparable im the noble mind, is anxious to reap a full share rthe laurels of the day, and bear off his portion of male plunder. The drums beat, the fifes whistle, le standards wave proudly in the air. The signal real ran ( ei spurne osom be; ashaw, m is given ! thunder roai-s the cannon ! away goes the bashaw, and away go the tails ! The review finish- ed, evolutions and military manoeuvres are generally dispensed with for three excellent reasons ; — first, be- cause the army knows very little about them; se- cond, because as the country has determined to re- main always at peace, there is no necessity for them toknow any thing about them ; and tliird, as it is grow- ing late, the bashaw must dispatch, or il will be too dark for him to get his quota of the plunder. He of course orders the whole army to march ; and now, my friend, now comes the tug of war, now is the city completely sacked. Open fly the battery-gates — forth sallies the bashaw with his two tails, sur- rounded by a shouting body-guard of boys and ne- groes ! then pour forth bis legions, potent as the pis- mires of the desert! the customary salutations of the country commence — those tokens of joy and admira- tion which so much annoyed me on first landing : the air is darkened with old hats, shoes, and dead cats; the soldiers, no ways disheartened, march gallantly under their shade. On they push, splash-dash, mud or no mud, down one lane, up another; — the martial music resounds through every street; the fair ones throng to their windows, — the soldiers look every way but straight forward. "Carry arms!" cries the ba- shaw — "tanta-rara," brays the trumpet — "rub-a- dub," roars the drum— " hurraw," shout the raga- muffins. The bashaw smiles with exultation— every fag-rag feels himself a hero — "none but the brave deserve the fair ! " Head of the immortal Amrou, on what a great scale is every thing in this country ! Ay, but you'll say, is not this unfair that the offi- cers should share all the sports while the privates un- dergo all the fatigue ? Truly, my friend, I indulged the same idea, and pitied from my heart the poor fel- lows who had to drabble through the mud and the mire, toiling under ponderous cocked hats, which seemed as unwieldy, and cumbrous, as the shell which the snail lumbers along on his back. I soon found out, however, that they have their quantum of notoriety. As soon as the army is dismissed, the city swarms with little scouting parties, who fire off their guns at every corner, to the great delight of all the women and children in their vicinity ; and woe unto any dog, or pig, or hog, that falls in the way of these magnanimous warriors ; they are shown no quarter. Every gentle swain repairs to pass the evening at the feet of his dulcinea, to play "the soldier tired of war'» alarms," and to captivate her with the glare of bis re- gimentals : excepting some ambitious heroes who strut to the theatre, flame away in the front boxes, and hector every old apple-woman in the lobbies. Such, my friend, is the gigantic genius of this nation, and its faculty of swelling up nothings into import- ance. Our bashaw of Tripoli will review his troops, of some thousands, by an early hour in the morning. Here a review of six hundred men is made the mighty work of a day ! With us a bashaw of two tails is never appointed to a command of less than ten thou- i; 22 SALMAGUNDI. sand men ; but here we behold every rank, from (he bashaw down to the drum-major, in a force of less than one-tenth of the number. By the beard of Mahomet, but every thing here is indeed on a great scale ! BT ANTBOMT EVERGBEEM, GENT. I was not a little surprised the other morning at a request 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 Iwrn a ^et, would undoubtedly have bespattered and be-rliymed some hard-named goddess, until she became as fa- mous as Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa. But Will is such a confounded bungler at a bow, has 80 many odd bachelor habits, and finds it so trouble- some 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-goiiig about China or Grim Tartary, or the Hottentots, and heaven help the poor victim who has to endure liis prolixity; he might better be tied to the tail of a jack-o'lantern. In one word — W ill talks like a traveller. Being well acquainted with his character, I was the more alarm- ed at his inclination to visit a party; since he has often assured me, that he considered it as equivalent to being shut 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 kindness 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 acceded to Will's proposition, expecting mucli entertainment from his eccentric remarks; and as he has been absent some few years, I antici- pated his surprise at the splendour and elegance of a modern rout. On calling for Will in the evening, I found him full <lressed, waiting for me. I contemplated him with absolute dismay. As he slill retained a spark of re- gard 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 shouUler, 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 kerseymere 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 , contemporary beau sky-blue silk stockmgs, once considered so beconui ,( (he magnanimous I But above all, he prided himself upon his waisto ,jg court one fine sultr of China silk, which might almost have served a go ■ ] ^^ |.g „|.gat cronies housewife fur a short-gown : and he boasted that i| , „^( condescendin<' roses and tulips upon it were the work of NaHg-h\ .^ g display of black a daughter of the great Chin-Chin-Fou, who had fall ^^ (,f Madras handken in love with the graces of his person, and sent it j peacocks' feathers !— him as a parting present. He assured me she wai ^^ the hin'hest top-kno perfect Iteauty, with sweet obliquity of eyes, and ,ibit the greatest varii foot no larger than the thumb of an alderman H ^.craws. In the midd then dilated most copiously on his silver-sprig; ^ slip-slop clack an< dicky, w hich he assured me was quite the rage amo j^j Tncky Squash ! the dashing young mandarines of Canton. ^ gnd llie black ones 1 I hold it an ill-natured office to put any man out j, pleasure ■ and then conceit with himself; so' though I would willing ^„g i Every eye bri" have made a little alteration in my friend Wizard ^^y • for he was the p picturesque costume , yet I politely compUmented lii courtesy the mirror of on his rakish appearance. , ggbie fair ones of Haj On entering the room I kept a good look-out |, exuberance of lip ! Will, expecting to see him exhibit signs of surpris ^ber curve- his fac( but he is one of those knowing fellows who are nev ^g . a,,(] provided you surprised at any thing, or at least will never acknoi ^^r I do not know : ledge it. He took his stand in the middle of the fluo „ jycky Squash. W playing with his great steel watch-chain ; and lool ^ f^Qxn ear to ear a ing round on the company, the furniture and ll ^ rivalled the shark's pictures, with the air of a man " who had seen d- jjUg iji^^ a north-westc liner things in his time ; " and to my utter confusio j|g iji^^ Apollo ■ and as and dismay, I saw him coolly pull out his villana fto could shuffle you old japanned tobacco-box, ornamented with a bottli |, g^d di"- potatoes," m a pipe, and a scurvy motto, and help himself to a qui ^.^g a second Lothario in face of all the company. y,} ^^e and all, declai I knew it was all in vain to find fault with a fello j^^y talked about, wh of Will's socratic turn, who is never to be put oiiti jniino' any body * and humour with himself; so, after he had given his bo its prescriptive rap, and returned it to his pocket, drew him into a corner, where we might observe ill company without being prominent objects ourselvei "And pray who is that stylish figure," said Will „pie and Tucky Squasl " who blazes away in red, like a volcano, and seems wrapped in flames like a fiery dragon ? "- |,pa,iy ^q i|,e dance That, cried I, is Miss Laurelia Dashaway ;— she i inspiring effect on hon the highest flash of the *oh— has much whim an \^^^^^\ of an old acquaii more eccentricity, and has reduced many an unhappi appened to be the fasl gentleman to stupidity by her charms ; you see sb holds out the red flag in token of "no <]uarler, " Then keep me safe out of the sphere of her attrac tions," cried Will ; " I would not e'en come in conta with her train, lest it should scorch me like the tail i a comet. — But who, I beg of you, is that amiah youth who is handing along a young lady, an«„j|„nen^ and now ma at the same time contemplating his sweet persoi i^jj, muslins and spar in a mirror as he passes?" His name, said I, i ftill's body partook of Billy Dimple; — he is a universal smiler, and woiil travel from Dan to Beersheba, and smile on ever] body as he passed. Dimple is a slave to the ladii —a hero at tea-parties, and is famous at the f rouetie and the pigeon-wing; a fiddle-stick is his idol and a dance his elysium. " A very pretty youni ^8, that quivered gentleman, truly," cried Wizard ; " he reminds me: found Will had got n traveller's stories ; anc he would have run from an adjoining apai ng the Tailors," wl nded at every ball and vn, and many an un icing of that night; for ice like a coach and si *s wrong ; now runnii body partook ( capacious head such v us Eneas on the first ii might be said to have 1 r was Will's partner ai ne; she was a young Ii iced up in the fashions If illy clotiitHl 1 so becoinii lend Wizan pliinented hi SALMAGUNDI. 25 a contemporary beau at Hayti. You must know it the magnanimous Dessalines gave a great ball (1 his waisla ,js court one fine sultry summer's evening. Dessy served a g« | j ^gre great cronies ; — hand and glove : — one of most condescending great men I ever knew. — of Nmg-ft jIj g display of black and yellow beauties ! such a who had fall ^^ „f Madras handkerchiefs, red beads, cocks' tails i peacocks' feathers ! — It was, as here, who should me she wai ^j (|,e highest top-knot, drag the longest tail, or of eyes, and ,ji,jt the greatest variety of combs, colours, and . gaws. In the middle of the rout, when all was iilver-spri^ b, slip-slop, clack, and perfume, who should en- he rage amo but Tucky Squash! The yellow beauties blushed e, andllie black ones blushed as red as they could, Ih pleasure; and there was a universal agitation ould willing |^ng i Every eye brightened and whitened to see cky ; for he was the pride of the court, the pink courtesy, the mirror of fashion, the adoration of all ! sable fair ones of Hayti. Such breadth of nose, od look-out I ;|i exuberance of lip ! his shins had the true cu- is ofsurprisf ,,1,^,. curve; — his face in dancing shone like a tie ; and provided you kept to windward of him in never acknoi ^^^^ I ^o not know a sweeter youth in all Hayti lie of the floa „ Xucky Squash. When he laughed, there ap- and lool^f^ from ear to ear a chevaux-de-frise of teeth, rivalled the shark's in whiteness. He could ■istle like a north-wester; play on a three-stringed itter confusii \\g \h^q Apollo ; and as to dancing, no Long-Island It his villanm ^ could shuffle you " double-trouble," or "hoe witli^ a bottk „ g^d dig potatoes," more scientifically : in short, was a second Lothario, and the dusky nymphs of vti, one and all, declared him a perfect Adonis, withafello |jiy walked about, whistling to himself, without be put out anUngany body; and his nonchalance was irre- givenhislKjble." found Will had got neck and heels into one of traveller's stories ; and there is no knowing how he would have run his parallel between Billy nple and Tucky Squash, had not the music struck from an adjoining apartment, and summoned the paiiy to the dance. The sound seemed to have inspiring effect on honest Will, and he procured hand of an old acquaintance for a country-dance. ly an unhappp,appe„ed to be the fashionable one of " The devil ng the Tailors," which is so vociferously de- nded at every ball and assembly ; and many a torn m, and many an unfortunate toe, did rue the icingof that night; for Will thundered down the ice like a coach and six, sometimes right, some- '•es wrong; now running over half a score of little lady, an mchmen, and now making sad inroads into ladies' sweet persoi web muslins and spangled tails. As every part iVill's body partook of the exertion, he shook from capacious head such volumes of powdei, that like U8 Eneas on the first interview witli Queen Dido, might be said to have been enveloped in a cloud, was Will's [)artner an insignificant figure in the le; she was a young lady of most voluminous pro- ions, that quivered at every skip; and being ice<I up in (he fashionable style with whalebone. un liture and had seen d ) his pocket, ht observe ti !Cts ourselva ," said Wil no, and w dragon ? " way ;— she i eh whim you see si no quarter, of her attrac me in cont« ike the tailo that amiali ne, said I, , and woiil nile on ever to the ladi( IS at the jN' ick is his i( pretty youi reminds 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 introtlucing him to Miss Sophy Sparkle, a young lady unrivalled for playful wit and innocent vivacity, and who, like a brilliant, adds lustre to the front of fashion. I ac- cordingly presented him to her, and began a conver- sation, in which, I thought, he might take a share ; but no such thing. Will took his stand before her, straddling like a colossus, with his hands in his poc- kets, 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 incor- rigible 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 hap|iened to him in China : — and at it he went, in the true tra- veller style — described the Chinese mode of eating rice with chopsticks ; — entered into a long eulogium 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 sil cross-legged. No. VI.— FRIDAY, MARCH 20. 4807. FBOM !HV ELBOW-CBAIB. The Cockloft family, of which I have made such frequent mention, is of great antiquity, if there beany truth in the genealogical tree which hangs up in my cousin's library. They trace their descent from a ce- lebrated Roman knight, cousin to the progenitor of his Majesty of Britain, who left his native country on occasion of some disgust; and coming into Wales, be- came a great favourite of Prince Madoc, and accom- panied that famous argonaut in the voyage which ended in the discovery of this continent. — Though a member of the family, I have sometimes ventured to doubt the authenticity of this portion of their annals, to the greatvexalion of cousin Christopher, whoislook- ed up to as the head of our house ; and who, though as orthodox as a bishop, would sooner give up the whole decalogue than lop ofl'a single limb of the family tree. From time immemorial, it has been the rule for the Cocklofts to marry one of their own name ; and as they always bred like rabbits, the family has increas- ed and multiplied like that of Adam and Eve. In truth their number is almost incredible; and you can hardly go into any part of the country without starting a warren of genuine Cocklofts. Every person of the least observation or experience must have observe<l that where this practice of marrying cousins, and se- 24 SALMAGUNDI. il ! ^ cond cousins, prevails in a family, every member, in thecourseofa few generations, becomes queer, bumor- ous, and original; as much distinguished from the common race of mongrels as if he were of a different species. This Ik-m happened in our family, and par- ticularly in that branch of it of which Christopher Ck)cklon, Esq., is the head. — Christopher is, in fact, the only married man of the name who resides in town; his family is small, having lost most of his children when yoong, by the excessive care he took to bring them up like vegetables. This was one of his first whim-whams, and a confounded one it was ; as his children might have told, had they not fallen victims to his experiment before they could talk. He had got, from some quack philosopher or other, a no- tion that there was a complete analogy between chil- dren and plants, and that they ought to be both reared alike. Accordingly he sprinkled them every morning with water, laid them out in the sun, as he did his geraniums; and if the season was remarkably dry, repeated this wise experiment three or four times of a morning. The consequence was, the poor little souls died one after the other, except Jeremy and his two sisters ; who, to be sure, are a trio of as odd, mummy- looking originals as ever Hogarth fancied in his most happy moments. Mrs Cockloft, the larger if not the better half of my cousin, often remonstrated against this vegetable theory ; — and even brought the parson of the parish in which my cousin's country house is situated, to her aid; but in vain : Christopher persist- ed, and attributed the failure of his plan to its not hav- ing been exactly conformed to. As I have mentioned Mrs Cockloft, I may as well say a little more about her while I am in the humour. She is a lady of won- derful notability, a warm admirer of shining maho- gany, clean hearths, and her husband, whom she con- siders the wisest man in the world, bating Will Wi- zard and the parson of our parish ; the last of whom is her oracle on all occasions. She goes constantly to church every Sunday and saint's-day, and insists upon it that no man is entitled to ascend a pulpit unless he hasp been ordained by a bishop; nay, so far does she carry her orthodoxy, that all the arguments in the world will never persuade her that a Presbyterian or Baptist, or even a Calvinist, has any possible chance of going to heaven. Above every thing else, how- ever, she abhors Paganism; — can scarcely refrain from laying violent hands on a Paniheon when she meets with it; and was very nigh going into hysterics, when my cousin insisted that one of his boys should be chris- tened after our laureate, because the parson of the parish had told her that Pindar was the name of a Pagan writer, famous for his love of boxing-matches, wrest- ling, and horse-racing. To sum up all her qualifica- tions in the shortest possible way, Mi's Cockloft is, in the true sense of the phrase, a good sort of a woman ; and I often congratulate my cousin on possessing her. The rest of the family consists of Jeremy Cockloft the younger, who has already been mentioned, and the two Miss Cocklofts, or rather the young ladies, as they have been called by the servants time out of min he original remnined. not that they are really young, the younger bei old mansion makes a p somewhat on the shady side of thirty— but it hasei m is sure to make a d been the custom to call every member of the fam » attends u|H)n it as n young under fifty. In the south-east comer of il i. This predilection f bouse, I hold quiet possession of an old-fashioned api r jn the family shows ment, where myself and my elbow -chair are suffer t donicslics are all groi to amuse ourselves undisturbed, save at meal tint ise. We have a little This apartment old Cockloft has facetiously denot ro, who has lived throi nated Cousin Launce's Paradise; and the good ( he Cocklofts, and of gentleman has two or tlu-ee favourite jokes about age of no little imporlc- which are served up as regularly as the standing | $ all (he family by tli mily-dish of beef-steaks and onions, which every d r stories about how Ik maintains its station at the foot of the table, Ih deliag ^n they were children ' of mutton, poultry, or even venison itself. jnicle for the last sever Though the family is apparently small, yet, 1 e was made in the lai most old establishments of the kind, it does not vj les were most indubita for honorary members. It is the city rendezvous oft nibling marvellously Cocklofts; and we are continually enlivened by i « sober animals which company of half a score of uncles, aunts, and cousi rjn the streets of Pliilail in the fortieth remove, from all parts of the counli >, a dozen in a row i who profess a wonderful regard for Cousin ChrislopJK r bells. Wliim-wliam and overwhelm every member of his household, doi klofls, and every men to the cook in the kitchen, with their attentions. \ lorist sui generis, fron have for three weeks past been greeted with the ca man. The very cats a pany of two worthy old spinsters, who came doi have a little scoundrel from the country to settle a law-suit. They hi church bells rin"- will done little else but retail stories of their village nei; ijs nose in the wind hours, knit stockings, and take snuff, all the time tb mv insists that this is o have been here : the whole family are bewiidet le organization of his e with churchyard tales of sheeted ghosts, and wi by many learned ar"! horses without heads, and not one of the old servai ei^tand ; but I am of opi dare budge an inch after dark without a nuinero whim-wham, which tl company at his heels. My cousin's visitors, howevi ended from a race of d always return bis hospitality with due gratitude, a jamiiy ever since the ti now and then remind him of their fraternal regsi propensity to save e by a present of a pot of apple sweetmeats, or a ban ip of family antiquity of sour cider at Christmas. Jeremy displays liiins :e of trumpery and rub to great advantage among bis country relations, it ncumbered, from the all think him a prodigy, and often stand astounded, y room and closet an gaping wonderment," at his natural philosophy. I e-le^o'ed chairs clocks v lately frightened a simple old uncle almost out of wits, by giving it as his opinion that the earth wn icabbards, cocked hats ing-glasses with frames one day be scorched to ashes by the eccentric gamli atliered sheep woolly of the famous comet, so much talked of; and posilivi have no name except i asserted that this world revolved round the sun, a jerous maho"-any chair that the moon was certainly inhabited. The family mansion bears equal marks of aniif with its inhabitants. As the Cocklofts are reniarkal jiimgg make a most eoi for their attachment to every thing that has remain nin a hurry : the mam long in the family, they are bigoted towards their edifice, and I dare say would sooner have it crunil about their ears than abandon it. The consequen is, it has been so patched up and repaired, that it I i great variety of Scrint become as full of whims and oddities as its tenan loui of a cousin takes ini requires to be nursed and humoured like a gouty alderman ; and reminds one of the famous ship which a certain admiral circumnavigated the giol which was so patched and timbered, in order topi serve so great a curiosity, that at length not a pirlii ieldy proportions, thai aking to gallant one of 1 lacquered earthen shej ilhout toes, and othei place is garnished out Jeremy hates them as inker, he was obliged «7 of a tile every Sui 1(1 permit him to join We affair for Jeremy^ SALMAGLKDI. ss lich every lie, Ih defii If. mall, yet, does not v; ulezvousof livened by s, and coi )>' the couni inChrislopI lusehold, (loi tenlions. V 1 with the 10 came doi t. They li r village nei{ ill the lime tl are bewildi sts, and tv he old sen ut a nuniei itors, howevi gratitude, aternal reg; a(s, or a bai isplays liiii elations, astounded,! jhilosophy. most out of le earth w entric gam! and posillv id the sun, ksofantii are remarki It has remai wards their lave it cruni \e consequi ired, that it as its tenani ike a gouty famous sliip ated the gli n order to h not a pniti lie original remained. Whenever the wind blows, old niaasion makes a perilous groaning; and every is sure to make a day's work for the cai-penter, attends H|)on it as regularly as the family physi- This predilection for every thing that has lx;en in the family shows itself in every particular, domestics are all grown grey in the service of our We have a little, old, crusty, grey-headed 0, who has lived through two or three generations r,e Cocklofts, and, of course, has become a per- ^e of no little importance in the household. He all the family by their Christian names; tells stories about how he dandled them on his knee n they were children; and is a complete Cockloft nicle for the last seventy years. The family car- was made in the last French war, and the old s were most indubitably foaled in Noah's ark — imbling marvellously, in gravity of demeanour, sober animals which may lie seen any day of the in the streets of Philadelphia , walking their snail's , a dozen in a row, and harmoniously jingling bells. Whim-whaiiis are the inheritance of the lofts, and every member of the household is a irist sui generis, from the master down to the lan. The very cats and dogs are humorists; and jbave a little scoundrel of a cur, who, whenever church bells ring, will run to the street door, turn lis nose in the wind, and howl most piteously. y insists that this is owing to a peculiar delicacy le organization of his ears, and supports his posi- by many learned arguments which nobody can tand ; but I am of opinion that it is a mere Cock- |\viiiin-wham, which the little cur indulges, being nded from a race of dogs which has flourished in family ever since the time of my grandfather, propensity to save every thing that bears the ip of family antiquity has accumulated an abun- ;e of trumpery and rubbish with which the house icumbered, from the cellar to the garret; and room, and closet, and corner, is crammed with ■legged chairs, clocks without hands, swords wit h- ibbards, cocked hats, broken candlesticks, and ig-glasses with frames carved into fantastic shape lalliered sheep, woolly birds, and other animals have no name except in books of heraldry. — The lerous mahogany chairs in the parlour are of such ieldy proportions, that it is quite a serious un- iking to gallant one of them across the room ; and tunes make a most equivocal noise when you sit nin a hurry : the mantel-piece is decorated with lacquered earthen shepherdesses— some of which ithout toes, and others without noses; and the place is garnished out with Dutch tiles, exhibit- great variety of Scripture pieces, which my good 111 of a cousin takes infinite delight in explaining. Jeremy hates them as he does poison ; for while inker, he was obliged by his mother to learn the iry of a tile every Sunday morning before she lid permit him to join his playmates : this was a iWe affair for Jereniy; who ))y the lime he had learned the last had forgotten the first, and was oblig- ed to begin again. He assured me the other day, with a round college oath, that if the old house stood out till he inherited it, he would have these tiles taken out, and ground into |iowder, for tlie perfect hatred he bore them. IVly cousin Christopher enjoys unlimited authority in the mansion of his forefathers; he is tmly what may be termed a hearty old blade — has a florid, sun- shiny countenance, and, if you will only praise his wine, and laugh at his long stories, himself and his house are heartily at your service. The first condi- tion is indeed easily complied with, for, to tell the truth, his wine is excellent; but his stories, being not of the best, and often repeated, are apt to create a disposition to yawn, being, in addition to their other qualities, most unreasonably long. His prolixity is the more afflicting to nie, since I have all his stories by heart ; and when he enters upon one, it reminds me of Newark causeway, where the traveller sees the end at the distance of several miles. To the great misfortune of all his acquaintance, cousin Cockloft is blessed with a most provoking retentive memory, and can give day and date, and name and age and cir- cumstance, with most unfeeling precision. These, however, are but trivial foibles, forgotten, or remem- bered only with a kind of tender respectful pity, by those who know with what a rich redundant harvest of kindness and generosity his heart is stored. It would delight you to see with what social gladness he wel- comes a visitor into his house ; and (he poorest man that enters his door never leaves it w>:lioul a cordial invitation to sit down and drink a glass of wine, by the honest farmers round his country seat, he is looked up to with love and reverence; they never pass liim by without his inquiring afte.- the welfare of their fa- milies, and receiving a cordial sliake of iiis liberal liand. There are but two classes of people who are thrown out of the reach of his hospitality — and these are Frenchmen and democrats. The old gentleman con- siders it treason against the majesty of good breeding to speak to any visitor with his hat on ; but the moment a democrat enters his door, he forthwith bids his man Pompey bring his hat, puts it on his head, and salutes him with an appalling " Well, sir, what do you want with me?" lie has a profound contempt for Frenchmen, and firmly believes that they eat nothing but frogs and sou[i-maigre in their own country. This unlucky prejudice is partly owing to my great aunt Pamela liaving been, many years ago, run away with by a French Count, who turned out to be the son of a ge- neration of barbers ; and partly to a little vivid spark of toryism, which burns in a secret corner of his heart. He was a loyal subject of the crown ; has hardly yet recovered the shock of Independence; and, though he does not care to own it, always does honour to his Majesty's birth-day, by inviting a few cavaliers, like himself, to dinner ; and gracing his table with more than ordinary festivity. If by chance the revolution 26 SALMAGIM)!. is mentioned before him, my cousin shakes his liead ; and you may see, if you take good note, a lurking smile of contempt in the corner of his eye, wliich marks a decided disapprobation of the sound. He once, in the fulness of his heart, observed (o me that green peas were a month later than they were under the old government. But the most eccentric mani- festation of loyalty he ever gave was making a voyage to Halifax for no other reason under heaven but to hear his Majesty prayed for in church, as he used to be here formerly. This he never could lie brouglit fairly to acknowledge ; but it is a certain fact, I assure you.— ItLs not a little singular that a person, so much given to long story-telling as my cousin, should take a liking to another of the same character ; but so it is with the old gentleman — his prime favourite and com- panion is Will Wizard, who is almost a member of the family, and will sit before the fire, 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 Desdeniona, do " seriously in- cline,"and listen to him with uinumeiable " O dears," " is it possibles, " and who look upon him as a second Sindbad 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 resigned the character of a belle, and adopt- ed that staid, sober, demure, snuff-taking air, becom- ing 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 pro- perly said, it was spoiling the child. Her sister Mar- gery, or Maggie, as she is familiarly teimed, seemed disposed to maintain her post as a belle, until a few months since; when accidentally hearing a gentleman observe that she broke very fast, she suddenly left off going to the assembly, took a cat into high favour, and began to rail at the forward pertncss of young misies. 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 lialf dozen of veteran beaux, who grew and flourished in the hntti 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 people young. They are, notwithstanding, still warm canili- dates for female favour; look venerably tender, and repeat over and over the same honeyed speeches and sugared sentiments to the little belles tliat they \mir- ed so profusely into the ears of their mothers. I iK'g leave here to give notice, that by this sketch I mean no reflection on old bachelors ; on the contrary , I hold, that next to a fine lady, the tie plus ultra, an old bachelor is the most charming being upon earth ; inasmuch as by living in " single blessedness, " Ik sill, in crossing the si of would-be gentlemt irpe from low life by i a visit two doors off; hatthem, andcutlinj course does just as he pleases ; and if he has any s bespattered with mi nius must acquire a plentiful stock of whims, and '"S^ '^ ^ dashing ^ dilies, and whalebone habits ; without which I esK P''"' *® '*"™''y with a man to be mere beef without mustard, good for *'«"' thereupon turne thing at all, but to run on errands for ladies, take bo *« "i^"'" "•'^s ; and it at the theatre, and act the part of a screen ati jregation to hear thee parties, or a walking-stick in the streets. I mc#i*"""o '•'« insolence speak of those old lx)ys who infest public v; pounce upon ladies from every corner of the sti and worry and frisk and amble, and caper before, hind, and round about the fashionable belles, likei ponies in a pasture, striving to supply the abseni youthful whim and hilarity, by grimaces and grjl and artificial vivacity. I have sometimes seen oi these "revereiMk youths" endeavouring to elevate| wintry passions into something like love, by bai in the sunshine of beauty; and it did remind me moth attempting to fly through a pane of glass towi a light without ever approaching near enough to % itself, or scorch its wings. Never, I firmly believe, did there exist a family went more by tangents than the Cocklofts.— Ei thing is governed by whim ; and if one meml)er a new freak, away all the rest follow on like geese in a string. As the family, the servants, horses, cats and dogs, have all grown old togel they have accommodated themselves to each ol habits completely ; and though every bo<ly of tin full of odd points, angles, rhomboids, and ins and yet somehow or other, they harmonize together so many straight lines; and it is truly a gral and refreshing sight to see them agree so well. SI one, however, get out of tune, it is like a en fiddle, the whole concert is ajar; you perceii cloud over every brow in the house, and even tlie| chairs seem to creak affectuoso. If my cousin, is rather apt to do, betray any symptoms of vexi or uneasiness, no matter about what, he is worrit death with inquiries, which answer no otiier end to demonstrate the gowl-will of the inquirer, andj him in a passion; for every body knows how prov it is to be cut short in a fit of the blues, by an imperl question about " what is the matter ? " when a il can't tell himself. I remember a few months a^| old gentleman came home in quite a sipiall ; kk poor C<Tsar, the mastiff, out of his way, as he through the hall ; threw his hat on the (able most violent emphasis, and pulling out his bux,l three huge pinches of snuff, and threw a fourllil the cat's eyes as he sat purring his astonislinieiilj the fire-side. This was enough to set the body going ; Mrs Cockloft began " my dearing" it as fi^ tongue could move; the young ladies took each i at an elbow of his chair; Jeremy marshalled ini the servants came tumbling in; the mastilT put i inquiring nose; and even grimalkin, after lie cleansed his whiskers and finished sneezing, disiiij ed indubitable signs of sympathy. After the m fcctionate iiHiuiries on all sides, it turned out llMtl TIlEj BV WILLIAM WENT, a few evening ipanied by my frienii is a man deeply read lenline and Orson, Blui works so necessary to modern drama. 'Shi ible fellows who will ig until he has turned if it corresponds wit as he is none of the qu viil sometimes come ;ii every Iwdy else has lited it. 'Sbidlikens is, [finds fault with every tl itaiid by modern critici to acknowledge that o le, all tilings considerci of our best actors. Tl ikmy mind freely, 1(1 luch worse in my time e, did their best ; and v has a right to find faul le Rutherford, the R tre, looked as big as pr size he made up in fn l7;andifamanbut inkle, talks big, and tak Iways set him down a: my friend 'Sbidlikens fore die first act was Irish his critical woode lirat found fault with C If as black as a ncg lello was an arrant blai iioiis of the play ; as y bosom,* and a varie link," continued he, ' by hirth, from the cir 'f|,nven to his mother I if so, he certainly wai lotus has told us, that frizzled hair; a clear | He did not contin T of the actor, but wt "• III (his he WHS see SALMAGUNDI. 27 ^0, ill crossing the street, had got liis silk stock- ; bespattered with mud by a coach, which it st>enis louged to a dashing gentleman who had formerly filieit the family with hot rolls and mufiins ! Mrs fcloft thereupon turned up hei- eyes, and the young i their noses ; and it would have edified a whole gregation to hear the conversation which took place «rning the insolence of upstarts, and the vulgar- lof would-be gentlemen and ladies, who strive to We from low life by dashing about in carriages to [a visit two doors off; giving parties to people who leh at them, and cutting all their old friends. THEATRICS. BV WILLUM WIZARD, ESQ. hvENT, a few evenings since, to the theatre, ac- [ipanied by my friend 'Sbidlikens, the Cockney, ) is a man deeply read in the history of Cinderella, bentine and Orson, Blue Beard, and all those recon- 1 works so necessary to enable a man to understand I modern drama. 'Sbidlikens is one of those inlo- Ible fellows who will never be pleased with any pg until he has turned and twisted it divers ways, iif it corresponds with his notions ofcongruily ; tas he is none of the quickest in his ratiocinations, jwill sometimes come out with his approbation, jeii every Iwdy else has forgotten the cause which ■led it. 'Sbidlikens is, moreover, a great critic, for [finds fault with every thing; this being what I uii- Tsland by modern criticism. He, however, is pleas- Ito acknowledge that our theatre is not so dcspi- jle, ail things considered ; and really thinks Cooper lof our best actors. The play was Othello, and, to iak my mind freely, I Ihiiik I have seen it perform- Jniuch worse in my time. The actors, I firmly be- |e,did their best; and whenever this is the case, no » has a right to find fault with them, in my opinion. lie Rutherford, the Roscius of the Philadelphia jatre, looked as big as possible ; and what he want- II size he made up in frowning. I like frowning in df ; and if a man but keeps his forehead in proper inkle, talks big, and takes long strides on the stage, pays set him down as a great tragedian ; and so 8 my friend 'Sbidlikens. lefore the first act was over, 'Sbidlikens began to brisli his critical wooden sword like a harlequin. Ilii'st found fault with Cooper for not having made lelf as black as a negro; "for," said he, "that jiello was an arrant black appears from several cx- isions of the play ; as for instance, ' thick lips,' loty bosom,' and a variety of others. I am inclined |liink," continued he, "that Othello was an Kgyp- iby liirth, from the circumstance of the handker- |ef (,'iven to his mother l)y a native of that country ; iirso, he certainly was as black as my hat : for dolus has told us, that the Egyptians had flat noses i frizzled hair; a dear proof that llicy were all iie- Ks." He did not conliiic hiHslricturcs to this single k of the actor, but went on to run him down in V. Ill lliis he was socoiided Ity a IMiiladelphian, who proved, by a string of most eloquent logical puns, that Fennel was unquestionably in every respect a better actor than Cooper. I knew it was vain to con- tend with him, since I recollected a most obstinate trial of skill these two great Roseii had last spring in Philadelphia. Cooper brandished his blood-stained dagger at the theatre — Fennel flourished his snuff- box and shook his wig at the Lyceum, and the un- fortunate Philadelphians were a long time at a loss to decide which deserved the palm. The literati were inclined to give it to Cooper, because his name was the most fraitful in puns; but then, on the other side, it was contended that Fennel was the best Greek scholar. Scarcely was the town of Strasburgh in a greater hubbub about the courteous stranger's nose ; and it was well that the doctors of the University did not get into the dispute, else it might have become a battle of folios. At length, after much excellent ar- gument had been expended on both sides, recourse was had to Cocker's arithmetic and a carpenter's rule ; the rival candidates were both measured by one of their most steady-handed critics, and by the most exact measurement it was proved that Mr Fennel was the greater actor by three inches and a quarter. Since this demonstration of his inferiority, Cooper has never l)een able to hold up his head in Philadelphia. In order to change a conversation in which my fa- vourite suffered so much, I made some inquiries of the Philadelphian concerning the two heroes of his theatre. Wood and Cain; but I had scarcely men- tioned their names, when, whack ! he threw a whole handful of puns in my face ; 'twas like a bowl of cold water. I turned on my heel, had recourse to my snuff-box, and said no more about Wood and Cain; nor will I ever more, if I can help it, mentiou their names in the presence of a Philadelphian. Would that they could leave off punning! for I love every soul of them, with a cordial affection, warm as their own generous hearts, and boundless as their hospi- tality. During the perfunnance, I kept an eye on the coun- tenance of my friend, the Cockney — because having conic all the way from England, and having seen Kcmble, I thought his phiz might serve as a kind of thermometer to direct my manifestations of applause or disapprobation. — I might as well have looked at the back of Ills head ; for I could not, with all my peering, perceive by his features that he was pleased with any thing— except himself. His hat was twitched a little on one side, as much as to say, "dcinme, I'm yoiir sorls ! " he was sucking the end of a little stick ; he was "gemman" from head to fool; but as to his face, there was no more expression in it than in the face of a Chinese lady on a tea-cup. On Cooper's giving one of his gunpowder explosions of passion, I exclaimed, "line, very fine!" "Pardon me," said my friend 'Sbidlikens, "this is damnable !— the gesture, my dear sir, only look at the gesture ! how horrible ! Oo you not observe that Ihc aiitor slaps his fureheud, wliercius, till' passion iiol having iirrivcd at Ihc proper height, $8 SALMAGUNDI. ! ,!■ he should only have slapped his— pocket-flap.— This figure of rhetoric is a most important stage trick, and the proper management uf it is what peculiarly distin- guishes the great actor from the mere plodding me- chanical buffoon. Different degrees of passion require different slaps, which we critics have reduced to a perfect manual, improving upon the principle adopt- ed by Frederic of Prussia, by deciding that an actor, like a soldier, is a mere machine; as thus — the ac- tor, for a minor burst of passion, merely slaps his pocket-hole; good! — for a major burst, he slaps his breast;— very good!— but for a burst maximus, he whacks away at his forehead, like a brave fellow ; — this is excellent ! — nothing can be finer than an exit, slapping the forehead from one end of the stage to the other." "Except," replied I, " one of those slaps on the breast, which I have sometimes admired in some of our fat heroes and heroines, which make their whole body shake and quiver like a pyramid of jelly." The Philadelphian had listened to this conversation with profound attention, and appeared delighted with 'Sbidlikens' mechanical strictures; 'twas natural enough in a man who chose an actor as he would a grenadier. lie took the opportunity of a pause, to t!titer into a long conversation with my friend ; and was receiving a prodigious fund of information con- cerning the true mode of emphasising conjunctions, shifting scenes, snufTrng candles, and making thunder and lightning, belter than you can get evei-y day from the sky, as practised at the royal theatres; — when, as ill luck would have it, they happened to run their heads full butt against a new reading. — Now this was " a stumper," as our old friend Paddle would say; for the Philadelphians are as inveterate new -reading hunters as the Cockneys; and, for aught I know, as well skilled in finding them out. The Philadelphian thereupon met the Cockney on his own ground ; and at it they went, like two inveterate curs at a bone. 'Sbidlikens quoted Theobald, Ilaniner, and a host of learned commentators, who have pinned themselves on the sleeve of Shakspearc's immortality, anil made the old bard, like General Washington, in General Washington's life, a most diminutive figure in his own book; — his opponent chose Johnson for his ally, and thundered him forward like an elephant to bear down the ranks of the enemy. I was not long in discovering that these two precious judges had got hold of that un- lucky passage of Shakspeare which, like a straw, has tickled and puzzled and confounded many a somni- ferous buzzard of past and present lime. It was the celebrated wish of Desdeniona, that heaven had made her such a man as Othello. 'Sbidlikens insisted, that " the gentle Desdemona" merely wished for such a man for a husband, which in all conscience was a modest wish enough, and very natural in a young lady who might possii)ly have had a predilection for flat nosos. The Philadelphian CLiilcnded with all the ve- hemence of a menilier of Congress, moving the house to have "whereas," or "also," or "nevertheless," struck out of a hill, that the young lady wished heaven had made her a man instead of a woman, in order she might have an opportunity of seeing the "am pophagi, and the men whose heads do grow bei their shoulders;" which was a vei-y natural considering the curiosity of the sex. On being n red to, I incontinently decided in favjur of the lioi able member who spoke last ; inasnmch as I thii was a vei7 foolish, and therefore very natural, for a young lady to make before a man she wislu marry. It was, moreover, an indication of the lent inclination she felt to wear the breeches, wl was afterwards, in all probability, gratified, if we judge from the title of "our captain's captain," g, her by Cassio, a phrase which, in my opinion, cates that Othello was, at that lime, most ijjtioi ously hen-pecked. — I believe my arguments stagt, 'Sbidlikens himself, for he looked confoundedly qi and said not another word on the subject. A little while after, at it he went again on atu tack; and began to find fault with Cooper's mai of dying; — " it was not natural," he said, for it lately been demonstrated, by a learned doctor of sic, that when a man is mortally stabbed, he to take a flying leap of at least five feet, and down " dead as a salmon in a fishmonger's baski — Whenever a man, in the predicament above tioned, departed from this fundamental rule, by ing flat down, like a log, and rolling about for or three minutes, making speeches all the time, said learned doctor maintained that it was owini the waywardness of the human mind, wliicii lighted in lying in the face of nature, and dyin{ defiance of all her established rules.— I replied, ' my part, I held that every man had a right of d)i in whatever position he pleased; and that the of doing it depended altogether on the peculiar racter of the person going to die. A Persian not die in peace unless he had his face turned to east;— a Mahometan would always choose to li his towards Mecca ; a Frenchman might prefer mode of throwing a somereet; hut Mynheer \] Brumble-holtom, the lloscius of Rotterdam, alwl chose to thunder down on his seat of honour win ever he received a mortal wound. Being a man ponderous dimensions, this had a most electrifyi effect, for the whole theatre ' shook like 01ynipus| the nod of Jove.' " The Pliiladelphian was iiiiini ately inspired with a pun, and swore that Myiilu must be great in a dying scene, since he knew to make the most of his latter end. It is the inveterate cry of stage critics, that an tor does not perform the character naturally, if chance he happens not to die exactly jis they w have him. I think the exhibition of a play at Pil would suit them exactly; and I wish with all heart, they would go there and see one : naliir there imitated with the most scrupulous exactness every trifling particular. Here an unhappy lady gentleman, who happens nnluckily to be poisoned slabbed, is left on the stage to writhe and groan ^e faces at the audiei should die ; while ll personte, bless Iheii yield assistance, by c tiferously ! The audiei white pocket handl their noses, and swe poor actor is left l« die ifort. In China, on ll do is to run for the d The audience are act with a learned if the patient must di I, and always is allows celebrated Chow-Ch( [ever saw at killing hims( his robe a bladder of igave the mortal stab, ight of the audience, more fond of the sight inlry;— on the coutrarj ive in this particular; lutiful Ninny Consequ? leror's seraglio, once f irile slave's nose bleed It has been carried to si is not allowed to run the face of the audieni low, in conformity to ll fer he plays the part of C b master-piece, always !lfshly behind, and ii :ts dial he has given tin P. S.— Just as this was led by Evergreen thai irmed here the Lord kn n not the first Ihat ha; ;ing it; and this criliqi erfomuince, even Ihoug ice. No. vn.-SATUUl LK I'llOM MlSTHI'llA « iTo.lsem Ilacchem. prinrii) the Biisha I PHOMiSKn in a forme Ivoiikl furnish thee with lulure of Ihe govornmen Irance. Though my inqi Ibecn industrious, yel I ai Itiieiri-esulls ; fur Ihou m Irision of a captive is ovi lilliisiun and prejudice, a Ibtions must Ik; limited ir |of this country are stra ! nature uf iheir govt SALMAGUNDI. 2i) ike faces at the audience, until the poet pleases t should die ; while the honest folks of the dra- itij personte, bless their hearts ! all crowd round I yield assistance, by crying and lamenting most jferonsly ! The audience, tender souls, pull out white pocket handkerchiefs, wipe their eyes, low their noses, and sw^ear it is natural as life, while t poor actor is left to die without conunon Christian nfort. In China, on the contrary, the first thing r do is to run for the doctor and tchoouc, or no- The audience are entertained throughout the act with a learned consultation of physicians, I if the patient must die, he does it secuiulum ar- H, and always is allowed time to make his will. ! celebrated Chow-Chow was the completest hand [ever saw at killing himself; he always carried un- r his robe a bladder of bull's blood, which, when e gave the mortal stab, spirted out, to the infinite light of the audience. Not that the ladies of China ! more fond of the sight of blood than those of our untry; — on the contrary, they are remarkably sen- ilive in this particular; and we are told that the dutiful Ninny Consequa, one of the ladies of the peror's seraglio, once fainted away on seeing a fa- urile slave's nose bleed ; since which time refine- nt has been carried to such a pitch, that a buskined lero is not allowed to run himself through the body I the face of the audience. The immortal Chow- khow, in conformity to this absurd prejudice, when- |ver he plays the part of Othello, whicli is reckoned master-piece, always keeps a bold front, stabs elf silly behind, and is dead before any body sus- his that he has given the mortal blow. P. S.— Just as this was going (o press, I was in- ned by Evergreen that Othello had not been per- |brined here the Lord knows when : — no matter ; I ini not the first that has criticised a play without leing it; and this critique will answer for the last ferfomiance, even though that were a dozen years ince. No. \II.— SATUnnAY, APKIL i, 1807. LETTER I'nOM nir.STAIMIA lli;il-4-l)L'0 KKLI KUAN, |To Asem llaechem, prinrijml Slave-driver to his Highness the Raslmiv of Tripoli. I PKUMiSEn in a former letter, good Asem, that I Ift'ould furnish thee with a few hints respecting the liuture of the govorninent by which I am held in du- Irancc. Though my inquiries for that purpose have ■been industrious, yet I am not perfectly satisfied with lllieir results ; for thou mayest easily imagine that the Ivisioii of a captive is overshadowed by the mists of liision and prejudice, and the horizon of his spccu- jlations must be limited indeed. I find that the peo|ilc loflhis country are strangely at a loss to determine jilie nature of their government : even their dcrvisps are extremely in the dark as to this particular, and are continually indulging in the most preposterous disquisitions on the subject ! Some have insisted that it savours of an aristocracy ; others maintain that it is a pure democracy ; and a third set of theorists de- clare that it is nothing more nor less than a mobo- cracy. The latter, I must confess, though still wide in error, have com? nearest to the truth. You of course must nnderstand the meaning of these different words, as they are derived from the ancient Greek language, and bespeak loudly the verbal poverty of these poor infidels, who cannot utter a learned phrase without laying the dead languages under contribution. A man, my dear Asem, who talks good sense in his native tongue, is held in tolerable estimation in this country; but a fool, who clothes his feeble ideas in a foreign or antique garb, is bowed down to as a lite- rary prodigy. While I conversed with these people in plain English, I was but little attended to ; but the moment I prosed away in Greek, every one looked up to me with veneration as an oracle. Although the dervises differ widely in the parti- culars above mentioned, yet they all agree in terming their government one of the most pacific in the known world. I cannot help pitying their ignorance, and smiling, at times, to see into what ridiculous errors those nations will wander who are unenlightened by the precepts of Mahomet, our divine Prophet, and un- instructed by the five hundred and forty-nine books of wisdom of the immortal Ibrahim Hassan al Fusti. To call this nation pacific ! Most preposterous ! It reminds me of the title assumed by the Sheik of that muixlerous tribe of wild Arabs, that desolate the val- leys of Belsaden, who styles himself " Star of Courtesy —Beam of the Mercy Seat ! " The simple truth of the matter is, that these people are totally ignorant of their own trjie character; for, according to the best of my observation, they are the most warlike, and, I must say, the most savage nation that I have as yet discovered among all the barbarians. They are not only at war, in their own way, with almost every nation on earth, but they are at the same time engaged in the most complicated knot of civil wars that ever infested any poor unhappy country on which Alia has denounced his malediction ! To let thee at once into a secret, which is unknown to these peo|)le tiiemselves, their government is a pure, unadulterated Uxjimacy, or government of words. The whole nation docs every thing riva voce, or by word of mouth ; and in this manner is one of the most military nations in existence. — Every man who has what is here called the gift of the gab, that is, a plen- tiful stock of verbosity, hecoinos a soldier outright, and is for ever in a mililiiiit state. The country is entirely defended vi et lingua — that is to say, by force of tongues. 'J'he account which I lately wrote to our friend the snorer, respecting the inuncnse army of six hundred men, makes nothing against thisobservatiou ; that forniidnbie body being kept uii, as I have already observed, only to anmse their fair countrywomen by 80 SALMAGUNDI. their splendid appearance and nodding plumes ; and they are, by way of distinction, denominated the '' defenders of the fair." In a logocracy, liiou must know there is little or no occasion for fire-arms, or any such destructive wea- pons. Every offensive or defensive measure is enforc- ed by wordy battle and paper war ; — he who has the longest tongue or readiest quill b, sure to gain the vic- tory; will carry horror, abuse, and inkshed, into the very trenches of the enemy, and without mercy or remorse, put men, women, and children, to the point of the— pen ! There is still preserved in this country some remains of that Gothic spirit of knight-errantry which so much annoyed the faithful in the middle ages of the Hegira. As, notwithstanding their martial disposition, they are a people much given to commerce and agriculture, and must, necessarily, at certain seasons be engaged in these employments, they have accommodated them- selves by appointing knights, or constant warriors, similar to those who, in former ages, swore eternal enmity to the followers of our divine Prophet. — These knights, denominated editors, or slmig-vhangers, are appointed in every town, village, and district, to carry on both foreign and internal warfare, and may be said to keep up a constant Hring " in words." O my friend, could you but witness the enormities some- times committed by these tremendous slang-whang- ers, your very turban would rise with horror and asto- nishment. I have seen them extend their ravages even into the kitchens of their op|)onents, and anni- hilate the very cook with a blast ; and I do assure thee, I beheld one of these warriors attack a iriost venerable bashaw, and at one stroke of his pen lay him open from the waistband of his breeches to his chin ! There has been a civil war carrying on with great violence for sometime past, in conse(|uence of a con- spiracy, among the higher classes, (o dethrone his Highness the present Bashaw, and place another in his stead. I was mistaken when I formerly asserted to thee that this disafTection arose from his wearing red breeches. It is true the nation have long held that colour in great detestation, in consequence of a dispute they had some twenty years since with the barbarians of the British Islands. The colour, how- ever, is again rising int(» favour, as the ladies have transferred it to their heads from the Bashaw's body. The true reason, I am told, is, that the Bashaw al)so- lutely refuses to believe in the Deluge, and in the sto- ry of Balaam's ass; niainlaining that this animal was never yet permitted to talk except in a genuine logo- cracy, where, it is true, his voice may often be hoard, and is listened to with reverence, as "the voice of llie sovereign {wopie." INay, so far did he carry his ob- stinacy, that he alwolutely invited a professed Anti- diluvian from the Gallic Empire, who illuminated the whole country with his principles— and his nose.' • A Kf nllii reproof dircvlod aK<iiiist Mr JrlTcrsoii fur the iii(ll«- rrrtinn lio cniiimiKril in iiiviliiiK I'aiiin to America, ami ()|)cnly lakliiR lilin -nder IiIh proleclion.— Arftf . This was enough to set the nation in a b'aze ;— evei Knt more evident than in slang- whanger resorted to his tongue or his pen ; an f Congress, where the la for seven years have they carried on a most inhutra gstering, windy assemh war, in which volumes of words have been expends med by noise, tum'dt, ! oceans of ink have l)een shed ; nor has any mere low that the members of been shown to age, sex, or condition. Every dj ^ther to find wisdom in t have these slang- whangers made furious attacks o jt to wrangle, call each o each other, and upon their respective adherents— di lemselves talk. When charging their heavy artillery, consisting of lar; asliaw first sends them a sheets, loaded with scoundrel ! villain ! liar ! rascal gss of words— vox ctpr re numskull ! nincompoop ! dunderhead! wiseacre ! block lag; because it only tells held ! jackass !— and I do swear, by my beard, tlioii§ low already. Then the I know thou wilt scarcely credit me, that in sumei to a ferment, and have i liiese skirmishes the Grand Bashaw himself has [hx [j of words that are to Ix wofully pelted ! yea most ignominiously pelted ! an lessage ; and here arise m yet have these talking desperadoes escaped witlux >clion and alteration of ' the bastinado! rer's." A month, perh. Every now and then a slang-whanger, who has lining the precise numbei longer head, or rather a longer tongue than the rest )ntain; and then atiother. will elevate his piece and discharge a shot quite acro! ;« whether it shall be can the ocean, levelled at the head of the Emperor « g horseback, or in coa( France, the King of England, or, wouldst thou be eighty matter, they next lieve it, O Asem, even at his Sublime Highness ih igeiLself, and hold as mi Bashaw of Tripoli ! These long pieces are loade any magpies over an ad( with single ball, or langrage, as tyrant ! usurper robber ! tiger ! monster ! and thou mayest well su| l)Ose they occasion great distress and dismay in t] camps of the enemy, and are marvellously annoyinj to the crowned heads at which they are directi The slang-whanger, though perhaps the mere chai pion of a village, having fired off his shot, struts aboi with great self-congratulalic.i, chuckling at the prodiMisprodigious arguing, qu gious bustle he must have occasioned, and seems li (fair of no importance, ai ask of every stranger, "Well, sir, what do they tliini (ay it not then be said, tl of me in Europe ? " ■ This is sufficient to show yoi ilking to no purpose ? 1 the manner in which these blooily, or rather windi e somewhat conscious ol fellows fight : it is the only mode allowable in a iog» ijiich they are character cracy, or government of woixls. ruveib on the subject, vis I would also observe that the civil wars have a thou iiisls particularly applied sand ramifications. While the fury of the battle rages mbly of all the sage ch in the metropolis, every little town and village liasi jiaitered through a whol( distinct broil, growing like excrescences out of liie eiil and momentous eve grand national altercation, or rather agitating williin ut exhibit the length oft it, like those complicated pieces of mechanism wlieii less of their heads, there is a " wheel within a wheel." IJiihappy nation ! thus But in nothing is the verbose nature of this govern- i)|is! never, I fear, will i ind silence. Words are I ind air put into motion I lasl empike, therefore, n ivide the message into s :in into the hands of lit mittees; these juntos I ut their respective pars llslo the Grand Divan, talks the matter over Sow after all, it is an evei .vote, by it: fJ isurd, K^q. < Tlie saRC Miistaplia, wlien lie wrolo (lie alxive paraRraiili, lnJ probably la liis eye llie fdllowiiiK aiiecdiiUi-relalfd by Jos('|iliii. . , • Millerius, vulgarly calleil Joe Miller, of facelioiw iiieniory :-rte »"™ ""' '»''* """' " "">' captain of a slave- vessel, on his first laiidiiiR on the coast of Gniiiei olwerveit, under a palni-li-ee, a iiPRro chief, sittinj? most iiiaii* catty on a stump, while two -.voinen, with wooden simioiih, »w adniinislering bis favourite pottage of IkmUhI rice, whieli, asl* Imiicrial M-ijcsty was a liUlc greedy, would part of it escaiic Uk place of destination, and inn down his chin i the watclifnl alM ants were parliciilarly carchil to intercept these scapegrace |«^ tides, and return them to tlieir proper [lort of entry. As llic aif lain appi-oached, in (ird<M' lo admire lliis curious e\liihitioii i' royally, Ihe great chief clapiR'd his hands to his sides, and saliili<l his visilnr Willi tlio following pompons ipiestion i— " Well. «r: what do they sa> ol iiie In Knglaiid? " n, and the chatterers, lie In-eezos that put it in i hey are apt to blow diffe nunteracting each other rheels stand still, the gris nd his family starved. Every thing partakes overninenl. In case of n insult from a foreign Huz;— town-meetings a SALMAGUNDI. SI nze ;— ever (nt more evident than in its grand national Divan, his pen ; an Congress, where the laws are rramed.— This is a ostinhumi pstering, windy assembly, where every thing is n expende( tried by noise, tumult, and debate ; for thou must any mere uw that the members o( this assembly do not meet livery da gether to find wisdom in the multitude of counsellors, s attacks « ,tto wrangle, call each other hard names, and hear erenis— di Kjnselves talk. When the Congress opens, the ng of lar; ,s|iaw first sends them a long message, t. e. a huge liar ! rascal tss of words— tor et praterea ttihil, all meaning no- sacrelhlodi jng; because it only tells them what they perfectly ;ard, thong y^y/ already. Then the whole assembly are thrown It in suine( io a ferment, and have a long talk about the quan- elf has !)« |y of words that are to be returned in answer to this pelted ! an (ssage ; and here arise many disputes about the cor- )ed witho( j;iion and alteration of " if so he's," and " howso- rer's." A month, perhaps, is spent in thus deter- ', who lias ining the precise number of words the answer shall lan the rest gniain ; and then another, most probably, in conclud- quile acroi ig whether it shall be carried to the Bashaw on foot. Emperor « j horseback, or in coaches. Having settled this Jst thou be eigiily matter, they next fall to work upon the mes- lighness lb ige itself, and hold as much chattering over it as so are loade any magpies over an addled egg. This done, they ! usurper ivjde the message into small portions, and deliver it well sup lem into the hands of little juntos of talkers, called imay in lb gmmittees; these juntos have each a world of talking y annoyin! bout their respective paragraphs, and return the re- re directed iiis to the Grand Divan, which forthwith falls to and mere Chan e-ulks the matter over more earnestly than ever. struts ahoo m after all, it is an even chance that the subject of fit the prodi lis prodigious arguing, quarrelling, and talking, is an Kair of no importance, and ends entirely in smoke. they thini lay it not then be said, the whole nation have been show yoi liking to no purpose ? The people, in fact, seem to e somewhat conscious of this propensity to talk, by le in a logo fbich they are characterized, and have a favourite wverb on the subject, viz, " all talk and no cider : " bis is particularly applied when their Congress, or as- batlle rages mbiy of all the sage chatterers of tlie nation, have irillage iiasj haltered through a whole session, in a time of great out of tlie eril and momentous event, and have done nothing iting within ut exhibit the length of their tongues and the empti- m of their heads. [;iihap[)y nation ! thus torn to pieces by intestine alks! never, I fear, will it be restored to tranquillity ind silence. Words are but breath ; breath is but air ; nd air put into motion is nothing but wind. This ast enipike, therefore, may be compared to nothing nore nor less than a mighty wind-mill, and the ora- 01^, and the chatterers, and the slang-whangers, are lie breezes that put it in motion : unluckily, however, hey are apt to blow different ways; and their blasts «uiiteracling each other, the mill is peiplexed, the (heels stand still, the grist is unground, and the miller indliis family starved. Every thing partakes of the windy nature of the overninent. In case of any domestic grievance, or n insult from a foreign foe, the people are all in a »i2z;— town-meetings are inunidiately held, where liave a tlinu uisru \\\m this goveni' ijtritpirapii. Iiail I by Jost'iiliii' iPiiiory :— Tk DastofUiiiiiM most iiiajwli' 1 S|MM)II)I, wfir wlilcli, a.Hliii r it cscaiic lli< llcliful iillim^ '. As the ttf i<\lill)itioii i' ■s, and saliiN -'• Well, jir the quidnuncs of the city repair, each with the cares of the whole nation upon his slioulders, each resolutely bent upon saving his country, and each swelling and strutting like a turkey-cock, puffed up with words, and wind, and wisdom.— After hustling, and buzzing, and bawling for some time, and after each man has shown himself to be indubitably the greatest perso- nage in the meeting, they pass a string of resolutions (i. e. words), which were previously prepared for the purpose. These resolutions are whimsical!/ denomi- nated " the sense of the meeting," and ai sent off for the instruction of the reigning Bashaw, who re- ceives them graciously, puts them into his red breech- es pocket, forgets to read them— and so the matter ends. As to his Highness the present Bashaw, who is at the very top of the logocracy, never was a dignitary better qualifie<l for his station. He is a man of su- perlative ventosity, and comparable to nothing but a huge bladder of wind. He talks of vanquishing all opposition by tha force of reason and philosophy ; throws his gauntlet at all the nations of the earth, and defies them to meet him^n the field of argument ! — Is the national dignity insulted, a case in which his Highness of Tripoli would immediately call forth his forces; — the Bashaw of America — utters a speech. Docs a foreign invader molest the commerce in the very mouth of the harbours — an insult which would induce his Highness of Tripoli to order out his fleets ; — his Highness of America — utters a speech. Are the free citizens of America dragged from on board the vessels of their country, and forcibly detained in the war ships of another power ;— his Highness — ut- ters a speech. Is a peaceable citizen killed by the marauders of a foreign power, on the very shores of his country; — his Highness — utters a speech. Does an alarming insurrection break out in a distant part of the empire; — his Highness — utters a speech!— Nay, more, for here he shows his " energies;" — he most intrepidly dispatches a courier on horseback, and orders him to rideone hundred and twenty miles a-day , with a most formidable army of proclamations (t. ^. a collection of words), packed up in his saddle-bags. He is instructed to show no favour nor affection; but to charge the thickest ranks of the enemy, and to speechify and batter by words the conspiracy and the conspirators out of existence. Heavens, my friend, what a deal of blustering is here ! It reminds me of a dunghill cock in a farm-yard, who, having accidentally in his scratchings found a worm, immediately begins a most vociferous cackling — calls around him his hen- hearted companions, who run chattering from all quarters to gobble up the poor little worm that hap- pened to turn under his eye. Oh, Asem, Asem! on what a prodigious gteat scale is every thing in this country ! Thus, then, I conclude my observations. The in- fidel nations have each a separate characteristic trail, by which they may be distinguished from each other ; —the Spanianis, for instance, may lie said to slee|i .-52 SALMAtilJlNDI. !U'- I ■! I upon every affair of iniportniiee ;— the Ilalians to fhkllc upon every thin;,';— Ihe IVench to dance i\\h»\ every thing;— llifc Germans to smoke upon every tiling;— the Hrilisli Islanders to eat upon every thing ;— and the windy subjects of the American logocracy to talk npon every thing. Ever thine, MrSTAPIIA. VBOM TIIK MUX OK VnOM COCKLOI^, KSQ. Iluw oft III iiiiiHiiiK iiiimmI my lit>ar( n'cnlln. From Kiry-lNMnI falhrr Tlmn'8 oIiIIvIouji hall8, Thit miNlr!) ami maxhiDi of my parly day, I.UIIK III tlioMi dark r*!et!SM'ii hIow'iI away ; DraKN oikt iiioi-t) (o llii! clicurriil n'atiii!i of liKlit TliiiM! Imukram faHliloiis, Ioiik sIiioo IohI in iilKliti Aiiil makoa, likt; liiidor's wlldi, oiitu! mor« to rlNii My KroKram KraiidaiiiM to my raptiirt'd cycH ! SliadiVH of my rallittrs! in your panlolioiiiil itkirtii, Your liroidcr'il wainlroaiN ami your iilaiird Nliirtu, Vour (ormal IwK-wiRst— widt'-ttxU'ndwl oiilTs, Your llvf-liioh rliiltuilinKN and iiliic-iiii^li rnlTit ! riotis! how ycslnil. at liiiii'N. in all yoiirxlato, Amid tli<^ viitiouH of my llioiiKlilfid (lalc! I M!<> yo movo the mili'imi mimii't o'or, Tim modi*Kt ((N)t scarce WHiiiK from llu! Iloor ; No tlumdoriiiK rigailooii with iNiislci-oiiii |>rani;i', N<i |iiBiHiii-wiiiKdiHlurl> yoiirroMfic-(<«H,vc. Bill Hih'iil as till' Rciillc liclhc's tide, Adowii the fcHtivK ma/c yo |)cacofiil Klldo ! Still in my menial eye each dame apiM'ars— Kaeh nuKleiil lM>aulyof de(>arled years; <:iose by mamma 1 w-e her stately march. Or sit, ill all the majesty of starch t When for the dance a siranst'r seeks her linnd, I see her donhtiiiK, lii'silaliiiK. stand ; Yield to his claim with most faslidioiis ftrncc, Aiid siKli for her inlundetl in Ids place ! Ah ! Rolden days ! wlien every gentle fair On sacred Sahliiilh iMiim'd with pious ear<t Iter Holy llilile, or her prayer-lHuik o'er, Or studied honest iimiyans drowsy loiv ; TravelI'd with him the iniKrim's l>i-oKiess through. And storm 'd the famous town of Itlan-Soiil tiMi; Heat Kyeand liar-Kate up with IhimderiiiKjar, Ami foiiKht triumphant IhriiiiKli Ihe Holy War; Or if, |M-rclianct>, lo lighter works iiu;liiu><l, They sought with novels to relasi the niiiid, 'Twas (irandison's politely formal itagn, , Or i:lelia or Pamela wei-e the rage. No plays were then— theatrics wri-e unknown.— A learned pig—a dancing monkey shown— The feats of (■iiiich— a cunning jiiggh>r's sleight. Were sure lo lili each iHtsimi with delight. All honesi, simple, Immdriim race we wei-c, r .iar.zled yet hy fashion's wilderlng glare i Onr maimers inui'serviMl, devoid of guile, We knew not then (he miHlerii monster— style. Style, that willi priih' each empty Imisoiii swells, I'lilfs Utys to maiilKMHl, little girls to lielle*. Scarce from Ihe nursery freed, our gentle fair Are yii"ldtHl in the daiit^iiig-iiiaster's care j And ere Ihe head one mile of seiide ('an gain, Are introihiced 'mid folly's frip|M<ry trahi. A stranger's grasp no longer gives alarms. Our fair surrender to iheir very arms. Ami in Ihe insidious walU ■ will swim and twine, AihI whirl and languish tenderly divine ! Oh 1 how I hale this loving, hnggliig dance I Thi» Imp nf (iermany— hiMuglit up in Kraiiir, Nor c<in I M>e a niece its w Indings trace, lint all Ilia honest IiIikmI glows in iiiy face. ■■ Sad, sad rel!iieinenl this," I often say, ■■ 'Tis mmlesty indeed retiiied away ! " l,el France iU whim, its sparkliiig wit supply. " The easy grace that captivates Ihe eye i '■ lliil curse Iheir w.iltv!— their loosi? lascivioiM art*, •• That smooth our uianners, lo corrupt our hearts!" Where now those iHMiksfrom which, in days of yore. Our mothers gain'd their literary store? AliLs! stiff skirle<l (irandison gives place To novels of a new and rakish raci!; And honest Huiiyau's pious dreaming lines, Hach now for soft licenlions versi; declines. And, last of all, liehohl the mimic stage Us morals lend to |m>IIsIi off the age. With llinisy fariT. a comedy miscaU'd, <;ariiish'il wllh vulgar cant, and pii)>erhs bald. With puns most puny, and a plenteous stui-e Of ribald Jokes, tocahli agaUery roar. Or si>e, more fatal, graced with every art To charm and captivate the female heart, The false, "Ihe gallant, gay Lothario "smiU's, And loudly iHiasIs his base seductive wiles; In glowing colours paints Callsla's wrongs. And with volnpliioiis scenes Ihe tale prolongs. " \Mien CtKiiH'r lends his fascinating powers. Decks vice Itsi'lf in bright allnriiig llowei-s. Pleased with his iiiaiily grace, his youthful lire. Our fair are hired the villain lo .idiiiire ; While humbler virtue, like a stalking bursu, Struts clumsily and croaks in lioiie»t Moi-m^ All, hapless ilay ! when trials Hum combined, Ui pleasing garb assail the female mind ; Wbi'ii every smoolli insidious .snare is sprcjid To .sap the morals and delii(h> Ihe head. Not Shadrach, Itlesbaeh, and AlN-d-nego, To prove thivir faith ami viiiiie here below, i:oiild more an angel's helping hand retpiiir To guide Iheir .steps nuiiOured lliroiigh the lire, AVhere had but heaven ilsgnanlian aid deuh<d, The holy trio in Ihe proof had died. If, llien, their manly vigour sought supplies t'limi the bright siranger in i^rleslial giiist!, Alas! can wc from feebler naliires claim To brave seduction's ordeal free fi'oin blain(\ To pass ihroiigli lire iiuhnrt like golden oi-e. Though ungel missions bless the earth no more! Nolfs, hy It ilUam It Iztiid, /•'.«/. • / 7 (i/f s.— As many of the retired matrons of this city, iinsiii ed in "geslielore," are doubtless IgnoranI of Ihe movemeiitsii llgiires of Ihis miHh'st eikhibiliou, I will endeavour lo givi'.w account of it, in order that they may learii what odd capmllw daugblers somelimes cut when from under I heir gnaiilian wing --On a signal In-iug given by Ihe iniisie, Ihe genlleman scimlli lady nnind her waisi ; Ihe lady, Hcoruing to Ih) onldone in cmt lesy, very (Mtlilely lakes the genlhiiiau i-oiind Ihe neck, willm arm it'sling against his shoulder lo prevent eneiwiehmenls. A«: then Ihey go, almul, and alMiiil, and aUiiil— " AlNint what, sir! — AUint the room, iiiadam, to Ik; sniv. The whole eciiiuiiii) Ihis dance consisis in lurniiig round anil roiiml Ihe riNini iiMir tain nie.isiired step; and it is truly aslonishiiig thai this edtilliiiii ii'volulion (hies not set all Iheir beads swiminiiig like a t<ip; Nl have Ihm'ii |Hisllively assured that It only occasions a gentle win lion wliieh is marvellously agret'able. In lli<> course of i\\i»t't cumnavigalion, Ihe daiicers. in onler lo give the charm of Vtwrti aro continually changing Iheir relative siliiallona I— now Ihe g(>iill man, meaning no hariii in the world, I assni'e you, madam, i" lessly llliigs his arm aboiil the lady's neck with an air of edoili liiipiidence ; and anon, the lady, meaning as little barm »* ll i^entleinan, lakes lilm rnnnil Ihe waist w lib most ingenuoiiii imiili langiiishmenl, lo Ihe great delight of niimerons s|m'cIaIoi'« « atualeiii's, who gcncrully form a ring, as Ihc iiiub do about i jit lUKMis pulling c.i|>s, or a cu iiiuiiig this divine intcrchani an liuiir or so, the lady iM-giii ill most bewitching languor e iiii|i|M)rt. Tills is always i liaiiN gently on his sboiildei sriliiciiig mi.schievous curv( rraiiil closer Ihey a[iproaeh i priii's iM^ing overcome vvitli itl sinking into the genlleniai llhi'ii? "— 1.01-d! madam, ho ») friend Pindar, and in fac iliifaii unreasonable boslilily iiiisl by a Parisian corn-s|K>m iiry devil in the Court of SI iilii a most oiitragivius |iassii Ki'iitleiiian, had nearly kicki g( the cabinet, in the parox) lil that the nation was as.saili Aclillles, exlremely .siMisilivii :iiiiiycorn;s|H)iideiitH<'iituffli iiicasiii'es would he adopteii vi'lii'iiienl rt^presentalions wo iiii;. Ilieritfore, lo save our m 10 Hulijecl, w(! do assure Mr rrfniiii our thoughts than tl iir .my attack on the interi,'! aliiHi at larg*!, which we serii uik ill imr estimation. Nothi lliave induci^d ns to trouble i ill III!' name of the Jimlo 1 on J I'n'iichman, we merely m mill III Ibis country, from th I, Kiirdeaux, and MarsttiUes ; iir kills and as.seinblies; set 11 lixwi'il tlieiiiselves off on our iiair noblemen— ruined iii ■atllie lash, and acciist! us of ill Ihe exla-mu if they did i n. fitir I'fiiitfnl.— The nlory ii Hge, would exhibit a scene o ear cnuld listen lo wilhoiil h I as it is in all Ihe sph'iidonr I 'w. it steals into llii! heart lik villain, ami IN-Irays it iiise rry syiii|ialliy Isenlisled on I iwiit. and Ihe giiitleiiess of L iiclieries of the "gallant gay « n'lieiitance of the fair Calit ill'iipe's lleloise— " 1 mourn init is more easy than lo bar inir ladies, instead of crowd ilfil, to discourage their ex' ilmun 1k! indeed Ihe school rPrnitents, " In all prubabilil No. Mil,— SATUnOA RV ANTHONY KVI! "In nil Ihyhuinoiiifi, whel Thim'rl siieh a touchy, b'sl llml so iiiiich wit, and iiiirl TIm-e is uu living with Ihe Never, in the memory lliere been known a m is the universal remark I. and weather-wiseat!! <l it at least fifly-nve tin poor woman, is one o ly. « nrlK, I'lirls ! " »( ynrp. SALMAGUNDI. S!i '0, tl. 10, ic! lliiaKily, iinsk IIIIIVCIIICIIl!! >ui' to Kivc »( (Mill CIllHTSllKi Kiiiii-dliiii vm Iciiimi M'l/i'slli iiililoiic III I'ini iii'ck, wHIni diini'iilH. A«i Niiil \^llllt. sir' liiilo rcoiKilii) U'I'IMIIII llMM III IIiIn i'iiiiIIiiik llki'i(l<i|i;liul \» i\ HOIltIf SOIK Diirsr (iniiisf ■liai'mofviirirt — lldW lllCRdlll III, iiiiiiliiin. fit Hii air (if (tN IIIO ll.ll'lllill iiitriiiimH ini s >(|M'clnloi» b ilu iilxnil a iu«iii« inilliiift cniM. or a couple of liKlitiiig iiinslKrN.— Aflci- iiiuiiiK tl>><* ilivinu iiiturcliaiiKii of iioiulit, arum, el nilcra, for 111 lioiii' or no, llm lady Im-kIiih Io tin.*, anil wKli •' i;yi>H ii|)ralN- iii mimt bewitching laiifpiiir iirlUlonii her |iarliii'r for a littli! ( mipiMirt. This In alwayii kIvcii wltlioiit licallatioii. Tlii) IriiiH KCiitly on hid hIioiiIiIci' ; llirir ariim Inlwiiu! In a Uioih urtliicliiK Mil.sclili!V()iis ciirvrit— (lon't In; alariiicil, iiiadaiii— fraiiil vMmr Ihvy a(i|ir(iacli each ollioi', ami, in coiK^liision, partii'M iM^lnK ovi<rconi)! wllti ciMlatlc fatlKmt, llii! lady m'ciiifi itl siiikinR into tin; KeMllciiian'H ariiiM, and llii-n— " Well, ulr! Illii'ii? " — I'Ord ! iiiadani, liow kIioiiIiI I know ! " )() friend I'indai-, inid In fact oiir \^llol<■jnlllo, li.is liron ac- iliif an iinrr<i!Miii,'dil(! luwlllity Io tin; Fi-ciicli nation ; and 1 am mill hy a I'arliiian corn-!i|Hindcnt that our firKt niinilM'r playi'd cry dt'vil in Mie Court of SI. Cloud. Ilis ltii|H'rial M,'0<'iity iild a iiiont outraKoouH pawilon, and liriiiK withal a \va.spi!<li Ki'iilleniaii, had iirarly kick(!il lilx bosom frirnil, Talti'yraiid, )f llif (:abiu(!t, In tin; iiaroxysriiii of IiIn wralli. llo Inslslcd lil that till! nation wan assalh^l In Its most vital pari— In-Iiik, ArlillU's, cxirouicly sensitive to any attacks ii|)oii tlii! heel, iiiiiy corres|ioiid('iit sent off his dis|i,'il(:lii-s. It wasstill in doubt iiiciisiires would be adoptril ; but it was slroui^ly siisiieiied vi'hi'iiieiil ntpresenlallons wiiidil In; made to our Kuvermiienl. III!;, llieri^fore, to save our executive from any cnibarrassnirnt K HUliJi'Cl, W(! do assun; Sir Jeffersoii, that there Is nothing I'rfniin our tliiiiiKlits than the Kiibversion of thi; (iailic Kin- iir iiiiy iitliU'k on the liilitresl, trauipiillity, or reputation of dliiiii at larKi!. wliivli we Nerioiisly declare jMissi-tuies the hif;h- iiik ill our estlmallou. NotbuiK less than the national welfare jliave induced us to trouble ourselves t>.:ili this explanation; ill llie naiiii! of the Junto I once more declai'i-, that wlicn wu la I'n'iichnian, we merely mean one of tliosi- <iiroii(iH,v, who ninl l(> this country, from ilie kitchens and barlN>rs' shops of II, lliirdeaiix, and Marseilles ; playi^l the f;ame of leap-fniK a( iirlKills and as.Hemblies ; set this unhappy town lioppiiiK mad ; |ia.vi(-il lliemselves off on our leniler-bearled damsi'ls fur iiii- Mlr noblemen— -ruined 'n the revolution! .Such only can 'alllie lash, and aeeiisi; us of severity ; luid wit should be ninr- iii the exlix'inu If they did nut feel our wvll-lutendcd casti- II. nil- reiiilenl.—T\iC Riory of Ibis play, if told In its native \ff, would exhibit a scene of Riiilt and shame which no mu- ir ciiiild listen to without sliriiikinK with disgust ; liiit, ar- ,iul is in all the splendour of harmonious, rich, and piilisli- w, it steals iiihi the heart like some gay, luxurious, snuHitb- vlllahi, and InMrays It Insensibly to Immoralily and vice; rry «yiii|)iithy Is enlisted on the side of Riiilt ; and \\w. piety iif iHJiil, and the Kenlleness of Lavinia, are lust in the s|ilendid iiclioriesof the "Kallant gay liOthariii," and the blustering, » n'|H-iitance of llie fair Calisla, whose sorrow reminds us of nll'ii|ii-°s llelnise— " I inouru the lover, not lament the fault." inji is more easy than Io banish such plays from our sIiikc. iHir l.idies, instead of crowdinK to Kite them aKaiii and a^ain ilnl, til iliscuiiraKe their exhibllluii by absence, the staj^e MMiii Iki indeeil the scIiimiI of morality, and the nimdicr of rlVi\iti>nts, " In all prubabilily, diminish. No. vni.-,sATiinnAV, ai'ihi, «h. isor. RY ANTIIOMY KVKHOniiRIV, OKNT. "In all thy hmnoiiifi, whether Rrave or mellow, Tliim'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow ; Hint so much wit, and mirth, and spleen aUiul Ihee, There Is no llvinK with Ihee— or wlthoul tbiH'." Nevrr, in (he ineinofy of the oldest iiihabiluitl, there been known a more backward sprinj?."— istlie universal remark amonjf tbe nimniiac qiiid- land weallier-wiseacresoflhedny; and I have I it at least iifty-live times from old Mrs Cockloft, poor woman, is one of lliose walking almanacs lliat ftirMell every snow, rain, or fro.st, by the shoot- ing of corns, n pain in the Imiiics, or an "ugly stitch in the siile." I do not recollect, in tbe whole courseofmy life, to have seen the niontli of March indulge in such untoward capers, caprices and coquetries as it has done this year : I might liavi; forgiven these vagaries, had they not completely knocked up my friend Langslaffj whose feelings are ever at the mercy of a weatlicr- cock, whose spirits sink and rise with the mercin-y of a barometer, and to whom an east wind is as obnoxious as a Si(;ilian .s-irorro. lie was tempted some time since, by the iineness oftiie weather, to dress himself with more than ordinary care anil take bis morning .stroll; but before be bad half tinisbed bis peregrina- tion, be was utterly dLscomtited, and driven home by a tremendous s(|uali of wind, bail, rain, and snow; or, as be testily termed it, "a most villanoiis congregation of va|H)uis." 'J'his was loo much for the patience of friend Laun- celot; be declared he would humour the weather no lunger in ils wbim-wlianis; and, according to his im- memorial custom on these occasions, retreated in high diiilgeon to bis ellmw-cbair, to lie-in of the spleen and rail at Nature for being so fantastical. "Confound the jade," he frequently exclaims, "what a pily ]Na- tiire liad not been of the masculine instead of the fc- iniiiine gender; tbe almanac-makers might then have caictilaled with some degree of certainty." WIten Langslaff invests himself with tbe spleen, and gives auiliencc to tbe blue devils from his elbow- chair, I would not advise any of his friends to come within gunshot of bis citadel with the l)enevoIent pur- pose of administering consolatitm or amusement; for he is then as crusty and crablted as that famous coiner of false money Diogenes himself. Inilecd his room is at such times inaccessible; and old i'ompey is the only soul that can gain admission, or ask a question with impunity : the truth is, thai on these occasions there is not a straw's diflerence lielween them, for Pompey is as glum and grim and cynical as his master. Launcdot has now licen above three weeks in this desolate situation, and has therefore had but little to do in our last luimber. As he could not he prevailed on to KJve any account of himself in our inticHluction, I will lake the opportunity of bis confinement, while bis back is turned, to give a slight sketch of bis characler;— fer- tile in whiiii-whauis and bachelorisms, but rich in many of the sterling tpialilies of our nature. Of the anti(|uity of the Langslaff fatnily I can say bill little; except thai I have no doiilil il is eqnal to (hat of most families who have the privilege of making Ihi'ir own pedigree without tbe impertinent in(er[io- sition of a <;ollege of heralds. My friend Launcelol is not a man to hiaxon any thing; but I have beard him talk with great complacency of bis ancestor. Sir How- land, who was a dashing buck in tbe days of Hardik- luite, and broke the head of a gigantic Dane, at a game of quarter-staff, in presence of the whole court. In memory of this gallant exploit, Sir Rowland wa.s permitted to lake the name of Langstoffe, anil to as- Tvt SALMAGUNDI. I'V Niiiiie, as a crest to his arniK, a hand grasping a cudgel. 11 is, however, a foible so ridicidously coninM>a in this country for people lo claim consanguinity with all the great personages of their own name in Europe, that I should put hut little faith in this family boast of friend Langstaff, did I not know him to be a man of most unquestionable veracity. The whole world knows already that my friend is a Itachclor : for he is, or pretends to l>e, cxceetlingly proud of his itersonal independence, and takes care to make it known in all cotnpanies where strangers are present. He is for ever vaimling the precious slate of single blessedness;" and was, not long ago, considerably startled at a projwsition of one of his great favourites. Miss Sophy Sparkle, "that ohi ba- chelors shoulil he taxed as luxuries."— Launcelot im- mediately hied him home and wrote a long represen- tation in their Itchalf, which I am resolvcil to publish if it is ever attempted to carry the measure into opera- tion. Whether he be sincere in these professions, or whether his present situation be owing to choice or disiippoiutment, be only can tell; but if be ever does tell, I will suffer myself lo Iw shot by the Hrst lady's eye Hint can twang an arrow. In his youth he was for ever in love ; but it was his misfortune lo be con- tinually crossed and rivalled by his bosom friend and contemporary beau, Pindar Cockloft, Esq.; for as Langstaff never made a confidant on these occasions, IiLh friend never knew which way his affections point- ed; and so, between them, the lady generally slipped through their lingers. It has ever been the misfortune of Launcelot, that he could not for the soul of him restrain a good thing; and this fatality ha» drawn upon him the ill-will of many whom he would not have offended for the world. With the kindest heart under heaven, and the most benevolent ilisposition towards every being aroimd him, be has been continually betrayed by the mischievous vivacity of hi? fancy, and the good-hu- moured waggery of his feelings, into satirical sallies which have been treasured up by the invidious, and retailed out with the bitter siieer of malevolence, instead of the playful hilarity of countenance which originally sweetened and tempered and disarmed Ibeni of their sling. These misrepresentations have gained him many reproaches, and lost him many a friend. This unlucky characlfrislic j.iayed the mischief with him in one of bis love affairs. He was,, as I have before observed, ol'leii opposed in his gallantries by that formidable rival, I'indar Cocklofl, Esq., and a most formidable rival he was; for he had Apollo, the Nine Muses, together with all the joint tenants of Olympus, to bjick him ; and every body knows what important ctnil'ederales they are to a lover. — Poor Launcelot stood no chance : — the lady was served iqi in the poet's corner of every weekly pa[)cr ; and at length Pindar attacked her with a sonnet, that took up a whole column, in which be enumerated at least a dozen cardinal virtues, together with innumerable iicyi iiifou •eii nessl others of inferior consideration.— Launcelot saw case was desperate, and that nidess he sat down with, be-cherubimed and be-angeled her to the sii and put every virtue under the sun in re(|uisilion, might as well go hang himself, and so make an of the business. At it, therefore, he went ; and i going on very swunmingly, for, in the space dozen lines, he had enlisted under her coniniaiKi ich least threescore and ten substantial housekeeping tues, when, uiduckily for Launcelot's reputation poet, and the lady's as a saint, one of those coi ed gooti thoughts struck his laughter-loving brain it was irresistible — away he went, full sweep liel the wind, cutting and slashing, and tickled lo with his own fun ; the consequence was, that l)y lime be had finished, never was poor lady so niostig crously lain|)ooned since lampooning came intofiisiii Hut this was not half ;— so hugely was I pleased with this frolic of his wits, that nothing do but he nuist slutw it lo the lady, who, as wdl might be, was mortally offended, and forbade her presence. My friend was ;n despair, but, tin the interference of his generous rival, was peiniii to make his a|H)logy, which turned out worse than original offence ; for though he had studied an (|ucnt compliment, yet as ill luck would Itave il preposterous whim-wham knocked at his pericranin^w and inspired him to say some consummate good lliii which all put together amounted to a downright and provoked the lady's wrath to such a degree, tl itrcvocably concerned, ) ruined by one for wtu arm friendship. The cii flothe very soul; he \ muiitlis afterwards, and retire within himself, of his feelings ; bul was heard to fall fn ilioa of his friend's nam ht be observed stealing assumed a tou(;hing t iiiienibered his treache iii|,'er." This affair Us to his disposition, v lira ni ely sentence of eternal banishment was awarded aga him. Launcelot was inconsolable, and determined, in true style of novel heroics, to make the tour oFE iimy rope, and endeavour to lose the recollection of iird misfortune amongst the gaieties of France, and classic charms of Italy : he accordingly took piK in a vessel, and pursued his voyage prosperoiiiily far as Sandy-Uook, where he was seized with a v lent fit of sea-sickness; at which he was so arTroiil^enient that be put bis portmanteau into the fii-st pilot-! and retiu-ned lo town, completely cured of his \i and his rage for travelling. I pass over the subseipient amours of my frii Langstaff, being but little acquainted with them for, as I have already mentioned, he never was kno to make a confidant of any Iwdy. He always od a man must be a fool to fall in love, bul an k lo boast of it;— ever denominated it the vilian |>:ission ; lamented that it coidd not l>e cudgelled of the luunan heart ;— and yet could no more without being in love with somebody or other I he could without whim-whams. My friend Launcelot is a man of excessive irriu lily of nerve, and I am acquahited with no one susceptible of the petty miseries of human life; its keener evils and misfortunes he bears will) shrinking, and however they may prey in secret his happiness, he never complains. This was striki ly evinced in an alTair where his heart was de< I'enl his entering into the only effect il o(;(;asions i flitserve him, at the cut iinici for a few nunutes hilo urmunding objects, din- inilulging in some me ingstaff inherited from ite, u ilisposition for cas j' lo noise, a sovereign a brooms, and a plenlifu the delicacy of his ne lo discordant sounds ; is "horrible;" the distracted;" and he on because tiic lady ( ed shoes, in which sht i, till, to use his own ei le life loathsome" to Irrdoin from the ra/o spring," and soh Mionlh of May has I As some people b , and c;ui tell when one jiiiiicelol declares his ini the neighbourhooil < which he alM)ii is there any living anii in more utter ahhorrc led a notable housewife irolesis, IS the bane of ; avy charge to answer fu it against the ease, ct lis of sovereign man. 1 ID' he had rather sec ( risli through his key-ho of the servant maids entc y friend Launcelot is ar iienis, which are conf Ke society he loves lo gi^ imagination ; he mingi ever, though more as a wilhoul ail anxiety, or erally received with weU placeiicy. When he e open, liberal style; an his honest heart throb i «l icelot saw ■e(iiiisilion, make ani ent ; and i sekcepiiij,' I'pulatiuii use coiifui )ving brail swet'p liel kle«l U) (I s, Uial by y Kuiimstli iicinlufaslii vas Lauiii nothiiii; w 10, as well 1 forbade -, but, till was pcrinil worse I hill ludied an luUl bave il is pericranii lie good liiii :>wnright lu a degree yarded agai rmined,in le tour of llectiun of ance, and took pi n'ospcroiiiily Ecd with a i IS so alTronl lirst pilot ed of his with them SALMAGIINDI. irrevocably concerned, and in wliicli his success It down fut , ruined Iiy one for whom lie bad long clierislied r to the ski gm friendship. The einnimstance cut poor hang- lo the very soul ; he was not seen in company inuntlis afterwards, and for a long time be seemed Ktire within himself, and battle with the [loi- le space c ncyof his feelings; but not a murmur or a re- r coinniaod ich was beard to fall from his lips, though, at the ilion of bis friend's name, a shade of melancholy lit be observed stealing across his face, and his assumed a touching tone, that seemed to say, remembered his treachery *' more in sorrow than iiil.'er." This affair has given a slight tinge of to his disposition, which, however, docs not rent his entering into the amusements of the world ; only effect it occasions is, that you may occasion- olisvrvc liini, at tiie end of a lively coiiversalion, for a few minutes into an apparent forgclfidness imiuiiiling objects, during which time he seems iiiihiiging in some melancholy retrospection. ingsliilf inherited from his father a love of lile- ire, a disposition for caslle-buildiiig, a mortal en- k to noise, a sovereign antipathy to cold weather brooms, and a plentiful slock of whim-whams. I the delicacy of his nerves, lie is peculiarly seii- lo discordant sounds ; the rattling of a wheel- i\v is " horrible;" the noise of children "drives distracted;" and he on(;c left excellent lodgings ily because liie lady of the house wore higli- il shoes, in which she clattered uji and down ;, till, to use bis own emphatic expression, "they le lil'e loathsome" to him. lie suffers annual yrdoin from the la/or-etlged zephyrs of our Imy spring," and solemnly declares that the ittii inoiitb of May has liecome a perfect " vaga- As some people have a great antipathy to I, and can tell when one is locked up in a closet, uncelol declares bis feelings always announce III the neighbourhood of a broom ; a household lemenl which be abominates above all others, isliiereany living animal in the world that he s ill more utter abhorrence than what is usually lied a notable housewife; a pestilent l)eiiig, who, t of my frk^rotests, is the bane of gooil fellowship, and has avy charge to answer for the many olTenccs coin- always i , but an il the villan cudgelled no more or other II with no OIK luman life; bears wil y in secret art was d( ver was kno^ed against the ease, comfort, and social enjoy- 11c told nie, not long ago, la' he had rather sec one of the weird sisters rish through his key-hole on a broomstick than oftlie servant maids enter the door with a besom." y friend Launcclot is ardent and sincere in bis at- nienls, which are coiiliiicd to a chosen few, in ise society he loves to give free scoiie to his wliim- cessive irriiJ liniagination ; be mingles freely with the world, ever, though more as a spectator than an actor ; without an anxiety, or hardly a care to please, is (rally received with welcome, and listened to with placency. When be extends his hand it is in a is was striki , open, liberal style ; and when you shake it, you his honest heart throb in its puLsutions. Though rather fond of gay exiiibilions, lie does not appear su frequently at balls ami assemblies since the introduc- tion of the drum, tnimpet and tambourine; all of which he abhors on account of the rude attacks they make on his organs of hearing ; — in short, such is his antipathy to noise, that though exceedingly patriotic, yet he retreats every fourth of July to Cocklofl-hall, in order to get out of the way of the hubbub and con- fusion wliicli make so considerable a part of the plea- sure of that splendid anniversary. I intend this article as a mere sket«>h of Kangstalf's multifarious character ; his innumerable whim-whams will be exhibited by himself, in the course of this work, in all their strange varieties ; and the machine- ry of his mind, more intricate than in the most subtle piece of clock-work, be fully explained. — And trust me, gentlefidk, bis are the whim-whams of a courteous gentleman full of most excellent (pialilies ; honourable in his disposition, independent in bis sen- timents, and of nnboimdcd guotl-nature, as may be seen through all his works. ON STYLK. BV VVILMAn WlXtlll), KNQ. Slijk . a inaniicr of wriUiig t lillu ; pin ut a dial ; llie pistil uf plantx. Jolinson, Style, i.s slylc. Link. Fid. Now I would not give a straw for either of the aliove deiinitions, though I think the latter is by far the most satisfactory ; and I do wish sincerely every imMlerii numskull, who lakes hold of a subject be knows no- thing aliout, would adopt honest Linkum's iiuHle of explanation. Blair's Lectmes on this arti(;le bave not thrown a whit more light on the subject of my in - <|uiries; — they puzzled me just as much as did the learned and laborious ex|M)silions and illustrations of the worthy professor of our college, in the middle of which I generally had the ill luck to tall asleep. This same word style, though but a diminulive wend, assumes to itself more contradictions, and signiiicu- tions, and eccentricities, than any monosyllable in the language is legitimately entitled to. It is an arrant little humorist of a word, and full uf whim-wliams, which occasions nie to like il hugely ; but it puzzled mc most wickedly on my lirst return from a long re- sidence abroad, having crept into fashionable use dur- ing my al)sence ; and had it not been lor hieiul Kver- gi-een, and that thrifty sprig of knowledge, .lereniy ("ocklofl the younger, I should bave remained to this day ignorant of iU meaning. Though it would seem that thcpeo|de of all coun- tries are equally vehement in the pursuit of this phan- tom, slylc, yet in alimvst all of them there is a strange diversity in opinion as to what consliliiles its essence; and every dilTerent class, like the [lagan nations, adore it under a different form. In lingland, for instance, an honest cil packs up himself, his family and his slylc in a buggy or lim whisky, and rattles away on Sunday with bis fair partner blooming lieside him, like an east- ern bride, and two chubby children, squatting lik(! 36 SAI.MAGUNDI. li'l p^ If Chinese -images at his feet. A baronet requires a cliariotand pair; — an earl must needs have a barouche and four; — but a duke— oli ! a dulie cannot possibly lumber his style along under a coach and six, and half a score of foolmen into the bargain. In China a puissant mandarin loads at least three elephants with style, and an overgrown sheep at the Cape of Good Hope trails along his tail and his style on a wheel- barrow. In Egypt, or at Constantinople, style con- sists in the quantity of fur and line clothes a lady can put on without dang-T of suffocation : here it is other- wise, and consists in the quantity she can put off wit!i- out the risk of freezing. A Chinese lady is thought prodigal of her charms if she exposes the tip of her nose, or the ends of her fingers, to the ardent gaze of by-standers; and I recollect that all Canton was in a buzz in consequence of the great belle Miss Nangfous peeping out of the window with her face uncovered ! Here the style is to show not only the face, but the neck, shoulders, etc. ; and a lady never presumes to hide them except when she is not at home, and not sufficiently undressed to see company. This style has ruined the peace and harmony of many a worthy household; for no sooner do they set up for style, but instantly all the honest old com- fortable sans ciirdmonie furniture is discarded; and you stalk cautiously about, amongst the uncomfortable splendour of Grecian chairs, Egyptian tables, Turkey carpets, and Etruscan vases. This vast improvement in furniture demands an increase in the domestic es- tablishment : and a family that once required two or three servants for convenience, now employ half a dozen for style. Bell-Brazen, late favourite of my unfortunate friend Dessalines, was one of these patterns of style; and whatever freak she was seized with, however pre- posterous, was implicitly followed by all who would be considered as admitted in the stylish arcana. — She was once seized with a whim-w-ham that tickled the whole court. She could not lie down to take an af- ternoon's loll, but she must have one servant to scratch her head, two to tickle her feet, and a fourth to fan herdelectable person whileshe slumbered. — The thing took ; — it became the rage, and not a sable belle in all Ilayti but what insisted upon being fanned, and scratched, and tickled in the true imperial style. Sneer not at this picture, my most excellent townsmen; for who among you but arc daily following fashions equally absurd ! Style, according to Evergreen's account, consists in certain fashions, or certain eccentricities, or certain manners of certain people, in certain situations, and possessed of a certain share of fashion or importance. A red cloak, for instance, on the shoulders of an old market-woman is regarded with contempt; it is vul- gar, it is odious :— tling, however, its usurping rival, a red shawl, over the figure of a fashionable belle, and let her flame away with it in Broadway, or in a ball- room, and it is immediately declared to l)e the style. The modes of attaining this certain situation, which entitles its Iiolder to style, are various and op the most ostensible is the attainment of wealth; possession of which changes, at once, the pert ain vulgar ignorance into fashionable ease and el^ vivacity. It is highly amusing to observe the { tion of a family aspiring to style, and the devious vtA ings they pursue in order to attain it. While beai up against wind and tide, they are the most coDipj sant beings in the world ; they keep " booing and b ing," as M'Sycophant says, until you would supj them incapable of standing upright; they kiss hands to every bmly who has the least claim tosij their familiarity is intoleral)le, and they absoim overwhelm you with their friendship and loving-kj| ness. But having once gained the envied pre-4 nence, never were beings in the world more chan( They assume the most intolerable caprices; atone li address you with importunate sociability ; at anolj pass you by with silent indifference ; sometimes sill in their chairs in all the majesty of dignified silenf and at another time bounce about with all the ob; perous ill-bred noise of a little hoiden just broke li from a boarding-school. Another feature which distinguishes these i made fashionables is the inveteracy with which I look down upon the honest people who are strug to climb up to the same envied height. They i fail to salute them with the most sarcastic reileelia and like so many worthy hodmen, clambering a l| der, each one looks down upon his next neiglil^ below, and makes no scruple of shaking the dm his shoes into his eyes. Thus, by dint of pen rancc merely, they come to be considered as establ ed denizens of the great world ; as in some barh nations an oyster-shell is of sterling value, andaij per washed counter will pass current for genuineji In no instance have I seen this grasping after si more whimsically exhibited than in the family of ni;| acquaintance Timothy Giblet. I recollect old ( when I was a boy, and he was the most surly i mudgeon I ever knew. He was a perfec. scare( to the small-fry of the day, and inherited the lu of all these unlucky little urchins; for never couldl assemble about his door of an evening to p!ay,[ make a little hubbub, but out be sallied from his j like a spider, flourished bis formidable htrsei and dispersed the whole crew in the twinkling lamp. I perfectly reniember a bill he sent in lii| father for a pane of glass I had accidentally iin which came well nigh getting me a sound llogi and I remember, as perfectly, that the next nigl revenged myself by breaking half a dozen, was as arrant a grub-worm as ever crawled ; aodl only rules of right and wrong he cared a button f were the rules of multiplication and addition; via he practised much more successfully than he did I of the rules of religion or morality. He used toj dare they were the true golden rules ; and he I special care to put Cocker's arithmetic in the ham his children, before they had read ten pages in I » 7 Having once started, t SALMAGUNDI. 37 lie or the prayer-book. The practice of these fa- loarite maxims was at length crowned witli tlie har- it of success ; and after enduring all the pounds, llings and pence miseries of a miser, he had the sa- laction of seeing himself worth a plum, and of just as he had determined to enjoy the remain- :r of his days in contemplating his great wealth and umulaling mortgages. His children inherited his money ; but they buried disposition, and every other memorial of their fa- ir in his grave. Fired with a noble thirst for style, ley instantly emerged from the retired lane in which inselves and their accomplishments had hitherto n buried ; and they blazed, and they whizzed, and ley cracked about town, like a nest of squibs and ivils in a firework. Their sudden iclat may be li- ;ened to that of the locust, which is hatched in the lusl, where it increases ard swells up to maturity, id after feeling for a moment the vivifying rays of sun, bursis forth a mighty insect, and tlutters, and lilies, and buzzes from every tree. The little war- lers, who have long cheered the woodlands with leir dulcet notes, are stunned by the discordant rac- letofthis upstart intruder, and contemplate, in con- iptuous silence, its bustle and its noise. Having once started, the Giblets were determined it nothing should stop them in their career, until ley had run their full course and arrived at the very lop of style. Every tailor, every shoemaker, evei7 ichmaker, every milliner, every irianlua-makc.-, ivery paper-hanger, every piano-teacher, avA every incing-master in the city, were enlisted in their ser- ice; and the willing wights most courteously answered ircali, and fell to work to build up the fame of the liblets, as they had done that of many an aspiring fa- lily before them. In a little time the young ladies luld dance the waltz, thunder Lodoiska, murder rcnch, kill lime, and commit violence on the face of na- :are in a landscape in water-colours, equal to the best y in the land ; and the young gentlemen were seen lunging at corners of streets, and driving tandem; leard talking loud at the theatre, and laughing in krch, withas much ease, and grace, and modesty, as iltiiey had been gentlemen all the days of their lives. And ihe Giblels arrayed themselves in scarlet, and tine linen, and sealed themselves in high places ; t nobody noticed them except to honour them with little contempt. The Giblets made a prodigious entally lii'otBp'^'ih in their own opinion ; but nobody extolled them sound tlog^ icept the tailors, and the milliners, who had been next nigl mployedinmanufacluring their paraphernalia. The iiblets thereupon being, Uke Caleb Quotem, deter- nined lohave "a place at the review," fell to work iwre fiercely than ever; — they gave dinners, and ddition; v\ bey gave balls; they hired confectioners; and they rould have kept a newspaper in pay , had they not leen all bought up at that time for tlie eleclion. They i ; and he I nvited the dancing men and the dancing women, and in the hand lie gormandizers, and the epicures of the city, to vine and make merry at their expense ; and the danc- ing 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— laugh- ed at their entertainers. Then commenced the hurry and the bustle, and the mighty nothingness of fashionable life; such rat- tling in coaches ! such Haunting in the streets I such slamming of box-doors at the theatre ! such a tempest of busfle and unmeaning noise wherever they ap- peared ! The Giblets were seen here and there and every where ; — they visited every boily they knew, and every body they did not know ; and there was no getting along for the Giblets. Their plan at length succeeded. By duit of dinners, of feevUng and fro- licking the town, the Giblet family worked them- selves into notice, and enjoyed the ineffable pleasure of I)eing for ever pestered by visitors, who cared no- thing about them; of being squee7ed, and smothered, and parboiled at nightly balls, and evening tea-parlies ; they were allowed the privilege of forgetting the very few old friends they once possessed; — they turned up their noses at evei7 thing that was not genteel ; and their superb mannei's and sublime affectation at length left it no longer a matter of doubt that the Giblets were perfectly in the style. " Being, as it were, a small conlentincnic in a never con- tenting suhjectc, a bitter picasauntc laste of a swecle seasoned sower; and, all in all, a more than ordinarie rcjoiuing, in an cx- iraoriMuaric sorrow of dclyghls ! "— LiTIIGUW. We have lieen considerably edified of late by se- veral letters of advice from a number of sage cor- respondents, who really seem to know more about our work than we do ourselves. One warns us against saying any thing more about 'Sbidlikens, who is a very particular friend of the writer, and who has a singular disinclination to be laughed at. This cor- respondent in particular invcigiis against personalities, and accuses us of ill-nature in bringing forward old Fungus and Billy Dimple, as figures of fim to amuse Ihe public. Another gentleman, who states that he is a near relation of the Cocklofts, proses away most soporilically on the impropriety of ridiculing a res- pectable old family ; and declares that if we make them and their whim-whams the subject of any more essays, he shall be under the necessity of applying to our theatrical champions for satislaclion. A third, who by the crabbedness of the hand-writing, and a few careless inaccuracies in tlie spelling, appears to be a lady, assures us that the Miss Cocklofts, and Miss Diana VVearwell, and Miss Dasliaway, and Mrs , Will Wizard's (piondain flame, are so much obliged to us for our notice, that they intend in future to take no notice of us at all, but leave us out of ail their tea-parties ; for which we make thein one of our best Iwws, and say, " thank you, ladies." We wish to heaven these good people woidd at- tend to their owit affairs, if they have any to attend SALMAGUNDI. f lii t(t, and lei us aluiic. Il is one uf the most provok- ing things in the world that we cannot ticlde the public a little, merely for our own private amuse- ment, but wc must l)e crossed and jostled by these meddling incendiaries, and, in fact, have the whole town about our ears. We are much in the same si- tuation with an unlucky blade of a Cockney, who having mounted his bit of blood to enjoy a little in- nocent recreation, and display his horsemanshi[> along Kroadway, Ls worried by all those little yelping curs that infest our city, and who never fail to sally out and growl, and bark, and snarl, to the great an- noyance of the Birmingham equestrian. Wisely was it said by the sage Linkum Fidelius, " howbeit, moreover, nevertheless, this thrice wicked towne is charged up to the muzzle with all manner of ill-natures and uncharilablenesses, and is, more- over, exceedinglie naughtie." This passage of the erudite Linkuui was applied to the city of (iolhani, of which he was once lord mayor, as appears by his picture hung up in the hall of that ancient city ; — but his observation fits this best of all possible cities " to a hair." It is a melancholy truth that this same i\ew-York, though the most charming, pleasant, po- lished, and praise-worthy city under the sun, and in a word the honiie bouche of the universe, is most shockingly ill-natured and sarcastic, and wickedly given to all manner of backsliilings ; — for which we are very sorry indeed. In truth, for it must come out, like murder, one time or other, the inhabitants are not only ill-natured, hut nianifeslly unjust : no sooner do they get one of our random sketches in their hands, but instantly they apply it most unjusti- fiably to some " dear frieiul," and then accuse us of the personality which originated in their own officious friendship! Truly it is an ill-natured town, and most earnestly do we hope it may not meet with the tate of Sodom and Gomorrah of old. As, however, it may be thought incumbent upon us to make some apology for these mistakes of the town, and as our good-nature is truly exemplary, we would certainly answer this expectation, were it not that we have an invincible antipathy to making apo- logies. We have a most profound contempt for any man who cannot give three good reasons for an un- reasonable thing , and will therefore condescend, as usual, to give the public three special reasons for ne- ver apologizing. — First, an apology implies that we are accountable to somebody or another for our con- duct ; — now as we do not care a fiddle-stick, as au- thors, for either public opinion or private ill-will, it would l)e implying a falsehood to apologize. — Second, an apology would indicate that we had been doing what we ought not to have done : — now as we never did, nor ever intend to do, any thing wrong, it would be ridiculous to make an apology. — Third, we lalMur under the same incapacity in the art of apologizing that lost Langslaff his mistress; — we never yet un- dertook to make apology without committing a new offence, and making matters ten times worse than they were before; and we are, therefore, determine to avoid such predicaments in future. But though we have resolved never to a|iolo(,'iz( yet we have no particular objection to explain ; aiuii ^"J'..(i^e ""in h'ei"!^^^ this is all that's wanted, we will go about it directly ^„;,eou„t, a celebrated -AUoHS. gentlemen ! Before however, we em, ^,,j ,„,„ ^.m, ,,,, ^ upon this serious affair, we take this opportunity i ^^ |,a,niso,nj. Qntlie express our surprise and indignation at the increduliii of some people. Have wc not, over and over, assut ed the town that we are three of the best-natured U lows living? And is it not astonishing, that havin already given seven convincing proofs of the trulhi this subject? — but as it is one ol' the impossible things make a knave believe in honesty, so, perhaps, it mayb another to make this most sarcastic, satirical, and let drinking city believe in the existence of gootl-naturc But to our explanation. Gentle reader ! for we at convinced that none but gentle or genteel readers ca relish our excellent productions, if thou art in expw talion of being perfectly satisfied with what wt; an about to say, thon mayest as well "whistle liliebu) lero," and skip quite over what follows; for nev wight was more disappointed than thou wilt be, moj assuredly. — But to the explanation. We care jusl much about the public and ils wise conjectures as m do about the man in the moon and his whiin-wliams; or the criticisms of the lady who sits majestically her elbow-chair in the lobster; and who, belying In sex, as we are credibly informed, never says aiii thing worth listening to. We have launched bark, and we will steer to our destined port with u* deviating perseverance, fearless of being ship wreckeii] by the way. Good-nature is our steersman, reawi our ballast, whim the breeze that wafts us alon< MORALITY our Icadihg-star. Ills, and, like .1 tr«M)p of w fTiuwards a inoister part < My aunt Charily dcparte ear of her age, though si !COI ho used to gallant her in lolty a little piece of hiinii at, if she had been possess e would, like [toor old A cv^ .1 111 .11 1 11. ," ad at her own figure an isassuiaiice, they should stnt have any doubtsonli . 1. n ir- 1 ,...,,,' .: . ,. ., . ... ,. nteniplated herself in a lo bject? — but as It IS one oi the impossible thiiis:!i t i.- .1 . li limes that saw my auni fine lady was a most formi 10 be approached with tli at a Tartar feels in the pn a gentleman offered to 1 !lp iier into a carriage, or oin, such frowns ! such (idla ! Her very paste sli dignation, and for a inom( liamonds ! In those day: ered— it was unprofaned a stranger : — simple souls loiig them yet ! My good aunt prided he kram delicacy ; and ifsh le old-fashioned game b, it was always more tie [ortli ; for she made a most ; irrendered until she saw I ive over his attack. Ever; mbers once to have been r, and when they came t( k lot lo levy contributions ^ ilio after s(|ualUng at a hid« out of the sleigh plump i le stuck fast like an icicle, le. This Latonian feat coi iliicli she never thoroughly It is rather singular that autv, and an heiress with lie reason she alleged was. lover who resembled Sit p of her nightly dreams i I privately of opinion that living had an offer. This any years previous to liei llentions from the gentler [if with watching over th ■ealiires. She was, indeci Berable leaning towards r I her attendance at love-fe I'esley, and even went so ptaiice of live-and-twenty Imp-meeting. This gave { pristopher and his good lad eiilioned, are rigidly ortli No. IX.— SATURDAY, APRIL 23. «807. FltOM MV KI.BOW-CIIAIR. It in some measure jumps with my humour (u I " melancholy and gentleman-like" this stormy iiigiil.| and see no reason why I should not indulge in; for once. — Away, then, with joke, with fun laughter for a while; let my soul look back in moun ful retrospect, and sadden with the memory of nii| gootl aunt Charity — who died of a Frenchman I Stare not, O most dubious reader, at the nieiitioi of a complaint so uncommon. Grievously hath if afflicted the ancient family of the Cocklofts, who can their absui-d antipathy to the French so far that (heil will not sutfer a clove of garlic in the house; ani my good old friend Christopher was once on the jioinl of abandoning his paternal country mansion of Coii'| loft-hall, merely because a colony of frogs had settled in a neighbouring swamp. I verily believe he wonii^ have carried his whim-wham into effect, had not i fortunate drought obliged the enemy to strike theiil SALiMAGLNDI. m ^iils, nntl, like .1 lr«M)[» ()r waiulering Arulis, lo march ftuwanls a inoister [Kirt of the cuuutry. { My •iunl Charity departed this life in the flfly-iiinlh [ear of her age, though she never grew older after Kenly-five. In Iter teens she was, according to her irn account, a celehrated beauty,— ''"ough I never Mild meet with any liody that remembered when she 1]$ handsome. On the contrary, Evergreen's fatlier, (ho used to gallant her in his youth, says she was as my a liltle piece of humanity as he ever saw; and lai, if she iiad been possessed of the least sensibility, ewuuld, like [wor old Acio,\\aye most certainly run 1 at her own figure and face, the lirsl time she nteniplated herself in a looking-glass. In the goo(i I limes that saw my aunt in the hey-day of youth, |line lady was a most formidable animal, and requir- 1 to be approached with the same awe and devotion 1,1 Tartar feels in the presence of his Grand Lama. I a ;;enlleman offered to take her hand, except lo kip her into a carriage, or lead her into a drawing- loin, such frowns ! such a rustling of brocade and [tfela ! Her very paste shoe-buckles sparkled with idi;iiation, and for h moment assumed the brilliancy Idiamonds ! In those days the person of a belle was [red— it was unprofuned by the sacrilegious grasp laslianger :— simple souls ! — they had not the waltz Inoiig them yet ! My good aunt prided herself on keeping up this Lckiam delicacy ; and if she happened to be playing J llie old-fashioned game of forfeits, and was lined a |s,<, it was always more trouble lo get it than it was lurlh; for she made a most gallant defence, and never Irrendered until she saw her adversary inclined to Ive over his attack. Evergreen's father says he re- members once to have been on a sleighing party with r, and when they came to Kissing-bridge, it fell to L lot lo levy contributions on Miss Charity Cockloft, llio after stjualling at a hideous rate, at length jump- |init of the sleigh plump into a snow-bank, where le stuck fast like an icicle, until he came to her res- pe. This Lalonian feat cost her a rheumatism, from ;ii she never thoroughly recovered. Ill is rather singular that my aunt, though a great lauly, and an heiress withal, never got married.— treason she alleged was, that she never met with lover who resembled Sir Charles Grandison, the p of her nightly dreams and waking fancy; but I 1 privately of opinion that it was owing to her never living had an offer. This much is certain, that for (any years previous to her decease she declined all (lentions from the gentlemen, and contented her- ]if with watching over the welfare of her fellow- jeatiires. She was, indeed, observed to take a con- perable leaning towards melhodism, was frequent I her attendance at love-feasts, read Whitfield and lesley, and even went so far as once to travel the plance of live-and-twenty miles to be present at a Imp-meeting. This gave great offence lo my cousin rislopher and his good lady, who, as I liave already lenlioned, are rigidly orthotlox ;— and had' not my aunt Charily l)ecn of a most pacific disposition, her re- ligious whim-wham would have occasioned many a family altercation. Fhe was, indeed, as good a soul as the Cockloft family ever boasted — a lady of un- Iwunded loving-kindness, which extended to man, woman, and child ; many of whom she almost killeil with gooil-nature. Was any ac(|uaintancc ill?— in vain did the wind whistle and the storm beat— my aunt would war'dlc through mud and mire, over the whole town, bi.1 what she would visit them. She wiMild sit by them for hours together with the most persevering patience; and tell a thousand melancholy stories of human misery, to keep up their spirits. The whole catalogue of yerb leas was at her fingers' ends, from formidable wormwood down lo gentle balm; and she would descant by the hour on the healing qualities of hoarhound, catnip, and penny- royal. Woe be to the patient that came under the benevolent hand of my aunt Charity ! He was sure, willy nilly, to be drenched with a deluge of decoc- tions; and full many a time has my cousin Christopher Imrne a twinge of pain in silence, through fear of being condemned lo suffer the martyrdom of her maleria- medica. My gooil aunt had, moreover, considerable 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 certainly, at what precise minute the moon changed. She held the story of the moon's being made of green cheese as an al)oniinable 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 t he A nierican Philosophical Society. ' ' Hutching's lniprove<l" was her favourite book; and I shrewdly suspect that it was from this valuable work she drew most of her sovereign remedies for colds, coughs, corns, and consumptions. But the truth must be told ; with all her good qua- lities, my aunt Charily was afflicted with one fault, extremely rare among her gentle sex — It was curio- sity. How she came by it I am at a loss lo imagine, but it played the very vengeance with her, and tles- Iroycd the comfort of her life. Having an invincible desire lo know every body's character, business, and mode of living, she was for ever piling into the affairs of her neighbours ; and got a great deal of ill-will from people towards whom she had the kindest dis- position 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 Ihey were. If she heard a story about any of her ac- quaintance, she would, forthwith, set off full sail, and never rest until, lo use her usual expression, she had got " lo the bottom of it ; " which meant nothing more than telling it to every body she knew. I remember one night my aunt Charity happened lo hear a most precious slory about one of her good friends, but unfortunately too late to give it imme- 40 SAUIAGUNDF. r i', diate circulation. It made lier 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 contest between these two ladies, who should first give currency to the good- natured things said about every boily ; and this un- fortunate rivalship at length proved fatal to their long and ardent friendship. My aunt got up full two hours that morning before her usual lime ; put nii her pom- padour 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 numerous additions, alterations, and amendments ! Now this was too bad ; it would al- most 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 affair of Mrs Sipkins, to whom she never would be reconciled. But I pass over the rest of my aunt Charity's life, chequered with the various misfortunes and mortifi- cations incident to those worthy old gentlewomen who have the domestic cares of the whole community upon their minds ; and I hasten to relate the melan- choly incident that hurried her out of existence in the full bloom of antiquated virginity. In their frolicksome malice the Fates had ordered that a French Itoarding-house, or Pension Fran^aise, as it was called, should be established directly opposite njy aunt's residence. Cruel event ! unhappy aunt Cha- rity ! — It threw her into that alarming disorder deno- minated the fldgets. 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 family, and somehow or other they were all men ! She could not imagine what business neighbour Pension followed 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 Pension's kitchen. In short, neighbour Pension was coutiiuially uppermost in her thoughts, and incessantly on the outer edge of her tongue. This was, I believe, the very flrst time she lia(l ever failed " to gel at the bottom of a thing j " and <lisa[)pointment cost lier many a sleepless night, I war- lant you. I have little doubt, however, that my aunt would have ferreted neighltour Pension out, could she have spoken or understood French ; but in those times people in general could make themselves imderstood In plain English ; and it was always a standing rule in (he Cockloft fiimily, which exists to this day, that not one of the females should learn French. My aunt Charity liad lived, at her window, for some lime in vain; when one day as she was keeping lier usual look-out, and suffering all the pangs of unsatis- fied curiosity, she l)eheld a little meagre, weazel-fao Frenchman, of the most forlorn, diminutive, and pltjl ful proportions, arrive at neihgbour Pension's door| He was dressed in white, with a Httle pinched up co ed hat ; he seemed toshake in the wind, and every bias that went over him whistled through his bones aoi threatened instant annihilation. This embodied spiri of famine was followed by three carts, lumberetl wjj crazy trunks, chests, band-boxes, bidets, medicin chests, parrots, and monkeys ; and at his heels ran | yelping pack of little black-nosed pug-dogs. This vJ the one thing wanting to fill up the measure nfnj aunt Charity's afflictions; she could not conceive, I the soul of her, who this mysterious little apparilio could be that made so great a display ; — what he coul possibly do with so much baggage, and particular with his parrots and monkeys; or how so small a carcat could have occasion for so many trunks of cloliiei Honest soul ! she had never had a peep into a Frencbl man's wardrobe— that depot of old coals, hats, anj breeches, of the growth of every fashion he has foUo«| ed in bis life. From the time of this fatal arrival, my poor auntvij in a quandary; — all her inquiries were fruitless;! one could expound the history of this mysterious stranj ger. She never held up her head afterwards — droop daily, took to her bed in a fortnight, and in "one lilll| month"! saw her quietly deposited in the family vaul — I)eing the seventh Cockloft that has died of a whin wham. Tako warning, my fair countrywomen ! and you,i ye excellent ladies, whether married or single, wh pi7 into other people's affairs and neglect those ofya own household; who are so busily employed in obsen ing the faults of others that you have no time to corree your own; remember the fate of my dear aunt Cliariljj and eschew the evil spirit of curiosity. FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. I FIND, by perusal of our last number, that Wij Wizard and Evergreen, taking advantage of myc flnement, have been playing some of their gamboiJ I suspected these rogues of some mal-practices, in coo sequence of their queer looks and knowing winks when] ever I caiuedown to dinner; and of their not showinj their faces at old Cockloft's for several days after I appearance of their precious effusions. Wliencvd these two waggish fellows lay their heads togetlier| there is always sure to be hatched some notable pie( of mischief,— which, if it tickles nobody else, is siireli make its authors merry. The public will take not™ that, for the purpose of teaching these my assoclal(j better manners, and punishing them for their liigl misdemeanoiu-s, I have, by virtue of my anllioiitjj suspended them from all interference in Salmagundi until they show a proper degree of repentance, or( get tired of supporting the burthen of the work mjf self. I am sorry for Will, who is already sunicleiilli mortified in not daring to cuine to the old house mi tell his long stories and smoke his cigar; but Evnl lorning, when he bonne "Fire in each eye— an FROM MINTAPIIA RL SAUIAGUNDI. 41 er, that Vi fe ofmycoi leir gamboii dices, in cii p winks wh( r not sliowii ays after tl Wlienev ads tO{i;ellierl notable piw ?lsc, is siirel II take nulic my associaK or their lii§l ny aiilhorilj Sahnagunii entance, or he work mj ly sufllciciill 1(1 house ail r: but Kvet en, being an old beau, may solace himself in his ij;o;race by trimming up all his old finery, and mak- j love to the little girls. J At present my right-hand man is cousin Pindar, Ihom I have taken into high favour. He came home eother night all in a blaze, like a sky-rocket; whisk- lup to his room in a paroxysm of poetic iii-spiralion ; jordid we see any thing of him until late the next lorning, when he bounced upon us at breakfast, " Fire in each eye— anil paper in each hand." Tills is just the way with Pindar. — Like a volcano, nlll remain for a long time silent without emitting jsingle spark ; and then, all at once, burst out in a lendous explosion of rhyme and rhapsody. As the letters of my friend Mustapha seem to excite iderable curiosity, I have subjoined another. I do vouch for the justice of his remarks, or the correct- of his conclusions; they are full of the blunders errors into which strangers continually indulge, |ho pretend to give an account of this country before y Avell know the geography of the street in which y live. The copies of my friend's papers being fused, and without dale, I cannot pretend to give !inin systematic order; in fact, they seem now and to treat of matters which have occurred since his rture. Whether these are sly interpolations of It meddlesome wight Will Wizai-d, or whether lest Mustapha was gifted with the spirit of prophecy second sight, I neither know, nor, in fact, do I care. le following seems to have been written when the ipolilan prisoners were so much annoyed by the ;e(l state of their wardrobe. Mustapha feelingly lids the embarrassments of his situation ; makes an ly transition from his breeches to the seat of govern- nt; and incontinently abuses the whole adminis- lion : like a sapient traveller I once knew, who ned the French nation in toto — because they cat ;ar with green peas. LETTER PIIOM MUSTAPHA HUD-A-ULB KELI KUAl, Asem Hacchem, printipal Slnre-drirer to his Highness the liasliaw of Tripoli. SwKET, O Asem ! is the memory of distaiU friends ! e the mellow ray of a departing sun, it falls ten- irlyyet sadly on the heart. Every hour of absence im my native land rolls heavily by, like the sandy iveof llie desert ; and the fair shores of my country « blooming to my imagination, clothed in the soft isivu cliarnis of distance. I sigh, yet no one listens the sigh of the captive ! I shed the bitter tear of rc- lleclion, but no one sympathiires in the tear of the itanwl stranger! — Think not, however, thou hro- erof my soul, that I complain of the horrors of my si- ition; think not that my captivity is attended with t labours, the chains, tlie scourges, the insults, that ider slavery, with us, more dreadful than the pangs hesitating, lingering death. Light, indeed, are the ilrainls on the [)ersonal freedom of thy kinsman ; but who can enter into the afflictions of the mind ? who can describe the agonies of the heart ? They are muuible 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 inconvenience singularly unfortunate, and am reduced to a dilemma 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 Mustapha, 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 mc indulge in lamentations about a circumstance so tri- vial, and a want apparently so easy to be satisfied ; but little canst thou know of the mortiFications attending my necessities, and the astonishing difficulty of sup- plying them. Honoured by the smiles a:.d 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 ilelight to have me at their feasts, the honour of my company eagerly so- licited by every fiddler who gives a concert; think of my chagrin at being obliged to decline the host of in- vitations that daily overwhelm me, merely for want of a pair of breeches ! Oh, Allah! Allah! that thy dis- ciples 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 appearance, prey in silence on his little pittance of enjoyment, and |)oison those moments of sunshine, which might otherwise be con- secrated to happiness. The want of a garment, thou wilt say, is easily sup- plied ; and thou mayest suppose need only be men- tioned, 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 ae(|uainted with the proiligious great scale on which every thing is transacted in this country. 'J'he nation moves most majestically slow and clumsy in the most trivial affairs; like the unwieldy elephant which makes a formidable difficulty of picking up a straw! When I hinted my necessities to the officer who has d large of myself and my companions, I expected to have them forthwith relieved. But he made an amaz- ingly long face — told me that we were prisoners of state — th? we nuist therefore be dollied at the ex- pense of the government ; that as no provision has Iteen made by Congress for an emergency of the kind, it was impossible to furnish me wilh a pair of breechcN, until iill the sages of the nation had been convene'' ;o talk over the matter, and debate upon the expediency of granting my rccpiest. Sword of the immortal Khalid, thought I, but this is great!— this is truly su- blime! All the sages of an immense logocracy assem- bled together to talk about my breeelies !— Vain mortal that I am ! I cannot but own I was somewhat recon- ciled to the delay which must necessarily attend this method of clothing me, by the consideration that if 42 SALMAGUNDI. Iiili:"' 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 ob- ject of such importance as to employ the representa- tive wisdom of the nation? and what is the cause of their talking so much about a trifle!" — " Oh," re- plied the officer, who acts as our slave-driver, " it all proceeds from economy. If the government did not spend ten times as much money in debating whether it was proper to supply you with breeches, as the breeches themselves would cost, the people, who go- vern the bashaw and his divan, would straightway begin to complain of their liberties being infringed — the national finances squandered. — Not a hostile 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 Mus- sulman," 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 thousand dollars than expend flfly silently out of the treasury. Such is the wonderful spirit of economy tliat pervades every branch of this govern- ment!"— " But," said I, "how is it possible they can spend money in talking : surely words cannot be the current coin of this country?" — "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 Con- gress, or grand talkers of the nation, either receive a yearly salaiy or are paid by (he day." — "By the nine hundred tongues of the great lieast in Maliomet's vision, but the murder is out! it is no wonder these honest men talk so much alx)ut nothing, when they are paid for talking like day-labourers." "You are mistaken," said my driver; "it is nothing but eco- nomy." ' I remained silent for some minutes, for this inex- plicable 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 philoso- phic [)oIicy of this government, to draw a proper di- stinction between an individual and a nation. If a man was to throw away a pound in order to save a beggarly penny, and lioast at the same time of his eco- nomy, I should think him on a par with the fool in the fable of Alfanji; who, in skinning a 'lint worth a farthing, spoiled a knifi; worth flfly times the sum, and thought he had acted wisely. This economic disposition, my friend, occasions ■ Som« of our n«ailri's may nni he aware, that the Monihorh of llie Amcrk'itn Ix'Rislalurn arc paid kIk ollai. |H'r diom for (heir aUcndancc dnring IhP nilllnKn, hmidm f.ii allnv ancr for Iravrtllns fxitciiM«s,— 7i'rf/^ • > ■ ■ . . .* 1 ' * ' • ' ii ■ much fighting of the spirit, and innumerable conte of the tongue in this talking assembly. Wouldst thq believe it? they were actually employed for a whol week in a most strenuous and eloquent debate abogj patching up a hole in the wall of the room appropriai ed to their meetings! A vast profusion of neno argument and pompous declamation was expended on the occasion. Some of the orators, I am told being rather waggishly inclined, were moststupidlyjij cular on the occasion ; but their waggery gave great o fence, and was highly rcf robatedbythemore weigliijj part of the assembly ; who hold all wit and humoi in abomination, and thought the business in haul much too solemn and serious to be treated lightlij It is supposed by some that this affair would haveo cupied a whole winter, as it was a subject upon whi(|{ several gentlemen spoke who had never been know to open their lips in that place except to say yes 9 no. — These silent members are by way of distinclio denominated orator mums, and are highly valued i| this country on account of their great talents fur s lence; — a qualification extremely rare in alogocran Fortunately for the public tranquillity, in the \^ test part of the debate, the president of the divan, j knowing old gentleman, one night silly sent a inai with a hod of mortar, who in the course of a fe^ minutes closed up the hole, and put a final end toll argument. Thus did this wise old gentleman, byj most simple expedient, in all probability, save I country as much money as would build a gun-boal| or pay a hireling slang-whanger for a whole vein of words. Another instance of their economy I relate will pleasure, for I really begin to feel a regard for thei poor barbarians. They talked away the best partij a whole winter Iwforc they could determine not I expend a few dollars in purchasing a sword to hesloi on an illustrious warrior : yes, Asem, on that va hero who frightened all our poor old women young children at Derne, and fully proved liliiistilf| greater man than the mother that bore him.' Thot my friend, is the collective wisdom of thismif^lilyli gocracy employed in profound debates upon the 1 trivial affairs;, as I have sometimes seen a lleit lean mountebank exert all his energies in Imlancii ayeil at the idea ofremaii a straw u|H)n his nose. Their sages behold the n ijonal gray-beards shou nutest object with the microscopic eyes of a pisiiiin e oa'asion and given t mole-hills swell into mountains, and a grain of mo re. The embarrassment tard-seed will set the whole ant-hill in a luil)biii| Whether this indicates a capacious vision, or a (lin nulive mind, I leave thee to decide; for my pari consider it as another proof of the great scale 011 whii every thing is transacted in this coimtry. |t has lately laboured ' oception of a mighty n; > good wives that assi: jencies hurried to head-c (fives, at the delivery.— I consultation; when uggling, instead of foi ot frigates, out crept a 1 bese are most pitiful lit rtlie character of the g dit of begetting them at can only sail befor «p in with the land;— running ashore; and, oth water. Though |ie maritime cities, yet th lem ; and they require { Ickety little bantlings. '. \\« pets of the grand ba: I dotage, and, perhaps I palpable weakness, a (America." The act tl ice was almost deified b \ a grand stroke of ecun net, but Ibis word is ti I To this economic body kiress my petition, and |igust assembly of sages leir wisdom and the m lunificently bestow on ai icolton breeches ! "flea 1 1, " but this woidd •!— What! after these r to leave their country |posed to all the political if expect that they wi niforl the extremities of iciamation was only ansv nsoled by the assurance tied, it was every way \ Jciipy a whole session of [the longest heads togetli was the idea of a wl out my breeches, yet I have before told thee that nothing can be doi oposition the result of w without consulting the sages of the nation, whuotia pose the assembly called the Congress. Thisprulil liody may not improperly be called the " niollier inventions ; " and a most fruitful mother it is, lei tell thee, though its children are generally abortion g, bestowed on thee b\ > r.cneral Eaton. „, . "h thy gratitude that h ix|)erlenced was visible ii ard, who is a man of in Jlely snggested, as a mo iiijf my wants, a berief ofoimdiy ignorant of his another letter. Fare thee well, dear As tfi'cal prophet, never fi lurn;and when thou nu SALMAGUNDI. 43 ible conte f^ouldst th for a whol ebate aboJ 1 appropriau of nenoiii IS expended , I amtoldj ;t stupidly joj ;ave great lore weightil and humoi less in lianj ated Ugh mid have buponwhi been knoi » say yes ai »f distinctii ily valued i alenU fur 1 a logocrai , in the hot the divan, |t has lately laboured with what was deemed the nception of a mighty navy. — All the old women and > good wives that assist the bashaw in his emer- |«ocies hurried to head-quarters to be busy, like mid- (fives, at the delivery. — All was anxiety, fidgeting, I consultation; when after a deal of groaning and uggling, instead of formidable first-rates and gal- nt frigates, out crept a litter of sorry little gun-boats ! bese are most pitiful little vessels, partaking vastly [the character of the grand bashaw, who has the dit of begetting them; being flat shallow vessels lat can only sail before the wind; — must always !ep in with the land;— are continually foundering r running ashore; and, in short, are only fit for olh water. Though intended for the defence of |ie maritime cities, yet the cities are obliged to defend lem ; and they require as much nursing as so many |ckety little bantlings. They are, however, the dar- ; pets of the grand l)ashaw, being the children of i dotage, and, perhaps from their diminutive size palpable weakness, are called the " infant navy America." The act that brought them into exist- ice was almost deified by the majority of the people a grand stroke of economy.— By the beard of Ma- sent a tnasd met, but this word is truly inexplicable ! ■se of a fei lalendtotli dress my petition, and humbly to pray that the tleman, hy ity, save bi eir wisdom and the magnitude of their powers, a gun-lxHf unificently bestow on an unfortunate captive a pair hole volun cotton breeches ! " Head of the immortal Anirou," ied I, " but this would be presumptuous to a de- [ relate wil ee !— What ! after these worthies have thought pro- :ard for Iha r to leave their country naked and defenceless, and e best parti posed to all the political storms that rattle without, rmiiie not I d I expect that they will lend a helping hand to »rd to besto nifort the extremities of a solitary captive ? " My on that ver clamation was only answered by a smile, and I was women an nsoled by the assurance that, so far from being ne- k'cd hinisell ected, it was every way probable my breeches might liin.' Tlio cupy a whole session of the divan, and set several lis mighty poll the ni n, or a dii >r my part in, who 0(1 This pruli " molhiT rit is, let I To this economic body therefore was I advised to gust assembly of sages would, in the plenitude of the longest heads together by the ears. Flattering was the idea of a whole nation being agitated en a llerct out my breeches, yet I own 1 was somewhat dis- iii balancii jyed at the idea of remaining in cuerpo, until all the lioiial gray-beards should have made a speech on of a pisiiiin e occasion, and given their consent to the mea- jrain of nw re. The embarrassment and distress of mind which n a luihbul u|)ericnced was visible in my countenance, and my lani, who is a man of inflnite good-nature, imme- ilely suggested, as a more expeditious plan of sup- caleonwIiiMyiiig my wants, a benelitat the theatre. Though ofouiully ignorant of his meaning, I agreed to his can be doi oposilioii, the result of which I sliull disclose to thee another letter. Fare thee well, dear Asein; in thy pious prayers to irKienl prophet, never forget to solicit thy friend's turn; and when thou numlwrest up the many bless- lly abortion g, bestowed on thee by all-lwiintiful Allah, pour rlh thy gratitude (hat he has cast thy nativity in a land where there is no assembly of legislative chat- terers; — no great bashaw, who bestrides a gun-boat for a hobby-horse ; — where the word economy is un- known; — and where an unfortunate captive is not obliged to call upon the whole nation to cut him out a pau" of breeches. Ever thine, MCSTAPIIA. FIOM TUK HILL OF PIXDAB COCKLOFT, ESQ. TuouGH enter'd on that sol)er age, Wlien men withdraw from rasliion's stage, And leave llie rollies of llie day, To sliape tlieir course a graver way ; Still those gay scenes I loiter round. In wliicli my youth sweet transport found ; And though I feel their joys decay, And languish every hour away, — Yet like an exile doom'd to part From the dear country of his tieart. From the fair spot in which he sprung. Where his first notes of love were sung. Will often turn to wave the hand. And sigh his blessings on the land ; Just so my lingering watch I keep, Thus oft I take the farewell peep. And, like that pilgrim, who retreats Thus lagging from his parent seats. When the sad thought [Mirvades his mind, That the fair land he leaves behind Is ravaged by a foreign foe. Its cities waste, its temples low. And ruined all those haunts of joy That gave him rapture when a boy ; Turns from it with averted eye. And while he heaves the anguish'd sigli, Scarce feels regret that the loved shore Shall beam uixin his sight no more ;— Just so it grieves my soul to view. While breathing forth a fond adieu. The innovations pride has made. The lUstlan, frip(H3ry, and parade, That now usurp with mawkish grace Pure tranquil pleasure's wonted place ! "Twas joy we took'd for in my prime, That idol of the olden time ; When all our |)astiines liad the art To please, and not mislead, tlic lieart. Style cursed us not,— Itiat modern flash, That love of racket and of trash ; Whicli scares at once all feeling joys. And drowns delight in empty noise ; Which liarters friendship, mirth and truth, The artless air, the bloom of youth, And all those gentle sweets Ihat swarm Hound nature in their simplest form. For cold display, fur hollow slate. The trappings of the would-be great. Oh ! once again those days recall, When heart met heart in fashion's hall ; AV hen every honest guest would Hock To add his pleasure to the stock, Horo fond his feelings to e\|iresN, Than show the tinsel of his dn-ss ! These were the limes that held the soul In gentle friendship's soft control i Our fair ones, uuiiiiifaned l)y art, Content to gain one honest Ix'art, No train of sighing swains desired. Sought to be loved and not admired. DnI now 'lis form, not love, unites i 'Tls show, not pleasure, that Invites. ' 4i SALMAGUNDI. Karli weks llie ball to play the queen, To ilirt, to conquer, to be seen; liacli graitps at univri-iial sway, And rel^s the Idol of the day i Kxnils amid a thousand sifili.s. And triuniphs when a lover dies, lilach belle a rival belle surveys, Like deadly foe with hostile gaze ; Nor can her "dearest friend " caress. Till she has slily scaun'd her dress ; Sis conquests in one year will make, And ten eternal friendships break ! How oft I braathe the inward sigh, And feel the dew^lrup in my eye. When I liehold some l)cauteons fk-anic, Divine in every thing but name, Just venturing, in the tender age, , On fashion's late new-fangled stage ! Where soon the guiltless heart shall ceaso To beat in artlessness and peace; Where all the (lowers of gay delight Willi which youth decks its prospects bright. Shall wither 'mid the cares, the strife, The cold realities of life ! Thus lately, in my careless mood. As I the world of fashion view'd. While celebrating great and small. That grand iuilenuiity, a ball, BIy roving vision chanced to light on two sweet forms, divinely bright : Two sister nymphs, alike in face. In mien, in loveliness, an<l grace; Twin rose-buds, bursting into bloom. In all their freshness and perfume ; Like those fair forms that often beam Upon the Kastern poet's dream '. l''or Kden had each lovely maid In native imioceiicc array'd,— And heaven itself had almost slicd 1(8 sacred halo round each head ! They seem'd. Just entering hand in hand, To cautious tread this fairy laud; To take a timid hasly view, Knchanted w ith a scene so ui w. The modest blush, untaught by art, Ilespolke their purity of licarl ; And every timorous act uulurl'd 'I'wo souls unsimltdd by tlic world. Oh ! how these strangers joyed my sight. And thrill'd my Iiosom with delight! They brought th.; \isions of my youth Back to my soui in all their truth ; iteoall'd fair spirits into day. That time's rough hand had swept away. Thus the bright natives from aljove. Who come on nicssiigcs of love, Will ble^s, at rare and distant whiles, Uur sinful dwelling by their smiles. Oh ! my romance of youth is piist— Dear airy dream, too bright to last. Yet when such forms as these app(!ar, I feci its soft rcnieinhrance here; l'"or oft the simple poet's heart. On w lii(;h foiiil love once (ilay'd Its part, Will W\ lli(> soft pulsations lieat. As loath to quit their former seal •■ .lust like the huiv's luekNlious w ire, Kwept hy a haiil with lu<aveidy lire— Thougli ceas(Ml the loudly swelling strain. Yet sweet vihratiuns long remain. I''nll soon I found the lovely |iair llnd <i|>rung lK<uealli a molher's care. Hard by a neighbouring sirenndet's side, At once its ornament and pride. The beauteous parent's tender heart . _ -. . Il.id well fullill'd iLs pious part; And, like the holy man of old, ' ' ' As we're by sacred writings told, . Who, when he from his pupil s()ed, Pixir'd two-fokl hicssings on his head : So this fond mother had imprest ' Her early virtues in each breast. But now resign'd the calm retreat, Where lirst their souls in concert beat, They'd llown on expectation's wing, , To sip the joys of life's gay spring ; To s|iori in fashion's splendid maze. Where friendship fades, and love decays. ' ' ' So two sweet wild (lowers, near the side Of some fair river's silver tide. Pure as the gentle stream that laves The green banks w ith its lucid waves. Bloom Iteauteous in their native ground. Diffusing heavenly fragrance round ; But should a venturous hand transfer These blossoms to the gay parterre, W here, spite ofarlKicial aid, The fairest plants of nature fade. Though tiu'.) may shine supreme awhile 'Mid pale ones of the stranger soil. The tender beauties soon decay. And their sweet fragrance dies away. Blest spirits! who, enthroned in air, Watch o'er the virtues of Ilie fair, And with angelic ken survey Their windings through life's che<|uer'd way ; Oh ! make this inexperienced pair The objects of your tenderest care. I'rcserve them from the languid eye, The faded cheek, the long drawn sigh ; And let it be your constant aim '1 keep the fair oties still tlie same : Two sister hearts, uiisnilied, bright As the lii-st beams of hic^d light. That sparkled from the youthful sun. When lii-sl his jocund race begun. So when these hearts shall hurst their shrine, To wing their (light to realms divine, liiey may to radiant mansions rise I'ure as when lirst they left the skies. No. X.— SATURDAY, MAY 10, «II07. FROM MY KLUOW-CIUIR. The long interval which lias elapsed since blicalion of our last nuinher, like many other reimil able events, has given rise to much conjecture, excited considerable solicitude. It is hut a day two since I heard a knowing young gentleman serve that he suspected Salniagundi would be a days wonder, and had even prophesied that the ni would l)e our last elTort. Hut the age of propli as well as that of chivalry, is past; and no reti man should now venture to foretell aught hut vli he is ilelcrmincd to bring altout himself ;— lie ii then, if he please, monopolize prediction, and kl iioured as a prophet evei> in his own country. 'riiough I liold whether we write, or not write, be none of the public's business, yet (is I ha>ej lid nf the loss of three iCiintoiuans, I feel in a reupon, and will give s ijch induced us to resu lier our amusements ; f a moment's labour, the luld hang up his pen, t( irld at large, and of o 10 has actually bougli jeches, with the prolils He iitforms me that sc [Saturday for No. X., ich to heart, that he re le catastrophe; and one ular, declared his inten Ihe work was not contin $ grown quite rielancho eral young ladies hav It if another number di m, they would be oblige ingtheir beaux and mal ssuie my reatlers, there cy no more suspected m iD', than they suspect n lina, or the man in the r I have also received se^ r indolent procrastinatii ndeiiis assures me, tha men, who had not reat scliool, but who have I r paper, will certainly i ess we go on. For the sake, therefor* il:<iost especially for th ery one of whom we iild, I have again wie arty determination to se make cherubim and ser is enchanting town, am ileralists, who, in truth, er since the American 'J being so unhappily thro TO L4U>CEL0T Sir— I felt myself hurt the [I een's terrible philippic a of your work, and was at ills strictures might 1 iiionoiir to profess, int yourself and fraternity onderftil effect upon the eall fiiiployed in readin e waltz has !)een enlir iisonal inter halls haveclosed.— should have addressed ; inlotisiy employed while supporting Ihe astonishi Klin composing i new ( ly-clmrch,loberungdu ilh dingdong di-do, in: SALMAGUNDI. m n( the loss of three thousand votes at least to tCiintoiuans, I feel in a remarkably dulcet humour kreupon, and will give some account of the reasons jijcli induced us to resume our useful labours — or Iher our amusements; for, if writing cost either of I a moment's labour, there is not a man but what (lid hang up his pen, to the great detriment of the )fl(i at large, and of our publisher in particular; |io has actually bought himself a pair of trunk ches, with the profits of our writings ! ! |||e iuforms me that several persons having called (Saturday for No. X., took the disappointment so |ich to heart, that he really apprehended some ter- > catastrophe; and one good-looking mun, in par- ular, declared his intention of quitting the country |lhe work was not continued. Add to this, the town $ grown quite melancholy in the last fortnight; and Ireral young ladies have declared in my hearing, bt if another number did not make its appearance JDn, Ihey would he obliged to amuse themselves with isinglheir beaux and making them miserable. Now, Issme my readers, there was no (lattery in this, for ley no more suspected me of being Launcelot Lang- ifl', than they suspect me of being the Emperor of nina, or the man in the moon. |l have also received several letters complaining of Ir indolent i>rocrastination ; and one of my corres- Indeiiis assures me, that a number of young gen- (men, who had not read a book through since they tscliool, but who have taken a wonderful liking to Ir paper, will certainly relapse into their old habits lless we go on. [For the sake, therefore, of all these good people, J:nost especially for the satisfaction of the ladies, |ery one of whom we would love, if we possibly i], I have again wielded my pen, with a most laity determination to set the whole world to rights ; 1 make cherubim and seraphim of all the fair ones of lis enchanting town, and raise the spirits of the poor lleralists, who, in truth, seem to be in a sad taking, ■er since the American Ticket met with the accident [being so unhappily thrown out. TO LWNCBLOT LANnSTAFV, ESQ, Sir— I felt myself hurt and offended by Mr Ever- en's terrible philippic against modern nuisic,inNo. of your work, and was under serious apprehension t Ills strictures might bring the art, which I have iionour to profess, into contempt. The opinions yourself and fraternity appear indeed to have a nderfiil effect upon the town. I am told the ladies all I'inployed in reading Bunyan and Pamela, and e waltz has !ieen entirely forsaken ever since the no reasonal inter halls have closed . — Under these apprehensions, slioiikl have adilressed you before, had I not been liiiioHsly employed while the theatre continued open, supporting the astonishing variety of the orchestra. Hi in composing <i new chime or bob-major for Tri- ly-cluireh, to be rimg during the summer, beginning ilh (lidgdong di-do, instead of di -do ding-dong. llie citizens, especially those who live in the neigh- liourhood of that harmonious quarter, will no doubt be infinitely delighted with this novelty. But to the object of this communication. So far, sir, from agreeing with Mr Evergreen in thinking that all moilern music is but the mere dregs and drainings of the ancient, I tnist before this letter is concluded, I shall convince you and him that some of the late professors of this enchanting art have com- pletely distanced the paltry efforts of the ancients ; and that I, in particular, have at length brought it al- most to absolute perfection. The Greeks, simple souls ! were astonished at the powers of Orpheus, who made the woods and rocks dance to his lyre— of Amphion, who converted crotch- ets into bricks, and quavers into mortar — and of Arion, who won upon the compassion of the fishes. In the fervency of admiration, their poets fabled that Apollo had lent them his lyre, and inspired them with his own spirit of harmony. What then would they have said had they witnessed the wonde ful ef- fects of my skill ? Had they heard me, in the compass of a single piece, describe in glowing notes one of the most sublime operations of nature, and not only make inanimate objects dance, but even speak ; and not only speak, but speak in strains of exquisite harmony? Let me not, however, be understood to say that I am the sole author of this extraordinary improvement in the art, for I confess I took the hint of many of my discoveries from some of those meritorious produc- tions that have lately come abroad, and made so much noise under the title of overtures. — From some of these, as, for instance, Lodoiska, and the battle of Marengo, a gentleman, or a captain in the city mi- litia, or an amazonian young lady, may indeed acquire a tolerable idea of military tactics, and become very well experienced in the firing of musketry, the roar- ing of cannon, the rattling of drums, the whistling of fifes, braying of trumpets, groans of the dying, and trampling of cavalry without ever going to the wars; but it is more especially in the art of imitating ini- mitable things, and giving the language of every pas- sion and sentiment of he human mind, so as entirely to do away the necessity of speech, that I purticidarly excel the most celebrated musicians of ancient and modern times. I think, sir, I may venture to say there is not a sound in the whole compass of nature which I cannot imitate, and even improve upon; — nay, what I con- sidtr the perfection of my art, I have iliscovered a method of expressing, in the most striking manner, that undeflnahle, indescribable silence, which accom- {Kinies the falUng of snow. In order to prove to you that I do not arrogate to myself what I am unable to perform, I will detail to you the different movements of a grand piece which I pride myself upon exceedingly, called tlie "Break- ing up of the ice in the Worth-river." 'I'he piece opens with a gentle andante nffetinitso, which ushers you into the Assembly-room in the m SALMAGUNDI. r i State-house at Albany, where the Speaker addresses Ills farewell speech, informing the members that the ice is alwut breaking up, and thanking them for their great services and good behaviour in a manner so pathetic as to bring tears into their eyes.— Flourish of Jacks-a-donkies. — Ice cracks; Albany in a hubbub — air, " Three children sliding on the ice, all on a summer's day." — Citizens quan-elling in Dutch — chorus of tin trumpet, a cracked fiddle, and a hand- saw! — allegro moderato. — Hard frost : this, if given with proper spirit, has a charming effect, and sets every body's teeth chattering. — Symptoms of snow — consultation of old women who complain of pains in the bones, and rheumaiics — air, " There was an old woman tossed up in a blanket," etc. — allegro stac- cato. — Waggon breaks into the ice — people all run to see what is the matter — air, sieiliano. — "Can you row the boat ashore, Billy boy, Billy Ijoy" — audante; — frost fish froze up in the ice — air, " Ho, why dost thou shiver and shake. Gaffer Gray, and why does thy nose look so blue?" — Flourish of two-penny trumpets and rattles — consultation of the North-river society — determine to set the North-river on lire, as soon as it will burn— air, " O, what a line kettle of fish." Part II.— Great Thaw. — This consists of Ihe most melting strains, (lowing su smoothly as to occasion a great overflowing of scientific rapture — air, "One misty moisty morning." — The house of assembly breaks up— air,— "The owls came out and flew about." — Assembly-men embark on their way to New- York — air, " The ducks and the geese they all swim over, fal de ral," etc. — Vessel sets sail— chorus of mariners, "Steer her up, and let her gang." — After this a rapid movement conducts you to New- York — the North-river society hold a meeting at the corner of Wall-street, and determine to delay burning till all the assembly-men are safe home, for fear of consuming some of their own members who belong to that respectable body. — lleturn again to the ca- pital. — Ice floats down the river — lamentation of skait- ers— air, affeituoso — " I sigh and lament me in vain," etc. — Albanians cutting up sturgeon — air, "O the roast beef of Albany." — Ice runs against Polopoy's island, with a terrible crash : this is represented by a fierce fellow travelling with his fiddle-stick over a huge bass viol, at Ihe rate of one hundred and fifty bars a minute, and tearing the music to rags — this being what is called execution. — The great body of ice passes West-Point, and is saluted by three or four dismounted cannon from Fort Putnam. — " Jefferson's march," by a full band — air, " Yankee dooille," with seventy-six variations, never before attempted, ex- cept by the celebrated eagle, which flutters his wings over the copper-bottomed angel at Messrs Paff's in Broadway. Ice passes New-York — conch-shell sounds at a distance- ferryman calls o-v-e-r — people run down Courtlaiull street— ferry-boat sets sail— air, ac- companied by the conch-shell, " We'll all go over Ihe ferry."— llondeaux— giving a particular account of nt. They might also int being obliged to i irtality of nine days, '^tism. it the most important |t it may be applied to the ideralum, in the learn( jfe. Wherever this so iiig more will be nece ilpliabet; which being al amount to a universal i in may thus — with of rosin, and a few way through the world :e himself understood. IJ Brom the PoWles-hook admiral, who is supposed! be closely connected with the North-river societTj The society make a grand attempt to fire the stn but are utterly defeated by a remarkably high i which brings the plot to light. — Society notbeingij couraged, apply to " Common sense " for his lania — air, " Nose, nose, jolly red nose." — Flock of \ geese fly over the city — old wives chatter in the — cocks crow at Communipaw — drums beat on vernor's island. — The whole to conclude with blowing up of Sands' powder-house Thus, sir, you perceive what wonderful poweiii expression have been hitherto locked up in this chanting art ; — a whole history is here told will the aid of speech, or writing ; and provided the hi is in the least accpiainted with music, he cannot take a single note. As to the blowing up of the poi der-house, I look upon it as a chef-d'mivre whickj am confident will delight all modern amateurs, \i very properly estimate music in proportion to noise it makes, and delight in thundering cannon earthquakes. I must confess, however, it is a difficult im manage, and I have already broken six pianos in ing it the proper force and effect. But I do not spair, and am quite certain that by Ihe time I In broken eight or ten more, I shall have brought il such perfection, as to be able to teach any young li of tolerable ear, to thunder it away to the infinite light of papa and mamma, and the great annuy of those Vandals who are so barbarous as to pi the simple melody of a Scots air to the sublime el sions of modern musical doctors In my warm anticipations of future improvemei I have sometimes almost convinced myself that sic will in time be brought to such a climax of fection, as to supersede the necessity of speech writing; and every kind of social intercourse be ducted by the flute and fiddle. The immense fits that will result from this improvement must plain to every man of the least consideration.— In present unhappy situation of mortals, a man has one way of making himself perfectly understood he loses his speech, he must inevitably be diiinb the rest of his life; but having once learned thisni musical language, the loss of speech wi'l be a trifle, not worth a moment's uneasiness. No this, Mr L., but it will add much to the ' -trinony domestic intercourse; for it is certainly m. . ran agreeable to hear a lady give lectures on the pian than viva voce, in the usual discordant nieasun "'"S tl'6 cheek of his ir This manner of discoursing may also, I think, be ■ sl'e<l» trtmhled, advaa troduced with great effect into our national assea wdtohismistress;— an blies, where every man, instead of wagging his IM gue, should l)e obligetl to flourish a fiddlestick;! •' a modest and diffkU which means, if he said nothing to the purpose, I ?lel which playetl upon would at all events "discourse most ehwiuenl music, > »"'' relued to demar which is more than can be said of most of ihem »>»st evident confusion and the game went on AlhHling to Tom Paine, who had a remarkably red nose, nsff"* "f he'' rejected suil NOTE BT TB lut tlic knowledge or perm Ihe dared, he would have pla( Icon Ihe fireal dilfereiiee i sc\cs now, from what did danger of that check-by-ji lusl be obvious to many ; an pie ofone of its evils. REMEMBER the CounI ipiishedand handsome y as there, he was passion it peerless beauty. S of great rank, andgrt lliese considerations, as , slie was followed was lively and amiable affahilily which still k< gh it was generally kn( ilyfor Count M ;a king for the nuptials.- miiid, and a delicate s If alone ; for the virtue T beautiful form. Like never approached her v tuucked her, a fire sh led him not to invade lips. Such were his ,atlii$ intended father- ile were met to celebrai le young lady's rejected were one of the pasli gie«>tost merriment, til bv jme witty mam'se SALMAGUNDI. 47 «nt. They might also sound their own * umpets at being obliged to a hireling scribbler for an ality of nine days, or subjected to the censure |[goUsm. u( the most important result of this discovery is, t it may be applied to the establishment of that great tderatum, in the learned world, a universal lan- Ige. Wherever this science of music is cultivated, biug more will be necessary than a knowledge of Lipliabet; which being almost the same every where, ll amount to a universal medium of communication. an may thus — with his violin under his arm, a of rosin, and a few bundles of catgut — fiddle Iway through the world, and never be at a loss to Ike himself understood. I am, etc. Demv Semiquaver. NOTE BV TDE PUBLISHER, ml tlic knowledge or pprmission of the authors, and which, |bc dared, he would have placod ni-ar where tlieir remarks arc ideon Ihe fircal difTerencc uf manners which exist between ! sexes now, Trom what did in the days of our granUames. Jb;ilauger of that check-by-juwl familiarity of the present day |usl be obvious to many; and 1 think the following a strong rpleofone of its evils. REMEMBER the CoHut , ouc of the most ac- iplished and handsome young men in Vienna : when as there, he was passionately in love with a girl of t peerless beauty. She was the daughter of a of great rank, and great inHuence at court ; and Oiese considerations, as well as in regard to her , she w^as followed by a multitude of suitors, was lively and amiable, and treate<l them all with aflabilily which still kept them in her train, al- igli it was generally known she had avowed a par- ity for Count M ; and that preparations were ing for the nuptials.— The count was of a re- mind, and a delicate sensibility : he loved her for self alone, for the virtues which he believed dwelt ler beautiful form. Like a lover of such perfections, never approached her without timidity; and when tuuched her, a fire shot through his veins, that net! him nut to invade the vermilion sanctuary of Such were his feelings, when, one even- ;,aliiis intended father-in-law's, a party of young lie were met to celebrate » certain festival : several le young lady's rejected suitors were present. For- wetc one of the pastimes, and all went on with gieiOest merriment, till the count was command- bv jme witty mam'selle, to redeem his glove by ant measuiC*''"? tl>c cheek of his intended bride. The count ilied, trtmbled, advanced, retreated; again ad- itional asseiiB"*^'*'»s mistress;— and,— atlast,— with a tremor I shook his whole soul, and every fibre of his frame, II a modest and diffident grace, he took the soft (let which played upon her cheek, pressed it to his ,an(l retired to demand bis redeemetl pledge in most evident confusion. His mistress gaily smil ami the game went on. ly red nosc.ri ^* "'^ ''*"'■ ejected suitors, who was of a merry unthinking disftosition, was adjudged by the same indiscreet crier of the forfeits as "liis last treat be- fore he hanged himself" to snatch a kiss from the object of his recent vows. A lively contest ensued between the gentleman and lady, which lasted for more than a minute; but the lady yielded, though in the midst of a convulsive laugh. The count had the mortification — the agony — to see the lips, which his passionate and delicate love would not permit him to touch, kissed with rough- ness, and repetition, by another man : — even by one whom he reaUy despised. Mournfully and silently, without a word, ne rose from his chair — left the room and the house. By that good-natured kiss the fair boast of Yieima lost her lover — lost her husband. The count never saw her more. No. XI.— TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 1807. LEITER FBOM HUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB EELI KHAN, Captain of a Kelrh. to Asem Hacchem, principal Slave- driter to his Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli. The deep shadows of midnight gather around me — the footsteps of the passengers have ceased in Ihe streets, and nothing disturbs the holy silence of the hour save the sound of distant drums, mingled with the shouts, tlie l>awlings, and Ihe discordant revelry of his majesty, the sovereign mob. Let the hour be sa- cred to friendship, and consecrated to thee, oh, thou brother of my inmost soul ! Oh, Asem! I almost shruik at Ihe recollection of Ihe scenes which I have witnessed during Ihe last three days. I have beheld this whole city, nay, jhis whole state, given up to the tongue and the pen— to the bawl- ers, the babblers, and the slang-whangers. I have beheld the community convulsed with a civil war, or civil talk — individuals verbally massacral — families annihilated by whole sheets full — and slang-whangers coolly bathing their pens in ink and rioting in the slaughter of their thousands. J have seen, in short, that awful despot, the people, in the moment of un- limited power, wielding newspapers in one hand, and with the other scattering mud and filth about, like some desperate lunatic relieved from the restraints of his strait waistcoat. I have seen beggars on horse- back, ragamuffins riding in coaches, and swine seated in places of honour. I have seen liberty ! I have seen equality ! I have seen fraternity! — I have seen that great political puppet show — an election. A few days ago the friend, whom I have mentioned in some of my former letters, called upon me to ac- company him to witness this grand ceremony ; and we forthwith sallied out to the {tolls, as he called them. Though, for several weeks before this splendid exhi- bition, notJiing else had l)een talked of, yet I do assure thee I was entirely ignorant of iU nature; and when, on coming up to a church, my companion informed 48 SAUUGUNDI. me we were at the poll, I supposed that an election was some great religious ceremony like the fast of Ra- mazan, or the great festival of Haraphat, so celebrat- ed in the east. My friend, however, nndeceivetl me at once, and entered into a long dissertation on the nature and ob- ject of an election, the subject of which was near- ly to this effect : " You know, " said he, " that this country is engaged in a violent internal warfare, and suffers a variety of evils from civil dissensions. An election is the grand trial of strength, where the belli- gerents draw out their forces in martial array ; where every leader burning with warlike ardour, and en- couraged by the shouts and acclamations of tatterde- malions, buffoons, dependents, parasites, toad - caters, scrubs, vagrants, mumpers, ragamuHins, bravoes and beggars in his rear, and puffed up by his bellows-blow- ing slang-whangers, waves gallantly the banners of faction, and presses forward to office and immoriafitij. " For a month or two previous to this critical period, the whole community is in a ferment. Every man, of whatever rank or degree, disinterestedly neglects ixis business, (o devote himself to his country ; — and not an insignificant fellow but feels himself inspired, on this occasion, with as much warmth in favour of (he cause he has espoused, as if all the comfort of his life, or even his life itself, were dependent on the issue. Grand councils of war are in the first place called by the different powers, which are dubbed general meetings, where all the leaders collect, and arrange the order of battle — appoint the different commanders, and their subordinate instruments, and furnish the funds indispensable for supplying the expenses of the war. Inferior councils are next called in the different classes or wards, consisting of young cadets who are candidates for office; idlers who come from mere cu- riosity ; and orators who appear for the purpose of detailing all the crimes, the faults, or the weaknesses of their opponents, and speaking the sense of the meet- ing, as it is called; for as the meeting generally consists of men whose quota of sense, taken individually, would make but a poor figure, these orators are appointed to collect it all in a lump, when, I assure you, it makes a very formidable appearance, and wlien spun out furnishes suf/icient matter fui an oration of two or three hours. "The orators who declaim at these meetings are, with a few exceptions, men of most profuimd elo- quence, who are the oracles ofl)arbers' shops, market- places, and porter-houses, and whom you may see every day at tht corner of the street, taking honest men prisoners by the button, and talking their ribs quite Iwre, without mercy and without end. These orators, in addressing an audience, generally mount a chair, a table, or a beer barrel— which last is sup- posed to afford considerable inspiration— and thunder away their combustible sentiments at the heads of the audience, who are generally so busily employed in smoking, drinking, and hearing themselves talk, that they seldom hear a word of the matter. This, however, is of little moment; for as they come tin to agree at all events to a certain set of resoliitioi or articles of war, it is not at all necessary to hearii speech, more especially as few would understand! if they did. Do not suppose, however, that tin i nor persons of the meeting are entirely idle. BesidI smoking and drinking, there are few who doi come with as great a desire to talk as the orator I self. Each has his little circle of listeners, in i midst of whom he sets his hat on one side of hisliei deals out matter-of-fact information, and draws s evident conclusions, with the pertinacity of a peda and to the great edification of his gaping au(lit« Nay, the very urchins from the nursery, wlioi scarcely emancipated from the dominion of birch,i these occasions strut pigmy great men — bellow | the instruction of gray-bearded ignorance, and, the frog in thefuble, endeavour to puff themselves J to the size of the great object of their emulation- principal orator." "But is it not preposterous to a degree," crifdj "for puny whipsters to attempt to lecture age andif perience? They should be sent to school to !« better." "Not at all," replied my friend; "for J an election is nothing more than a war of words, i| man that can wag his tongue with the greatest dj ticity, whether he spe.ik to the purpose or not, is j titled to lecture at ward-meetings and polls, .uidil struct all who are inclined to listen to him. Yoiin have remarked a ward-meeting of politic dogs, wlm although the great dog is, ostensibly, the leader, makes the most noise, yet every little scoandrela cur has something to say, and, in proportion to I insignificance, fidgets, and worries about in orderj obtain the nut ice and approbation of his betters, it is with these little, beardless, bread-and-b(itter|i| liticians, who, on this occasion, escape from tliejm diction of the nurseiy to attend to the affairs of II nation : you will see them engage in dreadful m contest with old carlmen, cobblers, and tailors, ; plume themselves not a little if they should clianwj gain a victory. Aspiring spirits! how interesting^ the first dawnings of political greatness ! An eleclH my friend, is a hot-bed of genius in a logocracy; I look with enthusiasm on a troop of these Lillipulii partisans, as so many chatterers, and orators, i puffers, and slang-whangers in embryo, who willo day take an important part in the quarrels and m wars of their country. "As the time for fighting the decisive battle i proaches, a[)pearances become more and more alanj ing; committees are appointed, who hold encaiq ments, from whence they send out small detacliniel of tattlers to reconnoitre, harass, and skirmish ' the enemy, and, if possible, to ascertain tbeirn« hers ; every body seems big with the mighty evtj that is impending : the great orators gradually s« beyond their usual size; the little orators grow greil and greater ; the secretaries of the ward coniniill^ strut about, looking like wooden oracles; the pii SAIJflAGUNDI. 4<J (Oil nirs of inif^lity consequence ; tiie slang-whang- I deal out direful inuendoes, and threats of doughty ort;— and all is buz7, murmur, suspense, and blifflity! I" At length the day arrives. The storm that has so long gathering, and threatening in distant ^nders, bursts forth in terrible explosion : all bu- I is at an end; the whole city is in a tumult; people arc running helter-sktiter; they know : whither, and they know not why; the hack- ly-coaches rattle through the streets, loaded with uiting sergeants, who have been prowling in |lars and caves, to unearth some penniless patriot, will barter his vote for a glass of beer, or a >ina coach with such fine genUemen! — the buz- i of the party scamper from poll to poll, on foot J on horseback ; and they worry from committee Icommittee, and buzz, and fume, and talk big, and jdo nothing : like the vagabond drone, who wastes I lime in the labonous idleness of see-saw-song, and Ly nothingness." I know not how long my friend would have con- lued his detail, had he not been interrupted by a labhle which took place between two o/d conti- |ifa($, as they were called. It seems they bad en- linto an argument on the respective merits of |eir cause, and not being able to make each other >ariy understood, resorted to what is called knock- irn arguments, which form the superlative degree largumeHtum ad hominem ; but are, in my opinion, flier inconsistent with the spirit of a logocracy. lerthey had beaten each other soundly, and set the ole mob together by the ears, they came to a full planatlon ; when it was discovered that they were I of the same way of thinking ; — whereupon they : each other heartily by the hand, and laughed I great glee at their humorous misunderstand- I could not help being struck with the exceeding lat number of ragged, though self-important per- kages that swaggered about the place, and seem- I to think themselves the bashaws of the land. I iiired of my friend if these people were employed drive away the hogs, dogs, and other intruders |t might thrust themselves in and interrupt the ce- flny?— "By no means," replied he; "these are i representatives of the sovereign people, who ^e here to make governors, senators, and mem- s of Assembly, and are the source of all power and Diority in this nation."— " Preposterous ! " said I; pw is it possible that such men can be instructed he high concerns of legislation, and capable of dis- fiinating between the moral and political merits atesmen ? Will they not rather be too often led he nose by intriguing demagogues, and made the ! puppets of political jugglei-s? Surely it would letter to trust to Providence, or even to chance, Igovernors, than to the discrimination of an igno- I mob. What will be the consequence where pro- pon rests with the rabble! He who courts the rabble will be most likely to succeed. The man of superior worth and talents will always be too proud to stoop to the low arts by which vulgar minds are won; he will too often, therefore, be defeated by the pliant sycophants or blustering demagogues who ad- dress themselves to the passions and prejudices, ra- ther than to the judgments of the populace." My friend appeared a little puzzled either by the logic or the length of my remark. "That is very true— very true indeed," said he, with some hesita- tion; " there is a great deal of force in what you say —yet after all you cannot deny that this is a free coun- try, and that the people can get drunk at a cheaper rate, particularly during elections, than in the des- potic countries of the east." I confess I was somewhat staggered by the perti- nency of this rejoinder, and had not a word to say against the correctness of its concluding assertion ; for just at that moment a cart drove up with a load of pa- triotic beer-barrels, which caused a temporary cessa- tion of all further argument. The great crowd of buzzards, puffers, and "old continentals" of all par- ties, who throng to the polls, to [lersuade, to cheat, or to force the freeholders into the right way, and to maintain the freedom of suffrage, seemed for a mo- ment to forget their hostilities, and joined heartily in a copious libation of this patriotic and argumentative beverage. These beer-barrels, indeed, seem to be most able logicians, well stored with that kind of argument best suited to the comprehension and taste of the mob or sovereign people, who are never so tractable as when operated upon by this convincmg liquor, which, in fact, seems to be imbued with the very spirit of a logocracy. No sooner does it begin to operate than the tongue waxes extremely valorous, and becomes impatient for some mighty conflict. The puffer puts himself at the head of his body-guard of buzzards and his legion of ragamuffins, and woe then to every ad- versary uninspired by the beer-barrel — he is sure to be talked and argued into complete insignificance. While I was making these observations, I was sur- prised to observe a bashaw, high in office, shaking a fellow by the band, that looked rather more ragged than a scarecrow, and inquiring with apparent soli- citude concerning the health of his family ; after which he slipped a little folded paper into his hand, and turned away. I could not help applauding his humi- lity in shaking the fellow's hand, and his benevolence in relieving his distresses, for I imagined the paper contained something for the poor man's necessities ; and truly he seemed verging towards the last stage of starvation. My friend, however, soon undeceived me, by saying that this was an elector, and the bashaw had merely given him the list of candidates for whom he was to vote. "Ho! ho!" said I, "then he is a particular friend of the bashaw ? " " By no means," replied my friend ; " the bashaw will pass him without notice the day after the election, except, perhaps, just to drive over him with his carriage." 7 SAUIAUIIINDI. t ■-■ My friend Ihen procewltnl to inforin me that for some time before, and during the continuance of an election^ there was a most delectable courtship, or in- trigue, carried on between the great bashaws and mo- ther mob. That mother mob generally preferred the attentions of the rabble, or of fellows of her own stamp; but would sometimes condescend to be treat- ed to a feasting, or any thing of that kind, at the ba- shaw's expense : nay, sometimes when she was in good humour, she would condescend to toy in her rough way with her gentleman suitor; but woe be to the bashaw who presumed upon her favours, for she was the most pestilent, cross, crabbed, scolding, thieving, scratching, toping, wrong-headed, rebellious, and abominable termagant that ever was let loose in the world, to the confusion of honest gentlemen ba- shaws. lust then, a fellow came round and distributed among the crowd a number of hand-bills, written by the ghost of Washington, the fame of whose illustrious actions, and still more illustrious virtues, has reached even the remotest regions of the east, and who is ve- nerated by this people as the father of his country. On reading this paltry paper, I could not restrain my indignation. "Insulted hero," cried I, "is it thus thy name is profaned— thy menr.ioi-y disgraced— thy spirit drawn down from heaven to administer to the brutal violence of party rage! — It is thus the necro- mancers of the east, by their incantations, sometimes call up the shades of the just, to give their sanction to frauds, to lies, and to every species of enormity." My friend smiled at my warmth, and observed that raising ghosts, and not only raising them but making them speak, was one of the miracles of election. "And believe me," continued he, " there is good rea- son for the ashes of departed, heroes being disturbed on these occasions, for such is the sandy foundation of our government, that there never happens an elec- tion of an alderman, or a collector, or even a constable, but we are in imminent danger of losing our liberties, and becoming a provmce of France, or tributary to the British islands." " By the hump of Mahomet's ca- mel," said I, "but this is only another striking example of the prodigious great scale on which every thing is transacted in this country ! " By this time I had become tired of the scene; my head ached with the uproar of voices, mingling in all the discordant tones of triumphant exclamation, non- sensical argument, intemperate reproach, and drunken absurdity. These, thought I , are the orgies of liberty ' —these are the manifestations of the spirit of indepen- dence !— these are the symbols of man's sovereignty ! Head of Mahomet! what a fatal and inexorable des- potism do empty names and ideal phantoms exercise on the human mind ! The experience of ages has de- monstrated that in all nations, barbarous or enlighten- ed, the gross minds, the mob of the people, must be slaves or they will be tyrants. Even of tyrants their reign is short; some ambitious minion having first con- descended to be their slave, at length becomes their master; and, in proportion to thevileness of hlj) ginal servitude, will be the severity of his snL tyramiy. But woe to the bashaws and leaders < gain a seat in the saddle by flattering the humours i administering to the (lassions of the mob. They i soon learn, by fatal experience, that he who tnid to the beast that carries him, teaches it the secml its power, and will sooner or later be thrown (o| dust, and trampled under foot. Ever thine, ' MUSTAPHJ.I MINE UNCLE JOHN. FBOM nv ELBOW-CIIAIB. To those whose habits of abstraction may liaTej them into some of the secrets of their own minds, i whose freedom from daily toil has left them at I sure to analyze their feelings, it will be nothing g to say that the present is peculiarly the season of i| membrance. The flowers, the zephyrs, and the \ biers of spring, returning after their tedious ab bring naturally to our recollection past limes buried feelings ; and the whispers of the full-foliii grove fall on the eer of contemplation, like the m tones of far distant friends whom the rude josllal the world have severed from us, and cast far beyu our reach. It is at such times, that casting ward many a lingering look, we recall, with a of sweet-souled melancholy, the days of our )« and the jocund conii)anions who started with m H race of life, but parted midway in the journey,! pursue some winding path that allured them wiikl prospect more seducing — and never returned tof again. It is then, too, if we have been afflifl with any heavy sorrow, if we have aver lost- who has not? — an old friend, or chosen compani that his shade will hover around us ; the memoryl his virtues press on the heart ; and a thousand t dearing recollections, forgotten amidst the cold [ sures and midnight dissipations of winter, arise | our remembrance. These speculations bring to my mind My Vit\ John, the history of whose loves, and disapp ments, I have promised to the world, must own myself much addicted to forgetting i promises, yet, as I have been so happily remindedl this, I believe I must pay it at once, " and there f end." Lest my readers, good-natured souls I they are ! should, in the ardour of peeping into n stones, take my uncle for an old acquaintance, lb inform them that the old gentleman died a { many years ago, and it is impossible they shoulde have known him : — I pity them — for they vol have known a good-natured, benevolent man, win example might have been of service. The last time I saw my uncle John was filti years ago, when I paid him a visit at his old niansi(| I found hun reading a newspaper— for it was eie lime, and he was always a warm federalist, andll made several converts to the true political faitlil who never failed m SALMAGUNDI. ol I time; paiticularly uiie old tenant, who always, (before the election, became a violent ami, in or- r that he might be convinced of his errors by my je, who never failed to reward his conviction by 'substantial benefit. JAfter we had settled the affairs of the nation, and I paid my respects to the old family chronicles |the kitchen — an indisf)ensable ceremony — the old ntleman exclaimed, with heartfelt glee, " Well, I bpose you ape for a trout-flshing : I have got every jng prepared, but first you must take a walk with [ to see my improvements." I was obliged to con- U, though I knew my uncle would lead me a most lanous dance, and inall probability treat me to a aire, or a tumble into a ditch. — If my readers > to accompany me in this expedition, they are hcome; if not, let them stay at home like lazy fel- jrs— and sleep — or be hanged. Though I had been absent several years, yet there ! very little alteration in the scenery, and every lect retained the same features it bore when I was ]chool-boy ; for it was in this spot that I grew up he fear of ghosts and in the breaking of many of kteocommandments. The brook, or rivet as they M call it in Europe, still murmured with its nted sweetness through the meadow ; and its is were still tufted with dwarf willows, that bent irn to the surface. The same echo inhabited the Ley, and the same tender air of repose pervaded t whole scene. Even my gootl uncle was but little except that his hair was grown a little Ljfer, and his forehead iiad lost some of its former othness. He iiad, however, lost nothing of his ner activity, and laughed heartily at the difiiculty nd in keeping up with him as he stumped through bes, and briars, and hedges ; talking all the time lut his improvements, and telling what he would Iwith such a spot of ground and such a tree. At ^, after showing me his stone fences, his famous i-year-old bull, his new invented cart, which was Igo before the horse, and his Eclipse colt, he was lased to return home to dinner. After dining and returning thanks, — which with was not a ceremony merely, but an offering 1 the heart, — my uncle opened his trunk, took this lishing-tackle, and, without saying a word, hied forth with some of those truly alarming steps liich Father Neptune once took when he was in a pat hurry to attend to the affair of the siege of loy. Trout-fishing was my uncle's favourite s|)ort; d, tliough I always caught two fish to his one, he her would acknowledge my superiority ; but puzzled elf, oflen and often, to account for such a sin- ar phenomenon. Following the current of the brook, for a mile or lo, we retraced many of our old haunts, and told a Indred adventures which had befallen us at differ- times. It was like snatching the hour-glass of *, inverting it, and rolling back again the sands kt had marked the lapse of years. At length the shadows began to lengthen, tlie south wind gradu- ally settled into a perfect calm, the sun threw hin rays through the trees on the hill-tops in golden lustre, and a kind of Sabbath stillness pervaded the whole valley, indicating that the hour was fast approaching which was to relieve for a while the farmer from his rural labour, the ox from his toil, the school urchin from his primer, and bring the loving ploughman home to the feet of his blooming dairy-maid. As we were watching in silence the last rays of the sun, beaming their farewell radiance on the high hills at a distance, my uncle exclaimed, in a kind of half-, desponding tone, while he rested his arm over an old tree that had fallen — " I know not how it is, my dear l^uiicc, but such an evening, and such a still quiet scene as this, always make me a little sad, ancl it is at such a time I am most apt to look forward with regret to the period when this farm, on which ' I have been young but now am old,' and every object around me that is endeared by long acquaintance, — when all these and I must shake hands and part. I have no fear of death, for my life has affoi-ded but little temptation to wickedness; and when I die, I hope to leave behind me more substantial proofs of virtue than will be found in my epitaph, and more lasting memorials than church- es built or hospitals endowed with wealth wrung fiom the hard hand of poverty, by an unfeeling land- lord, or unprincipled knave; — but still, when I pass such a day as this and contemplate such a scene, I cannot help feeling a latent wish to linger yet a little longer in this peaceful asylum , to enjoy a little more sunshine in this world, and to have a few more iishing matches with my boy." As lie ended he raiseil 'lis hand a little from the fallen tree, and dropping it lan- guidly by his side, turned himself towards home. The sentiment, the look, the action, all seemed to be pro- phetic. — And so they were, for when I shook him by the hand, and bade him farewell the next mornuig — it was for the last time ! He died a bachelor, at the age of sixty-three, though he had been all his life trying to get married ; and al- ways thought himself on tlie point of accomplishing his wishes. His disappointments were not owingeither lo the deformity of his mind or person ; for in his youth he was reckoned handsome, and I myself can wit- ness tor him that he had as kind a heart as ever was fashioned by Heaven ; neitlier were they owing to his poverty, — which sometimes stands in an honest man's way; — for he was born to the inheritance of a small estate which was sufQcient to establish his claim to the title of " one well to do in the world." The truth is, my uncle had a prodigious antipathy to doing things in a hurry — " A man should consider," said he to me once—" that he can always get a wife, but cannot al- ways get rid of her. For my part," continued he, " I am a young fellow with the world before me; (he was aboutforty !) and am resolved lo look sharp, weigh matters well, and know wliat's what before I marry : in short, Launce, f don't intettd io do the thing in a hurry, depend upon it." On this whim-wham, he SALMAGUNDI. m proceeded : he began with young girls, and ended with widows. The girls he courted until they grew old maids, or married out of pure apprehension of in- curring certain penalties hereafter; and the widows not having quite as much patience, generally, at the end of a year, while the good man thought himself in the high road to success, married some harum-scarum young fellow, who had not such an antipathy (o do things in a hurry. My uncle would have inevitably sunk under these repeated disappointments — for he did not want sensi- fbility — had he not hit upon a discovery which set all to rights at once. He consoled his vanity, — for he was a little vain, and soothed his pride, which was his master passion, — by telling his friends very signifi- cantly,.while his eye would flash triumph, " that he might have had her." Those who know how much of the bitterness of disappointed affection arises from wounded vanity and exasperated pride, will give my uncle credit for this discovery. My uncle had been told by a prodigious number of married men, and had read in an innumerable quan- tity of books, that a man could not possibly be happy except in the marriage state; so he determined at an early age to marry, that he might not lose his only chance for happiness. He accordingly forthwith paid his addresses to the daughter of a neighbouring gen- tleman farmer, who was reckoned the beauty of the whole w^orld — a phrase by which the honest country people mean nothing more than the circle of their acquaintance, or that territory of land which is within sight of the smoke of their own hamlet. This young lady, in addition to her beauty, was highly accomplished — for she had spent five or six months at a boarding-school in town, where she learn- ed to work pictures in satin, and paint sheep that might be mistaken for wolves; to hold up her head, sit straight in her chair, and to think every species of useful acquirement beneath her attention. When she returned home, so completely had she forgotten every thing she knew before, that on seeing one of the maids milking a cow, she asked her father with an air of most enchanting ignorance—'' what that odd-looking thing was doing to that queer animal?" The old man shook his head at this ; but the mother was de- lighted at thesesymptoms of genlility,and so enamour- ed of her 'daugliter's accomplishments, that she ac- tually got framed a picture worked in satin by the joung lady. It represented the tomb scene in Romeo and Juliet : Romeo was dressed in an orange-colour- ed cloak, fastened round his neck with a large golden clasp; a white satin tamboured waistcoat, leather breeches, blue silk stockings, and white topped boots. The amiable Juliet shone in a flame-coloured gown, gorgeously bespangled with silver stars, a high crown- ed muslin cap that reached to the top of the tomb; — on her feet she wore a pair of short-quartered high- heeled shoes, and her waist was the exact fac-simile of an inverted sugar-loaf. The head of the " noble county Paris" looked like a chimney-sweep's brush that had lost its handle; and the cloak of the , friar hung about him as gracefully as the armour ol| rhinoceros. The good lady considered this picluref a splendid proof of her daughter's accomplish and hung it up in the best parlour, as an ho tradesman does his certificate of admission into t enlightened body yclept the Mechanic Society. With this accomplished young lady, then, didg uncle John become deeply enamoured ; and as it \ his first love, he determined to bestir, himself in ^ extraordinary manner. Once at least in a forlnij and generally on a Sunday evening, he would put J his leather breeches, (for he was a great beau,) i his gray horse Pepper, and ride over to see mela; though she lived upwards of a mile off, and|| was obliged to pass close by a church-yard, wliicii) least a hundred creditable persons would swear i haunted. Miss Pamela could not be insensible to s proofs of attaclunent, and accordingly received I with considerable kindness; her mother alwaj-slj tlie room when he came, and my uncle had as [ as made a declaration by saying one evening, veryj gnilicantly , '' that he believed that he should i change his condition;" when, somehow or otlierj began to think he wasrfoiiif/ things in too great a ht and that it was high time to consider. So he ( dered near a month about it, and there is no m how much longer he might have spun the threadl his doubts, had he not been roused from this stal(| indecision, by the news that his mistress had man an attorney's apprentice, whom she had seen tlieS day before at church, where he had excited llie^ plauses of the whole congregation, by tlie invii gravity with which he listened to a Dutch sern The young people in the neiglibourhood laughedl good deal at my uncle on the occasion; but be ( shrugged his shoulders, looked mysterious, andij plied, '' Tut, boys ! 1 might have had her." Note, by IJilliam I Vizard, Esq. Our piiblislier, who is busily engaged ia printing a cele work, which is perhaps more generally i-ead in this city Ihiny other book, not excepting the Bible— I mean the New-rork| rectory— has begged so hard that we would not overwhelm tl with too much of a good thing, that we have, with I^angslalTiJ probation, cut short the residue of uncle John's amours. Iii| probability it will be given in a future number, whenever I celot is in the humour for it : he is such an odd— but mum, fori^ of another suspension. No. XII.— SATUHDAY, JUNE 27, 1807. FBOM MY ELBOn-CHilB. Some men delight in the study of plants, in thed section of a leaf, or the contour and complexion ol| tulip; others are charmed with the beauties of the i thered race, or the varied hues of the insect tribe, naturalist will spend hours in the fatiguing pui'suhij a butterfly ; and a man of the ton will waste wti years in the chase of a fine lady. I feel a resi)ecl i lecily of Birmingham, < ik of the lie armour ol 1 this piclurt »mpli8l as an ission into Society. , then, did i ; and as it '.himseirin in a e would put It beau,) to see Miss nile off, and •yard, which )uld swear sensible ton f received her always le had as g, rening, \ he should )w or otlier, great a . So he ire is no sa; n the thread [)m this stale ;ss had dseen excited the f tlie invi Dutch serm ood laughed ; but he rious, and her." sq. iting a eel this city llian he New- York 1 I overwhelm K ith IiangstaiTii 8 amoun. lo , whenever but mum, fori <807. nts, in the )mpIexion ol itiesoftheti sect tribe, ling pursuit I waste w I a res|)ecl SALMAGUNDI. 85 (ir avocations, for my own are somewhat similar. gveto open the great volume of human character : me the examination of a beau is more interesting ihiiKiAin tiiat of a daffodil or narcissus ; and I feel a tbou- ho(K Ml times more pleasure in catching a new view of man nature, than in kidnapping the most gorgeous lUerfly— even an Emperor of Morocco himself. Ill my present situation I have ample room for the dulgence of this taste ; for periiaps there is not a use in this city more fertile in subjects for the ana- fortni°| mists of human character than my cousin Cockloft's. onest Ciuislopher, as I iiave before mentioned, is nio, le of those hearty old cavaliers who pride themselves m l^eeping up the good, honest, unceremonious hos- ility of old times, lie is never so happy as when I has drawn about him a knot of sterling-hearted as- ciales, and sits at the bead of bis table, dispensing a arm, cheering welcome to all. IJis countenance pands at every glass, and beams forth emanations of larily, benevolence, and good-fellowship, that inspire id gladden every guest around him. It is no wonder, en erefore, that such excellent soc|al qualities should tract a host of guests; in fact, my cousin is almost lerwhelnied with them ; and they all, uniformly, Ann tmounce old Cockloft to be one of the finest old fel- vs in the world. His wine also always comes in for ^ share of their approbation; nor do they forget do honour to Mrs Cockloft's cookery, pronouncing to be modelled after the most approved recipes of manifltliogabalus and Mrs Glasse. The variety of com- theSi '■y t''"^ attracted is particularly pleasing to me ; for ing considered a privileged person in the family, I i,^ n sit in a corner, indulge in my favourite amusement observation, and retreat to my elbow-chair, like a e to his hive, whenever I have collected sufficient od for meditation. Will Wizard is particularly efficient in adding to f, slock of originals which frequent our house ; for I is one of the most inveterate hunters of oddities I er knew ; and bis first care, on making a new ac- leiini laintance, is lo gallant him to old Cockloft's, where I never fails to receive the freedom of the house in pinch from bis gold box. Will has, without excep- in,the queerest, most eccentric, and indescribable set intimates that ever man possessed; how he became quainted with them I cannot conceive, except by pposing there is a secret attraction or unintelligible Dipathy that unconsciously draws together oddities every soil. , Will's great crony for some time was Tom Straddle, whom he really took a great liking. Straddle had St arrived in an importation of hardware, fresh from ecily of Birmingham, or rather, as the most learn- English would call it, Brummagem, so famous for manufactories of gimlets, pen-knives, and pepper- ues, and where they make buttons and beaux 9ugh to inundate our whole country. He was a King man of considerable standing in the manufac- ryat Birmingham, sometimes had the honour to nd his master's daughter into a tim-whisky, was the oracle of the tavern he fhiqaented on Sundays, and could beat all his associates, if you would take bis word for it, in boxing, beer-drinking, 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 bub-ma- jors ; be was, of course, a complete connoisseur in music, and entitled to assume that character at all per- formances in the art. He was likewise a member of a spouting-club ; had seen a company of strolling actors perforin in a barn, and bad even, like Abel Drugger, " enacted" the part of Major Sturgeon with consider- able applause ; he was consequently a profound critic, and fully authorized to turn up his nose at any Ame- rican performances. He bad twice partaken of annual dinners, given to the head manufacturers of Birming^ ham, where he had the good fortune to get a taste of turtle and turbot, and a smack of Champaign and Bur- gundy; and he had heard a vast deal of the roast beef of Old England. — He was therefore 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 Atlantic. 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 ; be could, therefore, talk of nobility, and despise the untitled plebeians of America. In short. Straddle was one of those dapper, bustling, tlorid, round, self-im- porlant " gemmeii, " who bounce upon us half bean, half button-maker; undertake to give us the true po- lish of the bon-ton, and endeavour lo inspire us with a proper 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 would 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 ex- cite as much curiosity as an Indian chief or a Turk in the streets of Birmingham. He had heard of the beau- ty of our women, and chuckled at the thought how completely be should eclipse their unpolished beaux, a; ~ the number of despairing lovers that would mourn the hour of his arrival. I am even informed by Will Wizard, that be put good store of beads, spike-nails, and looking-glasses in bis trunk, to win the affections of tlie fair ones as they paddled about in their bark ca- noes. 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 understanding the word ab- origines, be applied to one of his fellow-apprentices, who assured him that it was the Latin word for inha- bitants. Wizard used to tell another anecdote of Straddle, which always put him in a passion :— Will swore thai the captain of the ship told him, that when Straddle SA SALMAGUNDI. I ,'■ V ■ heard they were off the banks of Newfoundland, he insisted upon going on shore there to gather some cabbages, of which he was excessively fond. Straddle, however, denied all this, and declared it to he a mis- cliievous quiz of Will Wizard, who indeed often made himself merry at his expense. However this may be, certain it is he kept his tailor and shoemaker con- stantly employed for a month before his de[)arture ; equipped himself with a smart crooked slick about eighteen inches long, a pair of breeches of most un- heard-of length, a little short pair of Iloby's while- topped boots, that seemed to stand on tip-loe to reach his breeches, and his hat had the true trans-Atlantic declination towards his right ear. The fact was — 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 ar- rival to find the Americans were rather more civi- lized than be had imagined; — he was suffered to walk to his lodgings unmolested by a crowd, and even unnoticed by a single individual ; — no love-let- tera came pouring in upon him ; — no rivals lay in wait to assassinate him ; — his very dress excited no atten- tion, for there were many fools dressed equally ridi- culous with himself. This was mortifying indeed to an aspiring youth, who had come out w ith the idea of astonishing and captivating. He was equally unfortunate in his pretensions to the character of critic, connoisseur, and Imxer : he condemned our whole dramatic corps, and every thing appertaining to the theatre; but his critical abilities were ridiculed ; -T-lie 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 cudgelled by a sturdy watchman ; — he hoaxed an honest mechanic, and was soundly kicked. Thus disappointed in all his attempts at notoriety. Straddle liit on the expedient which was resorted to by the Giblets ; — he determined to take the town by storm. Heaccordingly bought horsesand etpiipagcs, and forth- with made a furious dash at style in a gig and tandem. As Straddle's linances were but limited, it may easily be supposed that his fashionable career in- fringed a little upon his consignments, which was in- deed the case — for, to use a true cockney phrase, lirummagem suffered. Hut this was a circumstance that made little impression upon Straddle, who was now a lad of spirit — and lads of spirit always despise the sordid cares of keeping another man's money. Suspecting Ibis circumstance, I never coulil witness any of his exhibitions of style without some whim- sical association of ideas. Did he give an cntertJiin- nienl to a host of gu/zling friends, I iinincdiately fancied them gormandizing heartily at the expense of |)Oor llirmingham, and swallowing a consignment of liandsaws and razors. Did I behold him dashing through Broadway in his gig, I saw hun, " in n:y mind's eye," during tandem on a lea-lmard; nor could ! ever c<uitempiale his cockney exhibitions of horsemanship, but my mischievous imaginatioti would picture him spurring a cask of hardware, like Bacchus bestriding a tun; or the little gentleman ; be-straddles the world in the front of Hutching's i manac. Straddle was equally successful with the Giblei as may well be supposed ; for though pedestrian i may strive in vain to become fashionable in Gothai yet a candidate in an equipage is always recognisf and like Philip's ass, laden with gold, will gain a mittance every where. Mounted in his curricle « his gig, the candidate is like a statue elevated on] high pedestal; his meritsare discernible fromafar,i strike Ihedullestoptics. Oh ! Gotham, Gotham ! nio enlightened of cities ! how does my heart swell wiij delight when I behold your sapient inhabilants lavisk ing their attention with such wonderful discernmen 'J'hus Straddle became quite a man of ton, and; caressed, and courted, and invited to dinners i balls. Whatever was absurd or ridiculous in himb fore was now declared to be the style. He criticis our theatre, and was listened to with reverence, pronounced our musical entertainments barhai-oiii| and the judgment of Apollo himself would notiuJ been more decisive. He abused our dinners; and iM god of eating, if there be any such deity, seemed ij speak through his organs. He became at once a t of taste — for he put his malediction on every tliini and his arguments were conclusive — for he support every assertion with a bet. He was likewise pro nounced by the iearned in the fashionable world J young man of great research and deep ol)servation-| for he had sent home, as natural curiosilie^, an f of Indian corn, a pairof moccasons, a l)eltof wampuq and a four-leaved clover. He had taken great pain to enrich this curious collection with an Indian, and j caUiract, but without success. In line, the peopl talked of Straddle and his equipage, and Stradd talked of his horses, until it was imirassiblc fur I most critical observer to pronounce whether Straddi or his horses were most admired, or whether Stradd admired himself or his horses most. Straddle was now in the zenith of his glory, swaggered al)out parlours and drawing-rooms wiUj the same unceremonious confidence he used to dis' play in the taverns at Birmingham. He accosted ^ lady as he would a bar-maid; and this was pn noimced a certain proof that he had been used to I ter company in Birmingham. He became the pn man of |||l the taverns between New- York and llaeij l(;ni ; and no one stood a chance of being acconiiik>| dated until Straddle and his horses were piTfeetlJ sulisiied. He d — d the landlords and waiters willT the best air in tlu; world, and accosted them will true genllenianlikc fan'liarily. He staggered (m the dinner-table to the play, entered the 1h)\ liket tempest, and staid long enough to be l)ured to ileiilhj and to Imre all those who had the inisfortiine lu t near him. I'rom thence he dashed off to n ball, lim enough to llonuder through a cotillon, tear linlil dozen gowns, commit n numlKir of other (Ippredil /nJ SALMAGUNDI. 53 lis, niul inuke the whole company sensible of his Unite condescension in coming <imongst them. The lie of Gotham thought him a prodigious tine fel- the young bucks cultivated his acquaintance Ith the most persevering assiduity, and his retainers sometimes complimented with a seat in his irricle, or a ride on one of his fine horses. The lies were delighted with the attentions of such a ihionable gentleman, and struck with astonishment his learned distinctions between wrought scissors id those of cast-steel ; together with his profound rtations on buttons and horse-flesh. The rich Tchants courted his acquaintance because he was Englishman, and their wives treated him with lat deference because he had come from beyond I cannot help here observing that your salt iler is a marvellous great sharpener of men's wits, I intend to recommend it to some of my ac- laintance in a particular essay. Straddle continued his brilliant career for only a irt lime. His prosperous journey over the turnpike fashion was checked by some of those stumbling- :lis in the way of aspiring youth called creditors — duns;— a race of people who, as a celebrated writ- observes, "are hated by gods and men." Con- iinents slackened, whispers of distant suspicion ted in the dark, and those pests of society, the tai- vaitd shoemakers, rose in rebellion against Straddle, vain were all his remonstrances; in vain did he ive to them, that though he iiad given them no mo- y, yet he had given them more custom, and as ma- promises as any young man in the city. Tb.cy re inflexible; and the signal of danger being given, lost of other prosecutors pounced upon his back. Iraddle saw there was but one way for it : he did thing genteelly, went (o smash like a hero, and islied into (he Uniits in high style; being the tifleenlh ntleiiian I have known to drive tandem to the — ne isttJfra— thed— I. Unfortunate Straddle ! may thy fate he a warning all young gentlemen who come out from Bir- iigham to astonish the natives!— I should never ive taken the trouble to delineate his character, had not been a genuine Cockney, and worthy to he e representative of his numerous tribe. Perhaps y simple countrymen may hereafter be able to distin- lis was pro lish between the real English gentleman and i^divi- » used to b(t uis of ijie cast I have heretofore spoken of, as mere ne the pra ongrels, springing at one Itound from contemptible rk and Haw gdriiy ui home, to daylight and splendour in this g acconiiiw lod-nalured land . The true-born and true-bred Eng- LTc pfrfeoih h geinleman is a character I hold in great respect; waiters will id I love to look back to the period when our fore- tiiers flourished in the same generous soil, and hail re, hke ntleman utching'g the Gibli lestrian e in Gothi s recogni will gain is curricle levaled on romafar, rotham ! ni rt swell w litants lav! discernmei ton, and dinners )us in him He critic! fcrence ^ barbarowj )uld notliai ners;andl ly, seemed It once a ni every thii he suppoi likewise pi able world jliservatioii' sities;, an of wampui n great pal Indian, and the peo| and Strad) isible for titer Stradi ther Stradi glory, -rooms wil used to di> accosted I tlieiii will tear liiilf ler depredi Bfgered fioi leach other as brothers. Unt the Cockney !— when e l)o\ like contemplate him as springing too from the same red lotieaik urc^,^ I fi^f,\ ashamed of the relationship, and am )rtuiie toll nip(e(j to deny my origin. — In the char; cter of n ball, tin raddle is traced the complete outline of a true Cock- r) of English growth, and a descendant of that in- dividual facetious character mentioned by Sliakspeare, "who, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay." THE STRANGER AT HOME; on A TOCR IN BROADWAY. Bt JEHEMY COCKLOFT, TUB TOUMGER. PREFACE. YoLR learned traveller begins his travels at the commencement of his journey ; others begin theire at the end , and a third class begin any how and any where, which I think is the true way. A late face- tious writer begins what he calls "A Picture of New- York" with a particular description of Glen's Falls; from whence, with admirable dexterity, he makes a digression to (he celebra'^odMill Hock, on Long Island ! Now this is what I like; and I intend in my present tour to digress as often ^nd as long as I please. If, therefore, I choose to make a hop, skip, and jump to China, or New-Holland, or Terra Incognita, or Com- munipaw, I can produce a host of examples to justify me, even in books that have been praised by the Eng- lish reviewers; whose fiat being all that is neces- sary to give hooks a currency in this country, I am deteriiiined, as soon as I finish my edition of travels in sevefity-five volumes, to transmit it forthwith to them for judgment. If these trans-Atlantic censors praise it, I have no tear of its success in this country, where their approbation gives, like the Tower stamp, a fictitious value, and makes tinsel and wampum pass current for classic gold. CHAPTER I. Battery— flag-Staff kept by Louis Keaffee— Keaffee maintains two spy-glasses by subscriptions — mer- chants pay two shillings a-year to look through them at the signal poles on Sta ten-Island; a very pleasant prospect; but not so pleasant as that from the liill of Howth — query, ever been there? Young seniors go down to the flag-staff to buy pea-nuts and beer, after the fatigue of their morning studies, and sometimes to play at ball, or some other innocent amusement- digression to the Olympic and Isthmian games, with a description of the Islhmus of Corinth, and that of Darien : to conclude with a dissertation on the Indian custom of offering a whiff of tobacco-smoke to their great spirit Areskou. Return to the battery ; delight- ful place to indidge in the luxury of sentiment. How various are the nmtalions of this world! but a few <iays, a few hours— at least not alK)ve two hundretl years ago, and this spot was inhabited by a race of aborigines, who dwelt in hark huts, lived upon oys- ters and Indian corn, danced butfalo dances, and were lords "of the fowl and the lirute;" hut the spirit of time, and the spirit of brandy, have swept them from their ancient inheritance; and as the white wave of the ocean, by its evertoiling assiduity, gains on the brown land, so the white man, by slow and sure de- grees, has gained on the brown savage, and dispos- o m SALMAGUNDI. sessed him of the land of his Torefathers. Conjectures on the flret peopling of America — different opinions on that subject, to tlie amount of near one hundred — opinion of Augustine Torniel, that they are the des- cendants of Slieni and Japlieth, who came by the way of Japan to America — Juffridius Petri says they came from Friezeland — mem. cold journey. Mons. Char- ron says they are descended from tlie Gauls — bitter enough. A. Milius from the Celta; — Kircher from the Egyptians~Le Compte from the Phenicians — Lescarbot from the Canaanites, alias the Anthropo- phagi— Brerewood from the Tartars— Grotius from the Norwegians; and Link. Fid. has written two foliu volumes to prove that America was first of all peopled either by the Antipodeans or the Cornish miners, who, he maintains, might easily have made a subter- ranean passage to this country, particularly the Anti- podeans, who, he asserts, can get along under ground as fast as mules — query, which of these is in the right, or are they all wrong ? For'my part, I don't see why America has not as good a light to be peopled at first, as any little contemptible country in Europe, or of Asia; and I am determined to write a book at my first leisure, to prove that Noah was born here; and that so far is America from being indebted to any other country for inhabitants, that they were every one of them peopled by colonies from her! — Mem. battery a very pleasant place to walk on a Sunday evening — not quite genteel though ; every body walks there, and a pleasure, however genuine, is spoiled by general participation : (he fashionable ladies of New- York turn up their noses if you ask them to walk on the battery on Sunday— query, have they scruples ofcon- scienceor scruples of delicacy? — neither; theyliaveon- ly scruples ofgenlilily, which arequiledifferenl things. CHAPTER 11. Custom-house — origin of duties on mercbandise — this place nmcli frequented by merchants — and why ? — different classes of merchants — importers — a kind of nobility — wholesale merchants — have (he privilege of going to the city assembly— retail traders cannot go to tlie assembly. Some cmious speculations on the vast distinction betwixt selling tape by the piece or by the yard. Wholesale merchants look down upon the retailers, who in return look down upon the greengrocers, who look down upon the market-wo- men, who don't care a straw about any of tliem. Origin of the distinction of ranks — Dr Johnson once lunribly puzzled to settle the point of precedence be- Iwten a 1 — and a Ilea — good hint to humble purse- proud arrogance. Custom-house partly used as a lodgiiig-liouse for the pictures belonging to the aca- demy of arts — couldn't afford the statues house-room — most of tlu'in in the cellar of tlie city hall— poor place for the gods and goddesses— after Olympus, Pensive relleclious on the u|)s and downs of life— A|)ollo, and the rest of the set, used to cut a great fi- gure in (lays of yore.— Mem. every dog has his day- sorry for \enns though, poor weneh^ to l)e cooped up in a cellar, with not a single grace to wait on heil Eulogy on the gentlemen of the academy of arts, I the great spirit with which they began the under ing, and the perseverance with which they have^, sued it. It is a pity, however, they began at ibj wrong end— maxim— if you want a bird and a u^ always buy the cage first— hem !— a word to thewii CHAPTER III. Bowling-green— fine place for pasturing cows- perquisite of the late corporation ; formerly ornamei ed with a statue of George III. ; people pulled itdoi| in the war to make bullets — great pity, as it mis have been given to the academy; it would haveb come a cellar as well as any other. Broadway— gn difference in the gentility of streets; a man who rei des in Pearl-street, or Chathamrow, derives no kinij J dignity from his domicil ; but place him in a cert jiart of Broadway— any where between the baltaj and Wall -street— and he straightway becomes i titled to figure in the beau monde, and strut as a i son of prodigious consequence ! Query, whell there is a degree of purity in the air of that quau which changes the gross particles of vulgarity gems of refinement and polish ?— a question to lie a ed, but not to be answered. Wall-street— City 1 —famous places for catchpoles, deputy sherift's, young lawyers; which last attend the courts, noil cause they have business there, but because Iheyli no business any where else. My blood always curdJ when I see a catchpole, they beluga species of verm^ who feed and fallen on the wretchedness of mx kind, who trade in misery, and, in becoming theeii cutioners of the law, by their oppression and villa almost counterbalance all the benellts which ared rived from its saluiary regulations. Story of Qiievfi about a catchpole possessed by a devil, who, oril interrogated, declared that he did not come llieren luntarily, but by compulsion; and lliat a decent dml would never of his own free will enter into the I of a catchpole : instead, therefore, of doing liiinl injustice to say that here was a catchpole he(l('\il they should say it was a devil be~catchpoled; tliatbfij in reality the truth. Wonder what has lieeonifi the old crier of the court, who used to ninke noise in preserving silence than the audience dnii breaking it : if a man happened to drop his canc,i old hero would sing out " Silence ! " in a voice eimili iiig the "wide-mouthed thunder." On iiiqiiiij found he had retired from business to enjoy oUumm dignitate, as many a great man had done M4 Strange that wise men, as they are thought, slioi toil through a whole existence merely to cnjoyiiffj moments of leisure at last ! why don't they bcfjinj be easy at first, and not pur(;hase a moment's pleiisui with an age of pain?— mem. posed some of the j« keys— eh I CHAPTER IV. HarlH>r's pole ! three different orders of s/inrfri| New-York : those who slwve pig$—^.li. Fresliiw CHAPl ll<Hi!;lil a pair of gloves;! thnols of p'llileness— trui )lii pair of gloves and .ip |iMlar— (Idg-dieap ! <,(. (mspl-'»« to see the belh "I'l'iiiK with a lady ? SALMAGUNDI. 57 y sophomores;— those who cut beards, and those (bo shave notes of hand : the last are the most respect- ])le, because, in the course of a year, they make more looey, and that honesthj, than tlie wlioJe corps of [her sharers can do in half a century j besides, it lould puzzle a common barber to ruin any njan, ex- Iplby cutting his throat; whereas your higher order JsUters, your true blood-suckers of the community, ated snugly behind the curtain, in watch for prey, |\e upon the vitals of the unfortunate, and grow rich 1 the ruin of thousands. Yet this last class of barbers Ve held in high respect in the world ; they never offend fcainst the decencies of life, go often to church, look Un on honest poverty walking on foot, and call them- llves gentlemen ; yea, men of honour ! Lottery-offices [■another set of capital shavers ! licensed gambling- Lses ! good things enough though, as they enable I few honest industrious gentkinen to humbug the lople— according to law; besides, if the people will ! such fools, whose fault is it but their own if they kbit? Messrs Paff— beg pardon for putting them Isuch bad company, because they are a couple of lie fellows — mem.— to recommend Michael's antique luff-box to all amateurs in the art. Eagle singing Liikey-tloodle- N.B. Buffon, Pennant, and the rest J the naturalists all naturals, not to know the eagle las a singing-bird; Link. Fid. knew better, and gives lion;? description of a bald eagle that serenaded him lice in Canada :— digression; particular account of le Canadian Indians; — story about Areskou learn- Ig to make lisliing-ncts of a spider — don' believe it, jecause, according to Linkum, and many oilier learn- I aullioiities, Areskou is the same as Mars, being lerived from bis Greek name of Arcs; and if so, he new we!i enough what a net was without consulting jspider: — story of Arachne being changed into a elder as a reward for having hanged herself;— deri- tlion of the word spinster from spider :— Colophon, pwAltobosco, the birth-place of Arachne, remuk- l)!e for a famous breed of spiders to this day ;— mem. j-iiolhing like a little scho'-uship—make theigiiorw- \vm, viz. the majority of my readers, slare like wild Reons; return to IN ew- York by a short cut— meet a |is!iinj{ belle in a thick while veil— tried to get a peep I her face, saw she wpiinted a little -thought so at jsl ; never saw a face covered with a veil that was lorlli looking at : saw some ladies holding a conver- llion across the street altout going to church next ■iiKlay— talked so loud they fri^-htened a c;/'.iman's Vse, who ran away, and lAersot a bask' '. of gin- prliiead willi a little boy under it;—,' n .— I don't !l! see the use of speaking-truin[)ets no\.-a-days. CIIAPTKn V. j Iloiijilil a |)air of gloves; dry-good shops the genuine Ihnol.s of politeness— true Parisian manners there; pt ii pair of gloves and a pislareen's worth of bows for lar— dog-(>heiip ! (,uurtlandt-street corner— fa- lioiis |»lace to see the belles go by : query, ever been iM'jipiiig with a lady i' Some account of it. Ladies go into all the shops in the city to buy a pair of gloves : goofl way of spending time if they have nothing else to do. Oswegomarket— looks very muchlikea triumphal arch : some account of the manner of erecting them ui ancient times. Digression to the nrr/i-duke Charles, and some account of the ancient Germans. N. B. Quote Tacitus on this subject. Particular descrip- tion of market-baskets, butchers' blocks, and wheel- barrows : mem. queer things run upon one wheel ! Saw a cartman driving full tilt through Bro,.dway — run over a child ; gooti enough for it— what business had it to be in the way ? Hint concerning the laws against pigs, goals, dogs, and cartmen; grand apo- strophe to the sublime science of jurisprudence. Com- parison between legislators and tinkers : ffuery, whe- ther it requires greater ability to mend a law than to mend a kettle ? Inquiry into Ihe utility of makitig laws that are broken a hundred times in a day with impunity; my Lord Coke's opinion on the subject; my lord a very great man — so was Lord Bacon : good story about a criminal named Hog claiming relalion- sliip with him. Hogg's porter-house — great haunt of Will Wizard. Will put tlown there one night by a sea-captain, in an argument concerning the ara of the Chinese empire Whangpo. Hogg's a capital place for hearing the same stories, the same jokes, and the same songs, every night in the year — menr. except Sunday nights : line school for young politicians too ; some of the longest and thickest beads in Ihe city come there to settle the afftiirs of the nation. Scheme of Ichabod Fungus to restore Ihe balance of Europe. Digression : some account of the balance of Europe ; comparison between it and a pair of scales, witli the Emperor Alexander in one, and the Emperor Napoleon in the other ; line fellows— both of a weight; can't tell which will kick the beam : mem. don't care much either — nolbing to me. Ichabod very unhappy about it; thinks Napoleon has an eye on this country : capital place 'o pasture his horses, and provide for Ihe rest of bis fa- mily. Dey-street; ancient Dutch name of il, signify- ing nuirdei<'r's valley, formerly the site of a great peach-orchard : my granilmotber's history of the fa- mous Peach war ; arose from an Indian stealing peach- es out of this orchard — gopd cause as need be for a war; just as gooil as i\u' balance of power. Anecdote of a war between two Italian slates about a bucket; in- troduce some capital new truisms about the folly of mankir.d, the ambition of kings, potentates, and princes — particularly Alexander, Ca'sar, Charles XII., Na- poleon, little King Pepin, and Ihe great Charlemagne. Conclude with an exborlalion to the present race of sovereigns to keep the king's peace, and abstain from .I'l those deadly iiuarrelswbich produce battle, murder, and sudden death : mem. ran my nose against a lamp- post—conclude in great dudgeon. FlIOM nv ELIIOW-CUAIR. Oin cousin Pindar, after having been couliiutl for sonur lime [tast with a lit of the gout, which is a kind of keepsake in our family, has again set bis mill going, H 88 SAUUGUNDI. ft * as my readers will perceive. On reading his piece, I could not help smiling at the high compliments which, contrary to his usual style, he has lavished on the dear sex. The old gentleman, unfortunately ohserving my merriment, stumped out of the room with great voci- feration of crutch, and has not exchanged three woras with me since. I expect every hour to hear that he has packed up his m )veahles, and, as usual in all cases of disgust, retreated to his old country-house. Pindar, like most of the old Cockloft heroes, is wonderfully su.sceptihle to the genial influence of warm weather. In winter he is one of the most crusty old bachelors under heaven, and is wickedly addicted to sarcastic reflections of every kind, particularly on the little enchanting foibles and whim-whams of women. But when the spring comes on, and the mild influence of the sun releases nature from her icy fetters, the ice of his bosom dissolves into a gentle current, which re- flects the bewitching qualities of the fair ; as in some mild, clear evening, when nature reposes in silence, the stream bears in its pure bosom all the starry ma- gnificence of heaven. It is under the control of this influence he has written his piece ; r.nd I beg the la- thes, in the pleniluile of their harmless conceit, not to flatter themselves that because the good Pindar has suffered them to escape his censures, he had nothing more to censure. It is but sunshine and zephyrs which have wrought this wonderfid change ; and I am nuich mistaken if the 'irst north-easter don't convert all his good-nature into most exquisite spleen. FROM THE MILL OF PIMDAIl COCKLOFT, ESQ. How often I cast my renectioiis licliinil, And call up the ila j s of past youtli to my mind ! When folly assails in habiliments new, When fasliion obtrudes some fresli wbim-wliam to view ; When tlie fopUnss of fiisliioii bedazzle my sight, Bewilder my feelings— my senses benight ; I retreat in disgust from the world of to^lay, To commune with the world that has moulder'd away i To converse with the shades of those friends ;f my love, Long gather 'd in peace to the angels alH)ve. In my rambles through life, should I meet with annoy From the lK)ld Iwardless stripling— the turbid |iert boy ; One rear'd in the mode lately reckon'd genteel, Which, neglecting the head, aims to perfect the heel ; Which completes the sweet fopling while yet in bis teens. And ntsbini for fashion's light changeable scenes; And though brainless and va[iid as vapid can be, To routs and to parties pronounces him free;. — Oh ! I think on the be.iiix that existed of yore, On those rules of the ton that exist now no more ! I recall with delight linw each younkcr at /irst In the cradb' of science and virtu(^ was nursed j How the graces of person and graces of mind. The polish of learning and fashion combined, Till soften'd in manners anil sirenglhen'd in head, Ily (be classical lore of the living and dead, Matured in his person till manly In size, He thin was presented a be.in to our eyes! My nieces of late have made freipieut crtmijlalnt Tli.it they suffer vexation and painful constraint, ny having their circles loo often dlslrest l<y some thre(^ or four goslings just Hedged from the ncsl j Who, propp'd by the eri'dit their firthers sustain, Alike lender in years and in perixHi find brain. But plcntcously «tock'd with that substitute, brass. For trie nils and critics would anxiously \asa. They complain of that empty sarcasdcai slang, So common to all the coxcombical gang, AVho Hie fair with their shallow experience vex. By tbnimming for ever their weakness of sex— And who iKiast of themselves, when they talk with prouiiur, Of man's mental ascendancy over the fair. 'Twas thus the young owlet produced in the nest Where the eagle of Jove her young eaglets had presi, I'retended to Ixjasl of his royal descent. And vaunted that force which to eagles is lent. Though fated to shun with dim visual ray The cheering delights and the brilliance of day, To forsake the fair regioas of a'tlier and light, For dull moping cavenis of darkness and night; Still talk'd of that eagle-like stremitb of the eye, AVliich ap[iroaches, unwinking, the pride of the sky ; Of that wing which, unwearied, can hover and play In the noon-tide etful,!.'cnce and torrent of day. Dear girls, the sad evils of whieii ye complain, Yoiu' sex must endure from the feeble and vain. They know not that nature— that custom decrees, That women should .dways endeavour to please; That the law of llieir system has e.irly imprest The importance of lining tlieniselvi's to each guest ; And, of course, that hdloft, when ye Iritle and play, 'lis to gratify Irillers « ho strut in your way. The cliild might as well of its mother complain. As watiting true wisdom and souuilness of brain. Because that, at times, whib' it bangs on her bre.xst She with " lulla-by-baby " beguiles it to rest. 'Tis its weakness of niiud that iiiducis the strain ; For wisdom to iiifanis is prattled in vain. 'lis true, at odd times, when infrolicksome fit, In th(! midst of bis gambols, the mischievous wit May start some light foible that clings to the fair. Like cobwebs that fasten to objects most rare; In the play of bis fancy will sportively say Some delicate censure that pops iu his way : He may smile at your fa.shions. and frankly express His dislike of a dance, or a llamiiig red dress ; Yet he blames not your want of man's physical force. Nor complains though ye caimot in Latin discourse. He dehghts in the language of nature ye .speak. Though not .so refined as true classical (Jreek. He reuKMnbers that Providence never dcsign'il Our females, like suns, to bi.'wilder and blind ; But like IIk! mild orb of |)ale evening serene. Whose lailiance illuiuines, yet softens the .scene. To light us with cheering and welcoming ray Along the rude path when the sun Is away. I own In my sciibbllngs I lately have named Some faults of our fair which I gently b.ive blamed ; But be it for ever by .ill understood, My censures were only pronounced for their good. I delight in the sex— 'tis the pride of my mind To consider them gentle, endearing, relincd ; As our solace below in the journey of life. To smooth its rough passes, to soften its strife; As objects intended our joys to supply, And to lead us in love to the temples on high. How oft have I felt, when two lucid blue eyes. As calm and as bright as the gems of the skies. Have lieam'd their soft r.idiance into my .sou!, Iiiipre.ss'd with an awe like an angel's control ! Yes. fair ones, by this Is forever delined The fop fi'iiin the man of renneiuenl .mil mind ; The laller bi.'lieves ye in homily were given As a iMinil upon earth of our union with be.tven; AniI if ye an,' weak, and are frail, in his view, 'Tis to call forth fresh wainUli, and his fondness reneu 'Tis his Joy to support tlicsi Aiid his love at your weaki lie rejoices the gem is so ri Anil is proud that it claims No. XUI.— FIUDA |ii^:ait(l notwilhstandiii SALMAGUNDI. 30 I 'Ti8 tite Joy to su|)port Hiedc tlofecls uf your frame, I Aiid Ilia love at your weakness redoul)les its flaiiiu : I iici'cjoices the gem is so rich and so fair, I Aud is proud that it claims his protection and care. No. XUI.— FftlDAY, AUGUST 14, «807. FBOM HV ELROW-CBAIB. |l was not a litlle perplexed, a short time since, by ; eccentric conduct of my knowing coadjutor Will lizard. For two or three days lie was completely Lqiiandary. He would come into old Cockloft's jrloiir ten times a day, swinging his ponderous legs Lg vvith his usual vast strides, clap his hands into ) sides, contemplate the little shepherdesses on the |iiUel-piece fora few minutes, whistling all the while, I then sally out full sweep without uttering a word. [ be sure, a pish or a [)shaw occasionally escaped |ii ; and he was observed once to pull out his enorm- i smiff-lwx, drum for a moment upon its lid with I knuckles, and then relurn it into his pocket with- llaking a pinch. 'Twas evident Will was full of tie mighty idea — not that his restlessness was any Ir uiicDniinon ; for I have often seen him throw him- If almost into a fever of heal and fatigue — doing no- Hut his inllexihle tactUu-nity set the whole fa- ly, as usual, a-\vondering, as he seldom enters the W without giving one of his " one thousand and |e" stories. For my part, I began to think that the ; fracas at Canton had alarmed Will for the safely |liis friends Kiiiglum, Chinqua, and Consetpia — or I something had gone wrong in the alterations of I theatre— or ;.,"l some new outrage at Norfolk had lliimin a worry.— In short, I did not know what to Jik; for Will is such a universal busy-lwdy, and ■lilies so much in every thing going forward, that Tuiii^lit as well attempt to conjecture what is going liii the North Star as in his precious pericranium. til Mrs (Cockloft, who, like a worthy woman as she |seliloiii troubles herself about any thing hi this (i, saving the affairs of her household, and the ct deportment of her female friends, was struck 111 the mystery of Will's behaviour. She happened, Jen he came in and went out the tenth time, to be lydainiiig the bottom of one of the old red damask p; and notwilhslandhig this is to her an affair of I imiwrtance, yet she coidd not help turning rumid I exclaiming, " I wonder what can be the matter |i Mr Wizard ! " '' Nolhiiig, " replied old Christo- |r, "only we shall have an eruption soon, "—The Wy did not understand a word of this, neither I she care : she had expressed her wonder ; and f, with her, is always sulficient. [mi so well actpiainleii with Will's peculiarities, 111 ran lell, even by his whistle, when he is alwiut an jiyfor our paper, as certainly as a weather wiseacre [wslliat it is going to rain when he sees a pig run >iikin^r about with his nose in the wind. I therc- iilaiil my account with receiving a conuuuiiicaliou from him liefore long ; and, sure enough, tlie evening before last I distinguished his iree-mason knock at my door. I have seen many wise men in my lime, phi- losophers, mathematicia.is, astronomers, politicians, editors, and almanac-makers— but never did I see a man look half as wise asdid my friend Wizard on enter- ing the room. Had Lavater beheld him at that mo- ment, he would have set him down, to a certainty, as a fellow who iiad just discovered the longitude or the philosopher's stone. Without saying a word, he handed me a roll of pa- per; after which he lighted his cigar, sat down, cross- ed his legs, folded his arms, and, elevating his nose to an angle of about forty-live degrees, began to smoke like a steam-engine. Will delights in the picturesque. On opening his budget, and perceiving the motto, it struck me that Will had brought me one of his con- founded Chinese manuscripts, and I was forthwith going to dismiss it with indignation ; but accidentally seeing the name of our oracle, the sage Linkiim, of whose inestimable folios we pride ourselves upon beuig the sole possessors, I began to think the better of it, and looked round at Will to express my approbation. I shall never forget the figure he cut at that moment ! He had watched my countenance, on opening his ma- nuscript, with the Argus eyes of an author; and, per- ceiving some tokens of disapprobation, began, accord- ing to custom, to puff away at his cigar with such vigour, that in a few minutes he had entirely involved himself in smoke, except his nose and one foot, which were just visible, the latter wagging with great velo- city. I believe I have hinted before — at least, I ought to have done so — that Will's nose is a very goodly nose ; to which it may l)e as well to add, that in his voyages under tiie tropics it has aciptired a copper complexion, which remlers it very brilliant and lu- minous. Yoti may iiuaginc what a sumptuous ap- pearance it made, projecting boldly, like the celebrat- edpromontorium uasidi u m at Samos wilha light-house upon it, and surrounded on all sides with smoke and vaiKtur. Had my gravity been like the Chinese phi- losopher's, " within one degree of absolute frigidity," here would have l>een a trial for it. I could not stand it, but burst into such a laugh as I do not indulge in alwve once in a lumdred years. This was too much for Will; he emerged fiom his cloud, threw his cigar into the lir'-place, and strode out of the room, pulling u[) his breeches, muttering something which, I verily believe, was nothing more nor less than a horribly long Chinese malediction. He however left his manuscript behind hiiH, which I now give to the world. Whether he is serious on the occasion, or only bantering, no one, I believe, can tell : for, whether in speaking or writing, there is such an invincible gravity in hisdeuieanoiir and style, that even I, who have studied him as closely as an anli- (piarian s'ndics an old manuscript or inscription, am Irequeii'ly .it a loss to know what the rogue would !».! at. I have seen him indulge in his favourite amuse- ment of(|uizztiigfor hours together, without any one i '■ 60 SALMAGUNDI. 1 j having the least suspicion of tlie matter, until lie would suddenly twist his phiz into an expression that baffles all description, thrust his ton^ue'inhis cheek, and blow up into a laugh almost as loud as the shout of the Ro- mans on a certain occasion, which honest Plutarch avers frightened several crows to such a degree, that they fell down stone dead into the Campus Martins. Jeremy Cockloft the younger, who, like a true modern philosopher, delights in ey ^riments that are of no kind of use, took the trouble to measure one of Will's risible explosions, and declared to me that, according to accurate measurement, it contained thirty feet square of solid laughter. What will the professors say to this? PLANS FOR DEFENDING OUR HARBOUR. BY WILLIAM WIZABD, ESQ. Long-fong teko buzz tor-pedo, Fudge Confucius. We'll blow the villains all sky high ; But do it with econo my. Link. Fid. Surely never was a town more subject to mid- summer fancies and dog-day whim-whams than this most excellent of cities. Our notions, like our dis- eases, seem all epidemic ; and no sooner does a new disorder or a new freak seize one individual, but it is sure to run through all the community. This is particularly the case when the summer is at the hot- test, and every body's head is in a vertigo, and his brain in a ferment : 'tis absolutely necessary, then, the poor souls should have some bubble to amuse themselves with, or they would certainly run mad. Last year the poplar-worm made its ap(.earance most fortunately for our citizens; and every body was so much in horror of being poisoned and devoured, and so busied in making humane experiments on cats and dogs, that we got through the summer (|uite comfort- ably : the cats had the worst of it— every niouser of them was shaved, and there was not a whisker to be seen in the whole sisterhood. This summer every body has had full employment in planning fcrtiflca- tions for our harbour. Not a cobbler or tailor in the city but has left his awl and his thimble, become an engineer outright, and aspired most magnanimously to the building of forts and destruction of navies. Hea- vens ! as my friend Mustaplia would say, on what a great scale is every thing in this country ! Among the various plans that have been offered, the most conspicuous is one devised and exhibited, as I am informed, by that notable confederacy the North- river Society. Anxious to redeem their reputation from the foul 8US[.cions that have for a long lime overclouded it, these aquatic incendiaries have come forward, at the present alarming juncture, and announced a most po- tent discovery, which is to guarantee our port from the visits of any foreign marauders. The society have, it seems., invented a cunning machine, shrewdly yclep- ed a ioipnio; by wliioli the stoutest line-ol-liutlle ship, even a iiantisima Tii»idad, may be caught v„r\ ping, and dcconqiuscd in a 'winkling; a kind o<'sul)- marine powder magazine to swim under water, 1 an aquatic mole, or water-rat, and destroy the enei in the moments of unsuspicious security. This straw tickled the noses of all our dignitaiji wonderfully; for, to do our government justice, itii no objection to injuring and exterminating its enen in any manner — provided the thing can be done < mically. It was determined tlie experiment should be trid and an old brig was purchased, for not more than tv its value, and delivered over into the hands of ilslg mentors, the North-river Society, to he tortured, j battered, and annihilated, secundum ariem. Ad was appointed for the occasion, when all the guod^ tizens of the wonder-loving city of Gotham were invii to the blowing-up; like the fat ir.nkeeper in RaiKlii who requested all his customers to come on a cett day, and see him burst. As I have almost as great a veneration as the ^ Mr Walter Shandy for all kinds of experiments t are ingeniously ridiculous, I made very particular i tion of the one in question at the table of my fn Christopher Cockloft ; but it put the honest old j tieman in a violent passion. He condemned it| loto, as an attempt to introduce a dastardly andii terminating mode of warfare. — " Already liavei proceeded far enough," said he, " in the scienct| destruction : war is already invested with sufiid horrors and calamities : let us not increase the t logue; let us not, by these deadly artifices, provob system of insidious and indiscriminate hostility, may terminate in laying our cities desolate, and espi ing our women, our cliildren, and our infirm, to( sword of pitiless recrimination." Honest old ci| Her ! — it was evident he did not reason us a true p tician; but he felt as a Christian and philanthropy and that was, perhaps, just as well. It may be readily supposed that our citizens did J refuse the invitation of the society to the bIo\v-iip;j was the first naval action ever exhibited in our f and the good people all crowded to see the Brid navy blown up in effigy. The young ladies were^ lighted with the novelty of the show, ai>d declai that ifwar could be conducted in this manner, it\nj become a fashionable amusement ; and the destrucf of a fleet be as pleasant as a ball or a tea-party, old folk were e(iually pleased with the spectacle- cause it cost them nothing. Dear souls, howli was it they shoidd he disappointed ! the brig mosll stiuately refused to be decomposed ;— the dinuersH cold, an<! ihe puddings were overlioiled, Ihroii;;™ the renowned city of Gotham ; and its sapient in bitants, like the honest Strasburghers, from m most of them are doubtless descended, who weiit^ to see the courteous stranger and his nose, all rcti ed home, after having threatened to pull downj fiag-slalT by way of taking salisfaclion for their ilis pointnient. — Hy the way, there is not an animal iii| world nu)rc discriminating in its vengeance th free-born mob. A. SALMAGUNDI. 01 |ln the evening I repaired to friend Hogg's, to smoke dable cigar, but iiad scarrely entered llie room, en I was taicen prisoner by my friend, Mr Iciiabod DgQs; wlio, I soon saw, was at Ids usual trade of yjng into niill-stones. Tlie old gentleman inform- I me that the brig had actually been blown up, after iforld of manoeuvring, and had nearly blown up the liety with it ; he seemed to entertain strong doubts ) to the objects of the society in the invention of these Iferoal machines — hinted a suspicion of their wishing I set the river on fire, and that he should not be sur- on waking one of these mornings to find the bdson in a blaze. " Not that I disapprove of the U," said he, " provided it has the end in view which U profess; no, no, an excellent plan of defence j — I need of batteries, forts, frigates, and gun-boats : «rve, sir, all that's necessary is, that the ships must Ime to anchor in a convenient place ; watch must l)e Beep, or so complaisant as not to disturb any boats (Idling al)out them — fair wind and tide — no moon- ht— machines well directed— mustn't flash in the n— bang's the word, and the vessel's blown up in a loment!" — " Good," said I, " you remind me of a pberly Chinese who was flogged by an honest cap- I of my acquaintance, and who, on being advised Irelallate, exclaimed—' Hi yah ! spose two men hold kt him captain, den very mush me bamboo he ! ' " I The old gentleman grew a little crusty, and insisted all did not understand him; — all that was reouisite [render the effect certain was, that the enemy should jiter into the project; or, in common phrase, " be [reeable to the measure;" so that if the machine did bt come to the ship, the ship should go to the nia- kine; by which means he thought the success of the lachine would be inevitable — provided it struck fire. [But do not you think," said I, doubtingly, " that it lould be rather difficult to persuade the enemy into ■ch an agreement ? — some peo[)le have an invincible jitipalby to being blown up." — " Not at all, not at I," replied he, triumphantly ; " got an excellent no- Jon for thnt; — do with them as we have done with lebrig; buy all the vessels we mean to destroy, and low them up as best suits our convenience. I have loiight deeply on that subject, and have calculated to Icertainly, that if our funds holil out, we may in this lay (kstroy the whole lUilish navy — by contract." J Hy this time all the ({uidnuncs of the room had ga- kered around us, each pregnant with some niighly [heme for the salvation of his country. One palhe- ally lamented that we had no such men amoni; us the famous Toujourstlort and (irossitout, mIio, [hentlie celebrated (Captain Tranchemont made war kainst the city of Kalacahabalaba, utterly discomfited |it!,'ri'al Kin;; Higstaff, and blew up his whole army fc stieeziii;;. — Another imparted a sage idea, which *nw to have occupied more heads tliaii one; that is, flttlie l)est way of I'ortifying Ilie harbour was lo jiiii it at once ; choke the channel with riK'ks and Jorks; strew it with ehevav.r de frise and Iw|m'- *s, and make it like a niu'sery-garden, full of men- traps and spring-guns. No vessel would then have the temerity to enter our harbour; we should not even dare to navigate it ourselves. Or, if no cheaper way could be devisal, let Governor's Island be raised by levers and pulleys, floated with empty casks, etc. towed down to the Narrows, and dropped plump in the very mouth of the harbour!— " But," said I, " would not the prosecution of these whim-whams be rather expensive and dilatory ?"—" Pshaw ! " cried the other — " what's a million of money to an experiment ? the true spirit of our economy requires that we should spare no expense in discovering the cheapest moile of defending ourselves ; and then, if all these moiles should fail, why you know the worst we liave to do is to return to the old-fashioned hum- drum mode of forts and batteries." — " By which time," cried I, " the arrival of the enemy may have rendered their erecUon superfluous." A shrewd old gentleman, who stood listening by with a mischievously equivocal look, observed that the most effectual mode of repulsing a fleet from our ports would be to administer them a proclamation from time to time, till it operated. Unwilling lo leave the company without demon- strating my patriotism and ingenuity, I communicated a plan of defence ; which in truth was suggested long since by that oracle Muslapha, who had as clear a head for cobweb-weaving as ever dignified the shoul- ders of a projector. He thought the most effectual mode would be to assend}le all the slang-whamjers, great and small, from all parts of the state, and marshal them at the battery; where they should be exposed point-blank to the enemy, and form a body of scoliling infantry, similar to ihe poissards, or doughty champions of Hillingsgate. They should be exhorted to fire away, without pity or remorse, in sheets, half- sheets, columns, hand-bills, or squibs; great canon, little canon, pica, German-text, stereotype, and to run their enemies through with shar{)-pointed italics. They should haveorderstoshow noquarter — tobiazeaway in their loudest epithets — '^Miscreants .'" " Murderers '." " Barbarians .' " " Pirates'. " " lUMers / " " Hlack- GiiAuus ! " and, to do away all fear of consecpieiices, they should be guaranteed from all dangers ol pil- lory, kicking, euflintf, nose-pulling, whipimig-posl, or prosecution for libels. If, continued IVIuslapha, you wish men to fight well and valiantly, they must be allowed those weapons they have been used lo handle. Your countrymen are notoriously adniil in the management of the tongue ;iiul the pen, and con- duct all their bailies by spetclics or newspa[»ers. Adopt, therefore, the plan I have pointed out; and rely upon it, that let any Meet, however large, be but once assailed by this battery of slang-wlian;;ers. Hid if they ba\<' not entirely lost their sense of hear- ing, or a regard for their own rharaeters and feelings, the\ will, at the very liist lire, slip their rallies, and nuvat with as nnich prenpitaiion as if IIk y had un- warily eiiterwl into the atmosphere (tf the holion vpas. In this maimer may your wars be condiicle;! with 02 SALMAGUNDI. !;' i proper economy; and it will cost no more to drive off u fleet than to write up a party, or write down a bashaw^ of three tails. The sly old gentleman I have before mentioned was highly delighted with this plan; and proposeil, as an improvement, that mortars should be placed on the battery, which, instead of throwing shells and such trifles, might be charged with newspapers, Tammany addresses, etc. by way of red-hot shot, which would undoubtedly he very potent in blowing up any powder magazine they might chance to come in contact with. lie concluded by informing the company, that in the course of a few evenings he would have the honour to present them with a scheme for loading certain vessels with newspapers, resolu- tions of " numerous and respectable meetings," and other combustibles, which vessels were to be blown directly in the midst of the enemy by the bellows of the slang- whangers ; and he was much mistaken if they would not be more fatal than lire-ships, bomb- ketches, gun-boats, or even torpedoes. These are but two or three specimens of the nature and eflicacy of the innumerable |)lans with which this cilyabounds. Every body seems charged lolheinuzzle with gunpowder, every eye Hashes lire-works and tor- pedoes, and every corner is occupiedhy knotsof inflam- matory projectors ; not one of whom but has some pre- posterous mode of destruction, which he has proved to be infallible by a previous experiment in c tub of water ! Even Jeremy Cockloft has caught the infection, to the great annoyance of the inhabitants of Cockloft- hall, whither he had retired to make his experiments undisturbed. At one time all the mirrors in the house were unhung, — their collected rays thrown into the hot-house, to try Archimedes' plan of burn- ing-glasses ; and the honest old gardener was almost knocked down by what he mistook for a str(»ke of the sun, but which turned out to be nothing moie than a sudden attack of one of these tremendous jack-o'lan- terns. It l)ecame dangerous to walk tluongh the court-yard, for fear of an explosion; and the whole family was thrown into distress and consternation, by a letter from the old housekeep*"' to Mrs Cock- loft, informing her of his having blown up a favourite Chinese gander, which I had brought from Canton, as he was majeslically sailing in the duck-pond. " In the multitude of counsellors there is safely ; " if so, the defenceless city of Gotham has nothing to apprehend ; hut much do I fear that so many excel- lent and infallible i»rojecls will be presented, that we shall be at a loss which to adopt, and the jteacc- able inhabitants fare likeu famous projector of my ac- quainlaiu^e, whose house was unfortunately plun- dered while he "as contriving a patent lock to secure his door. I'llOM D1V ELBOW-CHAIR. A RF.TIlOSPi:CT, OH "WHAT YOU WHl." I.OM.INC. in my elbow -chair this [}\\e summer noon, I foci myself insensibly yielding to that genial feeling of indolence the season is so well fitted to inspi Every one, who is blessed with a little of the delid languor of disposition that delights in repose, often have sported among the fairy scenes, the golili visions, the voluptuous reveries, that swim before i| imagination at such moments; resembling those blji ful sensations a Mussulman enjoys after his favouiii indulgence of opium; which Will Wizard declai can be compare<l to nothing but "swimming jn^ ocean of peacocks' feathers." In such a mwK\, evg body must be sensible it would lie idle and uripn able for a man to send his wits a-gadding on a vurnj of discovery into futurity ; or even to trouble hinis with a laborious investigation of what is actually | ing under his eye. We are, at such times, moieii posed to resort to the pleasures of memory than I those of the imagination; and like the way-faring,' ij veller, reclining for a moment on his statT, had rath contemplate the ground we have travelled thaa i region which is yet before us. I could here amuse myself and stultify my reada with a most elaborate and ingenious parallel betwet authors and travellers; but in this balmy seasoi; which makes men stupid and dogs mad, and >vii doubtless many of our most strenuous admirers hai^ great difficulty in keeping awake through the ilay.i would be cruel to saddle them with the foriniilalil difficulty of putting two ideas together and drawinsj conclusion; or, in the learned phrase, forging si/lljj (jisms in Baroco : — a terrible undertaking for tliedij days ! To say the truth, my observations were onlj intended to prove that this, of all others, is the inoi auspicious moment, and my present the most favourJ able mood, for indulging in a retrospect. — WliellietJ like certain great personages of the day, in atteiiipliii| to prove one thing, I have exposed another; or win Iher, like certain other great personages, in attenipil ing to prove a great deal, I have proved nothing atallj I leave to my readers to decide, provided they iiai the power and inclination so to do; but a uiiTUusPEal will 1 take notwithstanding. I am perfectly aware that in doing this I shall I myself open to the charge of imitation, than which ^ man might be better accused of downright house- breaking; for it has been a standing rule with manjl of my illustrious predecessors, occasionally, and part cularly at the conclusion of a volume, to look ov(t| their shoulder and chuckle at the miracles they lijl acliieveil. Bui as I before professed, I am deleriiiin-l ed to hold myself entirely independent of all niaiiiie( of opinions and criticisms, as the only method ofiieJ ting on in this world in any thing like a straight iiu!.! True it is, I may sometimes seem to angle a little (utT the good opinion of mankind, by giving Iheni soiii^ excellent reasons for doing unreasonable things; li Ibis is merely to show them, that allhough I may i casionnlly go wrong, it is not for want of kiu)\vin,| how to go right; and here I will lay down a niaximl which will for ever entitle nie to the gratituile ofnijl inexperienced readers, namely, thai a, ntan always ot I),' voices of a retrieve! SALMAGUNDI. G5 Ire crctlil in the eyes of this naughty world fur sinning Ifully, tiian for sinning tlirough sheer ignorance. t will ilouhlless be insisted by matiy ingenious ca- lers, wlio will be meddling with what does not at 1 concern then;, that this retrospect should have L taken at the commencement of our second vo- |ic'; it is usual, I know : moreover, it is natural. on ns a writer has once accomplished a volume, I forthwith becomes wonderfully increased in ai- de ! He steps upon his book as upon a pedestal, is elevatal in proportion to its magnitude. A deeimo makes him one inch taller; an octavo, ! laches; a (juarto, six :— but he who has made I to swell a folio, looks down uiwn his fellow-crea- i fi'om such a fearful height that, ten to one, the ■r man's head is turned for ever afterwards. From Pi a lofty situation, therefore, it ia natural an author ^Id cast his eyes behind ; and having reached the t landing-place on the stairs of immortality, may oiiably be allowed to plead his privilege to look i over the height he has ascended. I have deviat- alillle from this venerable custom, merely that our ispect might fall in the dog-<)ays — of all days in [year most congenial to the indulgence of a little Isiifflciency ; inasmuch as people have then little )biit to retire within the sphere of self, and make [most of what they lind there. let it not be supposed, however, that we think our- Ics a whit the wiser or beltc since we have linish- liur volume than we were before; on the contrary, jseriously assure our readers that we were fully lessed of all the wisdom and morality it contains at noment we commenced writing. It is the world [clilias grown wiser, — not we; we hiive thrown our [ into the common stock of knowledge ; we have led our morsel with the ignorant multitude; and pr from elevating ourselves above me world, our lemleavour has been to raise the world to our own |1, and make it as wise as we its disinterested be- Klors. loa moral writer like myself, who, next to his j comfort and entertainment, has the good of bis Iw-cilizens at heart, a retrospect is but a sorry Isement. Like the industrious husbandman, he I contemplates in silent disappointment his la- > wasted on a barren soil ; or the seed he has Ifiilly sown choked by a redundancy of worthless lis. I expected long ere this to have seen a coni- I reformation in manners and morals, achieved bur united efforts. My fancy echoed to the ap- jtliii},' voices of a retrieved generation. I antici- , with proud satisfaction, the periotl, not far di- |, when our work would be introduced into the Icmieswith which every lane and alley of our ci- jalwiiad— when our precepts would be gently in- led into every unlucky urchin by force of birch— |iuy inMi-lioiiud i>liysi(»:ruoniy, as taken by Will ard, lie as notorious .is that of Noah VVebsier, Es(|., or his no less renowned predecessor the Iliis work was urixiually |iiiltlii«lioil m Iwo volumes. illustrious Dilworth, of spelling-book immortality. Rut, well-a-day ! to let my rceiders into a profound secret, the expectations of man are like the varied hues that tinge the distant prospect — never to be rea- lized — never to be enjoyed but in perspective. Luck- less Launcelot, that the humblest of the many air castles thou bast erected should prove a ^'baseless fa- bric ! " IMuch does it grieve me to confess, that after all our lectures, precepts, and excellent admonitions, the people of New-York are nearly as nuich given to backsliding and ill-nature as ever; they are just as much abiuidoned to dancing and tcci-ilrinking; and as to scandal. Will Wizard informs me that, by a rough computation, since the last cargo of gunpowder-tea from Canton arrived, no less than eighteen characters have been blown up, besides a number of others that have been woefully shattered. The ladies still labour under the same scarcity of muslins, and delight in flesh-coloured silk stockings : it is evident, however, that our advice has bad very considerable effect on them, as tbey endeavour to act as opposite to it as possible — this being what Evergreen calls fe' .ale independence. As to the Straddles, they abound as much as ever in Broadway, particularly on Sundays ; and Wizard roundly asserts that he supped in company with a knot of them a few evenings since, when they liquidated a whole Birmingham consign- ment in a batch of imperial champaign. I have, fur- thermore, in the course of a month past, detected no less than three Giblet families making their first onset towards style and gentility in the very manner we have heretofore reprobated. Nor have our utmost efforts been able to check the progress of that alarm- ing epidemic, the rage for punning, which, though doubtless originally inlendeu merely to ornament and enliven conversation by liiile sports of fancy, threatens to overrun and poison the whole, like the baneful ivy which destroys the useful plant it lirst embellished. Now I look upon an habitual punster as a depredator upon conversation ; and I have remarked sometimes one of these offenders sitting silent on tiie watdi for an hour together, until some luckless wight, unfor- tunately for the ease and quiet of the company, ilropped a phrase susceptible of a double meaning — when, pop, our punster would dart out like a veteran mouser from her covert, seize the unlucky word, and after worrying and mumbling at it until it was capable of no further marring, relapse again into silent watch- fulness, and lie in wait for anotlier opiwrtunity. Even this might be borne with, by the aid of a little phi- losophy ; but the worst of it is, they are not content to manufacture puns and laugh heartily at them them- selves, but they expect we should laugh with them — which I consider as an inlolerable hardship, and a flagrant imposition on good-nature. Let these gen- tlemen fritter away conversation with impunity, and deal out their wits in sixpenny bits if they please ; but I beg I may have the choice of refusing currency to their small change. I am seriously afraid, lu)wevcr, that our junto is not cpiite free from the uifcction ; nay. 64 SALMAGUNDI. t .. I il that it hi. s even approached so near as to menace the tranquillity of my elhow-chair : for Will Wizard, as we were in council the other night, absolutely elec- trified Pindar and myself with a most palpable and perplexing pun— had it been a torpedo, it could not have more discomposed Hit fraternity. Sentence of banishment was unanimously decreed ; but on his con- fessing that, like many celebrated wits, he was merely retailing other men's wares on commission, he war for that once forgiven, on condition of refraining from such diabolical practices in future. Pindar is parti- cularly outrageous against punsters ; and quite asto- nished and put me to a nonplus a day or two since, by asking abruptly '' whc .her I thought a punster coidd be a good Christian ?" He followed up his question triumphantly, by offering to prove, by sound logic and historical fact, that tlie Roman empire owed its decline and fall to a pun, and that nothing tended so much to demoralize the French nation as their abo- minable rage for jmcc demots. But what, above every thing else, has caused me much vexation of spirit, and displeased me most with this stiff-necked nation, is, that in spite of all the se- rious and profound censures of the sage Mustapha, in his various letters — they will talk ! — they will still wag their tongues, and chatter like vei7 slang-whangers I This is ii degree of obstinacy incomprehensible in the extreme, and is another proof how alarming is the force of habil, and how difficult it is to reduce beings, accustomed to talk, to that state of silence which is the very acme of human wisdom. We can only account for these disappointments, in our moderate and reasonable expectations, by suppos- ing the world so deeply sunk in the mire of delin- quency, that not even Hercules, were he to put his shoulder to the axletree, would be able to extricate it. We comfort ourselves, however, by the reflection that there are at least three good men left in this degene- rate age, to benefit the world by example, should precept ultimately fail. And borrowing, for once, an example fi*om certain sleepy writers, who, after the first emotions of surprise at finding their invaluable effusions neglected or despised, console themselves with the idea that 'tis a stupid age, and look forward to posterity for redress — we bequeath our first vo- lume to future generations — and much good may it do them. Heaven grant they may be able to read it ! for, if our fashionable mode of education continues to improve, as of late, I am under serious apprehensions that the period is not far distant when tlie discipline of the dancing-master will supersede that of the gram- marian — crotchets and quavers supplant the alphabet — and the heels, by an antip 'dean manccuvre, obtain entire pre-eminence over the head. How does my heart yearn for poor dear posterity, when this work shall become as unintelligible to our grandchildren as it seems to be to their grandfathers and grandmothers ! In fact, for I love to be candid, we begin to suspect that many people read our numbers merely for their amusement, without [laying any attention to the se- rious truths conveyed In every page. Unpardoa want of penetration ! not that we wish to restriciJ readers in the article of laughing— which we conjij as one of the dearest prerogatives of man, and tjiel linguishing characteristic which raises him abmej other animals : let them laugh therefore if they provided they profit at the same time and do not t take our object. It is one of our indisputable faq that it is easier to laugh ten follies out of counten,iii ti.an to coax, reason, or flog a man out of one. Ini^ odd, singular and indescribable age, which is neid the .'.ge of gold, silver, iron, brass, chivalry, nor J whatever Sir John Carr may assert, a grave writeri^ attempts to attack folly with the heavy artillery uf:^ ral reasoning wilt fare like "mollett's honest ped who clearly demonstrated by angles, etc., after ( manner of Euclid, that it was wrong to do evil, was laughed at for his pains. Take niy woril foriJ little well applied ridicule, like Hannibal's applica^ of vinegar to rocks, will do more with certain I heads and obdurate hearts than all the logic ori monstrations in Longinus or Euclid. But the | of Gotham, wise souls! are so much accustoniedl see morality approach them, clothed in formidi wigs, and sable garbs, " with leaden eye that loresj ground," that they can never recognise her wlien,(j in gay attire, she comes tripping towards tlienii smiles and sunshine in her countenance. — VVellJ the rogues remain in happy ignorance, for" ignon is bliss, " as the poet says ; and I put as implicit [J in poetry as I do in the almanac or the news-u;^ We will improve them without their being the v for it, and they shall become better in spite ofU teeth, and without their having the least suspicioul the reformation working within them. Among all our manifold grievances, however, i| some small but vivid rays of sunshine occasion^ brighten along our path, cheering our ste[is, amliij ing us to persevere. The public have paid some little regard to afei[| tides of our advice — they have purchased ouriui hers freely ; so much the belter for our publisliij they have read them attentively ; so much liie I for themselves. The melancholy fate of my i aunt Charity has had a wonderful effect ; and I b now before me a Liter from a gentleman who i opposite to a couple of old ladies, remarkable forf interest they took in his affairs; his apartmcnlsn absolutely in a state of blockade, and he was on j point of changing his lodgings, or capitulating, the appearance of our ninth number, which he in diately sent over with his compliments — the gd| dies took the hint, and have scarcely appeared at tl window since. As to the wooden gentlemen, j friend Miss Sparkle assures me they are wonder! improved by our criticisms, and sometimes venl to make a remark, or attempt a pun in cuinpanj| the great edification of all who happen to undcrit them. As to red shawls, they are entirely discaij from the fair shoulders of our ladies, ever since I SALMAGUNDI. 65 Lt importation of finery ; nor has any lady, since the Ljwealiier, venturetl to expose her elbows to Uie Hniirin;^ ^aze of scnilinizin;^ passengers. Bnt there (one victory we have achieved, which has given us ore pleasure than to have written down the whole bmiiiisli'.'ilion : I am assured, from un(|uestionah!e biliniily, that our young latlies, doubtless in con- Liience of our weighty admonitions, have not hce imlulged in that intoxicating, inflanmiatory, and lliirligig dance, the waltz, ever since warm weather Inimeiiccd. True it is, I understand, an attempt las made to exhibit it, by some of the sable fair ones, lllie last African ball, but it was highly disapproved [liy all the respectable elderly ladies present. I These are sweet sources of comfort to atone for the any wrongs and misrepresentations heaped upon us f the world — for even we have experienced its ill- ^ture. Ilowoflen have weheard ourselves reproach- I fur the insidious applications of the uncharitable! j)\v (tften have we been accused of emotions which Iver found an entrance into our bosoms! — how [ten have our sportive effusions been wrested to \ethe purposes of particular enmity and bitterness ! (Idlesome spirits! little do they know our disposi- ng : we "lack gall" to wound the feelings of a bie innocent individual — we can even forgive them p the very bottom of our souls ; may they meet Iready a forgiveness from their own consciences ! Jjic true and independent bachelors, having no do- stic cares to interfere with our general benevo- jire, we consider it incuml)ent upon us to watch (eithe welfare of society; and although we are in- J)ted to the world for little else than left-handed fa- liirs, yet we feel a proud satisfaction in requiting l\vilhgoo<], and the sneer of illiberalily with the ^feigned smile of gootl-humour. With these min- I motives of selfishness and philanthropy we com- Jenced our work, and if we cannot solace ourselves |th the consciousness of having done much good, I there is still one pleasing consolation left, which pworldcan neither give nor take away. There are [)ments— lingering moments of listless indifference heavy-hearted despondency — when our best kies and affections slipphig, as they sometimes will, pi their hold on those objects to which they usually n;' for support, seem abandoned on thf wide waste Icheerless existence, without a place to cast anchor Iwithouta shore in view to excite a single wish, or Igive a momentary interest to contemplation. We Ik back with delight ujwn many of the«e moments |mental gloom, whiled away by the cheerful exer- ! of our pen, and consider every such triumph over e spleen as retarding the furrowing hand of time in I insidious encroachments on our brows. If, in ad- lion to our own amusements, we have, as we jog- |I carelessly laughing along, brushed away one tear jdejection and called forth a smile in its place — if ( have brightened the pale countenance of a single lid of sorrow — we shall feel almost as much joy and jflicing as a slang-whanger does when he bathes his ' pen in the heart's blood of a patron and benefactor; or sacrifices an illustrious victim on the altar of [larty animosity. TO RKADEBS AJiD C0BRI':.SP0MDe'<iT8. It is our misfortune to be frequently pestered, in our peregrinations about this learned city, by certain critical gad-tlies, who buzz around, and merely attack the skin, without ever being able lu penetrate the body. The reputation of our promising jjrofpf/^, Je- remy Cockloit the younger, has been assailed by these skin-deep critics; they have questioned his claims to originality, and even hintetl that the ideas for his New- Jersey Tour were borrowed from a late work entitled " My Pocket-hook." As there is no Hterary offence more despicable in the eyes of the trio than borrow- ing, we immediately called Jeremy to an account; when heproved, by the dedication of the work in ques- tion, that it was first published in London in March, i807— and that his "Stranger in New-Jersey" had made its appearance on the 24th of the preceding Fe- briiaiy. We were on the point of acquitting Jeremy with honour, on the ground that it was impossible, know- ing as he is, to borrow from a foreign work one month before it was in existence, when Will Wizard suddenly took up the cudgels for the critics, and in- sisted that nothing was more probable, for he recol- lected reading of an ingenious Dutch author, who plainly convicted the ancients of stealing from his la- bours! — So much fur criticism. We have received a host of friendly and admoni- tory letters from different quarters, and among the rest a very loving epistle from George-town, Colum- bia, signed Teddy M'Gundy, who addresses us by the name of Saul M'Gundy, and insists that we are descended from the same Irish progenitors, and nearly related. As friend Teddy seems to be an honest, merry rogue, we are sorry that we cannot admit his claims to kindred : we thank him, however, for his good will, and should he ever be inclined to favour us with another epistle, we will hint to him, and at the same time to our other numerous correspondents, that their conununications will be infinitely more ac- ceptable if they will just recollect Tom Shuftleton's advice,—" pay the post-boy, Muggins." Ko. XIV.— SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER tO, 1807. LETTER PROM MVSTAPHA RVB-A-DUB KELI KIIAN, To Asem Hacchem, principal Slave-driver to his Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli. Health and joy to the friend of my heart!— May the angel of peace ever watch over thy dwelling, and the star of prosperity shed its lustre on all thy under- takings. Far other is the lot of thy captive friend ; I ! IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I Ui|28 |25 Vi lii |22 2J 134 ■" !S us. 12.0 III! ftotographic Sciences Corporation ^ \ V •NS <^ 3J WIST MAIN STHIT WIUTIR.N.Y. MSM (716) •72-4303 m SALMAGUNDI. —his brightest hopes extend but to a lengthened pe- riod of captivity, and memory only adds to the mea- sure or his grieb, by holding up a mirror which re- flects with redoubled charms the hours of past felicity. In midnight slumbers my soul holds sweet converse with the tender objects of its affections; — it is then the exile is restored to his country; — it is then the wide waste of waters that rolls between us disap- pears, and I clasp to my bosom the companion of my youth! I awake, and find it but a vision of the night. The sigh will rise, — the tear of dejection will steal adown my cheek : — I fly to my pen, and strive to forget myself, and my sorrows, in conversing with my friend. In such a situation, my good As«>m, it cannot be expected that I should be able so w.iolly to abstract myself from my own feelings, as to give thee a full and systematic account of the singular people among whom my disastrous lot has been cast. I can only And leisure, from my own individual sorrows, to en- tertain thee occasionally with some of the most pro- minent features of their character, and now and then a solitary picture of their most preposterous eccen- tricities. I have before observed that, among the distin- guished characteristics of the people of this logocracy, is their invincible love of talking; and that I could compare the nation to nothing but a mighty windmill. Thou art doubtless at a loss to conceive how this mill is supplied with grist; or, in other words, how it is possible to furnish subjects for the peipetual exercise of so many tongues. The genius of the nation appears in its highest lustre in this particular, in the discovery, or rather the application, of a subject which seems to supply an inexhaustible mine of words. It is nothing more, my friend, than politics; a word which, I declare to thee, has perplexed me almost as much as the re- doubtable one of economy. On consulting a dic- tionary of this language, I found it denoted the science of government; and the relations, situations, and dis- positions of states and empires.— Good, thought I; for a people who boast of governing themselves there could not be a more important subject of investiga- tion. I therefore listened attentively, expecting to hear from " the most enlightened people under the sun," for so they n\odestly term themselves, sublime disputations on the science of legislation, and precepts of political wisdom that would not have disgraced our great prophet and legislator himself; but alas, Asem ! how continually are my expectaiions disappointed ! how dignifled a meaning does this word bear in the dictionary !— how despicable its common application ! I find it extending to every contemptible discussion of local animosity, and every petty altercation of in- signiticant individuals. It end)races alike all manner of concerns; from tlie organization of a divan, the election of a bashaw, or the levying of an army, to the appointment of a constable, the personal disputes of two miserable slang-whangers, the cleaning of the streets, or the economy of a dirt cart. A coopleJ politicians will quarrel, with the most vociferousi tinacity, about the character of a bum-baiiiiT vli nobody cares for ; or the deportment of a little man whom nobody knows— and this is called politics : nay, it is but a few days since, that I ' annoyed by a debate between two of my fell lodgers, who were magnanimously employed fn( demning a luckless wight to infamy, because he I worn a red coat, and had entertained certain neous opinions some thirty years before. Shockedl their illiberal and vindictive spirit, I rebuked th for thus indulging in slander and uncharitabler about the colour of a coat which had doubtless! many years been worn out ; or the belief in er which, in alF probability, had been long since ato for and abandoned; but they justified themselvesj alleging that they were only engaged in politics,! exerting that liberty of speech, and freedom oh cussion, which was the glory and safeguard oft national independence. " O Mahomet ! " tlioug " what a country must that be, which builds ilsj litical safety on the ruin of characters and the | cution of individuals ! " Into what transports of surprise and incrednlityj I continually betrayed, as the character of this centric people gradually developes itself to my ( vation ! Every new research increases the perplenf in which I am involved, and I am more than evt a loss where to place them in the scale of my es tion. It is thus the philosopher— in pursuing tn through the labyrinth of doubt, error and mis sentation — frequently finds hunself bewildered inj mazes of contradictory experience; and almost m he could quietly retrace his steps, steal back inlul path of honest ignorance, and jog on once nwrej contented indifference. How fertile in contradictions is this lo Men of different nations, manners, and langua live here in the most perfect harmony; and not more common than to see individuals, whose i ive governments are at variance, taking each otli« the hand and exchanging the oflices of friend Nay, even on the subject of religion, in which, < aflecls our dearest interests, our earliest opinions I prejudices, some warmth and heart-burnings niij excused; which, even in our enlightened counir so fruitful in difference between man and man- religion occasions no dissension among these and it Iws even been asserted, by one of their i that believing in one God or twenty Gods "neil breaks a man's leg nor picks his pocket." The id trous Pckdian may here bow down before his eve ing Are and prostrate himself towards the glowingj —the Chinese may adore his Fo, or his Josh Egyptian his stork— and the Mussulman practise, molested, the divine precepts of our immortal { IVay, even the atheist, who lies down at night will committing himself to the protection of Heaven, rises in the morning without returning thanki r rty— who hath no il, like the sandy d Ijiope to throw a s views extend us his cheerless ( kilge in his despei ! oilier emotion th: land tolerating sp |religion. Once difi s, and chimeras, I madness, and deat i fire, every ton^ f heart is filled wi |At this period sevei ies, on the part of \i, have given a na epen, and occasioni (suppose, my frient er and dignified e On the contra k)w, for "in the fu nreth." But my lonj |it people, who talk i I fur affronts, gene ^ing instead of reven nen of this country, .quietly sit down a t to return: the rag pence of the aggres! gree far beyond wl I the gardens of his 11 and bee-hives, tin digious number of p bre to thee, Asem, I;, and chattering, is ar, and war of w I of this logocracy ' village, every ten jifersal question is, " I of challenge to | I think exactly alik |e]r finish, all the polii lausted by way of gi nt. What renders i ||is, that the people a{ «r for the cure of elves wilfully to ley alarm each other «hensions : as I ha icountry entertain til i goblins until their i ' day begets some i tile busy goddess, 1 uage of the Christi I mounts her rattlin ot the country, frei; brmations," "extr. ilemen," "observat I," and "unquestio iests, the slang- tiv SALMAGUNDI. 67 )inet ! " lliousi ety— who liatli no deity but his own will — whose il, like the sandy desert, is barren of every flower Ibope to throw a solitary bloom over its sterility, views extend not beyond the horizon that I his cheerless existence — even he is suflered to talge in his desperate opinions, without exciting eotiier emotion than pity or contempt. Rut this land tolerating spirit reaches not beyond the pale |religion. Once differ in politics, in mere theories, g, and chimeras, the growth of interest, of folly, [madness, and deadly warfare ensues — every eye i fire, every tongue is loaded with reproach, and f heart is filled with gall and bitterness. [Atthis period several unjustifiable and serious in- 8, on tlie part of the barbarians of the British is- \i, have given a new impulse to the tongue and [pen, and occasioned a terrible wordy fever. Do (suppose, my friend, that I mean to condemn any «r and dignified expression of resentment for in- On the contrary, I love to see a word before k)w, for "in the fulness of the heart the tongue neth." But my long experience has convinced me t people, who talk the most about taking satisfac- I fur affronts, generally content themselves with jling instead of revenging the insult : like the street- nen of this country, who, after a prodigious scold- ]f, quielSy sit down and fan themselves cool again, tlo return : the rage for talking has now, in con- pence of the aggressions I alluded to, increased to gree fur beyond what I have observed heretofore. |lhe gardens of his Highness of Tripoli are fifteen and bee-hives, three hundred peacocks, and a idigious number of parrots and baboons — and yet I bre to thee, Asem, that their buzzing, and squnll- and chattering, is nothing compared to the wild ar, and war of words, now raging within the I of this Iflgocracy. Politics pervade every city, ' village, every temple, every porter-house— the litersal question is, " what is the news ?" This is 11(1 of challenge to political delate ; and as no two 1 think exactly alike, 'tis ten to one but, before |if Gnish, all the polite phrases in the language are iiusted by way of giving fire and energy to argu- »t. What renders this talking fever more alann- ^u, that the people appear to nauseate the medicine er for the cure of their disease, and to abandon elves wilfully to their chattering epidemic. — ley alarm each other by direful reports and fearful ehensions : as I have seen a knot of old wives in (country entertain themselves with stories of ghosts 1 goblins until their imaginations were in a (tanic. rday begets some new tale, big with agitation; i llie busy goddess, Humour, to speak in the poetic uage of the Christians, is constantly in motion. '■ nioiuits her rattling stage-waggon, and gallops «l the country, freighted with a load of *' hints, " kmations," "extracts of letters from respectable nen," " observations of respectable correspond- I," and "unquestionable authorities," which her nests, the slang- whangers, retail to their sapient followers, with all the solemnity and all the authen- ticity of oracles. For in this country every man adopts some particular slang- whanger as his standard of judgment, and reads every thing he writes, if he reads nothuig else; which is doubtless the reason why the people of this logocracy are so marvellously en- lightened. True it is, the slang-whangers are some- times at a loss for food, to supply the insatiable appetite of their disciples; and are not unfrequently reduced to the necessity of manufacturing dishes suited to the taste of the times, to be served up as morning and evening repasts. Politics is a kind of mental food that is soon digested; it is thrown up again the moment it is swallowed. Let but one of these quidnuncs take in an idea through eye or ear, and it immediately issues out at his mouth —he l)egins to talk. No sooner therefore is a politi- cian full charged with the rumours I have mentioned, but his tongue is in motion : he sallies forth to give it exercise; and woe to every one he encounters. He is like one charged with electricity; present but a knuckle, and you draw a spark. Now it is a thou- sand to one that every person he meets is just as highly charged as himself; with the self-same rumours too; and fully as eager to give them vent. The only dif- ference is, that as each goes according to the doctrine of his respective slang- whanger, their views of every subject are diametrically opposite. Here then arisen as fair an opportunity for a battle of words as heart could wish; and thou mayest rely upon it, Asem, they do not let it pass unimproved, 'i'hey sometimes begin with argument, but in process of time, as the tongue waxes wanton, recrimination commences — reproach follows close at its heels — from political abuse they proceed to personal, and thus often is a friendship of years trampled down by this gigantic dwarf of poli- tics— the mongrel issue of groveling ambition and aspiring ignorance ! There would Ite but little harm indeed in all this, if it ended merely in a broken head— for this might soon be healed, and the scar, if any remained, might serve as a warning agamst future intemperance : at the worst, the loss of such heads as these would lie a gain to the nation. But the evil extends far deeper; it threatens to impair all social intercourse, and even to sever the sacred union of femily and kindred. The convivial table is disturbed — tlie cheerful fire-side is invaded — the smile of social hilarity i»cbased away— the bond of social love is broken by the everlasting in- trusion of this fiend ; who lurks in the sparkling bowl, crouches by the fire-side, growls in the friendly circle, infests every avenue to pleasure ; and like an incubus, sits scowling on the bosom of society, pressing down and smothering every throb of liberal philanthropy. But thon wilt perhaps ask, " What can these people dispute about? one would suppose that being all tree and e4|ual they would harmonize as brothers, children of the same parent, and equal heirs of the same inhe- ritance." This in theory is most exquisite, my good friend, but in practice il turns outthe very dreamofa 68 SALMAGUNDI. madman. Equality, Asem, is one of the most con- summate scoundrels tliat ever crept from tlie brain of a political juggler — a fellow who thrusts his hand into the pocket of honest industry, or enterprising talent, and squanders their hard-earned profits on profligate idleness or indolent stupidity. Tliere will always be an inequality among mankind so long as a portion of it is enlightened and industrious, and the rest idle and ignorant. The one will acquire a larger share of wealth, and the attendant comforts, refinements, and luxuries of life, and the influence and power, which those will always possess who have the greatest ability of administering to the necessities of their fellow-crea- tures. These advantages will inevitably excite envy, and envy will as inevitably beget ill-will : — hence arises that eternal warfare, which the lower orders of society wage against those who have raised themselves by their own merits, or have been raised by the me- rits of their ancestors, above the common level. In a nation possessed of quick feelings this hostility might engender deadly broils and bloody contentions; but in this nation of quick tongues it merely vents itself in wordy riots ; in assassinations of character, and what is termed "murder of the King's English." I cannot help smiluig sometimes to see the solici- tude with which the people of America ( so called from the country having been first discovered by Christopher Columbus ) battle about them when any election takes place; as if they had the least concern in the matter, or were to be benefited by an exchange of bashaws ! — They really seem ignorant that none, but the bashaws and their dependents, are at all in- terested in the event; and that the people at large will not find their situation altered in the least. I formerly gave thee an account of an election, which took place under my eye. The result has been, that the people, as some of the slang-whangers say, have obtained a glorious triumph; which, however, is flatly denied by the opposite slang-whangers ; who insist that their own party is composed of the true sovereign people, and that the others are all jacobins, French- men, and Irish rel)els. I ought to apprize thee, that the last is a term of great reproach here; which, per- haps, thou wouldst not otherwise imagine, considering that it is not many years since this very people were engaged in a revolution, the failure of which would have subjected them to the same ignominious epithet, and a participation in which is now the highest re- commendation to public confidence. By Mahomet, but it cannot be denied, that the consistency of this people, like every thuig else appertaining to them, is on a prodigious great scale ! To return, however, to the event of the election— Tiie people triumphed ; and much good has it done them. I, for my part, expect- ed to see wonderful changes, and magical metamor- phoses. I expected to sec the people all rich, that they would be all gentlemen Iwsliaws, riding in their coaches, emancipated from toil, and revelling in luxu- rious ease. Wilt thou credit me, Asem, when I de- clare to thee, that every thing remains exactly in the state it was before the last wordy campaign ? A I noisy retainers, it is true, have crept into office, aodj few noisy patriots, on the other side, have been ki^ ed out; otherwise there is not the least difTeren The labourer still toils for his daily bread ; the 1 gar still lives on the charity of those who have j charity to bestow ; and the only solid satisfaction i multitude have reaped is, that they have got a r governor, or bashaw, whom as usual they will praii idolize, and exalt for a while ; and afterwards, i withstanding the merits he may possess, tliey abuse, calumniate, and pull down. Such, my dear Asem, is the way in which i people of ' ' the most enlightened country under i sun" are puffed up with mighty conceits : like a c tain fish I have seen here, which, having his I tickled for a short time, will swell to twice his i size, and become a mere bladder of wind and va The Messing of a true Mussulman light on tin good Asem! Ever while thou livest, be true loll prophet; and rejoice, that, though the boasting; tical chatterers of this logocracy cast upon thy i trymcn the ignominious epithet of slaves, thou IItiJ in a country where the people, instead of bemg atll mercy of a tyrant with a million of heads, have I to submit to tlie will of a bashaw of only three taili Ever thine, Mdstapha. COCKLOFT-HALL. BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFr, ESQ. TriosR who pass their time immured in the sn of the city, amid the rattling of carts, the brawling J the multitude, and the variety of disconlant swinl that prey insensibly upon the nerves, and beget I weariness of the spirits, can alone understand andG that expansion of the heart, that physical renovaliii^ which a citizen experiences when he steals forth fnii his dusty prison, to breathe the free air of heaven,a enjoy the clear face of nature. Who that has rai bled by the si<leof oneofourmajestic rivers, at thelio of sun-set, when the wildly romantic scenery an is softened and tinted by the voluptuous mist ofevi^ ing; when the bold and swelling outlines of tlied stant mountain seem melting into the glowing hori and a rich mantle of refulgence is thrown over t whole expanse of the heavens, but must have fehl abundant is nature in sources of pure enjoyment; ) luxuriant in all that can enliven the senses or deli; the imagination. The jocund zephyr, full freiglilj with native fragrance, sues sweetly to the senses ;ll chirping of the thousand varieties of insects with wliij our woodlands alwund forms a concert of simple i lody ; even the barking of the farm dug, the iowiiij;! the cattle, the tinkling of their bells, and the slrokesl the woodman's a.\e from the opposite shore, scemj partake of the softness of the scene, and fall tunefi upon the ear ; while the voice of the villager, clu ing some rustic ballad, swells from a distance, iuU semblance of the very music of harmonious love. SALMAGUNDI. 69 [tsach time I am conscious of the influence of na- Lapon Ike heart. I cast my eyes around, all. is > and beautiful ; the sweet tranquillity, the hai- led calm settle upon my soul. No jarring chord ; in my bosom ; every angry passion is at rest; at peace with the whole world, and hail all Ijnd as friends and brothers — Blissful moments ! Irecall the careless days of my boyhood, when • existence was happiness, when hope was cer- Ity, (his world a paradise, and every woman a mi- ning angel! — Surely man was designed for a te- ll of the universe, instead 'of being pent up in these lal cages, these dens of strife, disease, and discord. j were created to range the lields, to sport among Igtuves, to build castles in the air, and have every [ortliem realized. i whole legion of reflections like these insinuated dves into my mind, and stole me from the in- of the cold realities before me, as I took my Btomed walk, a few weeks since, on the battery. «, watching the splendid mutations of one of our ner skies, which emulated the boasted glories of hlalian sun-set, I all at once discovered that it was 1 10 pack up my portmanteau, bid adieu for a while ny ellMw-chair, and in a little time I should be isported from tlie region of smoke, and noise, and ^, to the enjoyment of a far sweeter prospect and rigliter sky. The next morning I was off full tilt ICocklofl-hall, leaving my man Pompey to follow i leisure with my baggage. I love to indulge in I transitions, which are prompted by the quick (ilseof the moment ; — 'tis the only mode of guard- I against that intruding and deadly foe to all parties Measure, — anticipation. paring now made good my retreat, until (he black i commence, it is but a piece of civility due to my \tti, who I trust are, ere this, my friends, to give 1 a proper introduction to my present residence. I this as much to gratify them as myself; well |oving a reader is always anxious to learn how his or is lodged, whether in a garret or a cellar, a |rel or a palace. At least an author is generally ■ enough to think so; and an author's vanity ought leUmes (o be gratiiied : poor devil ! it is often the f graliiication he ever tastes in (his world ! Cockloft-hail is the country residence of the family, ither the paternal mansion ; which, like the mother ■i(ry, sends forth whole colonies to people the face |lhe earth. Pindar whimsically denominates it the iiy hive, and there is at least as much truth as hu- nr in my cousin's epithet ; — for many a swarm has Juced. I don't recollect whether I have at any (mentioned to my readers, for I seldom look back [what I have written, that the fertility of the Cock- I is proverbial. The female mend)ers of the fiuniiy t incredibly fruitful ; and to use a favourite phrase |old Cockloft, who is excessively addicted to back- non, they seldom fail " to throw doublets every I myself have known three or four very in- urious young men reduced to great extremities, by some of these capital breeders. Heaven smiled upon their union, and enriched them with a nnmeroos and hopeful ofl&pring — who eat them out of doors. But to return to the hall.— It is pleasantly situated on the bank of a pastoral stream ; not so near town as to invite an inundation of idle acquaintance, who come to loungeaway an afternoon, nor so distantasto render it an absolute deed of charity or friendship to perform the journey. It is one of the oldest habi(ations in the country, and was built by my cousin Christopher's grandfather, who was also mine by the mother's side, in his latter days, to form, as the ol<l gentleman ex- pressed himself, ''a snug retreat, where he meant to sit himself down in his old days and be comfortable for the rest of his life. " He was at this time a few years over fourscore ; but this was a common saying of his, with which he usually closed his airy speculations. One would have thouglit, from the long vista of years through which he contemplated many of his projects, that the good man had forgotten that the age of the pa- triarchs liai! long since gone by, and calculated upon living a century longer at least. He was for a consi- derable time in doubt, on the question of roofing his house with sliingles or slate. — Shingles would not last above thirty years, but then they were much cheaper than slates. He settled the matter by a kind of com- promise, and determined to build wi(h shingles first ; " and when they are worn out, " said the old gen- tleman, triumphantly, " 'twill be time enough to re- place them with more durable materials. " But his contemplated improvementssurpassed every thing; and scarcely had he a roof over liLs head, when he dis- covered a thousand things to be arranged before he could "sit down comfortably." In the fust place, every tree and bush on the place was cut down or grubbed up by the roots, because they were not placed to his mind ; and a vast quantity of oaks, chesnuts, and elms, set out in clumps and rows, and labyrinths^ which, he observed, iu about (ive-and-twenty or thirty years at most, would yield a very tolerable shade, and. moreover would shutout all the surrounding country; for he was determined, he said, to have all his views on his own land, and be beholden to no man for a pro- spect. This, my learned readers will perceive, was something very like the idea of Lorenzo de Medici, who gave as a reason for preferring one of his seats above all the others, " that all the ground within view of it was his own. " Now, .whether my grandfather ever heard of the Medici, is more than lean say; I rather think, however, from (he characteristic original- ity of the Cocklofts, that it was a whim-wham of his own begetting. Another old no(ion of the old gen- tleman was to blow up a large bed of rocks for the pur- pose of having a fish-pond, aldiough the river ran at about one hundred yucds distiuice from the house, and was well stored with fish ; — but there was nothing, he wiid, like having (iiings to one's self. So at it he went with all the ardour of a projector, who has just hit upon some splendid and useless whim-wham. As he proccedeil, liis views enlarged ; he would have a 70 SALMAGUNDI. summer-house built on the margin of the flsh-pond ; he would have it surrounded with elms and willows ; and he would have a cellar dug under it, for some incom- prehensible purpose, which remains a secret to this day. " In a few years, " he observed, " it would be a delightful piece of wood and water, where he miglit ramble on a summer's noon, smoke his pipe, and enjoy himself in his old days : " — thrice honest old soul ! — he died of an apoplexy in his ninetieth year, just as lie had begun to blow up the fish-pond. Let no one ridicule the whim-whams of my grand- father. If— and of this there is no doubt, for wise men have said it— if life be but a dream, happy is he who can make the most of the illusion. Since my grandfather's death, the hall has passed through the liands of a succession of true old cavaliers, like himself, who gloried in observing the golden rules of hospitality ; which, according to the Cockloft principle, consist in giving a guest the freedom of the house, cramming him with beef and pudding, and, if possible, laying him under the table with prime Port, Claret, and Madeira. The mansion appears to have been consecrated to the jolly god, and abounds with monuments sacred to conviviality. Every chest of drawers, clothes-press, and cabinet, is decorated with enormous china punch-bowls, wliich Mrs Cockloft has paraded with much ostentation, particularly in her favourite red damask bed-chamber ; and in which a projector might find room to practise his experiments on fleets, diving-bells, and sub-marine boats. I have before mentioned cousin Christopher's pro- found veneration for antiiiue furniture; in consequence of which the old hall is furnished in much the same style with the house in town. Old-fashioned bed- steads, with high testers ; massy clothes-presses, stand- ing most majestically on eagles' claws, and ornament- ed with a profusion of shining brass handles, clasps and hinges; and around the grand parlour are solenm- ly arranged a set of high-backed, leather-bottomed, massy, mahogany chairs, that always remind me of the formal long-waisted belles, who flourished in stays and buckram, alwut the lime they were in fashion. If I may judge from their height, it was not the fashion for gentlemen in those days to loll over the back of a lady's chair, and whisper in her ear what might be as well spoken aloud;— at least they must have been Patagonians to have effected it. Will Wi- zard declares that he saw a little fat German gallant attempt once to whisper Miss Barbara Cockloft in this manner, but being unluckily caught by the chin, he dangled and kicked about for half a minute, before hr could And terra firma;— but Will is much addicted to hyperbole, by reason of his having been a great traveller. But what the Cocklofts more especially pride themselves upon is the possession of several family portraits, which exhibit as honest a set of square, portly, well fed gentlemen, and gentlewomen, as ever grew and flourished under the pencil of a Dutch painter. Old Christopher, who is a complete ge- nealogist, has a story to tell of each; and dilates with copious eloquence on the great services of the g, in large sleeves, during the old French war ; and] the piety of the lady in blue velvet, who so attentii peruses her book, and was once celebrated for a liful arm ; but much as I reverence my illustrionsi cestors, I find little to admire in their biograf except my cousin's memory ; which is most pi ingly retentive of every uninteresting particular. My allotted chamber in the hall is the same thati occupied in days of yore by my honoured uncle Jc The room exhibits many memorials which recallj my remembrance the solid excellence and amialijei centricities of that gallant old lad. Over the mat piece hangs the [lurtrait of a young lady dressed flaring, long-waisted, blue silk gown ; be-flom and be-furbelowed, and be-cuffed, in a most abui manner. She holds in one hand a book, which i very coiriplaisantly neglects, to turn and smile on I spectator; in the other a flower, which I hope, llie honour of dame Nature, was the sole prodi of the painter's imagination ; and a little behind It something tied to a blue ril)and ; but whether a I dog, a monkey, or a pigeon, must be left to the ji ment of future commentators. — This little d. tradition says, was my uncle John's third flame; he would infallibly have run away with her, couUl have persuaded her into the measure; but at time ladies were not quite so easily run away withj Columbine; and my uncle, failing in the point, a lucky thought, and with great gallantry ran ofTi her picture ; which he conveyed in triumph to loft-hall, and hung up in his bed-chamber as a ment of his enterprising spirit. The old gentl* prided himself mightily on his chivalric maixruv always chuckled, and pulled up his stock when contemplated the picture, and never related the ploit without winding up—" I might, indeed, carried off the original, had I chose to dangle a longer after her chariot wheels; — for, to do lliei justice, I believe she bad a liking for me ; but I ah scorned to coax, my boy— always, — 'twas my way] My uncle John was of a happy temperament; would give half I am worth for his talent at sclf^ lation. The Miss Cocklofts have made several spirited tempts to introiluce modern furniture into the but with very indifferent success. Modern style always been an object of great annoyance to Christopher, and is ever treated by him with i reign contempt, as an upstart intruder. It is a mon observation of his, that your old-fashioned stantial furniture bespeaks the respectability of i ancestors, and indicates that the famil} has beem to hold up its head for more than the present get tion ; whereas the fragile appendages of modern seem emblems of mushroom geutility;and,tolii8i predict that the family dignity will moulder awayi vanish with its transient finery. The same vl wham makes him averse to having his house sun ed with poplars; which lie stigmatizes as mere g, just fit to on dern gentry, and nis they decorate. JTenerationforantit Isee the dust brushe l-bsliioned testers, from his anci( , and I once saw [Jeremy's knockiuj with his tennis- [ latter days of my his peculiar affectio kich leans against a ■ liouse supports it, , I believe, a questi( held sacr«l by nted and rearcil I broken his neck b sis one of his favou elieve, that if the I gentleman would old be a great pi ceased bearing, 1 tempest robs it ^ e, from the lamenU ons, that he had I ktemplates it in a hs niour.-*' Together ^ and together shall \ Ibothour heads wi aldering bones may] cdustof the tree 1 1 |8, he says, thatitrej i the hall; and that dure, as if to welcoi llrareour tenderest; Md tree had oblru ) Barbara's windov der the gardener ;et the old man's an biedit. "What,"( J cherry-tree in its € jihegray locks of yo |Do my readers ya\ ley are welcome to t r resume it agam. I spirits, and will e of them. Full ofl emcnt, and have fown? Whoisth( ) to linger round i e haunt of his boyh( I his head waxed gr on the friends 1 his heart — ming iMted to all his fe ot relish these enj( |ty have lieen so soile I as to he incapah wires that survive SALMAGUNDI. Tl wn; be-flowei rls, just fit to ornament the sliingle palaces of drm gentry, and characteristic of tlie establish- ntii liiey decorate. Indeed, so far does he carry Inneration for antique trumpery, that he can scarce- |gee the dust brushe<l from its resting-place on the t^fashionetl testers, or a gray-l)earded spider dis- from his ancient inheritance, without groan- t and I once saw him in a transport of passion, ] Jerfmy's knocking down a mouldering martin- p, with his tennis-hall, which had been set up in (latter days of my grandfather. Another object his peculiar affection is an old English cherry-tree, ^kh leans against a corner of the hall ; and whether t house supports it, or it supiMrts the house, would [ I believe, a question of some difficully to decide. ', held sacretl by friend Christopher because he nted and reared it himself, and had once well li broken his neck by a fall from one of its branches. |isis one of his favourite stories ; and there is reason lelieve, that if the tree were out of the way, the I gentleman would forget the whole affair : which aid be a great pity. The old tree has long ! ceased bearing, and is exceedingly infirm ; — f tempest robs it of a limb ; and one would sup- , from the lamentations of my friend on such oc- bons, that he had lost one of his own. He often Wmplates it in a half-melancholy, half-moralizing liiour.— " Together," he says, " have we tlourish- [and together shall we wither away : — a few years, I both our heads will be laid low ; and perhaps ray aidering bones may, one day or other, mingle with edust of the tree I have planted." He often fan- y he says, that it rejoices to see him when he revi- ^ die hall; and that its leaves assume a brighter dure, as if to welcome his arrival. How whimsi- lly are our tenderest feelings assailed ! At one time Itold tree hail obtruded a withered branch liefore ) Barbara's window, and she desired her father der the gardener to saw it off. I shall never ;et the old man's answer, and the look that accom- lied it. " What," cried he, " lop off the limbs of j cherry-tree in its old age ? — why do you not cut llhe gray locks of your pour old father ? " |Do my readers yawn at this long family detiiil ? ley are welcome to throw down our work, and ne- r resume it agam. I have no care for such ungra- I spirits, and will not throw away a thought on e of them. Full often have I contributed to their eincnt, and have I not a right for once to consult r own ? Who is there that does not fbndly turn at I to linger round those scenes which were once e haunt of his boyhood, ere his heart grew heavy 1 his head waxed gray; and to dwell with fond af- on the friends who have twined themselves Ihis heart — mingled in all his enjoyments — con- uted to all his felicities? If there be any who ot relish these enjoyments, let them despair— for |ty have lieen so soiled in their intercourse with the I as to he incapable of tasting some of the purest Hires that survive the period of yonth. To such as have not yet lost the rural feeling, I ad- dress this simple family picture; and in honest sincer- ity of heart I invite them to turn aside from bustle, care, and toil, to tariy with me for a season ui the hospitable mansion of the Cocklofts. I was really apprehensive, on reading the following effusion of Will Wizard, tliat he still retained that pestilent hankering after puns of which we lately con- victed him. He, however, declares that he is fully authoiized by the example of the most popular critics and wits of the present age, whose manner and mat- ter he has closely, and he flatters himself successfully, copied in the subsequent essay. THEATRICAL INTELLIGENCE. BY nlLLIAM niZiBD, ESQ. The uncommon healthiness of the season, occasion- ed, as several learned physicians assure me, by the prevalence of the influenza, has encouraged the chief- tain of our dramatic corps to marshal his forces, and commence the campaign at a much earlier day than usual. He has been induced to take the field thus suddenly, I am told, by the invasion of certain foreign marauders, who pitched their tents at Yauxhall Gar- den during the warm months, and taking advantage of his army being disbanded and dispersed in summer- quarters, committed sad depredations upon the bor- ders of his territories — carrying off a considerable portion of his winter harvest, and murdering some of his most distinguished characters. It is true these hardy invaders have been reduced to great extremity by the late heavy rains, which in- jured and destroyed much of their camp equipage, besides spoiling the best part of their wardrobe. Two cities, a triumphal car, and a new moon for Cinde- rella, together with the barber's boy who was em- ployed every night to powder it and make it shine white, have been entirely washed away; and the sea has become very wet and mouldy— insomuch that great apprehensions are entertained that it will never be dry enough for use. Add to this, the noble county Paris had the misfortune to tear his corduroy breeches in the scuffle with Romeo, by reason of the tomb being very wet, which occasioned him to slip; and he and his noble rival possessing but one poor pair of satin ones between them, were reduced to considerable shifts to keep up the dignity of their respective houses. In spite of these disadvantages and untoward circum- stances, they have continued to enact most intrepidly — performing with much ease and confidence, inas- much as they were seldom pestered with an audience to criticise and put them out of countenance. It is rumoured that the last heavy shower has absolutely dissolved the company, and that our manager has nothing further to apprehend from that quarter. The theatre opened on Wednesday last with great eclat, as we critics say, and almost vied in brilliancy with that of my superb friend Consequa in Canton; where the castles were all ivory, the sea mother-nf- 7i SALMAGUNDI. pearl, the skies gold and silver leaf, and Uie outside of Uic boxes inlaid witii scallop shell-work. Those who want a better description of the theatre may as well go and see it, and then they can judge for them- selves. For the gratilication of a highly respectable class of readers, who love to see every thing on pa- per, I had indeetl prepared a circumstantial and truly incomprehensible account of it, such as your traveller always fills his book with, and which I defy the most intelligent architect, even the great Sir Christopher Wren, to understand. I had jumbled cornices, and pilaslers, and pillars, and capitals, and Iriglyplis, and modules, and plinths, and volutes, and perspectives, and fore-shnrtenini^'s, heller-skelter; and had set all the orders of architecture, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, etc. together by the ears, in order to work out a sa- tisfactory description; but the manager having sent me a polite note, requesting that I would not take off the sharp edge, as be whimsically expresses it, of pu- blic curiosity, thereby diminishing the receipts of his house, I have willingly consented to oblige him, and have left my description at the oflice of our publisher, where any person may see it, provided he applies at a proper hour. I cannot refrain here from giving vent to the sa- tisfaction I received from the excellent performances of the different actors, one and all ; and particularly the gentlemen who shifted the scenes, who acquitted themselves throughout with great celerity, dignity, pathos, and efTect. Nor must I pass over tlie peculiar meritsof my friend John, who gallanted off the chairs and tables in the most dignified and circumspect man- ner. Indeed I have had fre(|uenl occasion to applaud the correctness with which this gentleman fulfils the parts allotted to him, and consider him as one of the best general performers in the company. My friend, (he Cockney, found considerable fault with the man- ner in which John shoved a huge rock from behind the .s::enes, maintaining that be should have put his left foot forward and pushed it with his right hand, that lieing the method practised by bis contemporaries of the royal theatres, and universally approved by their best critics. He also took exceptions to John's coat, which he pronounced too short by a fool at least— particularly when he turned bis back to the compiuiy. But I look n|)on these objections in the same light as new readings, and insist that John shall be allowed to mameuvre his chairs and tables, shove his rocks, and wear his skirts in that style which his genius l)est affects. My hopes in the rising merit of this favourite actor daily increase ; and I would hint to the manager the propriety of giving him a benefit, advertising in the usual style of play-bills, as a " springe locatcli woodcocks," that between the play and farce John will make a 6oic — for that night only ! I am told that no pains have been spared to make the exhibitions of this season as splendid as possible. Several expert rat-catchers have been sent into dif- ferent piirts of tlie country to catch white mice for the grand pantomime of Cinderella. A nest-iUlI of little sipiab Cupids have been taken in the neighboari of Communifiaw : they are as yet but half tie of the true Holland breed, and it is hoped will lie^ to fly about by the middle of October— oUit^ they will be suspended about the stage by the v^ bimd, like little alligators in an apothecary's $lio| the pantomime must [)osilively be [)erforme(l liy i time. Great pains and expense have Ijeen incui in the ini|)ortation of one of the most portly kins in ]New-Englan<l, and the public may be as there is now one on board a vessel from New-IUij which will contain Cinderella's coach and six \vitli|i feet ease, were the white mice even ten limesasln Also several barrels of hail, rain, br'mstune, i gunpowder, are in store for melo-drames — of wlj a number are to be played off this winter. It is| thermore wbispercil me that the great thunder-ilii has been new braced, and an expert [)erforiner| that instrument engaged, who will thunder in p English, so as to lie understood by the most illiti hearer. 'J'his will be infinitely preferable to the i able Italian thunderer, employed last whiter by || Ciceri, who performeil in such an unnatural andi landish tongue, that none but the scholars of Sigi Da Ponte could undei'sland him. It will be a furt gratification to the patriotic audience to know I the present thunderer is a fellow-countryman, I at Dunderbergh among the echofs of the higlilanl and that he thunders with peculiar emphasis) |H)mpous enunciation, in the true style of a four|]i| July orator. In addition to all these additions, the manai^lj provided an entire new snow-storm — the very i of which will be sufficient to draw a shawl overeii naked bosom in the theatre. The snow is pertt fresh, having been manufactured last August. N. I). The outside of the theatre has been i mented with a new cliiimiey ! I No. XV.— TIlUnSDAY, OCTOBER 1, <807. SKETCHES FROM NATURE. DV ANTHONY KVKIIRHKEN, UKNT. Tiiu brisk north-westers, which prevailed noth since, had a powerful effect in arresting the pn of belles, beaux, and wild pigeons in their fasliioi northern tour, and turning them back to the i balmy region of the south. Among the rest, I \ encounlereil, full butt, by a blast which set mp chattering, just as I doubled one of the frownj bluffs of the Mohawk mountains, in my route to I gara; and facing about incontinently, I furlhij scudded before the wind, and a few days since] rived at my old quarters in New- York. My I care on returning from so long an absence was tofi the worthy family of the Cocklofts, whom I fol safe burrowed in their country mansion. Onj quiring for my highly-respected coadjutor, Lan SALMAGUNDI. n BER 1, 1807. arned, with great concern, that he had relapsed )one of liis eccentric fiU of tlie spleen, ever since era of a turtle dinner given by old Cockloft to ne of the neighbouring squires; wherein the old kitlenian had achieved a glorious victory, in laying «t Launcelot fairly under the table. Langstaff, liou;;h fond of the social board, and cheerful glass, atMininates any excess, and has an invincible lenion to getting mellow; considering it a wilful lirage on the sanctity of imperial mind, a senseless >of the body, and an unpardonable, because a luntary, prostration of both mental and personal niiy. I have heard him moralize on the subject, ■a style that would have done honoin- to Michael pio himself; but I believe, if the truth were known, s antipathy rather arises from his having, as the kase is, but a weak head, and nerves so extremely Lilive, that he is sure to suffer severely from a Ijic; and will groan and make resolutions against it I a week afterwards. He therefore took this wag- 1 exploit of old Christopher's, and the consecpient zing which he underwent, in high dudgeon; had ^t aloof from company ior a fortnight, and appeared ; meditating some deep plan of retaliation upon j mischievous old crony. He had, however, for I last day or two, shown some symptom^ of conva- *nce; had listened, without more than half a dozen Itches of impatience, to one of Christopher's un- donable long stories— and even was seen to smile, Itlie one hundred and thirtielh time, at a venerable 6 originally Iwrrowed from Joe Miller, but which, (iiiit of long occupancy, and frequent repetition, [old gentleman now (irmly believes happened to icif somewhere in New-Kngland. ^s I am well acquainted with Launcelot's haunts, I 1 found him out. He was lolling on his favourite icli, rudely constructed at the foot of an old tree, ich is full of fantastical twists, and with its spread- I branches forms a canopy of luxuriant foliage. siree is a kind of chronicle of the short reigns of Inncle John's mistresses ; and its trunk is sorely pnded with carvings of true lover's knots, hearts, names, and inscriptions! — frail memorials of I variety of the fair dames who captivated the wan- inj; fancy of that old cavalier in the days of his Ithful romance. Launcelot holds this tree in par- ]lar regard, as he does every thing else connected ithe memory of his gooil uncle John. He was lining, in one of his usual brown studies, against nnk, and gazing pensively upon the river that I just by, washing the drooping branches of the |irt' willows that fringeil its bank. My appearance 1 him :— he grasped my hand with his usual nth, and with a tremulous but close pressure, |ch spoke that his heart entered uilo (he saluta- After a number of affectionate inquiries and fe- lations— such as friendship, not form, dictated, he I to relapse .into his former (low of thought, and ume the chaui of ideas my appearance had broken I moment. •; .• ^ ,! - ,v. ..; ,, " I was reflecting," said he, " my dear Anthony, upon some oliscrvations I made In our last numlier; and considering whether the sight of objects once dear to the affections, or of scenes where we have passed different happy periods of early life, really occasions most enjoyment or most regret. Renewing our ac- quaintance with well-known but long-separated ob- jects revives, it is true, the recollection of former pleasures, and touches the tenderest feelings of the heart; as the flavour of a delicious beverage will re- main upon the palate long after the cup has parted from the lips. But, on the other hand, my friend, these same objects are too apt to awaken us to a keener recollection of what we were when they once delight- cil us ; and to provoke a mortifying and melancholy contrast with what we are at present. They act, in a manner, as mile-stones of existence, showing us how far we have travelled in the journey of life; — how much of our weary but fascinating pilgrimage is ac- complished. I look round me, and my eye fondly re- cognises the fields I once sported over, the river in which I once swam, and the orchard I intrepidly rob- bed in the halcyon days of boyhood. The fields are still green, the river still rolls unaltered and undimi- nished, and the orchard is still flourishing and fruit- ful ;— it is I only am changed. The thoughtless flow of mad-cap spirits that nothing could depress ; — the elasticity of nene that enabled me to bound over the held, to stem the stream, and climb the tree; the ' sunshine of the breast' that beamed an illusive charm over every object, and created a paradise around me ! — where are they ? — the thievish lapse of yeai-s has stolen them away, and left in return nothing but gray hairs, and a repining spirit." My friend Launcelot concluded his harangue with a«igl), and as I saw he was still under the influence of a whole legion of (he blues, and just on the |)oint of sinking into one of his whiiprV i| and unreasonable (its of melancholy abs- tract T proposed a walk ; — he consented, and slip- ped hit. 'it arm in mine ; and waving in the other a gold-headed thorn cane, bequeathed him by his uncht John, we slowly raml)led along the margin of the river. Langstaff, though possessing great vivacity of tem- per, is most wofully subject to these *' (hick-coming fancies;" and I do not know a man whose animal spirits de insult him with more jiltings, and cocpiet- ries, and slippery tricks. In these moods he is often visited by a whim-wham which he indulges in common with the Cocklofts. It is that of looking back with regret, conjuring up the phantoms of good old times, and decking them in imaginary (inery, with the spoils of his fancy : like a good widow lady, regretting the loss of the "poor dear man," for whom, while living, she cared not a rush. I have seen him and Pindar, and old Cockloft, amuse themselves over a bottle with their youthful days, until, by the time they had In- come what is termed merry, they were the most mi- serable beings in existence. In a similar humour Avas Launcelot at present, and I knew the only way was to let him moralize himself out of it. iU 74 SALMAGUNDI. 1* Our ramble was soon interrupted by the appearan<;e of a pcrsonaKe of no little im|iorlanee at Cocklofl-liall : — for, to let my reailrrs into a family secret, friend Cliristoplier is notoriously Iien-{iecke4l by an olil negro, who has whitened on the place, and is his niasU>r, al- manac, and counsellor. My readers, if haply they have sojourned in the country, and iHH'onie conver- sant in rural manners, nnist have observed, that there is scarce a little hamlet hut has one of these old wea- ther-beaten wisea<<res of negroes, who ranks anions the great characters of the place. He is always resort- ed to as an oracle to resolve any (piesli(m alMMit the weather, fishing, shooling, fanning, and horse-^loclor- iiig ; and on such oc(;asions will slouch his remnant of a hat on one side, fold his arms, roll his white eyes, and examine (he sky, with a look as knowing as Peter Pin- dar'smagpiewhenpeepingintuamarrow-lHHic. Sucha sage ciu-uiudgcon is old (].-esar, whoacts as friend Cock- loft's prime minister or grand vizier ; assumes, when abroad, his master'sslyleand thie; to wit, 'Squire Cock- loft; and is, in effect, absolute lord and ruler of (he soil. As he iKissed us, he pidled off his hat with an air of somethuig more (ban respect; — it partook, I thought, of affection. " There, now, is another memento of the kind I have l)een noticing," said Launcelot; '' Cfl'sar was a bosom frienii and chosen playmate of cousin Pindar and myself, when we were boys. Ne- ver were we so happy as when, stealing away on a holiday to the hall, we ranged alwuit the lields with honest Caesar, lie was particularly adroit in making our quail-traps and lishing rods ; was always the ring- leader in the schemes of froiicksome mischief per- |)elrated by the urchins of the iieigbbourhootl ; con- sidered himself on an equality with the best of us; and many a hard battle have I had with him, aiiout a division of the spoils of an orchard, or the title to a bird's nest. IVIany a smnmer evcningdo I rememlM>r, when, huddled together on the steps of the hall door, Cicsar, with his stories of ghosts, goblins, and witches, would put us all in a panic, and people every lane, and church-yard, and solitary wood, with imaginary beings. In process of time, he became the constant attendant and Man Friday of cousin Pindar, whenever he went sparking among the rosy country girls of the neighbouring farms; and brought up the rear at every rustic dance, when he would mingle in the sable group that always thronged the door of merriment; and it was enough to put to the rout a host of splenetic imps to see his mouth gradually dilate from ear to ear, with pride and exultation, at seeing how neatly Master Pin- dar footeil it over the floor. Copsar was likewise the chosen confidant and special agent of Pindar in all his love affairs, until, as hisevil stars would have it, on being entrusted with the deliveiy of a poetic billet-doux toone of bis patron's swectliearts, he took an unlucky notion to send it to his own sable dulcinea; who, not being able to read it, took it to her mistress; — and so the whole affair was blown. Pindar was universally roasted, and Ca>sar discharged for ever from his confidence. "Poor Cn<sar!— he has now grown old, like his young masters, bill lie still remembers old times;; will, now and then, remind me of them as he li»||| me to my nnnn, and lingers a little while to lijdi a gooti night. — Helieve me, my dear Kvergrocn, ili honest simple old creature has a warm corner in i heart ; 1 don't see, for my part, why a iMxIy niayi like a negro as well as a white man ! " Ity the time these biographical anecdotes vq ended, we had reached the stable, into which wei ' uliintarily strolled, anil found Osar busily enipU in rubbing down the horses — an oflice he woiiltln entrust to any body else; having contracted an .iRi tion for every lienst in the stable, from their Ik descendants of the old race of animals, bis youllil eoiiteinpornries. ( ]a'sar was very particular in i,'i\i| us their pedigrees, together with a panegyric on d swiftness, iKiltorn, blood, and spirit of their sin From these he digressed into a variety of anecdol in which Launcelot bore a conspicuous |>art, audi which the old negro dwelt with all the garriilil?^ age. Honest Langstaff stood leaning with liis { over the hack of bis favourite steed, old Killdeerja I could perceive he listened to Cn-sar's simple dfii with that fond attention with which a feeling Im will hang over narratives of lioyish days. Ills i s|iarkled with aninialioii, a glow of youthful liresld across his pale visage; — he nodded with smilinv^ probation at every sentence — chuckled at even' i ploit ; laughed heartily at the story of his once liati smoked out a country siiigiug-school with brimsla and assafo'tida; and slipping a piece of money old Ca<sar's hand to buy himself a new tobacco-h he seized me by the arm, and hurried out of Ihesia brimful of gootl-nature. " 'Tis a pestilent old i for talking, my dear fellow," cried he; " but yon n not find fault with him, the creature means well." knew, at the very moment that he made this ap(ilo{ honest Cesar could not have given him half (lie s tisfaction had he talked like a (Jicero or a Soioinon.! Launcelot returned to the house with me in tlieb possible humour :— the whole family, who in in love and honour him from their very souls, wered lighted to see the siinlieains once more play in hiso tcnance. Kvery one seemed to vie who should talk li most, tell the longest stories, and lie most agrecaU and Will Wizard, who had accompanied me in my \ii declared, as he lighted his cigar, which badgoneti forty times in the coui'se of one of his oriental tales,! that he had not passed so pleasant an evening sincellf birth-night ball of the beauteous empress of llayli. j ON GREATNESS. BY LiUNCBLOT LiNGSTAFP, BgQ. [ Tiie followin;; essay was writtrn by my frinnd Langstalf, iiij of the paroxygins of liis splenetic complaint ; and, fur auKhtlb may liavc liceii effectual in resturinf; hlin to good Iminuur.-j mental discharge of Uie kind has a nmiarltable tendency la«i^ sweetening the temper,— and Launcctol is at this momenta the bcst-naturcd men in existence.— y^. Evergreen. ] We have more than once, in the course of « work, been most jocosely familiar with great; 'ii SALMAGUISDI. 75 s;aiKl, in truth, treated lliem willi as little cere- )iiy, reiipect, and cunsideraliun, as ir lliey had l)cvn rniosl |iarticular friends. Now, we would nut sufTer > niortilieatiun of l>a\ ig our rcadcrH suspect us o( inlinia(*y of the kind ; assuring thcni we arc cx- Irmely eliuice in our intiiuales, and nnconunouly TUiiispect in avoiding cunnexiuns with all doubtful iraclers; particularly piin|>K, luiilifTs, lottery-hro- 's, chevaliers of industry, and great men. 'J'he rill in general is pretty well aware of what is to luiHlcrslood hy the former classes of delinquenls; Lias the latter has never, 1 lielieve, l)een s|iecilically jliiied, and as we are determine*! to instruct our (lets to I he extent of our ahilities, and their limited biprrliension, it may not he amiss here to let Ihem ow what we understand hy a great man. iFirst, therefore, let us (editors and kings are al- lys plural ) premise, tliat there arc two kinds of aliitss; — one conferred hy Heaven — the exalted [lijity of the soul ; — the other, a spurious distinction, fiuierud hy the mob, and lavished upon its fa- tariles. 'I'he former of these distinctions we have jeaily contemplated with reverence; the latter, we pi lake this opportunity to strip naked before our nliglilcned readers ; so that if by chance any of I arc held in ignominious thraldom by this base ulatiuu of false coin, Ihey may forthwith enianci- ! themselves from such inglorious delusion. ^tis a iictitioiis value given to iiulividuais by public e, as Itankers give an impression to a worthless torpa|)er; thereby gaining it a currency for inii- m uiure than its intrinsic value. Every nation iil$|ieculiar coin, and (icculiar great men ; neither picii will, for the most part, [tass current out of ! country where they are stamped. Your tine created great man is like a note of one of the ! New-England lianks, and his value depreciates urtion to the distance from liome. In Eng- |il, a great man is he who iias most rilrands and r-gaws on his coat, most horses to his carriage, It servants in his retinue, or most toad-caters at jlable; in France, he who can most dexterously ish his heel > above his head — Duport is most in- islably the greatest man in France !— when the leror is absent. The greatest man in China is he I can trace his ancestry up to the moon ; and in [country our great men may generally hunt down r|)digree until it burrow in tlie dirt like a rabbit. \k concise; our great men are those who are most i at crawling, and have tlie happiest facility in ll.'ging and winding themselves along in the dirt. s may seem a |>aradox to many of my readers, jo, with great g«)od-nature be it hinted, are too I tu look beyond the mere surface of our inva- lile writings; and often pass over the knowing al- n, and poignant meaning, tiiat is slily couching alh. It is for the benefit of such helpless igno- wiio have no other creed but the opinion of |nwb, that I shall trace, as far as it is possible to him in his ascent from insigniflcancc, — 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 shouhl be cither wise or valiant, upright or honourable. On the contrary, daily experience shows that these qualities rather impede his prefer- ment; inasmuch as they are prone to render him too inflexibly erect, and are directly at variance with that wiHowy suppleness which enables a man to wind, and twist, through i*ll the nooks and turns, and dark winding passages, tliat lead to greatness. The grand requisite for climbing the ruggetl hill 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 ourselves, I must explain what we understand hy usefulness. The horse, hi his native state, is wild, swift, impetuous, full of majesty, and of a most generous sph-it. It is then the aniinai is noble, exalted, and useless. But entrap him, manacle him, cudgel him, break down his lofty spirit, put the curb into his mouth, the load upon his hack, and render him obedient to the bridle and the lash, and he becomes useful. Your jackass is one of the most useful animals in existence. If my read- ers do not now understand what I mean hy usefulness, I give them all up fur most absolute nincoms. 'i'o rise in this country a man must Tirst descend. The aspiring politician may be compared to that inde- fatigable insect, called the tumbler, pronounced liy a distinguished personage to be the only industrious animal in Virginia; which buries itself in filth, and works in the dirt, until it forms a little IkiH, which it rolls laboriously along, like Diogenes his tub; some- times head, sometimes tail foremost, pilfering from every mud hole, and increasing its ball of greatness by the contributions of the kennel. Just so the can- didate for greatness; — }ie buries himself in the mohj labours in dirt and obscurity, and makes unto himself the rudiments of a popular name from the admiration and praises of the vulgar. His name once started, onward he goes, pushing it before him ; collecting new tributes from the dregs and offals of society as he proceeds, until, having gathered together a mighty mass of popularity, he mounts it in triumph; is hoist- ed into oflice, 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 the dirt 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 promis- ing talents; for he wrote a fau- 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 far- ther requisites forelo<]uence ; for he made very hand- some gestures, had dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, and enunciated most harmoniously through his nose. In short, nature had certainly marked him 7G SALMAGUNDI. m^ out for a great man; for though lie was not tall, yet he added at least half an inch to his stature by elevat- ing his head, and assumed an amazing expression of dignity by turning up his nose and curling his nostrils in a style of conscious superiority. Convinced by these unequivocal appearances, Babble's friends, 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 intima- tion; and he reverenced the judgment of his friends I)ecau8e they thought so highly of himself;— according- ly he set out with a determination to become a great man, and to start in the scrub-race for honour and renown. IIow to attain the desired prize was how- ever the question. He knew, by a kind of instinctive feeling, which seems peculiar to groveling minds, that honour, and its better part— profit, would never seek him out ; that they would never knock at his door and crave admittance; but must be courted, and toiled after, and earned. lie therefore strutted forth into the highways, the market-places, and the assem- blies of the people ; ranted like a true cockerel orator about virtue, |)atriolism, 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, tliat there was not a notorious political pimp at a ward meeting but could out-talk him; — and what was still more mortifying, there was not a notorious political pimp but was more noticed and caressed than hunself. 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 use- ful ; for the great object of our political disputes is not who shall have the honour of emancipating the com- munity from the leading-strings of delusion, but who shall have the profit of holding the strings and lead- ing 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-pa[)ers, and election hand-bills, have lost their original signification ; and in the political dictionary are synonymous with empty pockets, itching palms, and interested ambition. He, in addition to all this, declared that he would support none but honest men; but unluckily, as but few of these offered themselves to be supported, Dabble's services were seldom re- quired. He pledged himself never to engage in party schemes, or party politics, but to stand up solely for the broad interests of his countiy.— 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, and must for ever remain motionless. Dabble was immeasurably surprised that a man so honest, so disinterested, and so sagacious withal, one too who had the good of his country so niudij heart, should thus remain unnoticed and unappiai ed. A little worldly advice, whispered in his eatlj a shrewd old politician, at once explained the vi\ mystery. " He who would become great, " said \ " must serve an apprenticeship to greatness ; andij by regular gradation, like the master of a vessel, i commences by being scrub and cabin-boy. He i fag in the train of great men, echo all their sentime; become their toad-eater and parasite, — laugh at { their jokes ; and above all, endeavour to make th laugh :— if you only make a great man laugh and then, your fortune is made. Look about tm youngster, and you will not see a single little | man of the day but has his herd of retainers, whoyj at his heels, come at his whistle, worry whoniever|| points at, and think themselves fully rewarded) snapping up the crumbs that fall from his table. T^ of patriotism and virtue, and incorruptibility ! man ! they are the very qualities that scare ficence, and keep patronage at a distance. You in as well attempt to entice crows with red rags i gunpowder. Lay all these scarecrow virtues asi and let this be your maxim, that a candidate fur } litical eminence is like a dried herring; he never k| comes luminous until he is corrupt. " Dabble caught with avidity at these congenial d trines, and turned into his predestined chaundj action with the force and rapidity of a stream wli has for a while been restrained from its natural ( He became what nature had fitted him tobe;- tone softened down from arrogant self-suflicienql the whine of fawning solicitation. He mingled iii( gatherings of the sovereign people ; assumed a } triolic slovenliness of dress, argued most logically i those who were of his own opinion ; and slandei with all the malice of im|K)tence, exalted charad whose orbit he despaired ever to approach :— jiisl| that scoundrel midnight thief, the owl, hools at I blessed light of tlie sun, whose glorious lustre | dares never contemplate. He likewise applied I self to discharge the honourable duties of a parlisi he poached about for private slanders, and ribald aaj dotes ; he folded hand-bills — he even wrote one or B himself, which he carried about in his pocket) read to every body ; he became a secretary at vaj meetings ; set his hand to divers resolutions of pali import, and even once went so far as to make a sp in which he proved that patriotism was a virtue^ that the reigning bashaw was a great man ;- this was a free country, and he himself an arrantij incontestable buzzard ! Dabble was now very frequent and devout inj visits to those temples of politics, popularity, i smoke, the ward porter-house*; those true equality, where all ranks, ages, and talents, arebroi down to the level of rude familiarity .—'Twas heitl talents expanded, and his genius swelled up ioloj proper size ; like the toad, which shrinking from I SALMAGUNDI. 77 ; and Jocuiiil sunahine, finds his congenial home [caves and dungeons, and there nourishes his venom, bloats his deformily. 'Twas here he revelled |ilb (lie multitude in their debauches on |Kitriotism I porter ; and it became an even chance whetlier bble would turn out a great man or a great drunk- I.— But Dabble in all this kept steadily in his eye the L|y deity he ever worship|>ed— his interest. Having ^this familiarity ingratiated himself with the mob, t became wonderfully potent and industrious at elec- s; knew all the dens and cellars of profligacy and tmperance ; brought more negroes to the polls, and ew to a greater certainty where votes could l»e ugfat for beer, than any of his contemporaries. His ^ertions in the cause, his persevering industry, his irading compliance, his unresisting humility, his jeadfast dependence, at length caught the attention of ! of the leaders of the party ; who was pleased to «rve that Dabble was a very useful fellow, who uld go all lengths. From that moment his fortune made;— he was hand and glove with orators Islang-whangers; basked in the sunshine of great n's smiles, and had the honour, sundry times, of laking hands with dignitaries— during elections. 1 1 will not fatigue myself with tracing this cater- in his slimy progress from worm to butterfly ; ^Ificeitthat Dabble bowed, and fawned, and sneaked, dsmirked, and libelled, until one would havethought everance itself would have settled down into des- There was no knowing how long he might have hgered at a distance from his hopes, had he not lucki- j been tarred and feathered for some electioneering euvre.— This was the making of him ! Let not ^readers stare — tarring and feathering here is equal I pillory and cropped ears in England; and either of kinds of martyrdom will ensure a patriot the athy and support of his faction. Hix partisans, revenhe had his partisans, took his case into consi- alion— he had been kicked and cuffed, and disgrac- p, and dishonoured in the cause— he had licked the tat the feet of the mob— he was a faithful drudge, |dwIo anger, of invincible patience, of incessant as- «ily— a thorough-going tool, who could be curbed, 1 spurred, and directed at pleasure— In short, he 1 all the important qualifications for a little great an, and he was accordingly ushered into office amid e acclamations of the party. The leading men com- nented his usefulness, the multitude his republican plicity, and the slang-whangers vouched for his pa- pism. Since his elevation he has discovered indu- ftabie signs of having been destii»ed for a great man. snose has acquired an additional elevation of several kgrees, so that now he appears to have bidden adieu |lhis world, and to have set his thoughts altogether I tilings above; and he has swelled and inflated him- pfto such a degree, that his friends are under ap- peiiensions that he will one day or other explode and low up like a torpedo. So. XVI.— TUIBSDAY, OCTOBER IS, IW7. STYLE AT BALLSTON. BT WILLIAM WIZilO, tSQ. NoTwiTHSTANDiJiG Evergreen has never been a- broad, nor had hb understanding enlightened, nor his views enlarged by that marvellous sharpener of the wits, a salt-water voyage, yet he is tolerably shrewd and correct, in the limited sphere of his observations, and now and then astounds me with a right pithy remark, which would do no discredit even to a man who had made the grand tour. In several late conversations at Cocklofl-hall, he has amused us exceedingly by detailing sundry par- ticulars concerning that notorious slaughter-house of time, Baliston Springs, where he spent a considerable part of the last summer. The following is a sum- mary of his observations. Pleasure has passed through a variety of significa- tions at Baliston. It originally meant nothing more than a relief from pain and sickness ; and the patient who had journeyed many aweary mile to the Springs, with a heavy heart and emaciatetl form, called it pleasure when he threw by his crutches, and danced away from them with renovated spirits, and limbs jocund with vigour. In process of time pleasure un- derwent a refinement, and appeared in the likeness of a sol)er unceremonious country-dance, to the flute of an amateur, or the three-stringed fiddle of an iti- nerant country musician. Still every thing bespoke that happy holiday which the spirits ever enjoy, when emancipated from the shackles of formality, ceremony, and modern politeness. Things went on cheerily, and Baliston was pronounced a charming humdrum careless place of resort, where every one was at his ease, and might follow unmolested the bent of his'hu- mour — provided his wife was not there; when, lo! all on a sudden. Style made its baneful appearance in the semblance of a gig and tandem, a pair of lea- ther breeches, a liveried footman, and a cockney! Since that fatal era, pleasure has taken an entire new signification, and at present means nothing but STYLE. The worthy, fashionable, dashing, good-for-nothing people of every state, who had rather suffer the mar- tyrdom of a crowd than endure the monotony of their own homes, and the stupid company of their own thoughts, flock to the Springs ; not to enjoy the plea- sures of society, nor benefit by the qualities of the waters, but to exhibit their equipages and wardrobes, and to excite the admiration, or, what is much more satisfactory, the envy of their fashionable competitors. This of course awakens a spirit of noble emulation between the eastern, middle, and southern states; and evei7 lady hereupon finding herself charged in a manner with the whole weight of her country's dig- nity and style, dresses and flashes and sparkles, with- out mercy, at her competitors from other parts of the 78 SALMAGUNDI. S! Union. This kind of rivalsbip naturally requires a vast deal of preparation and prodigious quantities of supplies. A sober citizen's wife will exhaust half a dozen milliners' siiops, and sometimes starve her fa- mily a whole season, to enable herself to make the Springs' campaign in style. She repairs to the seal of war with a mighty force of trun.ks and bandboxes, like 80 many ammunition-chests, lillcd with ca|)s, hals, gowns, ribands, shawls, and all the various ar- tillery of fashionable warfare. The lady of a southern planter will lay out 'he whole annual produce of a rice plantation in silver and gold muslins, lace veils, and new 'iveries, carry a hogshead of tobacco on her head, anu trail a bale of Sea Island cotton at her heels; while a lady of Boston or Salem will wrap herself up in the net [>roceeds of a cargo of whale oil, and tie on her hat with a quintal of cod-(ish. The planters' ladies, however, have generally the advantage in this contest; for, as it is an incontestable fact, that whoever comes from the West or East In- dies, or Georgia, or the Carolinas, or in fact any warm climate, is immensely rich, it cannot be expected that a simple cit of the north can cope with them in plyle. The planter, therefore, who drives four horses abroad and a thousand negroes at home, and who flourishes up to the Springs followed by half a score of black-a^moors, in gorgeous liveries, is unquestion- ably superior to the northern merchant, who plods on in a carriage and pair ; which being nothing more than is (piite necessary, has no claim whatever to style. He, however, has his consolation in feeling superior to the honest cit, who dashes about in a simple gig — he in return sneers at the country squire, who jogs along with his scrubby long-eared pony and saddle-bags ; and the squire, by way of taking satis- faction, would make no scruple to run over the un- obtrusive pedestrian, were it not that the last, being the 'most independent of the whole, might chance to break his head by way of retort. The great mistbrtune is, that this style is supported at sudi an expense as sometimes to encroach on the pocket, and to occasion very awkward embarrass- ments to the tyro of fashion. Among a number o( instances. Evergreen mentions the fute of a dashing blade from the south, who made his ciiMe with a tandem and two outriders, by the aid of which be at- tracted the attention of all the ladies, and caused a coolness between several young couples who, it was thought before Ids arrival, had a considerable kind- ness for each other. In the course of a fortnight his tandem disappeared! — the class of good folk, who seem to have nothing to do in this world but pry into other people's affairs, began to stare! in a little time longer an outrider was missing! — this Increased the alarm, and it was consequently whispered that he had eaten the horses and drank the negro. — N. B. Southern gentlemen are very apt to do this on an emergency.— Serious apprehensions were entertained about the fate of the remaining servant, which were soon verified by his actually vaniahing; and in " one little OMMith" the dashing Carolinian modestly i his departure in tlie stage coacli— universally i gretted by the friends who had generously relinj him from iiis cumbrous load of style. Evergreen, in the course of his detail, gave \fi melancholy accounts of a famine which raged \ri| great violence at the Springs. Whether this < owing to the appetites of the company, or to the s city which prevailed at the inns, he did not sceini cl'ued to say ; but he declares that he was for sevei days in imminent danger of starvation, owing to I being a little too dilatory in his attendance al i dinner-table. He relates a number of ' ' moving j dents," which befell many of the company in lli zeal to get a good seat at dinnc; ; on which oc^asbl kind of scrub-race always took place, wherein a v^ deal of jockeying and unfair play was shown, an|| variety c luabbles and unseemly altercations t curred. Hut when arrived at the scene of aclion,! was tnd; an awful sight to liehold the confusion, i to hear .he tumultuous uproar of voices cryini; u some for one thing, some for another, to the tuiieij accompaniment of knives and fork.s, rattling witliil tj.e energy of hungry impatience. — The feast of i Centaurs and the Lapithx was nothing when conip ed wi' . i. dinner at the Great House. At one lini an old gentleman, whose natural irascibility wasj little sharpi^ned by the gout, had scalded his tiin by gobbli'tg down a bowl of hot soup in a vast Iiun in order j secure the first fruits of a roasted paitrii^ before ' was snapped up by some hungry rival, wlia just a! e was whetting his knife and fork, prepaii tory f' a descent on the promised land, he liadt mortf ;alion to see it transferred, bodily, to the plm of e ^ueamisii little damsel who was taking the \ te for debility and loss of appetite. This was l( ich for the patience of old Crusty ; he thriisl I jrk into the partridge, whipt it into his dish, aij cutting off a wing of it—" Permit me. Miss, to k ^u," cried he, presenting the morsel — then growlid to himself, as he dispatched the remainder, '' Oonsl what should such a little chalky-faced puppet do wil| a whole partridge ! "—A t another time a mighty swa disposed old dowager, who loomed magnilicenllyil the table, had a sauce-boat launched upon llie capi cious lap of a silver-sprigged muslin gown, hyiy mannuivring of a little politic Frenchman, who w^ dexterously attempting to make a lodgment iin the covered way of a chicken-pie : — huiniin nalu could not bear it! — the lady bounced round, ani with one box on the ear, drove the luckless wij,'litl| utter annihilation. But these little cross accidents are amply cnnipcnsi ed by the great variety of amusesnpr.is which alwiinl at this charming resort of beauty and fashion.— In lli| morning the company, each like a jolly bucclianHliii with glass in hand, sally forth to the Springs ; wliet the gentlemen, who wish to make themselves agn able, have an opportunity of dipping theniselvcs iiil the good opinion of the ladies; und it is tridy dde( SALMAGUNDI. !e, wherein a vi > to sec with what grace and adroitness they per- nithis ingratialinia: feat. Anthony says that it is liazin^ to behold the quantity of water the ladies pnlc on this occasion, for the purpose of getting an etite for breakfast. He assures me he has been ent when a young lady, of unparalleled delicacy, hI off, in the space of a minute or two, one-and- Lnty tumblers and a wine-glass full. On my ask- Aiilhony whether the solicitude of the by-stand- I was not greatly awakened as to what might be ! effects of this debauch , he replied, that the la- ; at Ballston had become such great sticklers for e doctrine of evaporation, that no gentleman ever Uiiietl to remonstrate against this excessive drink- ^, for fear of bringing his philosophy into contempt. most notorious water-drinkers, in particular, continually holding forth on the surprising lickness with which the Ballston waters evaporated ; I several gentlemen, who had the hardihood to jeslion this female philosophy, were held in high After breakfast, every one chooses his amusement. ne take a ride into the pine woods, and enjoy the ^ed and romantic scenery of burnt trees, post and I fences, pine-Hats potatoe patches, and log huts; m scramble up the surrounding sand-hills, that ilike the abodes of a gigantic race of ants; take a pat other sand-hills beyond them ; and then — come irn again. Others who are romantic, and sundry Ln; ladies insist upon being so whenever they visit Lsprings, or go any where into the country, stroll ng the borders of a little swampy brook that drags ^r along like an alexandrine, and that so lazily, as llamake a single murmur; — watching the little Ipoles as they frolic, right flippantly, in the muddy jeain, and listening to the inspiring melody of the Ks that croak upon its Imrders. Some play at bil- p, some play the fiddle, and some — play the fool ; t latter being the most prevalent amusement at Uslon. [riiese, together with abundance of dancing, and a Kligious deal of sleeping of afternoons, make up the liely of pleasures at the iSprings. — A delicious life of miale lassitude and fatigue ; of laborious dissipa- , and listless idleness ; of sleepless nights, and days 111 in that dozing inseiKibility which ever succeeds m. Now and then, indeed, the influenza, the ]er-aiul-ague, or some such pale-faced intruder, |y happen to throw a momentary dam[) on the leral felicity; but on the whole. Evergreen de- Irrsthat Ballston wants only six things; to wit — air, good wine, good living, good beds, good jnpany, and good humour, to be the most enchant- jplace in llie world ;— excepting Botany Bay, Mus- |lo Cove, Dismal Swamp, and the Black Hole at utta. ■ JTho Driti8li reader will liav(; Mt lilniRCirquilc at homn in llie |iul (if IliU f ssay, as its satire is just as applicaltin to tlio society Jur faihiuiialile waterinK places as to the notables of Rallston. Pit. LETTER FBO.u MVSTAPHA RDB-A-DIIB KELI KDAX, To Asem Hacchem. principal Slare-drirer to his Highness the Bashaw of lYipoH. [The foUowint; letter from the sase Miistapha has cost n« more trouble to decipher and render into tolerable En;;lish, than any hitherto published. It was full ofbkits and erasures, particularly the latter part, which we have no doubt was penned in a moment of great wrath and indignation. Muslapha has often a ramblinf; mode of writing, and his thoui;hts take such unaccountable turns, that it is difficult to *eU one moment where he will lead you the next. This is |)articidarly obvious in the commen'-ument of his letters, which seldom bear much analogy to the subseciuent parts ; —he sets off with a llourish, like a dramatic hero,— assumes an air of great pomposity, and struts up to his subject mounted most loftily on stilts.—/.. Langsiaff. ] Among the variety of principles by which mankind are actuated, there is one, my dear Asem, which I scarcely know whether to consider as springing from grandeur and nobility of mind, or from a refined species of vanity and egotism. It is that singular, althougli almost universal, desire of living in the me- mory of posterity ; of occupyuig a share of the world's attention, when we shall long since have ceased to be susceptible either of its praise or censure. Most of the passions of the mind are bounded by the grave ; — sometimes, indeed, an anxious hope or trembling fear will venture beyond the clouds and darkness that rest upon our mortal horizon, and expatiate in bound- less futurity ; but it is only this active love of fame which steadily contemplates its fruition, in the ap- plause or gratitude of future ages. — Indignant at tiie narrow limits which circumscribe existence, ambition is forever struggling to soar l)eyond them ; — to triumph over space and lime, and to hear a name, at least, above the inevitable oblivion in which every thing else that concerns us must be involved. It is this, my friend, which prompts the patriot to his most heroic achievements; which inspires the stiblimest strains <o( the poet, and breathes ethereal lire into the productions of the painter aiul the statuary. Fortius the monarch rears the lofty column; the laurelled cotupieror claims the triumphal arch ; while the obscure individual, who has moved in an humbler sphere, asks but a plain and simple stone to mark his grave, and bear to the next generation this important truth, that he was born, died — and was buried. It was this passion which once erected the vast Ntimi- dian piles, whose ruins we have so often regarded with wonder, as the shades of evening — lit ciidilems of oblivion — gradually stole over ami enveloped them ill darkness.— It wa? this which gave Iwing to those sublime monuments of Saracenic magnificence, which nod in mouldering desolation, as the blast sweeps over our deserted plains.— How futile are all our ef- forts to evade the obliterating hand of time ! As I traversed the dreary wastes of Kgypt, on my journey to (>rand Cairo, I stopfied my camel for n while, and contemplated, in awftil admiration, the stupendous pyramids. An appalling silence prevaileil around- such {» reigns in the wilderness when the tempest is 80 SALMAGUNDI. II M hushed, and the beasts of prey have retired to their dens. Tiie myriads tliat had once been employed in rearing these lofly mementoes of human vanity, wliose busy hum once enlivened the solitude of the desert — had all been swept from the earth by the irresistible arm of death— alt were mingled with their native dust — all were forgotten ! Even the mighty names which these sepulchres were designed to perpetuate had long since faded from remembrance: history and tradition aff(»rded but vague conjectures, and the py- ramids imparted a humiliating lesson to the candidate for immortality.— Alas! alas! said I to myself, how mutable are the foundations on which our proudest hopes of future fame are reposed ! He who imagines he has secured to himself the meed of deathless re- nown, indulges in deluding visions, which only be- s])eak the vanity of thedreamer. The storied obelisk — the triumphal arch— theswellingdome— shallcrumble into dust, and the names they would preserve from oblivion shall often pass away before their own dura- tion is accomplished. Yet this passion for fame, however ridiculous in the eye of the philosopher, deserves respect and conside- ration, from having been the source of so many il- lustrious actions; and hence it has been the practice, in all enlightened governments, to perpetuate, by monuments, the memory of great men, as a testi- mony of respect for the illustriousdead, and to awaken in the bosoms of posterity an emulation to merit the same honourable distinction. The people of the Ame- rican logocracy, who pride themselves upon improv- ing on every precept or example of ancient or modern governments, have discovered a new mode of excit- ing this love of glory— a mode by which they do ho- nour to their great men, even in their life-lime. Thou must have observed by this time, that they manage every thing in a manner peculiar to them- selves; and doubtless in the best possible manner, seeing they have denominated themselves '' the most enlightened people under the sun." Thou wilt there- fore, perhaps, be curious to know how they contrive to honour the name of a living patriot, and what un- heard-of monument they erect in memory of his achievenients. By the liery beard of the mighty Barbarossa, but I can scarcely preserve the sobriety of a true disciple of Mahomet while I tell thee ! — Wilt thou not smile, O mussulnian of invincible gra- vity, to learn that they honour their great men by eating, and that the only trophy erecleil to their ex- ploits is a public dinner! But.trust me, Asem, even in this measure, whimsical as it may seem, the phi- losophic and considerate spirit of this people is ad- mirably displayed. Wisely concluding, that when the hero is dead he becomes insensible to the voice of fame, the song of adulation, or the splendid trophy, they have deterniined that he shall enjoy his quantum of celebrity while living, and revel in the full enjoy- ment of a nine days' immortality. The luirlKirous nations of antiquity immolated human victims to the memory of their lamented dead, but the enlightened Americans offer up whole hecatombs of geese ; calves, and oceans of wine, in honour of the illu ous living ; and the patriot has the felicity of heaiij from every quarter the vast exploits in gluttony { revelling that have been celebrated to the glory J his name. No sooner does a citizen signalize himself in at spicuous manner in the service of his country, all the gormandizers assemble, and discharge then tional debt of gratitude— by giving him a diono| not that he really receives all the luxuries provi on this occasion — no, my friend, it is ten chances j one that the great man does not taste a morsel fm the table, and is, perhaps, five hundred miles distj and, to let thee into a melancholy fact, a |)atriot, g der this economic government, may be often in i of a dinner, while dozens are devoured in his praaij Neither are these repasts spread out for the liun^ and necessitous, who might otherwise be filled \ food and gladness, and inspired to shout forth thelj lustrious name, which had been the means of tin enjoyment — far from this, Asem, it is the rich ( who indulge in the banquet : those who pay for il^ dainties are alone privileged to enjoy them ; so ihi while opening their purses in honour of the patriiJ they, at the same time, fulfil a great maxim, whiij in this country comprehends all the rules of prude and all the duties a man owes to himself— nan getting the worth of their money. In process of time this mode of testifying pubi applause has been found so marvellously agreeaU that they extend it to events as well as characia and eat in triumph at the news of a treaty — at lliei niversary of any grand national era, or at the gaini^ of that splendid victory of the tongue — an eleclio Nay, so far do they carry it, that certain days are i apart, when the guzzlers, the gormandizers, and tl wine-bibl)ers meet together to celebrate a grand in gestion, in memory of some great event; and evei man, in the zeal of patriotism, gets devoutly druiik-| "as the act directs." Then, my friend, mayest tlx behold the sublime spectacle of love of country, vating itself from a sentiment into an appetite, wbi ted to the quick with the cheering prospect oft loaded with the fat things of the land. On tiiiso casion every man is anxious to fall to work, cramli self in honour of the day, and risk a surfeit int glorious cause. Some, I have been told, aclualj fast for four-and-twenty hours preceding, that I may be enabled to do greater honour to the feast ;i certainly, if eating and drinking are patriotic rites,! who eats and drinks most, and proves himself I greatest glutton, is, undoubtedly, the most disliii;,'uy ed patriot. Such, at any rate, seems to be the o nion here ; and they act up to it so rigidly, that 1 the time it is dark, every kennel in the neisliM hood teems with illustrious members of the soverekj people, wallowing in their congenial element of i and mire. These patriotic feasts, or rather national mi and when I s ; or, what is more SALMAGUNDI. 81 ms, are patronised and promoted by certain infe- r ciiiiji, called Aldermen, who are commonly coni- nted with their <hrection. These dignitaries, Ifar as I can learn, are generally a|)pointed on ac- ]inlof their great lalenis for eating, — a qualiiication uliarly necessary in the discliargc of their oflicial ■its. They hold frequent meetings at taverns and llels, where they enter into solemn consultations the benefit of lobsters and turtles;— establish filesome regulations for the safety and preserva- I of fish and wild-fowl ;— appoint the season most L[Kr for eating oysters ; — inquire into the economy laveras, the character of publicans, and the abilities heir cooks; and discuss, most learnedly, the merits ^bowl of soup, a chicken-pie, or a haunch of veni- In a word, the alderman has absolute control ^11 matter of eating, and superintends the whole > of— the belly. — Having, in the prosecution of hr important office, signalized themselves at so ma- ilic festivals; having gorged so often on patriot- ami pudding, and entombed so many great les in their extensive maws ; thou wilt easily «ive that they wax portly apace, that they fatten he fame of mighty men, and that their rotundity, fthe rivers, the lakes, and the mountains of their ntry, must be on a great scale! Even so, my and when I sometimes see a portly alder- \a, pufling along, and swelling as if he had the tid under his wuisteoat, I cannot help looking upon |as a walking monument, and am often ready to ex- it— " Tell me, thou majestic mortal, thou breathing nb! to what illustrious character, what mighty nl, does tliat capacious carcass of thine bear testi- hy?" ut though the enlightened citizens of this logo- f eat in honour of their friends, yet they drink uclion to their enemies.— Yea, Aseni, woe unto ! who are doomed to undergo the public ven- |nce, at a public dinner. No sooner are the viands lOved, than they prepare for merciless and exler- aling hostilities. They drink the intoxicating i of the grape, out of little glass cups, and over idraught pronounce a short sentence or prayer. tot such a prayer as thy virtuous heart would dic- ), thy pious lips give utterance to, my good Asem ; iota tribute of thanks to all bountiful Allah, nor an lible supplication for his blessing on the draught ! ko, my friend, it is merely a toast, that is to say, [isome tribute of flattery to their demagogues;— oured sally of affected sentiment or national ego- Ji; or, what is more despicable, a malediction on jr enemies; an empty threat of vengeance, or a llion for their destruction ! For toasts, thou must Iw, are another kind of missile weapon in a logo- py, and are levelled from afar, like the annoying bnsof the Tartars. K Asem ! conldsl thou but witness one of these jiolic, these monumental dinners;— how furiously I llame of patriotism blazes forth, how suddenly [Vanquish armies, subjugate whole countries, and exterminate nations in a bumper, — thou wouldst more than ever admire the force of that omnipotent weapon the tongue. At these moments every coward becomes a hero, every ragamuffin an invincible war- rior; and the most zealous votaries of peace and quiet forget, for a while, their cherisheti maxims, and join in the furious attack. Toast succeeds toast; — kings, emperors, bashaws, are like chaff before the tempest. The inspired patriot vanquishes fleets with a single gun-boat, and swallows down navies at a dranght; until, overpowered with victory and wine, he sinks upon the field of battle, dead drunk in his country's cause. Sword of the puissant Khalid ! what a display of valour is here! the sons of Afric are hardy, brave, and enterprising, but they can achieve nothing like this. Happy would it be if this mania for toasting extend- ed no farther than to the expression of national re- sentment. Though we might smile at the impotent vapouring and windy hyperljole, by which it is dis- tinguished, yet we would excuse it, as the unguarded overflowings of a heart glowing with national inju- ries, and indignant at the insults offered to its coun- try. But alas, my friend, private resentment, indi- vidual haired, and the illiberal spirit of party, are let loose on these festive occasions. Even the names of individuals, of unoffending fellow-citizens, are some- times dragged forth to undergo the slanders and exe- crations of a distempered herd of revellers. ' — Head of Mahomet! — how vindictive, how insatiably vin- dictive must be that spirit, which can drug the man- tling bowl with gall and bitterness, and indulge an angry passion in the moment of rejoicing !— " Wine," says their poet, " is like sunshine to the heart, which under its generous influence expands with good-will, and becomes the very temple of philanthropy." Strange, that in a temple consecrated to such a divin- ity there should remain a secret corner, polhilcd by the lurkings of malice and revengo; strange, that in the full flow of social enjoyment these votaries of pleasure can turn aside to call down curses on the iiead of a fellow-creature. — Despicable souls ! ye are unworthy of being citizens of this " most enlightouHl country under the sun : " rather herd with the mur- derous savages who prowl the mountains of "Jlliesti ; who stain their midnight orgies with the blood of the innocent wanderer, and drink their infernal polatioas from the skulls of the victims they have massacred. And yet, trust me, Asem, this spirit of vindictive Kote, by If illiam 17 izaid, rsq, > It \^oul(l smii that In (liisfirntrncR the sage Mustnplia luid re* trrcncc lu a pnti'iolic dinnrc, octeliraloil lust rourili uf July, by Honic geiitloineii of Halthnot'o, wlioii (liey riRlitixiiiiily drank p<>r- (litiun to iin unofTcnding individual, and really tlionKht " llioy hail done tho alalr nonio scrvine." Tliis andabk; ciislom »f "oatiiif; and drinlvinK damnation " to otlin-s, in not uonfinod .o any party i for a monlli or two aflrr the (onrlh of July, Itii' dilTi'i-cnt newH- l>a|MT!i llle olT their columns QtiMlriofio toasts aKainsl eaali other, and take a pride In Miowinft how brilliantly their {wrtiiians can vilify public characlerH In llieir cniM— "they do h\it Jest— (wliton injtsl,"a» Hamlet nays, 11 ttt SALMAGUNDI. :; If*- mwardice is not owing to any inherent depravity of mnl; for, on other occasions, I have \m\ ample proof tliat this nation is mild and merciful, brave and ma- gnanimous. — Neither is it owing to any defect in their political or religious precepts. The principles in- culcated by their rulers on all occasions breathe a spirit of universal philanthropy ; and as to their reli- gion, much as I am devoted to the Koran of our divine prophet, still I cannot but acknowledge with admira- tion the mild forbearance, the amiable benevolence, the sublime morality bequeathed them by the founder of their faith. Thou rememberest the doctrines of the mild Nazarene, who preached peace and good- will to all mankind; who when he was reviled, re- viled not again ; who blessed those who cursed him, and prayed for those who despitefully used and per- secuted him ! What then can give rise to this un- charitable, this inhuman custom among the disciples of a master so gentle and forgiving ? — It is that fiend Politics, Asem,— that baneful lien ', which bewil- dereth every brain, and poisons ever social feeling; which intrudes itself at the festive baii et, and like the detestable harpy pollutes the very > lands of the table ; which prompts the assassin to launch his poi- soned arrows from liehind the social board; and which renders the bottle, that boasted promoter of good fel- lowship and hilarity, an infernal engine charged with direful combustion. Oh, Asem ! Asem ! how does my heart sicken when I contemplate these cowardly barbarities; let me, therefore, if possible, withdraw my attention from them for ever. My feelings have borne me from my subject; and from the monuments of ancient greatness, I have wandered to those of modern degradation. My warmest wishes remain with thee, thou most il- lustrious of slave-drivers; mayest thou ever be sen- sible of the mercies of our great prophet, who, in compassion to human imbecility, has [.rohibited his disciples from the use of (he deluding beverage of the grape;— that enemy to reason — that promoter of de- famation — that auxiliary of politics. Ever thine, MtSTAPHA.' No. XVn.— WEDNESDAY, KOVEMBER U. I(W. AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS. VV lAUISCELOT LAKOSTAFP, ESQ. When a man is quietly journeying downwards into the valley of the shadow of departed youth, and begins to contemplate in a shortened perspective the end of his pilgrimage, he becomes more solicitous than ever that the remainder of his wayfaring should be smooth and pleasant; ai'd that the evening of his life, like the evening of a suminer's day, should fade ' In this leUcr of llin sage Miiatapiia. (here arc sonic Hue moral rcflecUonR! (lie Mtlrical porlioii of It in, likewise, excellent, and we need «carccly add, is siMccptibIc of more exlcnsivc apiiilcatinii lliiin lo llic iiHagm nf the rrpulillc— frfiJ. away in mild uninterrupted serenity. If liaplJ heart has escapeil uninjured through the dangers^ seductive world, it may then administer to the | of his felicities, and ils chords vibrate more musi for the trials they have sustained : — like the i which yields a melody sweet in proportion to ilsi To a mind thus lemperalely harmonized, thuji) tured and mellowed by a long lapse of years, I something truly congenial in the quiet enjoyn our early autumn in the tranquillity of the ( There is a sober and chastened air of gaiety dilli over the face of nature, peculiarly interesting itj old man ; and when he views the sun-oundiag I scape withering under his eye, it seems as if heij nature were taking a last farewell of each other, i parting with a melancholy smile : — like a coiipl old friends, who, having sported away the springJ summer of life together, part at the approach of i with a kind of prophetic fear tliat they are nevq meet again. It is either my good fortune or mishap to bekee susceptible to the intluence of the atmosphere;] can feel in the morning, before I open my win whether the wind be easterly. It will not then I presume, be considered an extravagant instan vain glory, when I assert, that there are few menij can discriminate more accurately in (he dirfereinj rielies of damps, fogs, iScotch mists, and nortb storms, than myself. To the great discredit ofj philosophy I confess, I seldom fail to anathem and excommunicate the weather, when it sports| rudely with my sensitive system; but then Iain endeavour to atone therefore, by eulogizing it \ deserving of approlintion. And as most of inyi ers, simple folk, make but one distinction, to wil,d and sunshine — living in most honest ignorance ofl various nice shades which distinguish one linej from another— I take the trouble, from time loli of letting them into some of the secrets of natun So will they be the better enabled to enjoy herb ties, with (he zest of coimoisseui-s, and derive atl^ as much information from my pages as from the i ther-wise lore of the almanac. Much of my recreation, since I retreated to tlieS has consisted in making little excursions throu^| neighbourhood ! which abounds in the variety of i romantic, and luxuriant landscape that generallyd racterizes the scenery in the vicinity of our riij There is not an eminence within a circuit ofo miles but commands an extensive range of divers and enchanting prospect. Often have I rambled to the summit of somel vonrite hill, and thence, with feelings sweetlytranj as the lucid expanse of the heavens that canopied j have noted the slow and almost imperceptible dia that mark the waning year. There are many feitj peculiar to our autumn, and which give it aiii dual character. The " green and yellow ineianchi that 01*81 steals over the landsca|>e — the mild and slij serenity of the wenther, and the Iranspiireiit piirt SALMAGUNDI. m I atmosphere, speak not merely to liie senses but I heart,— it is the season of liberal emotions. To 1 succeeds a fantastic gaiety, a motley dress, which (woods assume, where green and yellow, orange, lie, crimson and scarlet, are whimsically blended her.— A sickly splendour thb!— like the wild I broken-hearted gaiety that sometimes precedes ilation ; or that childish sportiveness of superan- I age, proceeding, not from a vigorous flow of spirits, but from the decay and imbecility of I mind. We might, perhaps, be deceived by this J garb of nature, were it not for the rustling of Ibiling leaf, which, breaking on the stillness of the e, seems to announce, in prophetic whispei's, the winter that is approaching. When I have limes seen a thrifty yoimg oak, changing its hue ordy vigour for a bright but transient glow of red, ; recalled to my mind the treacherous bloom that I mantled the cheek of a friend who is now no e; and which, while it seemed to promise a long ^fjocund spirits, was the sure precursor of pre- |gre decay. In a little while, and this ostentatious disappears — the close of autumn leaves but Ivide expnse of dusky brown, save where some pet steals along, bordered with little strips of green s,— The wiiodland echoes no more to the carols of leatliered tribes that sported in the leafy covert. Ills solitude and silence are uninterrupted except Ihe plaintive whistle of the quail, the Itarking of quirrel, or the still more melancholy wintry ll, which, rushing and swelling through the hol- lorihe mountains, sighs through the leafless bran- 1 of the grove, and seems to mourn the desolation 8 year. Bone who, like myself, is fond of drawing com- ons between the different divisions of life and e of the seasons, there will appear a striking ana- |which connects the feelings of the aged wiih tlie e of the year. Often as I contemplate the mild, irm,and genial lustre with wiiich the sun cheers Invigorates us in the month of October; and the ]6t imperceptible haze which, without okscuring, i all the asperities of the landscape, and gives to f object a character of stillness and repose ; I cau- ^elp comparing it with that portion of existence, 1 the spring of youthful hope and the sununer of isions having gone by, reason assumes an un- ited sway, and lights us on with bright, but un- |ing lustre, adown the hill of life. There is a full nature luxuriance in tlxe fields that Fills the bosom [generous and disinterested content. It is not lioughtless extravagance of spring, prodigal only oins; nor the languid voluptuousness of suiu- Ifeverish in its enjoyments, and teeming only with Vnre abundance — It is that certain fruition of the pre of the past— that prospect of comfortable real- which those will be sure to enjoy, who have l^ved the Iwiintcous smiles of heaven, nor wasted [ ilieir spring and summer in empty trifling or Inal indulgence. Cousin Pindar, who is my constant companion in these expeditions, and who still possesses much of the fii-e and energy of youthful sentiment, and a bnxom hilarity of the spirits, often indeed draws me from these half-melancholy reveries, and makes me feel young again by the enthusiasm with which he con- templates, and the animation with which he eulogizes, the beauties of nature displayed before him. His en- thusiastic disposition never allows him to enjoy things by halves, and his feelings are continually breaking out in notes of admiration, and ejaculations that sober reason might perhaps deem extravagant. But for my part, when I see a hale hearty old man, who has jostled through the rough path of the world, without having worn away the fine edge of his feelings, or blunted his sensibility to natural and moral beauty, I compare him to the evei^een of the forest, whose co- lours, instead of fading at the approach of winter, seem to assume additional lustre when contrasted with the surrounding desolation. Such a man is my friend Pindar;— yet sometimes, and [larticularly at the ap- proach of evening, even he will fall in with my hu- mour; but he soon recovers his natural tone of spirits; and, mounting on the elasticity of his mind, like Ga- nymede on the eagle's wing, he soars to the ethereal regions of sunshine and fancy. One afternoon we had strolled to the lop of a high liill in the neighbourhood of the Hall, which commands an almost boundless prospect ; and as the shadows l)egan to lengthen around us, and the distant moun- tains to fade into mists, my cousin was seized with n moralizing fit. " It seems to me, " saiii 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 well as u|)on us; — the shadows of the opening day have given 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 fur ever fled; 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 tlte capricious 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 livery of decay ! — yet the prevailing colour is still green — gay, sprightly green. " Let us then comfort ourselves with this- reflect ion; that though the shades of the morning have given place to tliose 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 mountains of our Soiilhern America, our heads are covered with snow, still, like them, we feel the genial warmth of spring and summer playing upon our bosoms, " ; . •, . * 81 SALMAGUNDI. BK LAtNUELOT LkSOStk¥r, eStf. In the description which I gave some time since of Cockloft- hall, I totally forgot to make honourable mention of the library, which I confess was a most inexcusable ovci-sight; for in truth it would bear a comparison, in point of usefulness and eccentricity, with the motley collection of the renowned hero of La Mancha. It was chiefly gathered together by my grandfather; who spared neitlier pains nor expense to procure spe- cimens of the oldest, most quaint, and insufferable books hi the whole compass of English, Scotch, and Irish literature. There is a tradition in the family, that the old gentleman once gave a grand entertain- ment in consequence of having got possession of a copy of a philippic, by Archbishop Anselm, against the unseemly luxury of long-toed shoes, as worn by the courtiers in the time of William llufus ; which he purchased of an honest brickmaker in the neighbour- hood, for a little less than forty times its value. He had undoubtedly a singular reverence for old authors, and his highest eulogium on his library was, that it consisted of books not to be met with in any other collection ; and as the phrase is, entirely out of print. The reason of which was, I suppose, that they were not worthy of being reprinted. Cousin Christopher preserves these relics with great care, and has added considerably to the collection ; for with the Hall he has inherited almost all the whim- whams of its former possessor. He cherishes a re- verential regard for ponderous tomes of Greek and Latin ; though he knows about as much of these lan- guages as a yoiuig Bachelor of Arts does a year or two after leaving College. A worm-eaten work in eiglit or ten volumes he compares to an old family, more respectable fur its antiquity than its splendour; — a lumbering folio he considers as a duke; a sturdy quarto, as an earl ; and a row of gilded duodecimos, as so many gallant knights of the garter. But as to modern works of literature, they are thrust into trunks and drawers, as intruding upstarts, and regarded with as much contempt as musln-oom nobility in England; who, having risen to grandeur merely by their talents and services, are regaiiled as utterly unworthy to mingle their blood with those noble currents that can he traced without a single contamination through a hmg line of, pci'haps, useless and profligate ancestors, up to William the Bastard's couk, or butler, or groom, or some one of Hollo's freebooters. Will Wizard, whose studies are of a whimsical com- plexion, takes great delight in ransacking the library; and has been, during his late sojournings at the Hull, very constant and devout in his visits to this recep- tacle of obsolete learning. He seemed particularly tickled with the contents of the great mahogany chest of ilrawers mentioned in the beginnuig of this work. This venerable piece of architecture has frowned, in sullen majesty, from a corner of (he library, tune out of mind; and isiiikd with musty manuscripts, some in my grandfather's hand -writing, and others i dently written long before liis day. It was a sight worthy of a man's seeing, to I Will, with his outlandish phiz, poring over old s that would puzzle a whole society of anliquariansj expound, and diving into receptacles of trump which, for a century past, had been undisturbed J mortal hand. He would sit for whole hours, wiijj phlegmatic patience unknown ui these degen« days, except, peradventure, among the High Commentatoi-s, p^'ing into the quaint obscnrilrl musty parchments, until his whole face seemed to j converted into a folio leaf of black-letter ; and i sionally, when the whimsical meaning of an oli passage flashed on his mind, his countenance vrt^ curl up into an expression of Gothic risibility, not^ like the physiognomy of a cabbage leaf shrivellin;] fore a hot lire. At such times there was no getting Will tojoiil our walks, or take any part in our usual recrealia he hai .!ly gave us an Oriental tale in a week, i would smoke so inveterately, that no one else i enter the library under pain of suffocation. Tiiisij more especially the case when he encountered i knotty piece of writing; and he honestly confessH| me that one worm-eaten manuscript, written i pestilent crabbed hand, had cost him a box of tlielj Spanish cigars before he could make it out ; and^ all, it was not worth a tobacco stalk. Such is tliell of my knowing iissociate; only let him get Kiiriyioj track of any odd out-of-the-way whim-wham, { away he goes, whip and cut, until he cither rumii his game, or runs himself out of breath. — I ncvetl my life met with a man who rode his hubl)y-l more intolerably hard than Wizard. One of his favourite occupations for some timeij has been the hunting of black-letter, which iieb in high regard; and he often hints that leariiingl been on the decline ever since the introduction oil Roman alphabet. An old book, printed three ( dred years ago, is a treasure; and a ragsjcdsai alM)ut one half unintelligible. Alls him with rapl Oh! with what enthusiasm will he dwell on the J covery of the Pandects of Justinian, and Livy'sll tory! and when he relates the pious exertions of j Medici, in recovering the lost treasures of Greek ( Roman literature, his eye brightens, and his race| sumcs all the splendour of an illuminated nianusc Will had vegetated for a considerable liineiii|l feet tranquillity among dust and cobwebs, wlienj morning as we were gathered on the piazza, lislei with exemplary patience to one of cousin Chi'ist(ipli| long stories about the revolutionary war, wci suddenly electrifled by an explosion of laughter li the library. — My readers, unless peradventure ( have heard honest Will laugh, can form no iil( the prodigious uproar he makes. To hear iiiin \ forest you would imagine, that is to say, if yom classical enough, that the satyrs and the dryads I just diswverod a pair of rural lovers in the M methinir like that m the Chronicles oft !il SALMAGUNDI. as leafshrivellin;! lary war, wci I were deriding, with bursts of obstreperous laugh- |r, tlie bluslies of the nympb and the indignation of > swain; or if it were suddenly, as in the present ance, to break upon (lie serene and pensive silence ^an autumnal morning, it would cause a sensation nething like that which arises from hearing a snd- Jen clap of thunder in a summer's day, when not a loud is to be seen aliove the horizon. In short, I ommend Will's laugh as a sovereign remedy for I spleen ; and if any of our readers are troubled lilh that villanous complaint, which can hardly be, I (hey make good use of our works, — I advise them Lmestly to get introduced to him forthwith. I This outrageous merriment of Will's, as may be isily supposed, threw the whole family into a violent It of wondering : we all, with the exception of Chris- pher, wlio took the interruption in high dudgeon, JQently stole up to the library ; and boiling in upon lini, were fain at the first glance to join in his aspir- k' roar. Ilis face, — but I despair to give an idea of |is appearance !— and until his portrait, which is now I (he hands of an eminent artist, is engraved, my Hlers must be content : — I promise them they shall ; (lay or other liave a striking likeness of Will's in- cribable phiz, in all its native comeliness. U[ion my inquiring the occasion of his mirth, he hriist an old, rusty, musty, and dusty manuscript |nto my hand, of which I could not decipher one word ut often, without more trouble than it was worth. his task, however, he kindly look off my hands ; Ind, in little more than eight-and-forty hours, pro- piiced a translation into fair Roman letters ; though ! assured me it had lost a vast deal of its humour by leing moilernised and degraded into plain English. In return for the great pains be had taken, I could lot do less than insert it in our work. Will informs ne that it is but one sheet of a stupendous bundle Irhich still remains uninvestigated; — who was the Julhor we have not yet discovered ; but a note on the lack, in my grandfather's hand-writing, informs us liiat il was presented to him as a literary curiosity by liJ!) parlicular friend, the illustrious Uip Van Dam, Ibrmerly lieutenant-governor of the colony of New- psterdam; and whose fame if ilhus never reached llicse latter days, it is oidy because he was loo modest 1 man ever to do any thing worthy of being particu- larly recorded. criAi'. ci\. \0(lhc Chronkks of the Ilnionncd and Ancient Cittj of Gotham, How G()(huiii cily C(m(|ii('r"(l was, And liow tliu Mk turit'd upcs— because. iJnk. Fid. A1.BKIT, much about this lime it uid full out that lie tliri(;e-renowned and delectable city of Gotham lid suffer great discomliture, and was reduced to pc- liioHs cxlrcmity, by the invasion and assaults of ihe Hoppinglols. These are a people inhabiting a far di- laiit country, exceedingly plcasatuUe and fertile; hut ■icy Ijcing withal cgregiuusly addicted to migrations do thence issue forth in mighty swarms, like the Scythians of old, overi'unning divers countries, and commonwealths, and committing great devastations wheresoever they do go by their horrible and dread- ful feats and prowesses. They are specially noted for being right valorous in all exercises of the leg; and of them it hath been rightly aflirmed that no nation in all Christendom, or elsewhere, can cope with them in the adroit, dexterous, and jocund shaking of the heel. This engaging excellence doth stand unto them a sovereign recommendation, by the which they do in- sinuate themselves into nniversal favour and good countenance; and it is a notable fact th.-)t, let a Hop- pingtot but once introduce a foot into company, and it goeth hardly if he doth not contrive to ijourish his whole body in thereafter. The learned Linknm Fi- delius, in his famous and unheard-of treatise on man, whom he definetb, with exceeding sagacity, to be a corn-cutting, tooth-drawing animal, is particularly minute and elaborate in treating of the nation of the Iloppinglots ; and betrays a little of Ihe Pythagorean in bis llieory, inasmuch as he acconnteth for their being so wonderously adroit in pedestrian exercises, by supposing Ihat they did originally acquire this un- accountable and unparalleled aptitude for huge and unmatchable feals of the leg, by having heretofore been condemned for their numerous offences against that harmless race of bipeds, or quadrupeds (for herein the sage Linknm appeareth to doubt and waver ex- ceedingly), the frogs, to animate their hmlies for the space of one or two generations. He also givelh it as his opinion, Ihat Ihe name of Iloppingtols is mani- festly derivative from this transmigration. Be this, however, as it may, the matter, albeit it hath been the subject of controversy among the learned, is but little I)ertinent to the subject of this history; wherefore shall we treat and consider it as naughle. Now these people being thereto ini|)elled by a super- fluity of appetite, and a plentiful deliciency of the wherewithal to satisfy Ihe same, did take thought that the ancient and venerable city of Gotham was, perad- vcnlure, possessed of mighty treasures, and did, niove- over, abound with all manner of iish and llesh, and eatables, and drinkables, and such like delightsome and wholesome excellencies withal. Whereupon, calling a council of the most <iclive-heeled warriors, they did resolve forlhwilh to put forth a mighty array, make themselves masters of the same, and revel in Ihe gootl things of the land. To this were they holly stirred up, and wickedly incited, by two redoubtable and renowned warriors, bight Pirouet and Rigadoon; yclcped in such sort, by reason that they were two mighty, valiant, and invincible lillle men; utterly fa- mous for the victories of the leg, which they had, on divei-s illustrious occasions, right gallaiuly achieved. These doughlychampionsdid ambitiously and wick- edly inllame the minds of their countrymen, with gorgeous descriptions, in the which they tlid cunning- lie set forlh the marvellous ri(;hes and luxuries of Gotham; where Uoppingluls might have garments 86 $4LMAGUNDI. i for Uieir bodies, shirts to their rullles, ami niii;;ht riot most merrily every day in the week on beef, pudding, and such like lusty dainties. — They, Pirouet and Rigadoon, did likewise hold out liopes of an easy con- quest; forasmuch as the Gothamites were as yet but little versed in the mystery and science of handling the legs; and being, moreover, like unto that notable bully of antiquity, Achilles, most vulnerable to all attacks on the heel, would doubtless surrender at the very first assault. — Whereupon, on the hearing of this inspiriting council, the Hoppingtols did set up a prodigious great cry of joy, shook their heels in triumph, and were all impatience to dance on to Go- tliam and take it by storm. The cunning Pirouet, and the arch caitiff Uigadoon, knew full well how to profit by this enthusiasm. They forthwith did order every man to arm himself with a certain pestilent little weapon, called a fiddle; — to pack up in his knapsack a pair of silk breeches, the like of ruffles, a cocked hat the form of a half- moon, a bundle of cat-gut — and inasmuch as in march- ing to Gotham the army might, peradventure, be smitten with scarcity of provisions, they did account it proper that each man should take especial care to carry with him a bunch of right merchantable onions. Having proclaimed tliese orders by sound of liddle, lliey, Pirouet and Rigadoon, did accordingly put their army behind them, and striking up the right jolly and sprightful tune of fa Ira, away they all capered towards the devoted city of Gotham, with a most hor- rible and appalling chattering of voices. Of tlieir first appearance before the beleaguered town, and of the various dinicuUies which did en- counter them in their march, this history saith not : being that other matters of more weighty import re- quire to be written. When that the army of the Hop- pingtols did peregrinate within sight of Gotham, and the people of the city did behold the villanous and hitherto unseen capers and grimaces which they did make, a most horrific panic was stirred up among the citizens ; and the sages of the town fell into great des- pondency and tribulation, as supposing that these in- vaders were of the race of the Jig-hees, who did make men into baboons when they achieved a con- quest over them. The sages, therefore, called upon all the dancing men and dancing women, and exhort- ed them, with great vehemency of speech, to make heel against the invaders, and to put themselves upon such gallant defence, such glorious array, and such sturdy evolution, elevation, and transposition of the foot, as might inconlinenlly impester the legs of the Hoppingtols, and produce their complete discomfiture. Rut 80 it did happen, by great mischance, that divers light-heeled youth of Gotham, more especially those who are descended ftom three wise men so renowned of yore, for having most venturesomely voyaged over sea in a bowl, were from time to time captured and inveigled into the camp of the enemy ; where, being foolishly cajoled and treated for a season with outland- ish disports and pleasaunlries, they were sent back to tlieir friends, entirely changed, degenerated, and lut ed topsy-tuny, insomuch that they thought theni».| forth of nothing but their heels, always essaying J thrust them into the most manifest point of viev;. and, in a word, as might truly be affirmed, did kH ever after walk upon their heads outright. And the Hoppingtots did day by day, and at iitel hours of the night, wax more and more urgent in llii their investment ofthe city. At one time they would, in goodly procession, make an open assault by som of fiddle in a tremendous contradance ; — and ami I hey would advance by little detachments, and mi- n(L>uvre to take the town by figuring in cotillons, But tndy their most cunning and devilish craft, and subtilty, was made manifest in their strenuous endf}- voursto corrupt the garrison, by a most insidious anj pestilent dance called the Waltz. This, in gooj truth, was a potent auxiliary; for by it were the headi of the simple Gothamites most villanously turned, (heir wits sent a wool-gathering, and themselves og the point of surrendering at discretion, even unlolhel very arms of their invading foemen. At length the lortilicalions of the town began itl give manifest symptoms of decay; inasmuch aslbt breastwork of decency was considerably broken down, and the curtain work of proi)riety blown up. WIki the cunning caitiff Pirouet beheld the ticklish and jeo- I)ardized state of the city — " Now, by my leg," quotit he, — he always swore by his leg, being that it wasao exceeding goodlie leg—" Now, by my leg," quolh in, "but this is no great matter of recreation ;— I will show these people a pretty, strange, and new wan forsooth, prcsentlie, and will shake the dust oFTmj' pumps uiwn this most obstinate and uncivilized lown,"| Whereupon he ordered, and did command his war- riors, one and afi, that they should put themselves ill readiness, and prepare to carry the town by a (jram ball. They, in no wise to be daunted, do fortliwilh, at the word, equip themselves for the assault; andip. good faith, truly it was a gracious and glorious si .)(,[ a most triumphant and incomparable spectacle, b behold them gallantly arrayed in glossy and shinin; silk breeches, tied with abundance of riband : willi silken hose of the gorgeous colour of the salnion;- right goodlie morocco pumps decorated with clasiKj or buckles of a most eunninge and secret contri- vance, inasmuch as they did of themselves grapple l>| the shoe without any aid of fluke or tongue, marvel- lously ensembling witchcraft and necromancy. The;! had, withal, exuberant chitterlings ; which pulTed uiil at the neck and bosom, after a most jolly fa$liioii,| like unto the beard of an ancient he-turkey ; and awk- ed hats, the which they did carry not on their heailsJ after the fashion of tlie Gothamites, but under Iheirj arms as a roasted fowl his gizzard. Thus being equipped, and marshaUed, they do at- tack, assault, batter and belabour the town witlil might and main ; most gallantly displaying the vi|^r oflheir legs, and shaking their heels at it most em- phatically. And the manner of (heir attack was iu| Ills sort;— first, t I a contre-iemps ; tossack dance, a I bolliamites, in no ^-stem of warfare en their mouths I bow shot, mean apprehension tourisbing his left most magnifi \\al wait we hen Iron to our favour i amsels wave to uj kbeit there is some slly converted in ade no more ado, light-shot, and era anner of the Hop iin, and with mig iitright over the w ny of Iloppingli lieitain, with an e I liorriflc blasting a at the dogs did 1 kere (heir ears a pme semblance of en all won over jiey were shortly r Ussion : and delive vfessors of the Ho |er most ignominioi ne, until they hai I tlourish their lej nquerors. And t (ted, was the migli vumvented, and t kight be rendered, I The conquerors s p, sexes, and c( pnce; and in a woi ] become absolute kgenlous Linkum ] pture." And this I hath been mosi I example of the islFoiis and unluck fey have waxed U I abandoned dan |ttt how to gallanti: -insomuch th« lace, ever observ< flifully devote theii IS, and their days pilication of the bet (ik, who, whilome, on the improvem liiy abandoned thi ] it were, settled i Jiines, wound up I liiddle-stick! SALMAGUNDI. 87 ■lis sort;— first, liiey did thunder and gallop forward L a fonUe-temps ;— and anon, displayed column in a [ossack dance, a fandango, or a gavot. Whereat the olhamites, in no wise understanding this unknown It'stem of warfare, marvelled exceedinglie, and did en their mouths incontinently, the full distance of I bow shot, meaning a cross-bow, in sore dismay apprehension. Whereupon, sailh Rigadoon, aurisbing his left leg with great expression of valour, most magnific carriage — "My copesmales, for that wait we here ; are not the townsmen already ^00 to our favour ?— Do not their women and young Jamsels wave to us from the walls in such sort that, Pbelt there is some show of defence, yet is it mani- stly converted into our interests ? " So saying, he de no more ado, but leaping into the air about a bht-shot, and crossing his feet six times, after the annerof the Iloppingtots, he gave a short partridge ^n, and with mighty vigour and swiftness did bolt alright over the walls with a somerset. The whole ny of Hoppinglots danced in after their valiant lieftain, with an enormous squeaking of fiddles, and Ihorrific blasting and brattling of horns; insomuch at the dogs did howl in the streets, so hideously lere Iheir ears assailed. The Golhamites made pme semblance of defence, but their women having «n all won over into the interest of the enemy, key were shortly reduced to make most abject sub- lissioM ; and delivered over to the coercion of certain 'ofessors of the Iloppingtots, who did put them un- |er most ignominious durance, for the space of a long ne, until they bad learned to turn out their toes, bd flourish their legs after the true manner of their Dnquerors. And thus, after the manner I have re- lied, was the mighty and puissant city of Gotham nimvented, and taken by a coup de pied : or, as it Light be rendered, by force of legs. I The conquerors showed no mercy, but did put all bis, sexes, and conditions, to the fiddle and the We; anil in a word, compelled and enforced them i become absolute Hoppingtots. "Habit," as the kgenious Linkum profoundly affinneth, " is second We." And this original and invaluable observa- I hath been most aptly proved and illustrated, by i example of the Gothamites, ever since this di- islFous and unlucky mischance. In process of time, ^ey have waxed to be most flagrant, outrageous, [abandoned dancers; they do ponder onnaughte ^l how to gallantize it at balls, routs, and fandan- s— insomuch that the like was, in no time or lace, ever observed before. They do, moreover, flifully devote their nights to the jollification of the ;s, and their days forsooth to the instruction and bification of the heel . And to conclude : their young [lit, who, whilome, did bestow a modicum of leisure ion the improvement of the head, have of late ut- Iriy abandoned this hopeless task, and have quietly, ] it were, settled themselves down into mere ma- liines, wound up by n tune, and set in motion hy iiddle-slick! ■ .> ■ ■■■. ■ •: i^r ^^ ' »:; ?io. XVIII.— TUESDAY, NOVEMBEIl 24. IW7. ' THE LITTLE MAN IX BLACK. BT LAl'NGELOT L4NGSTAFF, ESQ. The following story has been handed down by fa- mily tradition fur more than a century. It is one on which my coiLsin Christopher dwells with more than usual prolixity; and, being in some measure con- nected with a personage 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 settled himself at the Hall, and just about the time that the gossips of the neighbourhood, tired of prymg into his affairs, were anxious for some new tea-table topic, the busy community of our little vil- lage was thrown into a grand turmoil of curiosity and conjecture — a situation very common to Kttle gossiping villages — by the sudden and unaccountable appearance of a mysterious individual. The object of this solicitude was a little black-look- ing man, of a foreign aspect, who took possession of an old building, which, having long had the reputa- tion of being haunted, was in a state of ruinous de- solation, and an object of fear to all true believei-s in ghosts. He usually wore a high sugar-loaf hat with a naiTow brim, and a little black cloak, which, short as be 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 commonly carried a large b(x>k, covered with sheep- skin, under bis arm — appeared always to be lost in meditation — and was often met by the peasantry, sometimes watching the dawning of day, sometimes at noon seated under a tree poring over his volume, and sometimes at evening, gazing, with a look of so- ber tranquillity, at the sun as it gradually sunk below the horizon. The good people of the vicinity beheld something prodigiously singular in all this; a mystery seemed to hang about the stranger which, with all their saga- city, they could not penetrate; and in the excess of worldly charity they pronounced it a sure sign "that he was no better than he should be;" a phrase in- nocent enough in itself; but which, as applied in common, signifies nearly every thing that is bad. The young people thought him a gloomy misanthrope, because he never joined in their sports; the old men thought still more hardly of him, because he followed no trade, nor ever seemed ambitious of earning a far- thing; and as to the old gossips, baffled by the in- flexible taciturnity of the stranger, they unanimously decreed that a man who could not or would not talk was no better than a dumb beast. The little man in black, careless of Iheir opinions, seemed resolved to maintain the liberty of keeping his own secret ; and the consequence was, that, in a little while, the whole SALMAGUNDI. iM i i ^ village was in an uproar; for in little communities ot this description, the niemliers have always the privi- lege of being thoroughly verseil, and even of med- dling, in all the affairs of each other. A confidential conference was held one Sunday morning after sermon, at the door of the village church, and the character of the unknown fully in- vestigated. The schoolmaster gave as his opinion that he was the wandering 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 bun 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 ma- tron, 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 Hushes of lightning, frisking, and curveting in the air upon a broom-stick; and it was always observed, that at those times the storm did more mischief than at any other. The old lady in particular, who suggested the humane ordeal of the boiling kettle, lost on one of these occa- sions a line brindled cow ; which accident was en- tirely ascribed to the vengeance of the little man in black. If ever a mischievous hireling rode bis mas- ter's favourite horse to a distant frolic, and the animal was observed to be lamed and jaded in the 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 Ilaw-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 tune totally ignorant of the wonderful quandary he had occasioned ; but he was soon doomed to feel its effects. An individual who is once so unfortunate as to incur the odium of a village is in a great measure outlawed and proscribed, and becomes a mark for in- jury and hisult; particularly if he has not the power or the disposition 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 country town with collected vigour, and become rancorous in proportion as they are conlined in their sphere of action. The little man in black ex- perienced (he truth of this : every mischievous urchin rettn-ning front 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 must adventurous schoolboy was never seen to ap- proach his threshold, and at night would prefer g^ round by the cross-roads, where a traveller had lie murdered by the Indians, rather than pass by the do of his forlorn habitation. The only living creature that seemed to have ; care or affection for this deserted being was an 4 turnspit, — the companion of his lonely mansion aij his solitary wanderings; — the sharer of his scaoi meals, and, sorry am I to say it, — the sharer ufl persecutions. The tiu'nspit, like his master, vJ peaceable and inoffensive; never known to bark at J horse, to growl at a traveller, or to quarrel with u dogs of the neighbourhood. He followed close atli master's heels when he went out, and when lie i turned stretched himself in the sunbeams at theda demeaning himself in all things like a civil and ' disposed turnspit. But notwithstanding bis exa plary deportment, be fell likewise under the ill rep of the village ; as being the familiar of the little i in black, and the evil spirit that presided at his incii talions. The old hovel was considered as the < of their unhallowed rites, and its harmless teiu regarded with a detestation which their inofTen conduct never n^erited. Though pelted and jeen at by the brats of the village, and frequently abust by tlieir parents, the little man in black never tun to rebuke them; and his faithful dog, when waiitoi assaulted, looked up wistfully in his master's face, a there learned a lesson of patience and forl)earanee. The movements of this inscrutable being had I been the subject of speculation at Cockloft-hall, I its inmates were full as much given to wondering their descendants, llie patience with Avhicli lie I his persecutions particularly surprised them— for p tience is a virtue but little known in the Cockloflb mily. My grandmother, who, it appears, was ralli superstitious, saw in this humility nothing but i gloomy sullenness of a wizard, who restrained liii self for the present, in hopes of midnight veiigeam —the parson of the village, who was a man of s reading, pronounced it the stubborn insensibility fi\ stoic philosopher— my grandfather, who, worll sold, seldom wandered abroad in search of coiiiii sions, took datum from his own excellent heart, i regarded it as the humble forgiveness of a Clirislii But however different were their opinions as to Ikj character of the stranger, they agreed in oiie| cular, namely, in never intruding upon his solitiiik and my grandmother, who was at tliat time nursid my mother, never left the room without wisely | ting the large family bible in the cradle— a sure lai man, in her opinion, against witchcraft and nei mancy. One stormy winter night, when a bleak nortlw wind moaned about the cottages, and howled an the village steeple, my grandfather was retiimi^ from club preceded by a servant with a lantern, li as he arrived opposite the desolate alwde of tlieliul man in black, he was arrested by the bowliiigofi dog, which, heard in the pauses of a storm, wasd SALMAGUNDI. H!) ined to liave i L||y monrnfui ; and he foncied now and then that I caught the low and broken groans of some one in ilress. He stopped for some minutes, hesitating dween the benevolence of his heart and a sensation nuine delicacy, which, in spite of his eccentricity, [fully possessed,— and which forbade him to pry the concerns of his neighlmurs. Perhaps, too, hesitation might have been strengthened by a jle taint of superstition ; for surely, if the unknown II been addicted to witchcraft, this was a most pro- I night for his vagaries. At length the old gen- an's philanthropy predominated ; he approached I hovel, and pushing open the door,— for poverty I no occasion for locks and keys,— l)eheld, by the htofthe lantern, a scene that smote his generous trl to the core. On a miserable bed, with pallid and emaciated vi- > and hollow eyes ; in a room destitute of every [ivenience ; without fire to warm or friend to console n, lay this helpless mortal who had been so long I terror and wonder of the village. His dog was uching on the scanty coverlet, and shivering with My grandfather stepped softly and hesitatingly khe bed-side, and accosted the forlorn sufferer in lusaal accents of kindness. The little man in black recalled by the tones of compassion from the argy into which he had fallen ; for, though his krt was almost frozen, there was yet one chord that ^wered to the call of the good old man who bent rhim;— the tones of sympathy, so novel to his ear, led back his wandering senses, and acted like a res- jative to his solitary feelings. He raised his eyes, but they were vacant and hag- 1;— he put forth his hand, but it was cold; he |ayed to speak, but the sound died away in his at;— he pointed to his mouth with an expression |jreadful meaning, and, sad to relate ! my grand- er understood that the harniless stranger, deserted I society, was perishing with hunger !— With the I impulse of humanity he disiMtched the servant |he hall for refreshment. A little warm nourish- nt renovated him for a short time, but not long ; it s evident his pilgrimage was drawing to a close, phe was almut entering that peaceful asylum where he wicked cease from troubling." BU tale of misery was short and quickly told ;— Irmities had stolen upon him, heightened by the ri- Irsorthe season ; he had taken to his bed without |tngth to rise and ask for assistance; " and if I had," 1 be, in a tone of bitter despondency, " to whom uld I have applied ? I have no friend that I know itheworld ! — The villagers avoid me as something klisome and dangerous; and here, in the midst of Wians, should I have perished without a fellow |ng to soothe the last moments of existence, and ! my eyes, had not the bowlings of my faithful (excited your attention." |le seemed deeply sensible of the kindness of my dfather ; and at one time, as he looked up into his I benefactor's face, a solitary tear was observed to steal adnwn 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 gra- dually declined ; and as the rising sun gleamed through the window, be begged to be raised in his bed that he might look at it for the last tune. He contemplat- ed it for a moment with a kind of religious enthu- siasm, and his lips moved as if engaged in prayer. The strange conjectures concerning him rushed 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 suspn cion ; 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 grandfather's hand in one of his, and mak- ing 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 philan- thropy 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 mysterious 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 tattered nightcap that had sunk almost over his eyes, and waving his withered hand with a slow and feeble expression of dignity— " In me," s?'d he, with a laconic solemnity,—" In me you behold the last descendant of the renowned Linkum Fide- lius ! " My grandfather gazed at him with reverence ; for though he had never heard of the illustrious per- sonage 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 requite your kindness by making you heir to my treasures ! In yonder large deal box are the vo- lumes 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 exer- tion he had made, and sunk back almost breathless on his pillow. His hand, which, inspired with the im- portance of his subject, he had raised to my grand- father's arm, slipped from its hold and fell over the side of the bed, and his faithful dog licked it; as if anxious to soothe 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 languid eyes,— turned them on the dog, then on my grandfather; and having given this silent recom- mendation — closed them for ever. The remains of the little man in black, notwith- 12 rj •Ml SALMAGUNDI. Standing the objeclionji or many pious people, were decently interred in the churchyard of the village ; and hi« spirit, harmless as the body it once animated, has never been known to molest a living being. My grandfather complied as far as possible with his last request ; he conveyed the volumes of Linkum Fidelius to his library ;— he pondered over them frequently ; but whether he grew wiser, the tradition doth not mention. This much is certain, that his kindness to the poor descendant of Fidelius 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 line of curs that still flourish in the family. And thus was the Cockloft library first enriched by the invaluable folios of the sage Lmkum Fidelius. ', LETTER FIO<li HL1STAPB4 lUB-i-DUD KBtl KBAN, 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 coun- try, 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 mon- key of Timandi equal them in whim and playfulness. But, notwithstanding these valuablequalifications, lam sorry to observe they are not treated with half the attention bestowed 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 harems, 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 treating their women as ra- tional beings, and allowing them souls. The conse- quence 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 to the peaceable people as the troops of wild dogs that infest our great cities, or the flights of locusts, that sometimes spread famine and desolation over whole regions of fertility. This propensity to relapse into pristine wildness, convinces 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 restored to personal freedom, become wild as the young partridge of this country, which, though scarcely half hatched, will take to the fields and run about with the shell upon its back. Notwitlistanding their wildness, however, they are remarkably easy of access, and suffer themselves to be approached, at certain hours of the day, with- out any symptoms of apprehension ; and I have even happily succeeded in detecting them at tlieir (k occupations. One of the most important of tlieacfl sisis in thumping vehemently on a kind of mg instrument, and producing a confused, hideous, i indefinable uproar, which they call the descriptjoil a battle — a jest, no doubt, for they are won facetious at times, and make great practice ofii jokes upon strangers. Sometimes they employ tb selves in painting little caricaturesof landscapes, vh in they display their singular drollery in bantt nature fairly out of countenance — tricking her o«| the finery of copper skies, purple rivers, calico i red grass, clouds that look like old clothes set i by the tempest, and foxy trees, whose foliage, < ing and curling most fantastically, reminds one i\ undressed periwig hanging on a stick in a Utl window. At other times, they employ themselTsI acquiring a smattering of languages spoken by luH on the other side of the glolie, as they find their g language not sufficiently copious to express their i tifarious ideas. But their most important don avocation is to embroider, on satin or muslin, flom of a non-descript kind, in which the great art b| make them as unlike nature as possible ; or to I little bits of silver, gold, tinsel, and glass, on I strips of muslin, which they drag after them < much dignity whenever they go abroad— a fineli like a bird of paradise, being estimated by the I of her tail. But do not, my friend, fall into the enormous e of supposing that the exercise of these arts isalle ed with any useful or profitable result : believe ■ thou couldst not indulge an idea more unjust aodij jurious; for it appears to be an established among the women of this country, that a ladyli iier dignity when she condescends to be useful, i forfeits all rank in society the moment she can bca victed of earning a farthing. Their labours, fore, are directed not towards supplying their t hold, but in decking their persons, and — gen souls ! — they deck their persons, not so much to |i themselves, as to gratify others, particularly strani I am confident thou wilt stare at this, my good jji accustomed as thou art to our eastern females, \ shrink in blushing timidity even from the glan a lover, and are so chary of their favours, tbatd seem fearful of lavishing their smiles too profg even on their husbands. Here, on the contrary, ( stranger has the first place in female regard ; and,| far do they cany their hospitality, that I haves fine lady slight a dozen tried friends and real rers, who lived in her smiles and made her happoj their study, merely to allure the vague and wai ing glances of a stranger, who viewed her with indifference, and treated her advances wilhd tempt.— By the whiskers of our sublime bashaw, | this is highly flattering to a foreigner! and thoui est judge how particularly pleasing to one who| like myself, an ardent admirer of the sex. Farb from me to condemn this extraordinary manife: SALMAGUNDI. M -will— let their own countrj'raen look to tliat. I not alarmed, I conjure thee, my dear Asem, 1 1 should be tempted, by thetie beautiful barba- te break the faith I owe to the tliree-and- D(y wiveii, (h>m whom my unhappy destiny has «ps severed me for ever : — no, Asem, neither nor the bitter succession of misfortunes that ues me, can shake from my heart the memory of er aUaclimenls. I listen with tranquil heart lo litrummingand prattling of these fair syrens : their isical paintings touch not the tender chord of my i ; and I would still defy their fascinations, f\i they trailed after them trains as long as the oos trappings which are dragged at the heels of fholy camel of Mecca; nay, even though they died the tail of (he great beast in our prophet's 1), which measured tliree hunilred and forty-nine jm, two miles, three furlongs, and a hand's dill in longitude. be dress of these women is, if possible, more ec- and whimsical than their deportment ; and take an inordinate pride in certain ornaments |cb are probably derived from their savage proge- A woman of this country, dressed out for an jjtion, is loaded with as many ornaments as a an slave when brought out for sale. Their tare tricked out with little bits of horn or shell, Dlo fantastic shapes, and they seem to emulate i other in the number of these singular baubles; I the women we have seen in our journeys to 0, who cover their heads with the entire shell Itortoise, and, thus equipped, are the envy of all 1 less fortunate acquaintance. They also decorate [necks and ears with coral, gold chains, and glasis |s, and load their fingers with a variety of rings ; h, I must confess, I have never perceived that [wear any in their noses — as has been afiirmed my travellers. We have heard much of their ng themselves most hideously, and making use 9i^s-grease in great profusion— but this, I so- |lf assure thee, is a mis-statement; civilization, ubi, having gradually extirpated these nauseous It is true, 1 have seen two or three fe- i who had disguised their features with paint, en it was merely to give a tinge of red to (heir s, and did not look very frightful ; and as to «n(, (hey rarely use any now, except occasion- ) little Grecian oil for their hair, which gives it isy, greasy, and, as they think, very comely BDce. The last-mentioned class of females, it fur granted, have been but lately caught, I retain s(rong traits of their savage propensi- iinost flagrant and inexcusable fault, however, I I find in these lovely savages, is the shameless andoned exposure of their persons. Wilt thou ispect me of exaggeration when I affirm — wilt I blush for them, most discreet mussulman, 1 1 declare to thee — (hat (hey are so lost (o all ! of modes(y, as to expose (he whole of their faces from their forehead to the chin, and they even go abroad with their Iiands uncovered!— Monstrous indelicacy ! But what I am going to disclose will doubtless ap- pear to thee still more incredible. Though I cannot forbear paying a tribute of admiration to the beauti- ful faces of these fair infidels, yet I must give it as my firm opinion that their persons are preposterously unseemly. In vain did I look around me, on my first landing, for those divine forms of redundant propor- tions, which answer (o the true standard of eastern beauty— not a single fat fair one could I behold among the multitudes that thronged the streets : (he females that {lassed in review before me, tripping sportively along, resembled a procession of shadows, returning to their graves at the crowing of the cock. This meagreness I first ascribed to their excessive volubility, for I have somewhere seen it advanced by a learned doctor, that the sex were endowed with a peculiar 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 natural to suppose, would be carried to great excess in a logocracy. " 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 themselves thin ! " Judge then of my surprise when I was assured, not long since, that this meagreness was considered the perfection of personal beauty, and (hat many a lady starved herself, with all the obstinate perseverance of a pious dervise, into a fine figure ! " Nay more," said my informer, " (hey will often sacrifice their healths in this eager pursuit of skeleton beauty, and drink vinegar, and eat pickles, to keep themselves widiin the scanty outlines of (he tashions." — Faugh ! Allah preserve me from such beauties, who conta- minate their pure blood with noxious reci|)es; who impiously sacrifice the best gifts of Heaven to a pre- posterous 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 imi(a(ion of (he iIo((en(o(s, or like the barbarians of Ab-al-Ti- mar, distorting their lips and ears out of all natural dimensions. Since I received this information, I can- not contemplate a fine figure, without thinking of a vinegar cruet ; nor look at a dashing l)elle, without fancying her a pot of pickled cucumbers ! What a difference, my friend, between these shades and the {•lump beauties of Tripoli, — what a contrast l)elween an iniidel fair one and my favourite wife, Fatima, whom I bought by (he hundred weight, and had trundled home in a wheelbarrow ! But enough for the present; I am promised a faith- ful account of the arcana of a lady's toilette — a com- plete initiation into the arts, mysteries, spells, and potions, in short the whole chemical process, by which she reduces herself down to the most fashionable standard of insignificance ; (oge(her with specimens ^ SALMAGUNDI. ii'S. K' fi ? of the strait waistcoats, the lacings, the bandages, and the various ingenious instruments with which she puts nature to the rack, and tortures herself 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 mis- tress 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 return to the blessed land of my fathers, if that shall ever be ! I may find them improved in size and loveliness, and sleek as the graceful elephants that range the green valley of Abimar. Ever thine, MCSTAPHA. No. XIX.— THUnSDAY, DECEMBER SI, <807. raOH HV ELBOW-CHAIR. Havixg returned to town, and once more taken formal possession of my elbow-chair, it behoves me to discard the rural feelings, and the rural sentiments, in which I have for some time past indulged, and de- vote myself more exclusively to the edification of the town. As I feel at this moment a chivalric spark of gallantry playing around my heart, and one of those dulcet emotions of cordiality, which an old bachelor will sometimes entertain towards the divine sex, I am determined to gratify the sentiment for once, and de- vote this number exclusively to the ladies. I would not, however, have our fair readers imagine that we wish to flatter ourselves into their good graces; de- voutly as we adore them (and what true cavalier does not ?) and heartily as we desire to flourish in the mild sunshine of their smiles, yet we scorn to insinuate ourselves into their favour, unless it be as honest friends, sincere well-wishers, and disinterested advisers. If in the course of this number they find us rather pro- digal of our encomiums, they will have the modesty to ascribe it to the excess of their own merits; if they find us extremely indulgent to their faults, they will impute it rather to the superabundance of our good- nature than to any servile fear of giving offence. The following letter of Mustapha falls in exactly with the current of my purpose. As I have before mentioned that his letters are without dates, we are obliged to give them very irregularly, without any regard to chronological order. The present one appears to have been written not long after his arrival, and antecedent to several al- ready published. It is more in the familiar and col- loquial style than the others. Will Wizard declares he has translated it with fidelity, excepting that he has omitted several remarks on the waltz, which the ho- nest mussulman eulogizes with great enthusiasm; comparing it to certain voluptuous dances of the I rem. Will regretted exceedingly that the indelic of several of these observations compelled their ii exclusion, as he wishes to give all possible encoun ment to this popular and amiable exhibition. LETTER rBOM Ml'STAPnA RUB-A-DUB KELI KUAN, ToMuleg Hclim al Raggi, surnamed the agreeable id muffin, chief mountebank and buffodancer to hi$l ness. The num«.rous letters which I have written toil friend the slave-driver, as well as those to thy kin the snorer, and which doubtless were read toll honest Muley, have in all probability awakened 1 curiosity to know further particulars concerning j manners of the barbarians who hold me in capliiji I was lately at one of their public ceremonies, wlii at first, perplexed me exceedingly as to its object;! as the explanations of a friend have let me soinetl into the secret, and as it seems to bear no small a logy to thy profession, a description of it may ( bute to thy amusement, if not to thy instruction, A few days since, just as I had finished my ( and was perfuming my whiskers preparatory I morning walk, I was waited upon by an inliabili this place, a gay young infidel, who has of late c vated my acquaintance. He presented me vill| square bit of painted pasteboard, which, he inroti me, would entitle me to admittance to the cify| sembly. Curious to know the meaning of a phi which was entirely new to me, I requested ml planation ; when my friend informed me that tlitj sembly was a numerous concourse of young peopl both sexes, who, on certain occasions, galliereii| gether to dance about a large room with violent g culation, and try to out-dress each other. " Insiia said he, " if you wish to see the natives in all I glory, there's no place like the city assemblyisai must go there and sport your whiskers." TImi the matter of sporting my whiskers was considenj above my apprehension , yet I no w began , as I thoi to understand him. I had heard of the war-danc^ the natives, which are a kind of religious instilulj and had little doubt but that this must be a snlem of the kind. Anxious as I am to contemplate | strange people in every situation, I willingly a« to his proposal, and, to be the more at ease, I ( mined to lay aside my Turkish dress, and appeij plain garments of the fashion of this country, asii custom whenever I wish to mingle in a crowd, « out exciting the attention of the gaping multitude,! It was long after the shades of night had rallenl fore my friend appeared to conduct me to the assed " These infidels," thought I, " shroud themselvj mystery and seek the aid of gloom and darknes heighten the solemnity of their pious orgies." solving to conduct myself with that decent r« which every stranger owes to the customs of tliel in which he sojourns, I chaslfted my feuluros iii| Imrou !" thought I, € glios, or you'll have Jour ears; for seragli( SALMAGUNDI. 95 ELI KUAN, Ipressiou of sober reverence, and slrelchetl my face |to a degree of longitude suitable to the ceremony I s about to witness. Spite of myself, I felt an emo- [)aorawe stealing over my senses as I approached > majestic pile. My imagination pictured something nilar to a descent into the cave of Dom-Daniel, lliere tlie necromancers of the east are taught their Ifernal arts. I entered with the same gravity of de- leanour that I would have approached the holy nple v' Mec<-2, and bowed my head three times il passed the threshold. — ""lead of tlie mighty Imrou ! " thought I, on being ushered into a splendid loon, "what a display is here! surely I am trans- jgrted to the mansions of the Ilouris, the elysium of ifailhful!" — How tame appeared all the descrip- lons of enchanted palaces in our Arabian poetry ! liherever I turned my eyes, the quick glances of aiity dazzled my vision and ravished my heart : ively virgins fluttered by me, darting imperial looks pnquest, or beaming such smiles of invitation, as I Gabriel when he beckoned our holy prophet to leaven. Shall I own the weakness of thy friend, I Muley ? — while thus gazing on the enchanted m before me, I for a moment forgot my country, 1 even the memory of my three-and-twenty wives KJed from my heart; my thoughts were bewildered lied astray, by the charms of these bewitching sa- 8, and I sunk, for a while, into that delicious state imnd where the senses, all enchanted, and all striv- pg for mastery, produce an endless variety of tumult- s, yet pleasing emotions. Oh, Muley, never shall |again wonder that an infldel should prove a recreant Mlie single solitary wife allotted him, when even thy ^end, armed with all the precepts of Mahomet, can ^easily prove faithless to three-and-twenty! "Whither have you led me?" said 1, at length, gmy companion, "and to whom do these beautiful reatures belong ? certainly this must be the seraglio f the grand bashaw of the city, and a most happy uhaw must he be, to possess treasures whicii even I Highness of Tripoli cannot parallel," "Have a e," cried my companion, "how you talk about se- niles, or you'll have all these gentle nymphs about lour ears; for seraglio is a word which, beyond all [iIcts, they abhor:— most of them," continued he, I'bave no lord and master, but come here to catch If— they're in the market, as we term it." " Ha, 'saidl, exultingly, "then you really have a fair, or Mave-niarket, such as we have in the east, where the pilliful are provided with the choicest virgins of Geor- i and Circassia ? — By our glorious sun of Afric, but I should like to select some tenor a dozen wives from lovely an assemblage! pray what do you suppose fiey might be liought for?" Before I could receive an answer, my attention was [tlracted by two or three goo<l-looking middle-sized Kn, who being dressed in black, a colour universally fm in this country by the muftis and dervises, I Wliided to lie bigli priests, and was conllrmed in Py original opinion that this was a religious cere- mony. These reverend personages are entitled ma- nagers, and enjoy unlimited authority in the assem- blies, being armed with swords, with which, I am told, they would infallibly put any lady to death who infrmged the laws of the temple. They walked round the room with great solemnity, and, with an air of profound importance and mystery, pu' . little piece of folded paper in each fair hand, which I con- cluded were religious talismans. One of them drop- ped on the floor, whereu{)on I slily put my foot on it, and, watching an opportunity, picked it up unobserv- ed, and found it '.o 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 Z.im-zim on my pilgrimage to Mecca. I enclose it to thee in this let- ter, 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 limes : a loud explosion of music succeeded from a numberof black, yellow, and white musicians, perch- ed in a kind of cage over the gi-and entrance. The company were thereupon thrown into great confusion and apparent consternation. — They hurried to and fro about the room, and at length formed themselves into little groups of eight persons, half male and half female; — the music struck into something like har- mony, and, in a rnoment, to my utter astonishment and dismay, they were all seized with what I con- cluded to be a paroxysm of religious phrensy, tossing 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, ,;ho 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 exer- cises, and performetl them with a melancholy expres- sion of feature that was peculiarly touching; but I was highly gratified by the exemplary conduct of several male devotees, who, though (heir gesticulation would intimate a wild merriment of the feelings, maintain- ed throughout as inflexible a gravity of coimtenance 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 mos(|uc ? "—The divinity ! Oh, I understand— you mean the belle of the evening; we have a new one every season.— The one at pre- sent 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 plea- santest deity I have encountered in the whole course of my travels;— so familiar, so condescending, and so 94 SALMAGUNDI. i i- merry witlial;— why her very worsliippers lake her by the hand, and whisper in her ear." — '' My good miissulman," replied my friend with great gravity, "I perceive you are completely in an error concern- ing 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 violent and grotesque distortions are merely in- dulging in our favourite amusement of dancing." "I cry your mercy," 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 ofthe wealthy;— but, pray who pays them for this fatiguing exhibition ? " — My friend regarded me for a moment with an air of whimsical perplexity, as if doubtful whether I was in jest or in earnest— " 'Sblood, man," cried he, "these are some of our greatest people, our fashionables, who are merely dancing here for amusement." Dancing for ammement! 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 barbarians, who are laborious in their recrea- tions, and indolent only in their hours of business ? — Dancing for amusement ! — the very idea makes my Imnes ache, and I never think of it without being obliged to apply my handkerchief to my forehead, and fan myself into some degree of coolness. "And pray," said I, when my astonishment had a little subsided, "do these musicians also toil for amu- sement, 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," re- plied my friend, "they are well paid, which is no more than just, for I assure you they are the most important personages in (he room. The fiddler puts the whole assembly in motion, and directs their move- ments, like the master of a puppet-show, who sets all his pastel)oard gentry kicking by a jerk of his lin- gers.— There now— look at that dapper little gen- tleman 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 ills own amusement, as for that of the by-standers." Just then, the little gentleman, having finished one of his paroxysms of activity, seemed to be looking round for applause from the spectators. Feeling my- self really nnich 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 |)erceive, friend Muley, that the dancing of these barbarians is totally different from the science professed by thee in Tripoli ; the country, in fact, is afllicled by numerous epidemical diseases, which travel from bouse to house, from city to city, with the regularity of a caravan. Among these, the most formidable is this dancing mania, which previ chiefly throughout the winter. It at first seized (n\ few people of fashion, and being indulged in moda tion, was a cheerful exercise; but in a little time, quick advances, it infected all classes of the corrii nity, and became a raging epidemic. The do immediately, as is their usual way, instead of deti] ing a remedy, fell together by the ears, to do whether it was native or imported, and the slicklt for the latter opinion traced it to a cargo of trump from France, as they had before hunted down i yellow-fever to a bag of coffee from the West ludje What makes this disease the more formidable h,[\t the patients seem infatuated with their malady, ah dou themselves to its unbounded ravages, and exp their persons to wintry slorms and midnight ain more fatal, in this capricious cVniate, than the witliei] ing Simoom blast of the desert. I know not whether it is a sight most whimsical g melancholy, to witness a fit of this dancing malaitfj The lady hops up to the gentleman, who stands at tbi distance of about three paces, and then capers I again to her place; — the gentleman of course ( the same; — then they skip one way, then theyjuni another;— then they turn their backs to each other;L — then they seize each other and shake hands;— thegl they whirl round, and throw themselves into a (lioo-l sand grotesque and ridiculous attitudes;— sonietini(i| on one leg, sometimes on the other, and sometiiwl on no leg at all : — and this they call exhibiting ihtl graces ! By the nineteen thousand capers of the grenl mountebank of Damascus, but these graces must btl something like the crookeil-backed dwarf Sliabrac,! who is sometimes permitted to amuse his Highn«l by imitating the tricks of a monkey. These fits conl tinue at short intervals from four to five hours, till ill last the lady is led off, faint, languid, exhausted, andj panting, to her carriage; — rattles home; — passes 1 1 night of feverish restlessness, cold perspirations, and I troubled sleep; rises late next morning, if she rises all all; is nervous, petulant, or a prey to languid indilf ference all day; a mere household spectre, neilherl giving nor receiving enjoyment ; in the evening liur-l ries to another dance; receives an unnatural exliilaf ration from the lights, the music, the <^rowd, andlliel unmeaning bustle; — flutters, sparkles, and blooiiisl for a while, until, the transient delirium being pastj the infatuated maid droops and languishes into apalli; I again; — is again led off to her carriage, and the neill morning rises to go through exactly the same juyleuj routine. And yet, wilt thou believe it, my dear Haggi, tliesel are rational l)eings; nay, more, their countrymen I would fain persuade me they have souls ! Is it not a I thousand times to be lamented that Iwings, endowctll with charms that might warm even the frigid heart I of a dervise;— with social and endearing powers, lliat| would render them the joy and pride of the haiem; —should surrender themselves to a habit of heartless I dissipation, which preys Imperceptibly on the rosesnil SALMAGUNDI. OB iciieek; which robs the eye of its lustre, the cheek I its dimpled smile, the spirits of their cheerful hi- Ly, and the limbs of their elastic vigour :— which Lrries them off in the spring-time of existence; or, if ley survive, yields to the arms of a youthful bride- om a frame wrecked in the storms of dissipation, struggling with premature infirmity. Alas, juley ! may I not ascribe to this cause the number llillle old women I meet with in this country, from > age of eighteen to eight-and-twenty ? |ln sauntering down the room, my attention was Iracted by a smoky painting, which, on nearer exa- [nalion, I found consisted of two female figures jowning a bust with a wreath of laurel. " This, I npose," cried I, "was some famous daicer in his ine?"— "O, no," replied my friend, "he was only «neral." — "Good; but then he must have been J«at at a cotillon, or expert at a fiddlestick — or why [his memorial here?"— "Quite the contrary," an- gered my companion; "history makes no mention of sever having flourished a fiddle-stick, or figured in kingle dance. You have, no doubt, heard of him : wan the illustrious Washington, the father and hiverer of his country ; and as our nation is remark- He for gratitude to great men, it always does honour |lheir memory, by placing their monuments over I doors of taverns, or in the corners of dancing- OfflS." iFrom thence my friend and I strolled into a small larlment adjoining the grand saloon, where I beheld ■number of grave-looking persons with venerable lay heads, but without beards, which I thought very Ibecomlng, seated round a table studying hierogly- lics. I approached them with reverence, as so many ■gi, or learned men, endeavouring to expound the Weries of Egyptian science. Several of them threw |wn money, which I supposed was a rewaitl pro- I for some great discovery, when presenlly one |lliem spread his hieroglyphics on the table, ex- I triumphantly, " Two bullets and a bragger ! " I swept all liie money into his pocket. He has dis- |iereda key to the hieroglyphics, thought I— happy rial! no doubt his name will be immortalized. lining, however, to l)e satisfied, I looked round on f companion with an inquiring eye : he understood , and informed me, that these were a company of lends, who had niet together to win each other's (ley and l)e agreeable. " Is that all ? " exclaimetl I" why then, I pray you, make way, and let me ape from this temple of abominations; or who |ovs but these people, who meet together to toil, )fi), and fatigue themselves to death, and give it I name of pleasure— and who win each other's ey by way of being agreeable— may some one of m lake a liking in me, and pick my pocket, or *i my head in a paroxysm of hearty good-will ! " Thy friend, ; '. :: r. ' Mi;STAPHA. BT AXTnONT EVERGBEEM, GEKT. Nunc est blbendum, nunc pede libera Pulsanda tcUiu. Hor. ^ Now is the tyme for wine and myrthM sportes, For daunce, and song, and disported of syche sortet. Liuk. Fid. The winter campaign has opened. Fashion has summoned her numerous legions at the sound oi' trumpet, tambourine, and drum, and all the harmo- nious minstrelsy of the orchestra, to hasten from the dull, silent, and insipid gla It > and groves, where they have vegetated during th>^ summer; recovering from the ravages of the last winter's campaign. Our fair ones have hurried to town, eager to pay their devo- tions to this tutelai7 deity, and to make an offering at her shrine of the few pale and transient roses they gathered in their healthful retreat. The fiddler rosins his bow— the card-table devotee is shuftling her pack — the young lady is industriously spangling muslins— and the tea-party hero is airing his chapeau de bras, and pea-blossom breeches, to prepare for figuring in the gay circle of smiles, and graces, and beauty. Now the fine lady forgets her country friends in the hurry of fashionable engagements ; or receives the simple intruder, who has foolishly accepted her thousand pressing invitations, with such politeness, that the poor soul determines never to come again : — now the gay buck, who erst figured at Ballston and quaffed the pure spring, exchanges the sparkling water for still more sparkling champaign, and deserts the nymph of the fountain, to enlist under the standard of jolly Bac- chus. In short, now is the important time of the year in which to harangue the bon ton reader ; and like some ancient hero in front of the battle, to spirit him up to deeds of noble daring, or still more noble suffering, in the ranks of fashionable warfare. Such, indeed, has been my intention; but the num- ber of cases which have lately come Ijcfore me, and the variety of complaints I have received from a crowd of honest and well-meaning correspondents, call for more immediate attention. A host of appeals, petitions, and letters of advice, are now before me; and I believe the shortest way to satisfy my petitioners, memorial- ists, and advisers, will be to publish their letters, as I suspect the object of most of them is merely lo get into print. Sir, TO ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. As you appear to have taken to yourself the trouble of meddling in (he concerns of the beau monde, I take the liberty of appealing to you on a subject, which, though considered merely as a very good joke, has caused me gioat vexation and expense. Yon must know I pride myself on being very useful to the ladies —that is, I take boxes for them at the theatre, go (hopping 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 i «9 in the city withont my having an invitation. The grievance I have to mention is the excliange of hats which takes place on these occasions; for, to speak my mind freely, there are certain young gentlemen who seem to consider fashionable parties as mere places to barter old clothes; and I am informed, that a num- ber of them manage by this great system of exchange to keep their crowns decently covered without their hatter 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 whe- ther it would not be advisable for ladies to mention in their cards of invitation, as a postscript, " Exchanging 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. My correspondent is informed, that the police have determined to take this matter into consideration, and have set apart Saturday mornings for the cognizance of fashionable larcenies. MR RVERGHEEN, Sir, — Do you think a married woman may lawfully put her husband right in a story, before strangers, when she knows him to be in the wrong ; and can any thing authorize a wife in the exclamation of—" Lord, my dear, how can you say so ! " Margaret Timson. dear anthony, Going down Broadway this morning in a great hurry, I ran full against an object which at first put me to a prodigious nonplus. Observing it to be dressed in a man's hat, a cloth overcoat, and spatterdashes, I fram- ed my apology accordingly, exclaiming " My dear sir, I ask ten thousand pardons; — I assure you, sir, it was entirely accidental ; — pray excuse me. sir, etc. " At every one of these excuses, the thing answered me with a dow.iright laugh; at which I was not little sur- prised, until, on resorting to my pocket-glass, I dis- covered that it was no other than my old acquaintance Clarinda Trollop. I never was more chagrined in my life ; for, being an old bachelor, I like to appear as young as possible, and am always l)oasting of the goodness of my eyes. I beg of you, Mr Evergreen, if you have any feeling for your contemporaries, to liiscourage this hermaphrodite mode of dress; for really, if the fashion take, we poor bachelors will be utterly at a loss to distinguish a woman from a man. SALMAGUNDI. Pray let me know your opinion, sir, whether a I who wears a man's liat and spatterdashes before n riage, may not be apt to usurp some other articlcj his dress afterwards. Your humble servant, RODERIC WoRBtJ DEAR MR EVERGREEN, The other night, at Richard the Third, I sat behJ three gentlemen, who talked very loud on the suU of Richard's wooing Lady Ann directly in the facej his crimes against that lady. One of them decli such an unnatural scene would be booted at in ChJ Pray, sir, was that Mr Wizard ? Selina Badgeb, P. S. — The gentleman I allude to had a glass, and wore his hair fastened behind by a torto shell comb, with two teeth wanting. MR evergreen. Sir, — Being a little curious in the affairs of tlieii lette, I was much interested by the sage Mustapl remarks, in your last number, concerning the aitj manufacturing a modern fine lady. I would i you caution your fair readers, however, to ue 4 careful in the management of their machinery, ai| deplorable accident happened last assembly, in ( sequence of the architecture of a lady's figure i being sufficiently strong. In the middle of one nri|| cotillons, the company was suddenly alarmed lif| tremendous crash at the lower end of the room;i on crowding to the place, discovered that it wasali figure which had unfortunately broken down I too great exertion in a pigeon-wing. By great ^ luck I secured the corset, which I carried liontel triumph; and the next morning had it publicly d sected and a lecture read on it at Surgeons' Hall, have since commenced a dissertation on the m]sd in which I shall treat of the superiority of those j gures manufactured by steel, stay-tape, and win bone, to those formed by Dame Nature. I i show clearly that the Venus de Medicis has no |i tension to beauty of form, as she never wore sbl and her waist is an exact proportion to the rest of ij^ body. I shall inquire into the mysteries of compi sion, and how tight a figure can be laced withi danger of fainting; and whether it would not bed visable for a lady, when dressing for a ball, to bej tended by the family physician, as culprits are vkj tortured on the rack, to know how much morei ture will endure. I shall prove lliat ladies haved covered the secret of that notorious juggler, wlioil fered to squeeze himself into a quart bottle; aiid| shall demonstrate, to the satisfaction of every f able reader, that there is a degree of heroism inp chasing a preposterously slender waist at the expi of an old age of decrepitude and rheumatics, dissertation shall be published as soon as Rm and distributed gratis among boarding-school (lams, and all worthy matrons who are ainbliii| t vests, and long bn SALMAGUNDI. VT ,INA Badges, their daughters should sit straight, move like k-work, and *' do credit to their bringing up." (he mean time, I have hung up the skeleton of the et in the museum, beside a dissected weasel and tiffed alligator; where it may be inspected by all {naturalists who are fond of studying the " hu- I form divine." Yours, etc. Julian Cognols. S.— By accurate calculation I find it is danger- |for a line figure, when full dressed, to pronoimce onl of niore than three syllables. Fine Figure, I love, may indulge in a gentle sigh ; but a sob is ^rdous. Fine Figure may smile with safety, may 1 venture as far as a giggle ; but nuist never risk jid laugh. Figure must never play the part of a Edant; as at a tea-party, some the evenings since, Lng lady, whose unparalleled impalpability of ^t was the envy of the drawing-room, l)urst with rporlant secret, and had three ribs of her corset (aredon the spot! MR liVEUGIlEEX, r,— I am one of those industrious gemmen who nr hard to obtain currency in the fashionable |d. I have gone to great expense in little boots, I vests, and long breeches : my coat is regularly rted per stage from Philadelphia, duly insured islall risks, and my boots are smuggled from l-street. I have lounged in Broadway with one ! most crooked walking-sticks I could procure, I have sported a pair of salmon-coloured small- les, and flame-coloured stockings, at every con- land ball to which I could purchase admission, ^affeared that I might possibly appear to less ntage as a pedestrian, in consequence of my being ^r short and a little bandy, I have lately hired a orse with cropped ears and a cocked tail, on 1 1 have joined the cavalcade of pretty gemmen, I exhibit bright stirrups every fine morning in pway, and take a canter of two miles per day, e rate of 300 dollars per annum. But, sir, all ■expense has been laid out in vain, for I can lely get a partner at an assembly, or an invitation jlea-party. Pray, sir, inform me what more I oto acquire admission into the true stylish circles, k'helher it would not be advisable to charter a pie for a month, and have my cypher put on it, pone by certain dashers of my acquaintance. Yours to serve, Mai.volio DiinsTKu. TEA, A POEM. PIOM TrE MUX OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, K.SQ. ^esllg recommended to the attention of all Maidens of a certain age. » Time, my dear girls, la a knavfi wlio in tnilh Mhe fairest of beauties will pilfer their yonlh ; [by conalani attention and wily deceit. V« Is coaxing some grace to retreat ! And like crafty seducer, with subtle approach. The further iudulged, will still further encroacli. Since Uiis *' thierof the world " has made off with your bloom, And left you some score of stale yea>'3 in its room- Has deprived you of all those gay dreams, that would dance In your brains at fifteen, and your bosoms entrance ; And has forced you ahnost to renounce in despair The hope of a husband's affection and care- Since such is the case, and a case rather hard ! Permit one who holds you in special regani To furnish such hints in your loveless estate As may shelter your names from detraction and hate. Too often our maidens, grown aged I ween. Indulge lo excess in the workings of spleen ; And at times, when annoy'd by the slights of mankind. Work off their resentment— by speaking their mind : Assemble together in snuff-taking clan, And hold round the tea-urn a solemn divan : A conventinu of tattling— a tea-piirty bight, Wliicli, like meeting of witches, is brew'd up at night : Where each matron arrives, fk'aughtwith tales of surprise, With knowing suspicion and doubtful surmise ; Like the hroomstick-whiri'd hags that appear in Macbeth, Each bearing some relic of venom or death. "To stir up the toil and to double Uie trouble. That fire may burn, and that caldron may bubble." When Uie party commences, all starch'd and all glum. They talk of the weather, their corns, or sit mum ; They will tell you of camliric. of ribands, of lace. How cheap they were sold — and will name you the place. They discourse of their colds, and they hem and they cough. And complain of their servants to pass the time off; Or list to the talc of some doting mamma. How her ten weeks old baby will laugh and say taa '. lint tea, that enlivener of wit and of soul— Klore loquacious by far than the draughts of the howl. Soon unloosens the tongue and enlivens the mind. And enlightens their eyes to the faults of mankind. 'Twas thus with the Pythia, who served at the fount That llow'd near the far-famed Parnassian mount, W hilc the steam was inhaled of the sulphuric spring, Her vision expand«l, her fancy took wing; By its aid she pronounced the oracular will That Apollo commanded his sons to fulfil. But alas.' the sad vestal, performing the rite. Api)ear'd like a demon— terrific lo sight. E'en the priests of AimUo averted their eyrs. And the temple of Delphi resounded her cries. But quilling the nymph of the tripod of yore, We return to the dames of tie tea-itot once more. In harmless chit-chat an ae(piaiiitancc they roast. And serve up a friend, as they serve up a toast; Some gentle faux pas, or some female mistake. Is like sweetmeats delicious, or relished as cake : A bit of bi'oad scandal is like a dry crust. It would stick in the throat, so they butter it first With a little affectcti good-nature, and cry " NokKly regrets the thing deeiier than I." Our young ladies nibble a good name in play, As for past Inie they nibble a biscuit away : While with shrugs and surmises, the toothless old dame. As she nuimhles a crust she will mumble a name, And as the fell sisters astonished the Scot, In pnxlicting of llancpio's descendants the lot, Making shadows of kings, amid flashes of light, To appear in array and to frown in his sight, .So they conjure up spectres all hideous in hue. Which, as shades of their neighbours, are past in revimv. The wives of our cits of inferior degree W ill soak up repute in a little bohea ; The potion is vulgar, and vulgar the slang With which on their neighbours' defects Ihcy harangue ; But the scandal Improves, a refinement in wrong! As our matrons are richer, and rise to souchong. SALMAGUNDI. with hymn— .1 bevrrage that'* still more irflmtil. Our ladies (>rrasliiuii oiiliveii their iniml, And by n(Kl!i, inniiendueH, and liintu, and what not, ReputalioiM and tea Hrnd together to [lot. While madam in cambries and laces array'd. With her plate and her liveries in splendid |iarade, Will drinli in iin|icrial a friend at a sup, Or in Kiinpowder blow them by dozens all up. Ah me ! bow I groan when with full swelling sail Wafted stately along by the favouring gale, A China ship proudly arrives in our bay. Displaying her streamers and blazing away ! Oh ! more fell to our port is the cargo she bears Than grcnadoes, torix^loes, or warlike affairs : Each chest is a bombshell thrown into our town, To shatter repute and bring character down. Yc Samcpias, ye Chinquas, ye Choui|uas, so free. Who discharge on our coast your cursed cargoes of tea, Oh ! think, as ye waft the sad weed fmni your strand. Of the plagues and vexations ye deal to our land. As the upas' dread breath, o'er the plain where it flies, Knipoisons and blasts each green blade thai may ris(\ No, wherever the leaves of this shrub lind tlu^r way, The social affections soon suffer decay. Ah, ladies, and was it by Heaven design 'd That ye should be merciful, loving, and kind ! Did it form you like ang)>l8, iind send you hekny To prophesy pe,ici;— to bid charily How ! And have yc thus left your primeval estate. And wander'd so widely— so strangely of late? Alas ! the sad cause I too plainly can see — These evils have all eouie u|)on you through lea ! (;urs(Hl weed, that ciui make our fair spirits resign The character mild of their mission divine ; That can blot from Ihcir Uxsoms that tenderness true, Which from female to female forever is due! O ! how nice is the texture— how fragile the frame Of that delicate blossom, a fentile's fair fame ! 'Tis the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath ; And shrinks from the touch its if pregnant with death, How often, how often, has innocence sigh'd. Has beauty been reftof its honour— its pride. Has virtue, though pure as an angel of light, Been painted as dark as a demon of night, All offer 'd up victims, an aula da fe, At the gloomy ;abals— the dark orgies of tea ! If I, in the remnant that's lelt nieoflife. Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife. Let mc tall I implore in the slang-whauger's claw. Where the evil is o|K<n, and subject to law ; Not nibbled, .ind mumbled, and put to the rack. By the sly underminings of tea-party clack -. Omdenm me, ye g(Kls, to a news|)a|ier roasting. But s|)arc me ! O s|>arc me, a tea-table toasting ! No. XX.— MONIUV, JANUARY 23, tll08. FROM MY EI.ROW-CIIAIH. Extremum buno mihi concnle lahorem. rirg. " Soft you, a wonl or two Ix-loi-e we |iart. " In this season of festivity, when the gate of time swings open on its liingcs, and an honest rosy-faced New-Year conies waddling in, like u jolly fat-sided butler, loaded with good wishes, good httmour, and minced pies :— at this joyotis era it has iicen the cus- tom, from time immemorial, in this ancient and res- (leclable city, for periodical writers, from reverend, grave, and potent essayisis like oiirseh es, down lo the humble hut indu-strions editors of magazines,] views, and news-papers, to tender their stiL the compliments of the season ; and when tlicy | slily lliawcd their hearts with a little of Ihe gur:]| of (lattery, lo conchide by delicately duniiin>;i for their arrears of subscription money. In | manner the carriers of news-papers, who uiuloiiln belong to the ancient and hoiiournble order ofliiQ do regularly at the commencement of the year s^ their patrons with abundance of excellent conveyed in exceeding good |)oclry, for which i aforesaid good-natured patrons arc well pleased io|j them exactly twenty-live cents. In walkingj streets I am every day saluted with good wisiifsli old gray-headed negroes, whom I never recoll« have seen before; and it was but a few days agolj I was called out to receive the complimenls of and oUI woman, who last spring was employed byj CocklofI to whitewash my room and put liruig$ig| der : a phrase which, if rightly underslmHl, i little else than huddling every thing into bolts wA\ nets, so that if I want lo iiiul any particular arlkl is, in Ihe language of an bumble but expressive sajj — "looking for a neetlle in a baysljick." Nutr nisittg my visitor, I demanded by what autlioriljl wished me a " Happy ^ew-Year?" ller claim/ one of the weakest she t^oiild have urged, for \\ an innate and mortal aniipalby lo this custom ofi ting things to rights : — so giving the old witclit| larcen, I desired her forthwilb to mount her bra stick and ride off as fast as possible. Of all the various ranks of society the bakers iri to their immortal honour be it recoixied, deparllj this praclice of making a market of congratulai and, in addition lo always allowing thirleeiilo| .dozen, do with great liberality, instead of draniii the purses of their customers at the lNew-Vear,| sent them with divers large, fair, spiced cakes;vi like the shield of Achilles, or an Egyptian obeM adorne<l with ligures of a variety of strange mi that, in their conformation, out-marvel all lli(| wonders of nature. This honest gray-beard custom of seltiiij? ? certain portion of this good-for-nothing exislem purposes of cordiality, social merriment, andj cheer, is one of the itieslimable relics banded doi lis from our worthy Dutch ancestors. In | one of the manuscripts from m> worthy grandb mahogany chest of drawers, I lind the new yei r*^!, :t. r'ed with great festivity during that goliifl o! uur city, when the reins of government wetel by the renowned Rip V m Dam, who alwaysJil notir to Ihe season by s( eing out the old ycar;)l mony which consisted in plying his guests willij pers, until not one of them was capable of a " Truly," observes my grandfather, who wasj rally of these parties—" Truly, he was a tnost*[ and magnificent burgomaster! inasmuch as I right lustily carouse it with his friends about | year; roasting huge (|iiantilies of turkeys; Iwiu SALMAGUNDI. 8B Lierable minced pies; and 8niackin<i; the li|is ufall [ladies the whicli he did meet, with such sturdy Uiasis, that the same mig;ht have been heard the lance of a stone's llirow." — In liis days, according ny graiul-t'ather, were lirst invented those nolahle «, liinht new-year-cookies, which originally were iri'sseii on one side with the honest burly counte- i of tlie illustrious Hip; and on the other with t of (lie Noted St. INicholas, vulgarly called Sant.i- ; :_of all the saints in (he calendar the most ve- U(| iiy (rue Hollanders, and their unsophisticated «ndants. These cakes are (o (his lime given on I first of January to all visitors, together with a i of cherry-lwunce, or raspberry-brandy. It is i great regret, however, I observe that the sinipli- I of (liis venerable usage has been much violated nodern pretenders to style! and our respectable i-year-cookies, and cherry-bounce, elltowed aside ^Imii-cakc and outlandish luitwurs, in the same [liialourwordiy «>ld Dutch families are out-daz- Ibyiuodern upstarts, and mushroom Cockneys. liidililion to this divine «>rigin of new-year festi- I, there is something excpiisitely gra(eful, toa good- jircd mind, in seeing every face dressed in smiles; hearing the oft-repealed snlutnlions that How fclaiicously from (he heart to liie lips;— in behold- llhe poor, for once, enjoying the smiles of plenty IrorgeKing the cares which press hard upon them, )ie jovial revelry of (he feelings; (he young chil- ^ decked out in their Sunday clothes, and freed 1 ihcir only cares, (he cares of the school, tripping ugh Ihe streets on errands of pleasure; — and even Ivery negroes, those holiday-loving rogues, gor- ]isly arrayed in cast-off finery, collected in juntos iriiers, displaying (heir while teeth, and making welkin ring with bursts of laughter, — loud enough lack even (he icy cheek of old winter, 'i'here is letliiiig so pleasant in all this, (hall confess il would line real pain to behold (he frigid intluence of mu- ] style chcadng us of this jidiilee of the heart, and Itrting it, as it does every other usage of social in- Burse, into an idle and muneaning ceremony. |the annual festival of good-humour : — il comes edead of winter, when nature is without a charm ; I our pleasures are con(rac(ed to the lire-side; Iwliere every thing that unloi;ks (he icy fetters of lirart, and sets the genial current (lowing, should lierlsiied, as a stray lamb found in the wilderness, IHowcr blooming among thorns and brici's. jiiinated by these senlimenls, il was with peculiar paction I perceived (hat the last new -year was Iwilh more (ban ordinary enthusiasm. It seemed jllie good old limes had rolled back again, and pi with them all (he honest, unceremonious in- pirse of those golden days, when people were fopen and sincere, more moral, and more hos- jile Ihati now ; when every object carried about it prill which the hand of tin:c has stolen away, or Ilea deformily; when the women were more )k, more domestic, more lovely, and more true ; and when even the sun, like a hearty old blade as he is, shone with a genial lustre unknown in these de- generate days :— in short, those fairy times when I was a mad - cap boy, crowding every enjoyment into the present moment ;— making of the past an oblivion,— of the future a heaven; and careless of all that was " over the hills and far away. " Only one thing was wanting to make every part of (he celebra- tion accord with its ancient simplicity.— The ladies, who, I write il with the most piercing regret, are ge- nerally at the head of all domestic innovations, most fastidiously refused that mark of good-will, that chaste and holy salute which was so fashionable in the happy days of Governor Hip and the patriarchs.— Even the Miss Cocklofts, who belong to a family that is the lasl entrenchment behind which the manners of the good old school have retired, made violent opposition ; and whenever a gentleman entered the room, immediately put themselves in a |H)sture of defence :— this Will Wizard, with his usual shrewdness, insists was only to give the visitor a hint that they expected an attack ; and declares, he has uniformly observed that the re- sis(ance of those ladies, who make the greatest noise and bustle, is most easily overcome. This sad innova- tion originaleil with my good aunt Charily, who was as arrant a labby as ever wore whiskers ; and I am not a little afllicted to lind that she has found so many fol- lowers, even among the young and beautiful. In compliance with an ancient and venerable cus- tom, sanctioned by time and our ancestors, and more especially by my own inclinations, I will take this op- portunity to salute my readers with as many good wishes as I can possibly spare ; for in truth I have been so prodigal of late, that I have but few remain- ing. I should have offered my congratulations sooner ; but, to be candid, having made the lasl new-year's campaign, according to custom, under cousin Chris- topher, in which I have seen some pretty hard service, my head has been somewhat out of order of late, and my intellects rather cloudy for clear writing. Re- sides, I may allege as another reason, that I have de- ferred my greetings until (his day, which is exacdy one year since we inlroduced ourselves to the public; and surely periodical writers have the same right of dating from the commencement of their works, that monarchs have from the time of their coronnlioii ; or our most puissant republic, from the declaration of its independence. These good wishes are wanned into more than usual benevolence, by the thought that I am now perhaps addressing my old friends for Ihe last time. That we should (bus cut off our work in the very vi- gour of its existence may excile some liltle matter of wonder in (his eidightened community. Now though we could give a variety of good reasons for so doing, yet it would be an il'-nalurcd acl (o deprive the pu- blic of such an admirable opportunity to indulge in their favourite annisement of conjecturing. Resides, we have ever considered it as beneath persons of our dignity to account for our mov^menls or caprices. lOU SALMAGUNDI. 'I'liaiik lieavi'ii, we are not like the unhappy rulers of this enlighleiied land, accountable to the niuli for our actions, or dependent on their smiles for support! — This much, however, we will s<'iy, it is not for want of subjects that we stop our career. We are not in the situation of poor Alexander the (Ireat, who wepi, as well indeed he might, because there were no more worlds to (;ou(|ucr; for, to do justice to this queer, «Mld, ranlipole city, and this whimsical country, there is matter enough in them to keep our risible muscles and our pens going until doomsday. Most people, in taking a farewell which may per- haps l)c for ever, are anxious to part on gooil terms ; and it is usual on such melancholy occasions for even enemies to shake hands, forget their previous quarrels, and bury all former animosities in parting regrets. INow l)ecausc most people do this, I am determined to act in (|uile a different way; for as I have lived, so should I wish to die, in my own way, without imitat- ing any person, whatever may lie his rank, talents, or reputation, liesides, if 1 know our trio, we have no enmities to obliterate, no hatchet to bury, and as to all injuries— those we have long since forgiven. A I this moment there is not an individual in the world, not even the Pope himself, to whom we have any personal hostility, liul if shutting their eyes to the many striking proofs of good-nature displayed through the whole course of this work, there should be any persons so singularly ridiculous as to take offent'e at our strictures, we heartily forgive their stupidity; earnestly entreating them to ilcsisl from all manifes- tations of ill-humour, lest they should, |>eradvenlure, be classed under some one of the denominations of re- creants we have fell it our duty to hold up to public ridicule. Kven at this moment we feel a glow of part- ing philanthropy stealing upon us; — a sentiment of cordial good-will towards the niunei-ous host of read- ers that have jogged on at our heels during the lust year; and in justice to oinselves nuisl seriously pro- test, that if at any time we have treated them a little ungently, it was purely in that spirit of hearty affec- tion with which a schoolmaster drubs an unlucky ur- chin, or a luimano muleteer his recreant animal, at the very moment when his heart is brimful of loving kindness. If this be not considered an ample jiistifi- oution, so much the worse; for in that case I fear we shall remain for ever uiijuslilied : — a most desperate extremity, and worthy of every man's conuniseration. One circumstance, in particular, has tickled us mightily as we jogged along; and that is, the astonish- ing secrecy with which we have been able to carry t>n our lucubrations ! Fully aware of the profound sa- gucily of the public of Ootham, and their wondcrhd faculty of distinguishing a writer by his style, it is with great self-congratulation we tind that suspicion has never pointed to us as the authors of Salmagundi. Our gray-beard speculations have been most Itounti- f(dly attributed to sundry smart young gentlemen, who, for aught we know, have no beards at all; and we have often been highly amuseii, when they were charged with the sin of writing what their han minds never conceived, to see them affect all the lilj ing modesty and lieautiful embarrassment of deiei virgin authors. — The profound and penetratiii|,'| lie, having so long been led away from truth jtinij tiire by a constant |>erusal of those delectable liisiq and romances, from l)eyond seas, in which huiiianJ ture is for the most part wickedly mangled iiiii|| hauched, have never once imagined this worki genuine and most authentic history ; that the Cmil were a real family, dwelling in the city ;— payjn;; and lot, entitled to the right of suffrage, anil liulj several respectable oflices in the corporaliim, little do they suspect that there is a knot of nierry^ bachelors, seated siuigly in the old-fashioned [la of an old-fashioned IJutch house, with a weallictg on the top that came from Holland ; who amuse tl selves of an evening by laughuig at their neighlx in an honest way, and who manage to jog on tlin the streets of our an(;ient and venerable city, v'A ellmwing or iMMUg ellHiwcd by a living soul. When we lirsl adopted the idea of discon(ini| this work, we determined, in order to give tliec a fair o|)portunily for dissection, to declare mm one and all, absolutely defunct; for it is one uf J rare and invaluable privileges of a periodical m that by an act of innocent suicide he may iawU consign himself to the grave, and cheat the wo posthumous renown. Kut we abandoned this! for many substantial reasons. In the first place, | care but little for the opinion of critics, who wea sider a kind of freebooters in the republic of kiig who, like deer, goals, and divers other gramiiiivoi animals, gain subsistence by gorging upon tiie I and leaves of the yoinig shrubs of the forest, robbing them of their verdure, and retanliiig I progress to maturity. It also occurred to us tlialtiia an author might law lully, in all countries, self outright, yet this privilege does not extend li)| raising himself from the dead, should he be cvet| anxious; and all that is left him in such a cn.se ii lake the benelil of the metempsychosis act, aiulr under a new name and form. Far be it , therefore, from us to condemn uiirs to useless endiarrassnienis, should we ever bcdif ed to resume the guardianship of this learned ciffl CfOthani, and finish this invaluable work, Avliicii| yet but half completed. We hereby openly riously declare that we are not dead, but inleiidJ please I'rovidencc, to live lor many years locoiinj enjoy life with the geiniine relish of honest suul!i,ii less of riches, honours, and every thing but aj name, among good fellows; and with the full eij tation of shuffling off the remnant of existence,! the excellent fashion of that merry Grecian, whoj laughing. TO THE LADIES. By ANTnONV EVEROnBEN, GENT. Nkxt to our being a knot of independent ( chelors, there is nothing on which we pride om SALMAGUNDI. iOl ore liiglily than upon possessing that true cliivalric JHiit of gallantry, which distinguished the days of [ing Arthur, and his valiant knighls of llie Round- fable. We cannot, therefore, leave the lists wlicre jre liave so long been tilting at folly, williout giving a liiewell salutation to those noble dames and beauteous biinsels who have honoured us with their presence at lie tourney. Like true knights, the only recompense jte crave is the smile of Iieauly, and the approbation f those gentle fair ones, whose smile and whose ap- irolKilion far excel all the trophies of honour, and all lie rewards of ambition. True it is that we have ufTered inlinitc perils, in standing forth as their chani- koiis, from the sly attacks of sundry arch cailifs, who, lithe overflowings of their malignity, have even ac- Mseil us of entering the lists as defenders of the very )ibles and faults of the sex. — Would that we couhl ^eet with these recreants hand to hand; they should iceive no more quarter than giants and enchanters in vmance. Had we a spark of vanity in our natures, here is a jlorious occasion to show our skill in refuting these lliberal insinuations. lint there is something manly, ndingenuous, in makin;^ an honest confession of one's ITenoes when about retiring from the world ; and so, klilhotilany more ado, we doff our helmets, and thus jiublicly plead guilty to the deadly sin of u()ui)-\ atijkk; loping and expecting forgiveness from our go(Ml-na- |ured readers, yet careless whether they l)estow it or (A. And in (his we do but imitate sundry condemn- Icriininals; who, finding themselves convicted of a apilal crime, do generally in their last dying speech nake a confession of all their previous offences, with ^reatopenness and candour, which confession is always mA with infinite delight by all true lovers of bio- traphy. Slill, however, notwithstanding our notorious de- folion to the gentle sex, we have endeavoured, on Bivers occasions, with all the [lolite and becoming de- licacy of true respect, to reclaim them from many of lliose delusive follies and unseemly peccadilloes in ■liicii they are nidiuppily loo prone to indulge. We liave warned them against the sad «;onse<picnces of |iicoiintering midniglil damps and witiiering wintry Jdasls— we have endeavoined, with pious hand, to liiatch them from the wildering mazes of the waltz, jiiul lliiis rescuing them from the arms of strangers, restore them to the bosoms of their friends— to ireserve them from the nakedness, the famine, the lobweb muslins, the vinegar cruet, the corset, the llay-tapo, the l)uckram, and all the other miseries and lacks of a line figure. Ihil, above all, we have endca- loiired to lure them from the mazes of a dissipated world, wherethey wander aboutcarelcss of their value, fcnlil Ihey lose their original worth; and to restore peni, before i' Is too late, to the sacred asylum of home, lliesoil most congenial to the opening blossom of female Juveliness— where it blooms and expands in safety, in (le fostering sunshine of maternal affection, and where p heavenly sweets are best known and appreciated. Modern philosopiiers may determine the proper des- tination of the sex— they may assign to them an exten- sive and brilliant orbit, in which to revolve, to the delight of the million and the confusion of man's su- [>erior intellect ; but when on this subject we disclaim philosophy, and appeal to the higher tribunal of the lieart — and what heart that has not lost its better feel- ings would ever seek to reiH)sc its hap|iiness on the bo- som of one, whose pleasures all lay without the thresh- old of home — who snatched enjoyment only in the whirl|H)ul of dissipation, and amid the thoughtless and evanescent gaiety of a ball-room ? The fair one who is for ever in the career of amusement may for a while dazzle, astonish, and entertain, but we arc content with cohlly admiring; and fondly turn from glitter and noise, to seek the fire-side of social life, there to conlide our dearest and best affections. Yet some there are, and we delight to mention them, who mingle freely with the world, unsullied by its contaminations; whose brilliant minds, like the stars of the firmament, are destined to shed their light abroad and gladden every beholder with their ra- diance. To withhold them from the world would be doing it injustice : they are inestimable gems, which were never formed to be shut up in caskets; but to be the pride and ornament of elegant society. We have endeavoured always to discriminate be- tween a female of this superior order, and the thought- less votary of pleasure ; who destitute of intellectual resources, is servilely dependent on others for every little pittance of enjoyment — who exhibits herself in- cessantly amid the noise, the giddy frolic, and capri- cious variety of fashionable assemblages— dissipating her languid affections on a crowd— lavishing her ready smiles with indiscriminate prodigality on the worthy, or the undeserving— and listening, with equal va- cancy of mind, to the conversation of the enlightened, the frivolity of the coxcomb, and the flourish of the fiddlestick. There is a certain artificial polish— a common-place vivacity acquired by perpetually mingling in the beau moude: which, in the commerce of the world, sup- plies tlie place of natural suavity and goml-humour, but is purchased at the expense of all original and sterling traits of character. By a kind of fashionable discipline, the eye is taught to brighten, the lip to smile, and the whole countenance to emanate with the semblance of friendly welcome— while the bosom is imwarmed by a single spark of genuine kindness, or good-will. This elegant simulation may be ad- mired as a perfection of art; but the heart is not to be deceived by the superlicial illusion. It turns with delight to the timid retiring fair one, whose smile is the smile of nature; whose blush is the soft suffusion of delicate sensibility; and whose affections, un- blighted by the chilling effects of dissipation, glow with the tenderness and purity of artless youth. Hers is a singleness of mind, a native innocence of manners, and a sweet timidity, that steal insensibly \\[m\ the heart, and lead it a willing captive :— though 102 SALMAGUNDI. .t I 1 venturing occasionally among Ihe fairy haunts of plea- sure, she shrinks from the hroad glare of notoriety, and seems to seek refuge among her friends even from the admiration of the world. These observations bring to mind a little allegory in one of the manuscripts of the sage Alustaplia, which, being in some measure applicable to the sub- ject of this essay, we transcribe for the benefit of our fair readers. Among the numerous race of the Bedouins, who people the vast tracts of Arabia Deserta, is a small tribe, remarkable for their habits of solitude and love of independence. They are of a rambling disposi- tion, roving from waste to waste, slaking their thirst at such scanty pools as are found in those cheerless plains, and glorying in the unenvied liberty they enjoy. A youthful Arab of this tribe, a simple son of nature, at length growing weary of his precarious and un- settled mode of life, determined to set out in search of a more permanent abode. " I will seek," said he, " some happy region, some gePTOUs clime where the dews of heaven diffuse fertility;— I will lind out some unfailing stream ; and, forsaking the roving life of my forefathers, will settle on its Iwrders, dispose my minil to gentle pleasures and tranquil enjoyments, and never wander more." Enchanted with this picture of pastoral felicity, he departed from the tents of his companions; and hav- ing journeyed during five days, on the sixth, as the Sim was just rising in all the splendours of the east, he lifted up his eyes and beheld extended before him, in smiling luxuriance, the fertile regions of Arabia the Happy. Gently swelling hills, tufted with ».loom- ing groves, swept down into luxuriant vales, ena- melled with flowers of never-withering beauty. The sun, no longer darting his rays with torrid fervour, beamed with a genial M'armth that gladdened and enriched the landscape. A pure and temperate se- renity, an air of voluptuous repose, a smile of con- tented abundance, pervaded the face of nature, and every zephyr breathed a thousand delicious odours. The soul of the youthful wanderer expanded with delight; he raised his eyes to heaven, and almost mingled, with his tribute of gratitude, a sigh of re- gret that he ha<l lingered so long amid the sterile so- litudes of the desert. With fond impatience he hastened to make choice of a stream where he might fix bis habitation, and taste the promised sweets of this land of delight. — Hut here commenced an unforeseen perplexity ; for, though he beheld innumerable streams on every side, yet not one could he find which completely answered his high-raised expectations. One abounded with wild and picturesque beauty, but it was capricious and unsteady in its course; sometunes dashing its angry billows against the rocks, and often raging and overflowing its Iwiiks. Another flowed smoothly along, without even a ripple or a murmur; but its current was dull, turi)id, and sluggish. A third was pure and transparent, but its watei-s were of a chilling coldness, and it liad rucks and flints in its bosom, m fourth was dulcet in its tinklings, and graceful In ||,f nieanderings; — but it had a cloying sweetness i palled upon the taste; while a iifth [assessed a spar) ling vivacity and a pungency of flavour, that deten the wanderer from repeating his draught. The youthful Bedouin began to weary with rriiiilei trials and repeated disap[iointments, when his alia tion was suddenly attracted by a lively brook vlnj^ dancing waves glittered in the sunbeams, and wIkd prattling current communicated an air of bewitchiii;| gaiety to the surrounding landscape. The heart t the way-worn traveller beat with expectation; 1 on regarding it attentively in its course, he found tlDi| it constantly avoided < he embowering shade; loiierl ing with equal fondness, whether gliding through UkI rich valley or over the barren sand ; — that the fn-l grant flower, Ihe fruitful shrub, and worthlessbraniblel were alike fostered by its waves, and that its curreal was often interrupted by unprofitable weeds. Wul idle ambition h at length expanded itself beyond ji proper LK)i!nJs, and spread into a shallow waste i water, v.'(jliiule of l)eauty or utility, and l)iil)l)lin;| along -.v i I i ! unintcresluig vivacity and vapid turbiilenctl The soil of the desert turned away with a sigho regret, and pitied a stream which, if content wiilil its natural limits, might have been the pride of ilxl valley, and the object of all his wishes. PensiTtl musing, and disappointed, he slowly pursued liis mil almost hopeless pilgrimage, and had rambled lor sowl time along the margin of a gen* !u rivulet, before btl became sensible of its beauties. — It was a simple p^l toral stream, which, shunning the noonday glare,! pursued its unobtrusive course through retired anil tranquil vaies ; — now dimpling among flowery banbl and tufted shrubbeiy; now windmg among spinl groves, whose aromatic foliage fondly bent down l| meet the limpid wave. Sonnelimes, but not often, i would ventuie from its covert to stray throiiglial flowery meadow ; but quickly, as if fearful of beiii;! seen, stole back again into its more congenial shadtJ and there lingered with sweet delay. Wliercverill bent its course, Ihe face of nature brightened inJ smiles, and a perennial spring reigned upon its borl ders. The warblers of the woodland deliglileil Itl quit their recesses and carol among its bowers ; wliikr the turtlenlove, the timid fawn, the soft-eyed gazd,! and all the rural populace, who joy in the seqnester-[ ed haunts of nature, resorted to its vicinity.— Its purt transparent waters rolled over snow-white sands, aoi heaven itself was reflected in its tranquil Irasom. The simple Arab threw himself upon its verdanl margin; — he tasted the silver tide, and it was like! nectar to his lips ; — he bounded with transport, f«[ he had found the object of his wayfaring. " Here,"| cried he, "will I pitch my tent;— here will I| my days; for pure, O! fair stream, is thy gentle cnt'l rent; beauteous are thy borders, and the grove mi be a paradise that is refreshed by thy nieanderings!' SALMAGUNDI. iO," PonJent 0|M!ra intemipla. f'ifij. The work's all aback. Link. Fid. "How hard it is," exclaims the divine Confutse, «lter known anionf^ the illiterate by the name of <)nfucius, "for a man to bite off his own nose!" It lliis moment, I, William Wizard, Esq. feel the kl force of this remark, and cannot but give vent to Ly tribulation at being obliged, through the whim of tjend Langstaff, to stop short in my literai7 career, Jrhen at the very [toint of astonishing my country, |nd reaping the brightest laurels of literature. We laily hear of shipwrecks, of failures, and l)ankrupt- lies; they are trifling mishaps which, from their fre- [uency, excite but little astonishment or sympathy ; utit is not often that we hear of a man's letting im- ortaiity slip through his fingers; and when he does lieet with such a misfortune, who would deny him > comfort of bewailing his calamity ? Next to the embargo laid upon our commerce, the [reatest public annoyance is the embargo laid upon urwork; in consequence of which the produce of by wits, like that of my country, must remain at tome; and my ideas, like so many merchantmen in frt, or redoubtable frigates in the Potomac, moulder Ivay in the mud of my own brain. I know of few iings in this world more annoying than to be inter- upled in the middle of a favourite story, at the most hteresting part, where one expects to shine; or to lave a conversation broken offjust when you are about ning out with a score of excellent jokes, not one of |fbich but was good enough to make every line figure 1 corsets literally split her sides with laughter. — In ne such predicament am I placed at present; and I J protest to you, my good-looking and well-beloved leaders, by the chop-slicks of the immortal Josh, I was I the very brink of treating you with a full broadside ibe most ingenious and instructive essays that your nous noddles were ever bothered with. In the first place, I had, with infinite labour and tins, and by consulting the divine Plato, Sanchonia- «n, Apollonius Rhodius, Sir Jolm Harrington, Noah IVebster, and others, fully refuted all those wild |heories respecting the first settlement of our vene- l)le country; and proved, beyond contradiction, that Merica, so far from being, as the writers of upstart Europe denominate it, the New- World, is at least as bid as any country in existence, not excepting Egypt, jChina, or even the land of the Assiniboils; which, onling to the traditions of that ancient people, has ^Iready assisted at the funerals of thirteen suns, and bur hundred and seventy thousand moons ! I had likewise written a long dissertation on cer- lain hieroglyphics discovered on those fragments of k moon, which have lately fallen, with singular iropriety, in a neighbouring state, and have thrown onsiderable light on the state of literature and the firts in that planet— showing that the universal lan- uage which prevails there is High Dutch, thereby b)roviiig it to be the most ancient and original tongue, pnd rnrrolK)rating the opinion of a celebrated poet, that it is the langnage in which the serpent tempted our grandmother Eve. To support the theatric department I had several very judicious critiques, ready written, wherein no quarter was shown either to authors or actors ; and I was only waiting to determine at what plays or per- formances they should be levelled. As to the grand spectacle of Cinderella, which is to \\e represented this season, I had given it a most unmerciful handling ; showing that it was neither tragedy, comedy, nor farce— that the incidents were liighly improbable — that the prince played like a perfect harlequin— that the white mice were merely powdered for the occa- sion — and that the new moon had a most outrageous copper nose. But my most profound and erudite essay in embryo is an analytical, hypercritical review of these Salma- gundi lucubrations; which I had written partly in revenge for the many waggish jokes played off against me by my confederates, and partly for the purpose of saving much invaluable laliour to the Zoiluses and Dennises of the age, by detecting and exposing all the similarities, resemblances, synonymes, analogies, coin- cidences, etc. etc., which occur in this work. I hold it downright plagiarism for any author to write, or even to think, in the same manner with any other writer that either did, doth, or may exist. It is a sage maxim of law — '^^ Iqnm-aniia neminem, exeu- sat" — and the same has been extended to literature : so that if an author shall publish an idea that has been ever hinted by another, it shall be no exculpation for him to plead ignorance of the fact. All, therefore, that I had to do was to take a good pair of spectacles, or a magnifying-glass, and with Salmagundi in hand and a table-full of books before me, to mouse over them alternately, in a corner of Cockloft library ; care- fully comparing and contrasting all odd, ends, and fragments of sentences. Little did honest Launce sus- pect, when he sat lounging and scribbling in his elbow- chair, with no other stock to draw upon than his own brain, and no other authority to consult than the sage Linkum ! — little did he think that his careless, un- studied effusions would receive such scrupulous inves- tigation. By lalx)rious researches, and patiently collating words, wliere sentences and ideas did not correspond, I have detected sundry sly disguises and metamorphoses, of which, I'll be bound, Langstaff himself is ignorant. Thus, for instance — The Little Man in Black is evi- dently no less a personage than old Goody Blake, or Goody Something, filched from the Spectator, who confessedly filched her from Otway's " wrinkled hag with age grown double." My friend Launce has taken the honest old woman, dressed her up in the cast-, off suit worn by Twaits, in Lampedo, and endeavour- ed to palm the imposture upon the enlightened in- habitants of Gotham.— No further proof of the fact need be given than that Goody Blake was taken for a witch, and the little man in black for a conjuror ; and that they Imth lived in villages, the inhabitants of 104 SALMAGUNDI. which v/ere distinguished by a most respectful ab- horrence of hobgoblins and broomsticks : — to be sure theastonisiiing similarity ends here, but surely that is enough to prove that the little man in black is no other than Goody lilake in the disguise of a white witch. Tims, also, the sage Mustapha, in mistaking a brag- party for a convention of magi studying hieroglyphics, may pretend to originality of idea and to a familiar acquaintance with the blackletter literati of the east ; but this Tripolitan trick will not pass here. — I refer those who wish to detect his larceny to one of those wholesale jumbles, or hodge-podge collections of science, wliich, like a tailor's pandemonium, or a gil)- let pie. are receptacles for scientific fragments of all sorts and sizes. The reader, learned in dictionary studies, will at once perceive I mean an encyclopedia. There, under the title of magi, Egypt, cards or hie- roglyphics, I forget which, will be discovered an idea similar to thatof Mustapha, as snugly concealed as truth at the bottom of a well, or the misletoe, amid the shady branches of an oak : — and it may at any time l)e drawn from its lurking-place, by those hewers of wood and drawers of water, who labour in the hum- bler walks of criticism. This is assuredly a most un- pardonable error of the sage Mustapha, who had been the captain of a ketch : and of course, as your nau- tical men are for the most part very learned, ought to have known better. But this is not the only blunder of the grave mussulman, who swears by the head of Amrou, the beard of Barbarossa, and the sword of Khalid, as glibly as our good Christian soldiers ana- thematize body and soul, or a sailor his eyes and odd limbs. ]Now I solemnly pledge myself to the world that in all my travels through the east, in Persia, Arabia, China, and Egypt, I never heard man, wo- man, or cliild, utter any of those preposterous and new fangled asseverations; and that so far from swearing by any man's head, it is considered, through- out tlie east, the greatest insult that can be offered to eitiier the living or dead to meddle in any shape even with his beard. — These are but two or three specimens of the exposures I would have made ; but I should have descended still lower, nor would have spared the most insignificant and or hut, or neverthe- less, provided I could have found a ditto in the Spec- tator or the dictionary ; but all these minutix 1 queath to the Lilliputian literati of this sagaciog community, who are fond of hunting " such sm^ deer," and I earnestly pray they may find full en ploymenl for a twelvemonth to come. But the most outrageous plagiarisms of friei Launcelot are those made on sundry living persi ages. Thus : Tom Straddle has been evidently slulal from a distinguished Brummagem emigrant, sin«l they both ride on horseback ; Dabble, the little fnta man, has his origin in a certain aspiring couiisellorl wlio is rising in the world as rapidly as the heavineil of his head will permit ; mine uncle John will IjearJ tolerable comparison, particularly as it respects i sterling qualities of bis heart, with a worthy yeonml of Westchester-country ; and to deck out Aunt CIb.| rity, and the amiable Miss Cocklofts, he has rifled ibtl charms of half the ancient vestals in the city. JNafl he has taken unpardonable liberties with my o\ri| person ! — elevating me on the substantial pedeslalstll a worthy gentleman from China, and trickin<; i out with claret coats, tight breeches, and silrerJ sprigged dickeys, in such sort that I can scarcely i^l cognise my own resemblance — whereas I alisoluletil declare that I am an exceeding good-looking imh,| neither too tall nor too short, too old nor too younji with a person indirferently robust, a head ratiierb-l dining to be large, an easy swing in my walk, anil that I wear my own hair, neither queued, nor mA ped, nor turned up, but in a fair, pendulous, oscillat-l ing club, lied with a yard of nine-penny black ribanil And now, having said all that occurs to me on llie| present pathetic occasion— having made my speech,! written my eulogy, and drawn my portrait — I bidnjl readers an affectionate farewell : exhorting them III live honestly and soberly— paying their taxes, anil reverencing the state, the church, and the corpon-l tion — reading diligently the Bible, the almanac, (fail newspaper, and Salmagundi, which is all the reading! an honest citizen has occasion for — and esclievin^l all spirit of faction, discontent, irreligion, and cri-| ticism. Which is all at present. From their departed friend, William Wizard. BEGINNI? Rcnn THE ACCOUNT END OF SALMAGUNDI. I ;<-f-7/M>' lO I .-/■^ ;.■ :i. u A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK, FROU THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD TO THE END OF THE DUTCH DYNASTY. %*. I COW*i:<ilJSG, AMOSIO MASiV KDRPUISnti AJiD C|;RI0IIS MATTEH.S, TUB imilTTEIARLE PO:\nEHi:«r.S OP WALTKR THE nOliBTKR, THE DISASTROUS PROJECTS OF MltLIAH T|||i TESTY, AMD THE CHIVALRIC ACHIRVEMEMTS OF PETER TUB HE\DSTRO.'«r., THE THREE niTCU GOVERNORS OF NEW-AMSTERDAM: REMR THE OMM Al:THE^TIC HISTORY OF TUETIMES THAT EVER HATH BKEM OR EVER WILL BE PUDLISBED. BY DIEDRIGH KIVIGKERBOCKER. Dc maar^ctb Mc in iuistcr lag, Bit komt rati klaarljtib aaii im bag. ■'..Sb'V' ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR. M Wizard. I It was some time, if I recollect right, in the cariy part of eaiitumii of iSOU, that a stranger applied for lodgings at ! Independent Columbian Hotel, in Mullterrj-street, of Ibicb I am landlord. He was a small, brisk-looking old tnlieniao, dressed in a rusty black coat, a pair of olive vel- ^1 breeches, and a small cocked hat. He had a few gray i plaited and clubbed l>ohiiid, and his beard seemed to bof some eight and forty hours' growth. The only piece ■finery which he bore about hira was a bright pairof square her shoe-buckles, and all his baggage was contained in a pir of saddle-bags, which he can-ied under his arm. His lole ap|)earance was something out of the common run ; I my wife, who is a very shrewd body, at once set him bvD for some eminent country schoolmaster. I As the Independent Columbian Hotel is a very small e, I was a little puzzled at first where to put him ; but |;Kire, who seemed taken with his looks, would needs put Din her best chamber, which is genteelly set off with the rafiles of the whole family, done in black, by those two painters, Jarvis and Wood; and commands a very feasant view of the new grounds on the Collect, together lilh tlierear of the Poor-house and Bridewell, and the full pot of the Hospital; so that it is the cheerfullcst room in eirhole house. |During the whole time that he stayed with us we found a a very worthy good sort of an old gentleman, though lilUe queer ui bis ways. He would keep in his room for fs together, and if any of the children cried, or made a ! alwut his door, he would bounce out in a great pas- ^n, with his hands full of papers, and say something about leranging his ideas; " which made my wife believe somc- |ies that he was not altogether cmnpos. Indeed there was '■ than one reason to make her think so, for his room 8 always covered with scraps of paper and old mouldy \ lying about at sixes and sevens, which he would her let any body touch; for he said he had laid them all tir in their proper places, so that be might know where lOnd them; though for that matter, he was half his lime worrying aI>out the house in search of some book or writing which he had carefully put out of the way. I shall never forget w hat a pother he once made, because my wife clean- ed out his room when his back was turned, and put every thing to rights; for he swore he would never be able to get liLs papere in order again in a twelvemonth. Upon this my wife ventured to ask him, what he did with so many liooks and papers? and he told her, that he was "seeking for im- mortality ; " w hich made her think more than ever tliat the poor old gentleman's head was a little cracked. He was a very inquisitive body, and when not in his room was continually poking about town, hearing all the news, and prying into every thing that was going on : this was particularly the case alwut election time, when he did no- thing but bustle aliout from poll to poll, attending all ward- meetings and committee-rooms ; though I could never find that be took part with either side of the question. On the contrary, he would come home and rail at both parlies with great wrath— and plaiidy proved one day, to thesatislaclion of my wife and three old ladies who were drinking tea with her, that the two parties were like two rogues, each tugging at a skirt of the nation; and that in the end they would tear the very coat off its back, and expose its nakedness. Indeed he was an oracle among the neighbours, who would collect around him to hear him talk of an afternoon, as he smoked his pipe on the bench before the door; and I really believe he would have brought over the whole neighbourhood to his ow n side of the question, if they could ever have found out what it was. He was very much given to argue, or, as he called it, philosophise, about the most trifling matter, and, to do him justice, I never knew any liody that was a match for him, except it was a grave-looking old gentleman w ho called now and then to see him, and often posed him in an argument. But this is nothing surprising, as I have since found out tliis stranger is the city librarian, and of course must be a man of great learning; andl have my doubts if be had not some hand in the following history. As our lodger had been a long time with us, and we had never received any pay, my wife began to lie somewhat uneasy, and cnrioiis to And out who and what he was. She 1i lUO HISTORY OF NE\V-\ORK. uvranlinf;!)' made Ik)MIo pill the question to his frknul, the lilirarian, wlio rppliod in liis dry way tliat lie was one of llie literati ; wliieli slie sup|M)S(Hl to mean some new |)ai'ty in politics. I seorn to pnsli a lodger for Ills pa), so I let day utter day pass on willioul dmming the old gentleman for a farthing; but my wile, who alwa>s takes these niatlere on hers«>lf, and is, as I said, a shrewd kind of a woman, at Inst got out of patienre, and hinted that she thought it high time "some iwople should have a sight of some jK^op'.e'? money." I'o which the old gentleman replied, in a mighty touchy manner, that she ueeil not make hersi<lf uneasy, for that he had a ti-easwe there ( pointing to liis saddle-bags ) worth her whole house put together. This was the only answer wc could ever get from him ; and as my wife, by some of those odd ways in which women find out every thing, learnt that lie was of very gre^t connexions, lieing related to the Knic- kerbockers of Scaghlikokc, and consin-gcrman to the Con- gn«s-man of that name, she did not like to ti-eat him unci- villy. What is more, she even offered, merely by way of making things easy, to let him live scot-free, if he would leach the children their letters; and to try her iNwt and get the neighbours to send their children also : but the old gentleman took it in such dudgeon, and seemed soafTronl<>d at being taken for a schoolmaster, that she never dared speak on the subjet^t again. Alwut tw months ago, he went out of a morning, with a bundle in his hand— and has never been heard of since. All kinds of inquiries were made after him, but in vain. 1 wrote to his relations at Scaghtikoke, but they sent for answer, that he had not Iteen there since the year l)cfore last, when he had a great dispute with the Congress-man alNHit politics, and left the place in a hulT, and they had neither heaitl nor seen any thing of him from that time to this. I must own I felt very nmch won-ied alK)ut the poor old gentleman, for I thought something liad must have ha|>- pcned to him, that he should Ite missing so long, and never n'tuni to pay his bill. I therefore advertised him in the newspapers, and though my melancholy advertisement was pnblisheil by several humane printers, yet I have never been able to learn any thing satisfactory about him. My wife uovV said it was high time to lake care of our- selves, and see if he had left any thing l)ehind in his nwm, that would pay ns for bis iHwrd and lodging. Wc found nothing, however, but some old lM)oks and musty writings, and his saddle-bags; which, being opened in the pi-esence of the librarian, contained only a few articles of worn-out clothes, and a large bundle of blotted papei-. On looking over this, the librarian told us, he bad no doubt it was the Iraasure which the old gentleman had spoke about; as it proved to lie a most excellent and faithful Histohy or INkw- YoRK, which he advised us by all means to publish : assur- ing IIS that it would lie so eagerly lionght up by a discerning public, that he linil no doubt it would lie enough to pay our nriH'ars ten limes over. Upon this we got a very learnvd scliooliiiaslor, who l(>nclu>s our cliililreii, to prepaiv it for the pivss, which he accordingly has done; and has, more- over, added to it a numlier of valuable notes of his own. This, tliei-cfore, is a true statement <if my irasons for having this wiirk printed, without wailing for the consent of the aullior : and I here declare, that if he ever returns ( though I luiicli fear some unhappy accident has liefallen him), I stand ready to account with him like a true ond bunest man. W liich is ull at present — From the public's liuinble servant, Sktii llAMusmr. /nrfcpcHrfrfif (oliimliIdH Hotel, A'ctr-J'Dck. TiiK foregoing account of the author was prefixed lo g first eililioii of this work. Shortly after its publicaliniJ letter was received from him, by Mr Ilandaside, daledaiJ small IHilcli village on the luniks of the Hudson, whithnti had travelled for the puiiMise of inspecting certain anrjq records. As this was one of those few and happ) vil iuto which newspapers never find their way, it is dm J matter of surprise that Mr Knickerbocker should nevorh seen the numcmiis advertisements that were made cod iiig him ; and that be should learn of the publicatiou ot^ history by mere accident. He expressed much concern at its premature appeanu as then>by he was prevented from making several imp corrections and alterations; as well as fhim profllingk many curious hints which he had collected during liislm^ along the shores of the Tap|>aan Sea, and his sojuuroi Haverstraw and Esopns. Finding that there was no longer any immediate iie for his return to New -York, be extended his journey ujid the residence of his relations at Scaghtikoke. On Im \ thither, he stopiHHl for some davs at AHiaiiy, fur which c 'le is known to have entertained a great partiality, found it, however, considerably altered, and wasniucho cernetlat the inroads and unprovements which the Yanl were making, and the coiise<|iient diH'Uneof the gixxJo Dutch manners. IndcMl he was informed that these il truders were making sad innovations in all parts of the si where they bad given great trouble and vexation to l regular Dutch settlers, by the introduction of turnpike liiie and country sch(Nilhougi>s. It is said also, that Mr Knid bocker shmik his head sorrowfully at noticing the | dec«iy of the great \ under Heytleii |ialac(< : lint was hi|d indignant at liiutiiig that the ancient Dutch church, vhi sIoimI in the middle of the street, had been pulled down m his lust visit. The fame of Mr Knickei-UM-ker's history having ivati even to Alliun). he ivceivtHl much flattering alteiilionfra its worthy burghers, some of whom, however, poinleda two or three very great errors into which he had falli particularly that of suspendinga lump of sugar over Ihtil iNiny tea-tables, which, they assured him, had lH>eii itisc tinued for some years past. Several families, inorroni were somewhat piqued that their ancestors had luil I mentioned in bis work, and showed great jealousy uf (In neighlMini's who hud Ikhmi thus distinguished; wliilol latter, it must 1h> confessed, plumed themselves vastly Ihi upon ; considering these recordings in the light of Idln IMtent of nobility, establishing their claims to aiicr*lii-j which, ill this republican country, is a matter of uutlC solicitude and vaiii-glory. It is also said, that he enjoyed high favour and coiinleni from the governor, who once aske«l him to dinner, and « seen two or three times to shake hands w itii him, nh they met in the street; which certainly was goiiiR i lengths, considering that they differed in politics. IihIh certain of the governor's confidential friends, to wiiomlj could venture to speak his mind firely on such iiinllcrsj assured us that he privately enterloined a coiisidernblo H will for our autlioi^-nay, he even once went so fam^ declare, and that openly too, and at his own table, jiistif dinner, that " Kiiickeriiocker was a very well-nirnnini!" of an old geiitleniaii, and no fool." Fitim oil which n* have Ik'cii led to suppose, that had our author lieeiiofifiS cut p4ilitics, and written for the newspaper iiistpmlj wasting his talents on histories, he might have risen tuK post of honour and profit : peradventure to lie a iwUf pulilic, or even a jnslicc in the teu-pmmd court. IIISTOUY OF KEW-YOUK. 107 J Bcsiilc the honours niid civilitifs already menliuiied, he l» much caressed by Uie lilerati urAlltaiiy ; partieularly by jr John (^)M)k, who enterlaiii'.-d him very hospitably at his Irrulaling library ami reading-nM)in, w here they used tu \xai Spa water, aud talk alwul the nnrienls. He f«Hind (r Cutii a man after his uw n lieart— of great literary rc- utb, and a curioiLs collevtor of lHH)ks. At parting, the liter, in li'sliniony of friendship, made him a pivsenl of the )ri) oldest works in his colleelion; which were the earliest Uilionuf the IlicdelburKh (^ateclhsm, and Adrian Vander Lick's I'auioiis account of the New-Netherlands : by the ^tof svhich, Mv Knickerbocker proOletl gi-eally in this his nind edition. lllavinK iNissetl some time very a|ire(>ably at Alltany, our Lihur pnH'eiHted to Scaghtikoke ; w here, it is but justice to \\, he was irveivcil with o|)en arms, and trealeil with won- tIuI loving-kindness, lie was nuich looke«i up to by the fa- |ilt, being the lii-st historian of the name ; and was ctmsidei^ lilniost as great a man as his cousin the Congix>ss-man — |ilh whom, by the by, be became iterfeclly reconciled, and atriH'led a stntng friendship. Ilu spite, however, of the kindness of his relations, and jeir jin'at attention to bis comforts, the old gentleman I beciiiue restless and discontentiHl. His history iH'ing L|ilislu<d, he had no longer any business to occupy his Mifilits, nor any scheme to excite his ho|H>s and ai>tici|)a- This, to a busy mind like his, was a truly deplorable iilion ; and, had he not Ih'cu a man oi inlle\ible morals irrfiular habits, tliere would have iH>eu great danger of I taking to politics, or diinking— both which pernicious $wr daily sra men driven to by mera spleen and idleness, litis true he sometimes employed himself in prc|HU'ing u »nd edition of his liislor), whe>-e='i lie endeavoured to ft and improve many passages with which he was dis- ;fl(d, and to rratify some mistakes that had crept into it ; ^lif was iMrtieularly anxious that his work should Im* uot- Wv'\\s antheuticity— which, indee«l, is the very life and jtlnf history. But the glow of couiposition had departed ehad to leave many places untouched which he would nhare altered; and even when; he did make alterations, lwnie«l always in doubt whether tlu>y were fur the licttcr Illif woi-se. Iliftcr a residence of some time at Sraghtikokc, he U^gaii 'ejaslrong desire to return t(» New-York, which he ever [anini with the warmest alTt^tion; not merely iK'causo it ihiii native city, but iM^cause he really considennl it the I lx>il city in the whole world. On his return, he enler- |inlo the full enjoyuunit of the advantages of a literary tilalion. He was conlinualh im|H)rtuned to write ad- «ni(M)ts, petitions, haud-liills, and pi-oductions of similar port; and, although he never meddled with the public 's.yct had he the credit of writing innmuerable essays i tinart things, that app<>ared on all subjects, and all sides lliie question; in all which he was clearly detected "by |«l5le." piecunhncted, moreover, a c«msiderable debt at tlie post- f, ill consequence of the niimennu letters ho re(M)ived I authors and priiiten soliciting his suliscription ; and |»asaiiplii>d to by every charitable society for yearly dn- lons, which he gave very cheerfully, cuusidering these plicatioiis as s«) many compliments. Ho was once invited <Krral corporation dinner; and was even twicefiiimmnn- I to alleiul as a juryman at the court of quarter sessions. ^tHl.soivnowneildid hclHTOine, tliathecould no longer ] iInhiI, as foruieily, in all holes and comers of the cil) , nling lo the lient of his hiinioiir, unnoticed and imiii- mptnl ; but several Uiues, when he has been sauntering the streets, on his usual rambles of obsenation, cqiiipiMHi with his c^iiie and cocked bat, the little boys at {day liave Ihh'u know u to cry, " There gws Diedrich ! "—at which the old gentleman seenunl not a little pleased, looking upou these salutations in the light of the praises of posterity. Ill a woni, if wo take into consideration all these various honours and distinctions, together with an eiulM^rant eulo- giiim |>jiss(Hl on him in the Portfolio ( with w liicli. we are told, the old gentleman was so much overpowered, that he was sick for two or tbi-ee days ), it must tie confessed that few authors have ever lived to receive such illustrious rewards, or have so completely cujoyed in advance their own im- mortality. Ailer his return from Scaghtikoke, Mr Knickerbocker took up bis residence at a little rural retreat, which the Sliiy vcsaiils had granted him on the family domain, in gra- titude for his honourable mention of their ancestor. It was pleasantly sitiiatini on the iMnilers of one of the salt niai-slie.s lH!yond Corlear's Hmik : subject, indeed, lo be o«Tasionally oveiilowi>d, and much infested, in the summer time, with ii<iis(|uitoes; but otherwise very agreeable, producing abun- dant ci-ops of Malt-grass and bull-rushes. Here, we are sorry tti say, the giMMl old gentleman fell dangerously ill of a fever, tRTasioned by the neighlM)uriiig inaKluvs. When he ftmnd his end approaching, he dispos- ed of bis woi-ldly affairs, leaving the bulk of his fortune to the New-York Historical Society; his HiiHlelhurgh liale- chisin, and \'aiidcr Doiiek's work, to the city library ; aiul his Middle-lNigs to Mr Handaside. He forgave all his ene- mies,— that is losay, all who bore any enmity towaixis him ; for as to himself, he declareil be died in goml will with all the woi-ld. And, after dictating several kind messages lo Ills relations at Scaghtikoke, as well as lo certain of our most siilistantiul Dutch ritiiens, he expiivd in the anus of his friend the librarian. His remains were interred, arroi-diiig to his own re<|nest, in St Murk's cluireh-yaitl, close by the iKines of his favourite hero, Peter Stnyvesant ; and it is niiuoured, that the Histo- rical SiH'iely have it in mind to eii>ct a wtiudeii munument to his lueuiury iu the Buwiing-Uroeu. TO THE PUBLIC. "To rescue h-om oblivion the memory offormer Incidents, aiHl lo render a just tribute of renown to the many great and wonderful transactions of our Hutch progenitors, Hiedrich Knickerliocker, a native of the city of New-York, priMliices this historical (>ssay." • Liko the great Father of History, whose wortis I have just quoted, I treat of times long past, over which the twilight of uncertainty had already thrown its shadows, and the night of forgetriiliiess was aUint to des- reml for ever. With great solicitude had 1 long iH'beld the earfy history of this venerable and ancient city gradually slipping tnnn our grasp, trembling on the lips of narrative old age, and day by day dropping piivemeal into the tomb. In a little while, thought I, and those reverend Dutch burgh- ers, who serve as the tottering niiniiinients of gwMl old times, will lie gathered to their lalhcrs; their children, engi-ossed by the empty pleasures or insignillcant transactions of the present age, will negleii to treasure up the recollect ions of the past, and |iosterity w III search in vain for memorials of the days of the PalHarehs. The origin of our city will Imi buried in eternal oblivion, and even the names and uchicve- > Hi<l(R<'« Ik'i'utluluii, 1U8 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. If I I iiients of Wouter Van TwUlcr, VVillidmiis Kicit, and Peter StuYvcsant, lie enveloped in doubt and flctioii, like llioso or Hoinulus and Remus, of (Jliarleniague, King Arthur, Ri- nuldo, and Gmlfrey of Kologne. Detennined, tlierefore, to avert, if possible, this threaten- ed misfortune, I industriously set myself to work, to gather together all the frar^mebts of our infant history which still eiisted, and, like my reveretl pixttotypc, llenxlolus, where no written records could In; found, I have cndeovoured to »)ntinue the chain of history by well authenticated tradi- tions. Ill this aniuous undcrtal!'-.^, which has l)ccn the whole business of a long and solitary life, it is includible the number of learned authors I have consulted ; and all to but little purpose. Strange as it may seem, though such multitudes of excellent works have \teen written aliout this country, Ihera are none extant wliloii give any full and salisfuctory account of the early history of ISew-York, or of its three first Dutch governors. I have, however, gained much valuable and curious matter fh)m an clalmratc manuscript writt(rn in exceeding pure and clasislc Low Dutch, excepting a few errors in orthography, which was found in the aiThives of (tie Stuyvesant family. Many legends, letters, and other documents, have I likewise gleaned in my researches among the family chests and lumlH'r gp~-?t8 of our i-especlable Dutch citizens ; and I have gathered a host of well-autlieii- licated traditions from divers excellent old ladies of my ac- quaintance, who re(|ucs(ed that their names might not be mentioned. Nor must I neglect to acknowledge how great- ly I have licen assisted by that admirable and praiseworthy institution, the Nkw-Yohk IIiirroRiRAi. Society, to which I here publicly return my sincere acknowledgments. In the conduct of this inestimable work I have adopted no indlvidnal model, Init on the contrary have simply contented myself with combining and conccnlraliiig the excellencies of the most approved ancient historians. Like Xenophon, I have maintained the utmost impartiality and the strictest adherence to truth throughout my history. I have enrich- ed it, after the manner of Sallust, with voHoiis chnractei's of ancient worthies, dratvn at full length and failhfiilly co- loured. I have seasoiuHl it with profound political specula- tioas like Thucydides, sweetened it with the graces of senti- ment like Tacitus, and hifused into the whole the dignit} , the grandeur, and inngnincrnceof Livy. I am aware that T sliiill incur the censure of numerous very learned and judicious critics, for indulging too fnH|neutly in the iHtkl exciiraive manner of my favourite Herodotus. And io be candid, I have found it impossible always to resist the alhiremeiitii of those pleasing episodes, whieti, like flowery Imiiks and fragrant Imwci-s, Iieset the dusty rond of the histo- rian, and entice him to tin'n aside, and I'cfresh himself from his wayfaring. Hut I trust It will be found that I have al~ ways resumed my staff, and addressed myself to my weary ioiirney with i-enovatcd spirits, so that both my readers, and myself have been beiicliled by the relaxation. Indeed, though it has been my constant wish and nnifoiiii endeavour to rival Polybius himself, in observing the requi- site unity of History, yet the loose and unconnected maimiT in which many of the facts hei-ein i-eeoi-ded have come to hand i-eiHlerwl such an attempt extremely <lil1i'"ilt. This diflleulty was likewise iiiciTased hy one of the grand objects rontemplated in my work, which was to trace llic rise of sundry customs and institutions in this ImisI of i illes, and to eompai-e them, when in the germ of iiilaney , wilh what they aiv in the present okl ago of knowkHlge and impi-ovcmcnt. But the chief merit on which I value myself, and found my hopes (l)r fiiliire reganl, is that foilhful veracity with which I have compiled this invaluable little work ; carefully winn ing away the chaff of hypothesis, and discarding the lam J fable, which ara too apt to spring up and choke the scedij truth and wholesome kno\t ledge. — Had I been anxious | captivate the superflcial tlmtng, who skim likeswalluntoigj the surface of literature ; or had I lieen anxious to roninK my writings to the pamperad palates of literary epirumj might have availed myselfof the obscurity that ovcrshadt the infant years of our city, to introduce a thousand plva fictions. But I have scrupulously discarded many a piiji tale and marvellous adventure, whereby the drowsy cir^ siinniier-indolence might lie enthralled ; jealously maloti Ing lliut fidelity, gravity, and dignity, which should cverdi tingulsh the historian. " For a writer of this class," ol^mj an elegant critic, " mustsiisialn the character of a wlscn writing for the Instruction of posterity, one who hasslu to inform himself well, who has pondered his siibjiftitid care, and addresses himself to our judgment rather iiiMij our imagination." Thrice happy, therefore, is this our renowned city, in It ing incidents worthy of swelling the theme of hlslor);i doubly thrice happy is it in having such an historian as n self to relate them. For, after all, gentle reader, ciiiesi| themsrires, and in fact, empires of thenusekes, arc without an historian. 1 1 is the patient nan-ator '«ho m th(>lr prosperity as they ^is<^— who blazons forth thesiilon^ of their noontide meridian — who props their feeltle ninu rials as they tott(T to decay— who gathei's together I scattered fragments as they rot — and who piously, at lenul collecis their ashes into the mausoleum of his work,nn(ln a monument that will transmit their renown to all succon ages. What has been the fate of many fair cities of anlii|iiil)j whose nameless ruins encnmlKT the plains of Knro|)ci Asia, and awaken the frullless impiiry of the travcllrr- they have sunk into dust and silence— they have |)frish from remembrance for want of an historian ! The phi thrnpist may weep over their desolation— the poet i wander among their mouldering arches and broken coIiin and indulge the visionary flights of his fancy — but, olaslal the modern historian, whose pen, like my own, is dwininif conflne itself to dull matter of fact, seeks in vain ainoDK II oblivious remains for some memorial that may trillheij striictive tale of their glory and their niln. "Wai-s, conflagrations, deluges," says Aristotle, "(!« nations, and with them alttheirinonnments,theirdlsrtnn and their vanities — Theton'h of science has morclhan« been extinguished and rekindled— A few individuals,! have escaped by accident, reunite the thread of generalioi The same sad misfortune which has happened to son ancient cities wilt happen again, and from thcsaniei cause, to nine-tentlis of those which now flourish on I face of the glolH>. With most of them the time forrerj)i their early history is gone by ; their origin, their fniindilid together w Ith the eventful period of their youth, are furr buried in the rubbish of years ; and the same would lisvrh the case with thisfair portion of the earih. If I had notsnild ed it from obscurity in the very nick of time, at the iiion that those matters herein i-ecorded were about entorln|iiil{ the wide-spread insallahle maw of ohhvioii - if I hid i dragged them out, us it were, by the very locks, jiislMl^ monster's adnmanlinc fangs were closing u|>on Ihriul twer. And here have I, asbefnitf observed, can^rullyi lected, collated, and ariimgc<l them, scrip and srinp, "H eH puHi. gnt vn (lat," and eommencetl in this IllllpnottI histiH'y to serve as a foundation on which other hisliiriif nioy hcreafler raise a noble 8U|H<nilr(ieture, swell HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. im of time, until Knickerbocker's New-York may be L||y volumiiious with (ribbon's Home, or Hume and Jktl's England! |iid now indulge inc for a moment, wbile I lay down my I skip In ^^nc little cniiucnce at the distance of two or ; huiidj'cd years a-licad ; and, casting bacic a bird - eye Lcc over tbc waste of years that is to roll lietween, disco- fmyscir— little I !— at this moment the pi-ogenitor, pruto- \ and precursor of tbeni all, posted at the bead of this I uf literary worthii>s, with my Iwok under my arm, and r-Yorl( on my back, |)ressing fonvard, like a gallant com- piler, to honour and immortality. icli are the vaiu-iflorious imaginings that will now and 1 enter into the brnin of the author— that irradiate, as li celestial light, his solitary chaniber,chcering his weary Ills and animating him to persevei'e in his labours. And Inctelv given utterance to these rhapsodies whenever yliave occurred; not, I trust, from an unusual spirit of Uisni, but merely that the reader may for once have an ijiuw an author thinks and feels while he is wriling— a liofknowledgc very rare and curious, and nmch to l)c jiiiil- «« ••««44 «««« •#«« BOOK I. Ttni^U niVEIIS INCRMOUS TIIKOHIKS AINU PIIII.OSOPIIIC SPK- ItUTIOKS, COINCKHMIMCi TUE CttKATIOM AMD POPULATION OF hcnOHU), AS CON>KCTEU WITH TUE nistOHV OV MEW-yORK. CIIAITER I. Dcsei'iiitiuii uf the World. Iarcoruing to the best aulliurities, tlie world in jiicli we dwel' is a luige, opa(|iie, reflectinj?, inarii- ■leraass, lloaling >>i the ethereal ocean of hiflnite ■ce. It has the ■ >i-m of an orang;e, being an oblnte jheroid, curiously tlallencd at opposite parts, for the «rtion of two imaginary poles, which are supposed Ipenetrate and unite at the centre ; thus forming an son which the mighty orange turns with a regular jimal revolution. |Tlie transitions of light and darkness, whence pro- 1 the alternations of day and night, are produced his diurnal revolution successively presenting the jRerent parts of tho earth to the rays of the sun. The jlleris, according to the best, t!ial is to say, llie latest minis, a luminous or liery body, of a prodigious bgniliKlc, from which this world is driven by a cen- pgal or repelling power, and to which it is drawn f a cenlripetr.i or attractive force; otherwise called ! attraction of gravitation; the combination, or ra- Ki'llie cotinteraclion of these two c;)posing impulses iig a circular and annual revolution. Hence siilt the different s(>asons of the year, viz. spring, Inuiier, autumn, and winter. I Tills I believe to be the most approved modern ory on the subject— though there bo many plii- pliers who have entertained very dilTerenl opl- jons; some of them, too, entitled to much deference pin tlieir great anlii|iiily and illuslrious diaraclers. piii il Wits advanced by some uf the ancient sages. that the earth was an extended plain, supported by vast pillars; and by others, that it rested on the head of a snake, or the l)ack of a huge tortoise— but as they did not provide a resting-place for either the pillars or the tortoise, the whole theory fell to the ground, for want of proper foundation. The Brahmins assert, that the heavens rest upon the earth, and the sun and moon swim therein like fishes in the water, moving from cast to west by day, and gliding along the edge of the horizon to their ori- ginal stations during the night; ■ while, according to the Pauranicas of India, it is a vast plain, encircled by seven oceans of milk, nectar, and other delicious li- quids; that it is studded with seven moiinlains, and ornamented in the centre by a mountainous rock of burnished gold ; and that a great dragon occasionally swallows up the moon, which accounts for the phe- nomena of lunar eclipses.' Reside these, and many other equally sage opi- nions, we have the profound conjectures of Aboli.- IIassan-Aly, son of Al Khan, son of Aly, son of Alxierrahman, son of Abiia'iah, son of Masoud-el- Hadheli, who is commonly called Masoldi, and sur- named Cothlteddui, but who takes the humble title of Laheb-ar-rasoul, which means the companion of the ambassador of Goil. He has written an universal his- tory, entitled " Mouroudge-cd-dharab, or the Ooldeii Meadows, and the Mines of Precious Stones."' In this valuable work he has related the history of the world, from the creation down to the moment of writing; which was under the Khaliphat of Mothi Billah, in the month Dgioumadi-el-aoual of the 53(ith year of the llegira or flight of the Prophet. He in- forms us that the earth is a huge bird, Mecca and Medina constituting the head, Persia and India the right wing, the land of Gog the left wing, and Africa the tail. He informs us, moreover, that an earth has existed before the present, (which he considers as a mere chicken of 70(10 years,) that it has undergone divers deluges, and that, according to the opinion of some well-informed Brahmins of bis acquaintance, it will l)e renovated every seventy thousandth haza- rounm; each hazarouam consisting of 42,(NNI years. These are a few of the many contradictory opinions of philosophers concerning the earth, and we find that the learned have had equal perplexity as to the na- ture of the sun. Some of the ancient philosophers have aflirmed that it is a vast wheel of brilliant lire; * others that il is merely a minor or s[)here of trans- parent crystal ;° and a tiiird class, at the head of whom stands Anaxagoras, maintained that it was no- thing but a huge ignited mass of iron or stone — in- deed,'hc declared the heavens to be merely a vault of stone- and that the stars were stones whirled upwards > Paiii y Son/.i. MIck. I,iis. note l>. 7. -> sir W. MmcH, Dis^. Aiitiii. Iiid. Zutl. ) 1 MSS. lillillol. Ildi Vr. 4 I'liilai'cli do l>lacl(ls Plillnsupli. lit), il. cap. 20. :> Anhill. Tat. I«IK. cap. )»• Ap. IN'tav. I. ill. p. SI. Slob. KcIk-j. l'liy.i. lib. i. p. mi. I'lul. ill' I'lac, I'lill. 110 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. from the earth, and set on fire by the velocity of its revolutions.' But I give little attention to the doc- trines of this philosopher, the people of Athens having fully refuted them, by banishuig him from their city; a concise mode of answering unwelcome doctrines, much resorted to in former days. Another sect of plulosophers do declare, that certain fiery particles exhale constantly from the earth, which, concentrat- ing in a single point of the firmament by day, con- stitute tiie sun, but being scattered and rambluig about in the dark at night, collect in various pouits , and form stars. These are regularly burnt out and extinguished, not unlike to the lamps in our streets, and require a fresh supply of exhalations for the ne:a occasion.' It is even recorded, that at certain remote and ob- scure periods, in consequence of a great scarcity of fuel, the sun has been completely burnt out, and some- times not rekindled for a month at a time :— a most melancholy circumstance, the very idea of which gave vast concern to Heraclitus, that worthy weeping phi- losopher of antiquity. In addition to these various speculations, it was the opinion of Ilcrschel, that the sun is a magnificent habitable abode; the light it fur- nishes arising from certain empyreal, luminous, or phosphoric clouds, swimming in its transparent atmo- sphere.' But we will not enter fartiier at present into the nature of the sun, that being an inquiry not imme- diately necessary to the developement of this history ; neither will we embroil ourselves in any more of the endless disputes of philosophers touching the form of this globe, but content ourselves with the theory ad- vanced in the beginning of this chapter, and will pro- ceed to illustrate by experiment the complexity of motion therein ascribed to this our rotatory planet. Professor Yon Poddingcoft (or Puddinghead, as the name may be rendered into English) was long cele- brated in the university of Leyden, for profoimd gra- vity of deportment, and a talent at going to sleep in the midst of examinations, to the infinite relief of his hopeful students, who thereby worked their way through college with great ease and little study. In the course of one of hislectures, the learned professor, seiz- ing a bucket of water, swung it round his head at arm's length. The impulse with which he threw the ves- sel fi-om him, being a centrif&gal force, the retention of his arm operating as a centiipetal power, and the Ducket, which was a substitute for the earth, describ- ing a circular orbit round alwut the globular head and ruby visage of Professor Von Potldingcoft, which formed no bad representation of the sun. All of these particulars were duly explained to the class of gaping students around bun. He apprisetl them, < niogrnm !i.ir<rliiiii In Anax.iR. 1. 11. sec. S. I>lat. Aiwl, I. I. 11.36. Pint. (Ii! Pla(\ l>liil. Xoimph. Mcni.l.iv. |i.RI,1. > ArlMtul. Mclcor. 1. 11. e.. i. Idtiiii Pii)lil. upv. I.t. Sluli. Eel. PhjK. I. i. |). rtX Biiick. niM. Phil. 1. 1. p.*l m, file. I Pliiliwi. n-ni's. I7US. |). 7'J. Itltiii. 1801. |i. m. Nlvh. Plillos. .luurii. 1. |i. 13. moreover, that the same principle of graviuiij which retained the water in the bucket, relalnj | ocean from Hying from the earth in its rapid req tio!is; and he further informed them that, should j motion of the earth be suddenly checked, it wq incontinently fall into the sun, through the ceu petal force of gravitation; a most ruinous event lod planet, and one which would also obscure, tlioiij^l most probably would not extinguish, the solar I nary. An unlucky stripling, one of those va^ geniuses who seem sent into the world merely toi noy worthy men of the puddinghead order, de of ascertaining the correctness of the experin suddenly arrested the arm of the professor, justati^ moment that the bucket was in its zenith, witichg mediately descended with astonishing precision uu the philosophic head of the instructor of youth, hollow sound, an a red-hot hiss, attended the i tact ; but the theorv was in the amplest manner iili trated, for the unlortunate bucket perished iiig conflict; but the blazing countenance of Vnh Von Poddingcoft emerged from amidst the wate glowing fiercer than ever with unutterable tion; whereupon the students were marvellouslyg lied, departed considerably wiser than before. It is a mortifying circumstance, which greatly; plcxes many a pnins-laking philosopher, that nali often refuses to second his most profound and ( borate efforts; so that, after having invented m{ the most ingenious and natural theories iinap;iii she will have the perverseness to act directly in i teeth of his system, and tlatly contradict his i favourite positions. This is a manifest and unineril grievance, since it throws the censure of the vul and unlearned entirely upon the philosopher; wliei the fault is not to be ascribed to his theory, whicbl unquestionably correct, but to the waywardnesd Dame INature, who, with the proverbial licklenea^ her sex, is continually indulging in coquetries i caprices, and seems really to take pleasure in viul ing all philosophic rules, and jilting the most Ivan and indefatigable of her adorers. Thus it liappi with respect to the foregoing satisfactory expianatiij of the motion of our planet. It appears that iheo trifugal force has long since ceased t(» operate, wli its antagonist remains in undiminished potency: world, therefore, according to the theory as it i nally stood, ought, in strict propriety, to tumble i the sun; philosophers were convinced that it w« do so, and awaited in anxious impatience the fuli ment of their prognostics. But the untoward ] pertinaciously continued her course, notwitlistan that she had reason, philosophy, and a whole i;niva| sity of learned professors opposed to her condni The philosophers took this in very ill part, and iti| thought •hey would never have pardoned (he $li|! and nffi-ont which they conceived put upon llieinl the world, had not a good-natured professor kin officiated as a mediator between the parlies, and ( feclcd a recuuciliatipn. HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. ill finding Ihe world would not acconimodate itself to lliieory, lie wisely determined to accommodate the to the world : he tliererore inrornied his bro- rpliilosuphers, that the circular motion of the earth I the sun was no sooner engendered by the con- impulses above described, than it became a liar revolution, independent of the causes which > it origin. His learned brethren readily joined bie opinion, being heartily glad of any explanation t would decently extricate them from their em- issment — and ever since that memorable era the ^d has been left to take her own course, and to Dive around the sun in such orbit as she thinks CHAPTER n. jDny. or creation of tlic World; willi a multiliiilc of excel. kl iheoriefi, by which (he creation of a world is shown (o be Lguch difficult mailer as common folli would imagine. lAviNG thus briefly introduced my reader to the lid, and given hint some idea of its form and si- lion, he will naturally be curious to know from jcnce it came, and how it was created. And, in- d, the clearing up of these points is absolutely es- kial to my history, inasmuch as if this world had I been formed, it is more than probable that this JDvrned island, on which is sitnateil the city of New- Ik, would never have had an existence. The re- hr course of my history, therefore, rcipiires that lould proceed to notice the cosmogony or forma- I of this our globe. [ltd now I give my readers fair warning, that I [about to plunge, for a chapter or two, into as ^lete a labyrinth as ever historian was perplexed I : therefore, I advise tham to take fast hold of [skirts, and keep close at my heels, venturing nei- } to the right hand nor to the left, lest they get fired in a slough of unintelligible learning, or have r brains knocked out by some of those hard ( >reek hes which will be flying about in all diicclions. [should any of them be too indolent or chicken- I to accompany me in this perilous undertak- I they had better take a short cut round, and wait ne at the beginning of some smoother chapter, ftf Ihe creation of the world, we have a thousand Iradictory accounts ; and though a very satisfac- [oiie is furnished us by divine revelation, yet every piicr feels himself in honour bound to furnish kill) a better. As an impartial historian, I consi- lit my duty to notice their several theories, by jell mankind have been so exceedingly ediHed and rueted. bus it was the opinion of certain ancient sages, lllieearlh and the whole system of the universe jtiiedcity himself; ' a doctrine most strenuously nlflined by /enophanes and the whole tribe of lilies, as also by Strabo and ihc sect of peripatetic pliers. Pythagoras likewise inculcated (he fa- • Arlstol. np. Oic lib. i. cap. X moiis numerical system of Ihe monad, dyad, and trad, and by means of his sacred ipiaternary, elucidated the formation of the world, the arcana of nature, and the principles both of music and morals. ' Other sages adhered to the mathematical system of squares and triangles; the cube, the pyramid, and the sphere ; the tetrahedron, the octahedron, the icosahedron, and the dodecahedron. > While others advocatetl the great elementary theory, which refers the construc- tion of our globe and all that it contains to the combi- nations 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 sys- tem taught by old Moschus, before the siege of Troy ; revived by Democritus of laughing memory ; improv- ed by Epicurus, that king of good fellows, and mo- dernised by the fanciful Descartes. But I decline in- quiring, whether Ihe atoms, of which the earth is said to be composed, are eternal or recent; whether they are animate or inanimate; whether, agreeably to the opinion of the atheists,, they were fortuitously aggre- gated, or, as the theisis maintain, were arranged by a Supreme Intelligence. ' Whether in fact the earth be an insensate clod, or whether it lie animated by a soul ; * which opinion was strenuously maintained 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 re- bellious flesh and blood, which populates the little matter-of-fact island we inhabit. Besides these systems, we have, moreover, Ihe poetical theogony of old Ilesiod, who generated the whole universe in the regular mode of procreation; and the plausible opinion of others, that the earth was hatched from the great egg of night, which floated in chaos, and was cracked by the horns of the celestial bull. To illustrate this lust doctrine, Burnet, in his Theory of the Earth, ' has favoured us with an accu- rate drawing and description, both of the form and texture of this mundane egg; which is found to bear a marvellous 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 Egypli^ms, Chaldeans, Persians, Greeks, and Latins, have altern- ately assisted at the hatching of thin strange bird, and • Aristot. Mctaph. lib. i. c. S. IdemdcCoelo, I. ill. c. I. Rons- scan, Mi'm. Biir Muslquc ancicn. p. 3!). Plutarch de Plac. Philos. lib. i. cap. 3. ' Tim. Locr. ap. Plato, t. ill. p. 00. 3 Arislot. Nat. Auscult. I. ii. cap 6. Aristoph. Mctaph. lib. i. cap. 3. CIc. dc Nat. Dear. lib. i. cap. 10. Justin. Mart. orat. ad Kent. p. 20. 4 Mosheim in Cndw. lib. i. cap. 4. Tim. dc Anim. mnnd. ap. Plat. lib. ill. Mi>m. dp I'Acad. des Belles Lettr. I. xxxil. p. II) et al. 1 Hook I. ch. .1. Ii2 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. Hi 'i. that their cacklings have been caught, and continued ia different tones and inflections, from pliilosopher to philosopher, unto the present 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 uni- versal and renowi<ed, have equal claims to attention, and equal chance for correctness. Thus it is recorded by the Bralmiins, in the pages of their inspired Shastah, that the angel Bistnoo, transforming himself into a great boar, plunged into the watery abyss, and brought up the earth on his tusks. Then issued from bun a nrjghty tortoise, and a mighty snake; and Bistnoo placed the snake erect upon the back of the tortoise, and he placed the earth upon the head of the snake. ■ The negro philosophers of Congo affirm that the w^orld was made by the hands of angels, excepting their own country, which the Supreme Being con- structed 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 flnished the first man, he was well pleased with him, and smoothed him over the face, and hence his nose, and (he nose of all his descendants, became flat. The Mohawk philosophers tell us, that a pregnant woman fell down from heaven, ar.d that a tortoise took her upon its back, because every place was covered with water; and that the woman, sitting upon the tor- toise, paddled with her hands in the water, and raked up the earth, whence it finally happened that the earth became higher than the water. ' But I forbear to quote a number more of these an- cient and outlandish philosophers, whose deplorable ignorance, in despite of all their erudition, compelled them to write in languages which but few of my read- ers can understand ; and I shall proceed briefly to no- tice a few more intelligible and fashionable theories of their modern successors. And, first, I shall mention the great Buffon, who conjectures that this globe was originally a globe of liquid fire, scintillated from the body of the sun, by the percussion of a comet, as a spark is generated by the collision of flint and steel. That at first it was sur- rounded by gross vapours, which, cjoling and condens- ing in process of time, constituted, according to their densities, earth, water, and air; which gradually ar- ranged themselves, according to their respective gra- vities, round the burning or vilrifial mass that formed their centre. Ilutton, 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 rain, rivers, and moun- tain torrents, until it is confounded with the ocean, or, in other words, absolutely dissolves into itself.— Sublime idea ! far surpassing that of the tender-hearted damsel of antiquity, who wept herself into a fountain; ■ Holwcll. Gent. PhiloM)))hy. "> Jut)annra Megapolcnsis, Jim. Iiawk IntliaiM, 1644. Account of Maqiiaas or Mo- or the gooil dame of Narbonne in Fnnce, wlm,! volubility of tongue unusual in her sex, was da to peel five hundred thousand and thirty-nine n of onions, and actually ran out at her eyes, befort j the hideous task was accomplished. Whiston, the s<ime ingenious philosopher whoinj led Dillon in his researches after the longitude,! which the mischief-loving Swift discharged on i heads a most savoury stanza,) has distinguished! self by a very admirable theory respecting the c He conjectures that it was originally a chnotict which being selected for the abode of man, wasj moved from its eccentric orbit, and whirled; the sun in its present regular motion; by whiciiclij of direction ortler succeeded to confusion in the J rangoment of its component parts. The phila adds, that the deluge was produced by an un eons salute from the watery tail of another ( doubtless through sheer envy of its improved ( tion : thus furnishing a melancholy proof thai jeal may prevail, even among the heavenly bodies, ^ discord interrupt that celestial harmony of the sptii so melodiously sung by the poets. Bull pass over a variety of excellent theories, ao which are those of Burnet, and Woodward, Whitehurst; regretting extremely that my tinie^ not sufler me to give them the notice they desen and shall conclude with that of the renowned I Darwin. This learned Theban, who is as niucbij tinguished for rhyme as reason, and for good-nali{ credulity as serious research, and who has i mended himself wonderfully to the good graces olj ladies, by letting them into all the gallantries, am debaucheries, and other topics of scandal of thee Flora, has fallen upon a theory worthy of his con! tible imagination. According to his opinion, theb mass of chaos look a sudden occasion to explude,! a barrel of gunpowder, and in that act exploded I sun — which in its flight, by a similar convu]sion,t ploded the earth— which in Uke guise explodedj moon — and thus, by a concatenation of explosions,! whole solar system was produced* and sel must( tematically in motion ! ■ By the great variety of theories here alludedj every one of which, if thoroughly examined, mil foi'.id surprisingly consistent in all its parts, iny{ learned readers will perhaps be led lo conclude I the creation of a world is not so difficult a taskasll at first imagined. I have shown at least a i ingenious methods in which a world could lie o structed; and I have no doubt, that had any of| philosophers above quoted the use of a good imni able comet, and the philosophical warehouse tU^ at his command, he would engage to manufactn planet as good, or, if you would lake his wordi«| better than this we iidiabit. And here I cannot help noticing the kindneaj Providence, in creating comets for the great rei l)ewildered philosophers. By (heir assistance i ■ Darw. Bot. Rardoii. Part I. Cant. i. 1. 10.1 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 113 ililen evoliilioiis and transitions are efTTCtetl in the jsteni of nature tlian are wrought in a pantomimic Uiibilion by the wonder-working sword of Harle- ijn. Should one of our modern sages, in his theo- Jlical flights among tlie stars, ever find himself lost Itbe clouds, and in danger of tumbling into the abyss I nonsense and absurdity, he has but to seize a comet ] the beard, mount astride of its tail, and away he jllops in triumph, like an enchanter on his hippogrifT, |a Connecticut witch on her broomstick, " to sweep > cobwebs out of the sky." |lt is an old and vulgar sayuig, about a " beggar on eback," which I would not for the world have plied to these reverend philosophers ; but I must nfess that some of them, when they are mounted jone of those fiery steeds, are as wild in their cur- jllings as was Phaeton of yore, when he aspired to age the chariot of Phoebus. One drives his co- ^t at full speed against the sun, and knocks the irldoutof him with the mighty concussion; an- ler, more moderate, makes his comet a kind of ist of burden, carrying the sun a regular supply of I and fagots — a third, of more combustible dispo- ion, threatens to throw his comet Uke a bombshell I tiie world, and blow it up like a powder maga- e; while a fourth, with no great delicacy to this mi and its inhabitants, insinuates tliat some day lother his comet — my modest pen blushes while I |tte it— shall alisolutely turn tail upon our world, I deluge it with water !— Surely, as I have already med, comets were bountifully provided by Pro- lence for the benetit of philosophers, to assist them Imanufacturing theories. I now, having adduced several of the most pro- ent theories that occur to my recollection, I leave |f judicious readers at full liberty to choose among They are all serious speculations of learned n— all differ essentially from each other— and all |re the same title to belief. It has ever been the kof one race of philosophers to demolish the works Jiheir predecessors, and elevate more splendid fan- lies in their stead, which in their turn are demo- led and replaced by the air-castles of a succeeding litration. Thus it would seem that knowledge and nius, of which we make such great parade, con- put in detecting the errors and absurdities of those ) have gone before, and devising new errore and urdities, to be detected by those who are to come jer us. Theories are the mighty soap bubbles with ^1 the grown np children of science amuse tliem- ^es— while the honest vulgar stand gazing in stupid niralion, and dignify these learned vagaries with jnameof wisdom!— Surely Socrates was right in I opinion, that philosophers are but a soberer sort admen, busying themselves in things totally in- [iprehensible, or which, if they could be compre- ded, would be found not worthy the trouble of overy. r'or my own part, until the learned have come to jsgreement among themselves, I shall conleiil my- self with the account handed down to us by Moses; in which I do but follow the example of our inge- nious neighbours of Connecticut, who, at their first settlement, proclaimed that the colony should be go- verned by the laws of God until they had tune to make better. One thing, however, appears certain— from the unanimous authority of the before-quoted philoso- phers, supported by the evidence of our own senses, (which, though very apt to deceive us, may be cau- tiously admitted as additional testimony,) it appears, I say, and I make the assertion deliberately, with- out fear of contradiction, that this globe really was created, and that it is composed of land and water. It further ap[)ears that it is curiously divided and parcelled out into continents and islands, among which I boldly declare the renowned Island of New- York will be found by any one who seeks for it in its proper place. CHAPTER ni. How that famous navigator, Noah, was shameliilly nick-named ; and bow he committed an unpardonable ovenight in not hav- ing four sons. With the great trouble of philosophers caused thereby, and the discovery of America. Noah, who is the first seafaring man we read of, begat three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japhet. Authors, it is true, are not wanting, who affirm that the pa- triarch had a number of other children. Thus Bero- sus makes him father of the gigantic Titans; Metlio- dius gives him a son called Jonithus, or Jonicus; and others have mentioned a son, named Thuiscon, from whom descended the Teutons or Teutonic, or in other words the Dutch nation. I regret exceedingly that the nature of my plan will not permit me to gratify the laudable curiosity of my readers, by investigating minutely the his- tory of tlie great Noah. Indeed such an undertaking would be attended with more trouble than many people would imagine; for the good old patriarch seems to have been a great traveller in his day, and to have passed under a different name in every coun- try that he visited, 'ae Chaldeans, for instance, give us his story, merely altering his name into Xi- suthrus— a trivial alteration, which, to an historian skilled ui etymologies, will appear wholly unimport- ant. It appears likewise that he had exchanged his tarpawling and quadrant among the Chaldeans for the gorgeous insignia of royalty, and appears as a monarch in their annals. The Egyptians celebrate him under the name of Osiris; the Indians as Menu; the Greek and Roman writers confound him with Ogyges, and the Theban with Deucalion and Saturn. But the Chinese, who deservedly rank among the most extensive and authentic historians, inasmuch as they have known the world much longer than any one else, declare that Noah was no other than Fold ; and what gives this assertion some air of credibility is, that it is a fact, admitted by the most enlightened iU HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. li literati, that Noah Iravelleil into China, at the time of the buihling of the tower of Baltel (probably to im- prove himself in the study of languages) ; and the learned Dr Shackford gives us the additional infor- mation, that the ark rested on a monntain on the frontiers of China. From this mass of rational conjectures and sage hypotheses many satisfactory deductions might be drawn ; but I shall content myself with the simple fact stated in the Bible, viz. that Noah begat three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japhet. It is astonishing on what remote and obscure contingencies the great affairs of this world depend, and how^ events the most distant, and to the common observer unconnected, are inevit- ably consequent the one to the other. It remains to the philosopher to discover these mysterious afiinities, and it is the proudest triumph of his skill to detect and drag forth some latent chain of causation, which at first sight appears a paradox to the inexperienced observer. Thus many of my readers will doubtless wonder what connexion the family of Noah can pos- sibly have with this history — and many will stare when informed, that the whole history of this quarter of the world has taken its character and course from the simple circumstance of the patriarch's having but three sons — but to explain. Noah, we are told by sundry very credible historians, becoming sole surviving heir and proprietor of the earth, in fee simple, after the deluge, like a good fa- ther, portioned out his estate among his children. To Shem he gave Asia; to Ham, Africa; and to Ja- phet, Europe. Now it is a thousand times to be la- mented that he had but three sons, for had there been a fourth, he would doubtless have inherited America; which of course would have been dragged forth from its obscurity on the occasion, — and thus many a hard- working historian and philosopher would have been spared a prodigious mass of weary conjecture respect- ing the first discovery and population of this country. Noah, howevt-r, having provided for his three sons, looked in all probability upon our country as mere wild, unsettled land, and said nothing about it; and to this unpardonable taciturnity of the patriarch may we ascribe the misfortune that x\merica did not come into the world as early as the other quarters of the globe. It is true, some writers have vindicated him from this misconduct towards posterity, and asserted that he really did discover America. Thus it was the opinion of Alark Lescarbot, a French writer, possess* ed of that ponderosity of thought, and profoundness of reflection, so peculiar to his nation, that the im- mediate descendants of Noah peopled this quarter of the globe, and that the old patriarch himself, who still retained a passion for the seafaring life, superin- tended the transmigration. The pious and enlight- ened father Charlevoix, a French Jesuit, remarkable for his aversion to the marvellous, common to all frreat travellers, is conclusively of tlie same opinion; nay, he goes still farther, and decides npon the man- ner in which the discovery was efrecletl, which wasij sea, and under the immediate direction of the; Noah. "I have already observed," exclaims i good father, in a tone of becoming indignation, "i^ it is an arbitrary supposition that the grandchildi of Noah were not able to penetrate into the i\tt World, or that they never thought of it. In effet I can see no reason that can justify such a notin Who can seriously believe that Noah and his in diate descendants knew less than we do, and thatil builder and pilot of the greatest ship that ever vas,J ship which was formed to traverse an unbouiu ocean, and had so many shoals and quicksands i guard against, should be ignorant of, or should) have communicated to his descendants, the arti sailing on the ocean?" Therefore they did saili the ocean — therefore they sailed to America— tl fore America was discovered by Noah ! Now all this exquisite chain of reasoning, whidii| so strikingly characteristic of the good father, addressed to the faith rather than the understandiijl is flatly opposed by Hans de Laet, who declares i| real and most ridiculous paradox lo suppose lliatNoi ever entertained the thought of discovering Ameri and as Hans is a Dutch writer, I am inclined to ti lieve he must have been much better acquainted i the worthy crew of the ark than his competitors,) of course possessed of more accurate sources of inll mation. It is astonishing how intimate liisU do daily become with the patriarchs and other j men of antiquity. As intimacy improves with tii and as the learned are particularly inquisitive) familiar in their acquaintance with the ancienli,| should not be surprised if some future writers sin gravely give us a picture of men and manners asti existed before the flood, far more copious and a rate than the Bible; and that, in the course of i other century, the log-hook of the good Noah sh be as current among historians as the voyagei^ Captain Cook, or the renowned history of Robi Crusoe. I shall not occupy my time by discussing the 1 mass of additional suppositions, conjectures, andp babilities respecting the first discovery of thi$couflli| with which unhappy historians overload theimelK in their endeavours to satisfy the doubts of an i dulous world. It is painful to see these lab wights panting, and toiling, and sweating under j enormous burden, at the very outset of their m which, on being opened, turns out to be nothing l| a mighty bundle of straw. As, however, bfi wearied assiduity, Uiey seem to have established!] fact, to the satisfaction of all the world, that i country has been discovered, I shall avail niyscll| their useful labours to be extremely brief upon ll point. I shall not therefore slop to inquire, whether Al rica was first discovered by a wandering vessdoflk celebrated PhiGnician fleet, which, according loilfH dotus, circumnavigated Africa; or by that Carth N HISTORY OF NEW-YOKK. 11,") lanexpeilitioii, whicli Pliny, the naturalist, informs I discovered the Canary Islands; or whether it was [tiled by a temporary colony from Tyre, as hinted Aristotle and Seneca. I shall neither inquire hetlier it was first discovered by the Chinese, as sm with great shrewdness advances; nor by the vegians in 10()2, under Biorn; nor by Behein, German navigator, as Mr Otto has endeavouied I prove to the savants of the learned city of Philadel- liia. |>ur shall I investigate the more modern claims of • Welsh, founded on the voyage of Prince Madoc I the eleventh centniy, who having never returned, I lias since been wisely concluded tliat he must have ne lo America, and that for a plain reason— if lie I not go there, where else could he have gone? — a ^estion which most socratically shuts out all further pule. liaying aside, therefore, all the conjectures above jeiitioned, with a multitude of others, equally satis- jctory, I shall lake tor granted the vulgar opinion, jal America was discovered on the <2th of Octo- |r, 1402, by Chrislovallo Colon, a Genoese, who i been clumsily nicknamed Columbus, but for what on I cannot discern. Of the voyages and adven- i of this Colon, I shall say nothing, seeing that ^y are already sufticiently known. Nor shall I un- jrlake to prove that this country should have been M Colonia, after his name, that being notoriously bf-evident. |llaving thus happily got my readers on this side of ; Atlantic, I picture them to myself all imptience I enter upon the enjoyment of the land of promise, I in full expectation that I will immediately deliver |intu llieir possession. But if I do, may I ever forfeit erepulation of a regular-bred historian ! No— no — Kl curious and thrice-learned readers, (for thrice- Jirned ye are if ye have read all that has gone before, I nine times learned shall ye be, if ye read that liicli comes after,) we have yet a world of work Ifore us. Think you the first discoverers of this fair [arter of the globe had nothing to do but go on shore 1 find a country ready laid out and cultivated like ■garden, wherein they might revel at th^ir ease ? ) such thing — they had forests to cut down, nnder- 1 to grub up, marshes to drain, and savages to tterminate. jln like manner, I have sundry doubts to clear away, ptions lo resolve, and paradoxes to explain, before ermil you to range at random ; but these dilficullies ; overcome, we shall be enabled to jog on right [erriiy through the rest of our history. Thus my flrk shall, in a manner, echo the nature of the sub- let, in the same manner as the sound of poetry has *n found by certain shrewd critics to echo the sense hliis being an imprc 'ement in history, wlueh. I pirn the merit of having invented. CHAPTER IV. Showing ttie great tliflicuKy Pliitoso|)hcrs have had in peopling' America— and how the Aborigines came to be begoUen by ac- cident—to the great relief and satisfaction of the Autlior. The next inquiry at which we arrive in the ngular course of our history is to ascertain, if possible, how this country was originally peopled— a point fruitful of incredible embarrassments ; for unless we prove that the aborigines did absolutely come from some- where, it will be immediately 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 peo- pled—a conclusion perfectly agreeable to the rules of logic, but wholly irreconciliable to every feeling of hu- manity, inasmuch as it must syllogistically prove fatal to the innumerable aborigines of this populous region. To avert so dire a sophism, and to rescue from lo- gical annihilation so many millions of fellow-creatures, how many wings of geese have been plundered ! what oceans of ink have been benevolently drained ! ami how many capacious heads of learned historians have been addled, and for ever confounded ! I pause with reverential awe when I contemplate the ponderous tomes, in different languages, with which they have endeavoured to solve this question, so important to the happiness of society, but so involved in clouds of impenetrable obscurity. Historian after historian has engaged in the endlesscircle of hypothetical 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 begiiming. It was doubtless some philosophical wild goose chase of the kind that made the old poet Macix)bius rail in such a passion at curiosity, which he anathematizes most, heartily, as, " an irksome agonizing care, a super- stitious 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 tlie descendants of Abraham. Thus Christoval Colon (vulgarly called Columbus), when he first discovered the gold muies of Hispaniola, immediately concluded, with a slu-ewd- ness that would have done honour to a philosopher, that he had found the ancient Ophir, from whence Solomon procured the gold for embellishing the temple at Jerusalem ; nay, Colon even imagined that he saw the remains of fiunaces of veritable Hebraic construc- tion, employetl in refining the precious ore. So golden a conjecture, tinctured with such fas- cinating 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 to bring in their usual load of authorities, and wise surmises, where- withal lo prop it tip. Vetablus and Hobeitus Stephens 116 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. M declared nothing conid be more clear — Ariiis Mon- tanus, without the least hesitation, asserts 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 prophecy of the fourth book of Esdras, which being inserted in the mighty hypothesis, like the keystone 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 authors, with Kans de Laet, the great Dutchman, at their head, and atone blow tumbles the whole fabric about their ears. Hans, in fact, contradicts outright all the Israelitish claims to the first settlement 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 liesides on the author- ity of the fathers of the church." Some writers again, among whom it is with great regret I am compelled to mention Lopez de Gomara and Juan de Leri, insinuate that the Canaanites, 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 language, 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 opinion. I pass over the supposition of the learned Grotius, who, bemg both an ambassador and a Dutchman to boot, is entitled to great respect, that North America was peopled by a strolling company of Norwegians, and that Peni was founded by a colony from China — Manco or Mango Gapac, the first Incas, being him- self a Chinese : nor shall I more than barely mention that father Kircher ascribes the settlement of America to the Egyptians, Rudbeck to the Scandinavians, Cliarron to the Gauls, Juffredus Petri to a skating party from Friesland, Milius to the Celtae, Marinocus the Sicilian to the Romans, Le Compte to the Phoe- nicians, Postel to the Moors, Martin d'Angleria to the Abyssinians; together with the sage surmise of De Laet, that England, Ireland, and the Orcades, 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 Venetian ; or that it comprises the visionary island of Atlantis, described by Plato. Neither will I slop to investigate the heathenish assertion of Paracelsus, that each hemisphere of the globe was originally fur- nished with an Adam and Eve : or the more flattering opinion of Dr Romayne, supported by many nameless authorities, that Adam was of the Indian race— or the startling conjecture of Buffon, Helvetius, Darwin, so highly honourable to mankind, that i whole human species is accidentally descended fn a remarkable family of monkeys ! This last conjecture, I must own, came uponi very suddenly and very ungraciously. I have o beheld the clown in a pantomime, while gazing | stupid wonder at the extravagant gambols of a I quin, all at once electrified by a sudden stroke ofit wooden sword across his shoulders. Little (jidl think at such times, that it would ever fall to mjk to be treated with equal discourtesy, and that whii was quietly beholdmg these grave philosophers, « lating the eccentric transformations of the lien^ pantomime, they would on a sudden turn upon i and my readers, and with one hypothetical flo metamorphose us into beasts ! I determined fn that moment not to burn my fingers with any monJ their theories, but content myself with detailing t different methods by which they transported thed cendants of these ancient and respectable monkeyiil this great field of theoretical warfare. This was done either by migrations by land ortn migrations by water. Thus Padre Joseph D'Ao enumerates three passages by land — first by thei of Europe, secondly by the north of Asia, and tliird by regions southward of the straits of Magellan, learned Grotius marches his Norwegians, by a [ sant route, across frozen rivers and arms of thei through Iceland, Greenland, Estotiland, and Nare berga : and various writers, among whom are An De Horn, and Buffon, anxious for the accommcdalij of these travellers, have fastened the two contii together by a strong chain of deductions— by vli means they could pass over dryshod. But should en this fail, Pinkerton, that industrious old gentlei who compiles books, and manutiactures geograpi has constructed a natural bridge of ice, fromconliiii to continent, at the distance of four or five miles li Behring's straits — for which he is entitled to theg ful thanks of all the wandering aborigines wlio e did or ever will pass over it. It is an evil much to be lamented, that none ofl worthy writers above quoted could ever con his work without immediately declaring liostiHl against every writer who had treated of the same « ject. In this particular, authors may be compaRdl a certain sagacious bird, which, in building its nest,! sure to pull to pieces the nests of all the birds iof neighbourhood. This unhappy propensity grievously to impede the progress of sound knowlR Theories are at best but brittle productions, and vbi once committed to the stream, they should take ( that, like the notable pots which were fellow-voyagi they do not crack each other. My chief surprise is, that, among the many ' ers I have noticed, no one has attempted to | that this country was peopled from the moon— orti the first inhabilanls floated hither on islands ofii as white bears cruise alH>ut the northern oceans- phicli (he Aiitlior puts «iilance of the Man in mis of people froi Kludnthisintroducto HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 117 Lt they were conveyed hillier by balloons, as modern (unauts pass from Dover to Calais — or by witchcraft, [simon Magus posted among the stars — or after the nner of tiie renowned Scytiiian Abaris, who, Uke ^New-England witclies on full-bloodeti broomsticks, demost unheard-ofjourneys on the back ofa gold- J arrow, given him by tlie Hyperborean Apollo. iBut there is still one mode left by which this coun- r could have been peopled, which I have reserved r tlie last, because I consider it worth all the rest : -by accident ! Speaking of the islands of Solomon, ^w-Guinea, and New-Holland, the profound father arlevoix observes, " in fine, all these countries are Lpled, and it is possible some have been so by acci- L(. Now if it could have happened in that manner, |iy might it not have been at the same time, and by ; same means, with the othei- parts of the globe? " |iis inf;;enious mode of deducing certain conclusions ni possible premises is an improvement in syllogistic 111, and proves the good father superior even to Ar- jimedes, for he can turn the world without any thing jrest his lever upon. It is only surpassed by the Kterity with which the sturdy old Jesuit, iu another (ice, cuts the gordian knot — "Nothing," says he, smore easy. The inhabitants of both hemispheres {(certainly the descendants of the same father. The punon father of mankind received an express order I Heaven to people the world, and accordingly it i been peopled. I'o bring this about it was neces- ' to overcome all difficulties in the way, and they tee also been overcome .' " Pious logician ! How she put all the herd of laborious tlieorist^ to the ish, by explaining, in five words, what it has cost I volumes to prove they knew nothing about ! From all the authorities here quoted, and a variety ^thers which I have consulted, but which are omil- ^ through fear of fatiguing the unlearned reader — an only draw the following conclusions, which kily, however, are sufficient for my purpose — (St, that this part of the world has actually been ^pled, (Q. E. D.) to support which we have living ols in the numerous tribes of Indians that inhabit ondly, that it has been peopled in five hundred perent ways, as proved by a cloud of authors, who, ithepositiveness of their assertions, seem to have kn eye-witnesses to the fact — Thirdly, that the kpleof this country had a variety of fathers, which, jit may not be thought much to their credit by the non run of readers, the less we say on the subject fcbetter. The question therefore, I trust, is for ever Irest. CHAPTER V. ' khlch the Author puts a mighty question to the rout, by the Blstaiicc of the Man in tlie Moon— which not only delivci-s Musaiuls of |)eople from great embarrassment, but likewise wciudes this introductory book. tm writer of a history may, in some res|>ect, be lened unto an adventurous knight, who, having un- dertaken a perilous enterprize by way of establishing his fame, feels bound in honour and chivalry to turn back for no difTiculty nor hardship, and never to shrink or quail , whatever enemy he may encounter. Under this impre&sion I resolutely draw my pen, and fall to, with might and main, at those douglity questions ami subtle paradoxes, which, like fiery dragons and bloody giant«, beset the entrance to my history, and would fain repulse me from the very threshold. A nd at this moment a gigantic qtiestion has starte<l up, which I must needs take by the beard and utterly subdue, before I can advance another step in my historic un- dertaking—but I trust this will be the last adversary I shall have to contend with, and that in the next book I shall be enabled to conduct my readers in triumph into the body of my work. Tlie question which has thus suddenly arisen is, what right had the first discoverers of America to land and take possession of a country, without first gaining the consent of its inhabitants, or yielding them an adequate compensation for their territory ? — a question which has withstood many fierce assaults, and has given much distress of mind to multitudes of kind-hearted folk; and, indeed, until it l)e totally van- quished and put to rest, the worthy people of America can by no means enjoy the soil they inhabit, with clear right and title, and quiet, unsullied consciences. The flret source of right, by which property is ac- quired in a country, is discovery. For as all man- kind have an equal right to any tiling which has never before been appropriated, so any nation that discovers an uninhabited country, and takes possession thereof, is considered as enjoying full property, and absolute, unquestionable empire therein. ■ This proposition being admitted, it follows clearly that the Europeans who first visited America were the real discoverers of the same ; nothing being ne- cessary to the establishment of this fact but simply to prove that it was totally uninhabited by mian. This would at first appear to be a point of some difficulty ; for it is well known that this quarter of the worid abounded with certain animals that walked erect on two feet, had something of the human countenance, uttered certain unintelligible sounds, very much like language, in short, had a marvellous resemblance to human beings. But the zealous and enlightened fa- thers, who accompanied the discoverers, for the pur- pose of promoting the kingdom of heaven, by establish- ing fat monasteries and bishoprics on eartii, soon cleared up this point, greatly to the satisfaction of his lioUness the pope, and of all Christian voyagers and discoverers. They plainly proved, and as there were no Indian writers arose on the other side, the fact was consider- ed as fully admitted and established, that the two- legged race of animals before mentioned were mere cannibals, detestable monsters, and many of them giants — which last description of vagrants have, since the times of Gog, IMagog, and Goliath, been consider- > Gi'otius. I'ulfendorf, b. v. r. 1. Vattcl, b. 1. c. 18, etc. IfS HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. If ed as outlaws, and have received no quarter in either liislory, chivalry, or song. Indeed, even the philo- sopliic Bacon declaretl the Americans to be people proscribed by the laws of nature, inasniucii as they had a barbarous custom of sacrificing men and feeding upon man's flesh. Nor are these all the proofs of their utter Imrbarism : ' among many other writers of discernment, Ulloa tells us, " their imbecility is so visible, that one can hardly form an idea of them different from what one has of the brutes. Nothing disturbs the tranquillity of their souls, equally insensible to disasters and to prosperity. Though half naked, they are as contented as a monarch in his most splendid array. Fear makes no impression on them, and respect as little. " — All this is furthermore supported by the authority of M. Bouguer. " It is not easy, " says he, " to describe the degree of their indifference for wealth and all its advantages. One does not well know what motives to propose to them when one would persuade them to any service. It is vain to offer them money ; they answer that they are not hungry. " And Vanegas confirms the whole, assuring us that " ambition they have none, and are more desirous of being thought strong than valiant. The objects of ambition with us, honour, fame, reputation, riches, posts, and distinc- tions, are unknown among them. So that this power- ful spring of action, the cause of so much seeming good and real evil in the world, has no power over them. In a word, these unhappy mortals may lie compared to children, in whom the developement of reason is not completed. " Now all these peculiarities, although in the un- enlightened states of Greece they would have entitled their possessors to immortal honour, as having reduc- ed to practice those rigid and abstemious maxims, the mere talking about which acquired certain old Greeks the reputation of sages and philosophers ;— yet, were they clearly proved in the present instance to betoken a most abject and brutiiied nature, totally beneath the human cha/acter. But the benevolent fathers, whohad undertaken to turn these unhappy savages into dumb beasts by dint of argument, advanced still stronger proofs; for as certain divines of the sixteenth century, and among the rest Lullus, affirm — the Americans go naked, and have no beards !— " They have nothing, " says Lullus, " of the reasonable animal, except the mask. " — And even that mask was allowed to avail them but little, for it was soon found that they were of a hideous copper complexion — and being of a copper complexion, it was all the same as if they were ne- groes — and negroes are black, " and black, " said the pious fathers, devoutly crossing themselves, " is the colour of the Devil ! " Therefore, so far from being able to own property; they had no right even to per- sonal freedom — for liberty is too radiant a deity to in- habit such gloomy temples. All which circumstances plainly convinced the righteous followers of Cortes and Pizarro, that these miscreants had no title to the soil that they infested— that they were a perverse, illiterate, dumb, beardless, black seed — nieie \ beasts of the forests, and like them should eilh^r j subdued or exterminated. From the foregoing arguments, therefore, an variety of others equally conclusive, which I fw to enumerate, it was clearly evident that thbl (|uarter of the globe, when first visited by Euro was a howling wilderness, inhabited by nothin^l wild beasts ; and that the trans-atlaiUic visiters i quired an incontrovertible property therein, by) riyht of riisvuvenj. This right being fully establisheil, we now cuoiej the next, which is the right acquireti by cu/firaiN " The cultivation of the soil, " we are told, ' obligation im|)Osed by nature on mankind. The wIk world is appointed for the nourishment of its i bitants : hut it would be incapable of doing it, «]i| uncultivated. Every nation is then obliged by i law of nature to cultivate the ground that has fallen J its share. Those people, like the ancient Geriit and modem Tartars, who, having fertile cuuniiiJ disdain to cidtivate the earth, and choose to livelj rapine, are wanting to themselves, and deserve k^ cxterminuteU as savage and pernicious beasts."' Now it is notorious that the savages knew nolbi of agriculture, when first discovered by the Eui peans, but lived a most vagabond, disorderly, unri eous life, — rambling from place to place, and pn gaily rioting upon the sfiontaneous luxuries of natui without tasking her generosity to yield them anyijii more; whereas it has been most unquestionably slm that heaven intended the earth should be ploiig and sown, and manured, and laid out into cities,] towns, and farms, and country seals, and pleas grounds, and public gardens, all which the IiHlia knew nothing about — therefore they did not itnpi the talents Providence had bestowed on them— tlie fore they were careless stewards — therefore they h no right to the soil — therefore they deserved to bee terminated. It is true the savages might plead that they i all the benefits from the land which their sin wants required — that they found plenty of gamelj hunt, which, together with the roots and uncuilivalij fruits of the earth, furnished a suflicient variely i their frugal repasts; — and that as Heaven inetd designed the earth to form the abode and satisfy I wants of man, so long as those purposes were a swered, the will of Heaven was accomplisheil.-Bi this only proves how undeserving they were nfll blessings around them — they were so much the dm savages, for not having more wants; for knowlei is in some degree an increase of desires, and ilj this superiority lN)th in the number and niagiiiln of his desires, that distinguishes the man from I beast. Therefore the Indians, in not iiaviui;ini wants, were very unreasonable animals ; and il i but just that they should make way for the Europi who had a thousand wants to their one, and then > VaUet, I), i, cli. \7. m ;'uni, gin, bran I wants, of which HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 119 L|(l turn the earth to more account, and by cul- Llinpil, mote truly fulfil the will of Heaven. Ite- -Grotius, and Lauterbach, and Puffendorf, and ijus and many wise men bfside, who have con- jred the matter properly, have determined, that the erty of a country cannot be acquired by hunting:, llin" wood, or drawing water in it— nothing but t^Lse demarcation of limits, and the intention of cul- ^tion, can establish the possession. Now as the fatres (prolwbly from never having read the authors W quoted) had never complied with any of these ressary forms, it plainly followed that they bad no ht to the soil, but that it was completely at the dis- al of the llrst comers, who had more knowledge, ; wants, and more elegant, that is to say, artificial Hres than themselves. kii entering upon a newly-discovered, uncultivated Llry, therefore, the new comers were but taking «$sion of what, according to the aforesaid doc- he, was their own property — therefore in opposing Lm, the savages were invading their just rights, in- jiging the immutable laws of nature, and counter- |iii<; the will of Heaven — therefoie they were guilty mpiety, burglary, and trespass on the case, — there- ; they were hardened offenders against God and L— therefore they ought to be exterminated. Itul a more irresistible right than either that I have fntioned, and one which will l)e the most readily nitted by my reader, provided he be blessed with irels of charity and philanthropy, is the riglit ac- I by civilization. All the world knows the la- kntable state in which these poor savages were Lnd : not only deficient in the comforts of life, hut jial is still worse, most piteously and unfortunately lul to ilie miseries of their situation. But no sooner I the benevolent inhabitants of Europe behold their I condition than they immediately went to work to diorate and improve it. They introduced among km i'um, gin, brandy and the other comforts of k-and it is astonishing to read how soon the poor iages learned to estimate these blessings — they like- ! made known to them a thousand remedies, by kich the most inveterate diseases are alleviated and jiled; and that they might comprehend the bene- \ and enjoy the comforts of these medicines, they piously introduced among them the diseases which f were calculated to cure. By these and a variety Kher methods was the condition of these pour sa- ;es wonderfully improved ; they acquired a thou- |id wants, of wliich they had before been ignorant ; 1 as he has most sources of happiness who has most ^nls to be gralifit i, they were doubtlessly rendered nuch happier race of beings. But the most important branch of civilization, and kich has most strenuously been extolled by the Uout and pious fathers of the Romish Church, is I introduction of the Christian faith. It was truly ight that might well inspire horror, to behold these |age8 stumbling among the dark mountains of pa- ism, and guilty of the most horrible ignorance of religion. It is true, they ncitlier stole nor defranded ; they were solwr, 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 in- duce them to embrace and practise the true religion — except indeed that of setting them the example. But notwithstanding all these complicated labours for their good, such was the unparalleled obstinacy of these stubborn wretches, that they ungratefully refused to acknowledge the strangers as their bene- factors, and persisted in disbelieving the doctrines they endeavoured to inculcate; most insolently al- leging, that from their conduct, the advocates of Christianity did not seem to believe in it themselves. Was not this too much for human patience? — would not one suppose that the benign visitants from Eu- rope, provoked at their incredulity, and discouraged by their stiff-necked obstinacy, would for ever have abandoned their shores, and consigned them to Iheu* original ignorance and misery? — But no — so zealous were they to effect the temporal comfort and eternal salvation of these pagan infidels, that they even pro- ceeded 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 bloodhounds— purified them by fire and sword, by stake and fagot ; in consequence of which itHlefatigable measures the cause of Christian love and ch;.rity was so rapidly advanced, that in a very few years not one fifth of the number of unbelievers existed in South America that were found there at the time of its discovery. What stronger right need the European settlers advance 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? Have they not been literally hunted and smoked out of the dens and lurking-places of ignorance and infi- delity, 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 en- gage their worldly and selfish thoughts, been bene- volently taken from them? and have they not, instead thereof, been taught to set their affections on things above ? — And, finally, to use the words of a reverend Spanish 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 surrendering to them a little pitiful tract of this dirty sublunary planet, in exchange for a glorious inhe- ritance in the kingdom of Heaven! " Here then are three complete and undeniable sour- ces of right established, any one of which vis more than ample to establish a property m the nr vly-dis- covered regions of America. Now, so it has happen- ed in certain parts of this delightful quarter of the globe, that the right of discovery has been so stre- 120 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. ,■' I niioiisly: asserted — the influence of cultivation so in- dustriously 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, somehow or another, been utterly annihilated —and this all at once brings me to a fourth right, which is worth all (the others put together— For the original claimants to the soil being all dead and buri- e*], and no one remaining to inherit or dispute the soil, the Spaniards, as (he next immediate occupants, entered upon the possession as clearly as the hang- man succeeds to the clothes of the malefactor — and as they have Blackstone* and all t!<e learned ex- pounders 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 fur ever, his holiness Pope Alexander YI. issued a bull, by which he generously granted the newly discovered quarter of the globe to the Spaniards and Portugueze; who, thus having law and gospel on their side, and being inflamed with great spiritual zeal, showed the pagan savages neither favour nor affection, but pro- seculeil the work of discovery, colonization, civiliza- tion, and extermination, with ten times more fury than ever. Thus were the European worthies who first dis- covered 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, uncivilized, and heathenish condition — for having made them acquainted with the comforts of Ufe; for having introduced among them the light of religion; and finally— for having hurried them out of the world, to enjoy its reward I Rut as argument is never so well understood by us selfish mortals as when it comes home to ourselves, and as I am particularly anxious that this question should be put to rest for ever, I will suppose a paral- lel case, by way of arousing the candid attention of my readers. Let us supiMse, then, that tlio inhabitants of the moon, by astonishing advancement in science, and by » profound insight into that lunar philosophy, the mere fiickerings of which have of late years dazzle<l tlie feeble optics and addled the shallow brains of the good people of our globe— let us suppose, I say, that llie inhabilanis of the moon, by these means, had ar- rivctl at such a command of their energies, such an enviable stale of perfectibility, as to c<mtrol the ele- ments, and navigate the boundless regions of space. Let us suppose a roving crew of these soaring philo- sophers, in the course of an aerial voyage of discovery < HI. Comm. B. it. o. I. ' among the stars, should chance to alight uponii outlandish planet. And here I beg my readers wiU not have tliei charitableness to smile, as is too frequently ilief of volatile readers, when perusing the grave \ tions of philosophers. I am far from indulging in| sportive vein at present; nor is the supposition l|| been making so wild as many may deem it. liy long been a very serious and anxious question i me, and many a time and oft, in the course of i overwhelming cares and contrivances for the wd and protection of this my native planet, have 1 1 awake whole nights debating in my mind, whet it were most probable we should first discover i civilize tlie moon, or the moon discover and civj our globe. Neither would (he prodigy of saiiin^ij the air and cruising among the stars be a whit g astonishing and incomprehensible to us than was | European mystery of navigating floating m through the world of waters, to the simple savaf We have already discovered the art of coaslin;;a the aerial shores of our planet, by means of Italloi as the savages had of venturing along their sea ( in canoes ; and the disparity between the former a the aerial vehicles of the philosophers from the m might not be greater than that I)etween the bartij noes of the savages and the mighty ships of their j coverers. I might here pursue an endless f\m{ similar speculations; but as they would be uiiimpt ant to my sid)ject, I abandon them to niy re particularly if he be a philosopher, as mallei's i worthy his attentive consideration. To return then to my supposition- let us supposed aerial visitants I have mentioned possessed of vastlji perior knowledge to ourselves ; that is to say, \m ed of superior knowledge in the art of exteriiiinilij — riding on hippogriffs — defended with inipeiiein armour — armed with concentrated sunbeams, provided with vast engines, to hurl enormous iiw stones; in short, let us suppose them, if our va will permit the supposition, as superior to us in km ledge, and consequently in power, as the Enr were to the Indians, when Ihey first discovered ll All this is very possible; it is only our seir-suniriti that makes us think otherwise; and I wiuranll poor savages, before they had any knowledge off white men, armed in all the terroi°s of glilleringsl and tremendous gunpowder, were as perfeclly ( vinccd that they themselves were the wisest, llien virtuous, powcrhd, and perfect of created beinf$,l are, at lliis present moment, the lordly inhahiUuitl old England, the volatile populace of France, orei the self-satisfied citizens of this most enlightened^ public. Let us suppose, moreover, that the aerial voya) finding this planet to be nothing but a howlirijii derness, inhabited by us poor savages and wild I shall take formal possession of it, in the name ofll most gracious and philosophic excellency the Mini the Moon. Finditig, however, that their numu Ifiien making suci HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. fil > incompetent to hold It In complete subjection, on ount of the ferocious barbarity of its inhabitants ; lev siiall take our worthy President, the King of k'laiul, the Emperor of Ilayti, the mighty Bona- jrte and the great King of lianlam, and returning ftlifir native planet, shall carry Iheni to court, as \re tlie Indian chief's led about as spectacles in the Jirts of Europe. Iriien making such obeisance as the cli({uel(c of the \xl requires, liiey shall address the puissant i\Ian in > Moon, in, as near as I can conjecture, the follow- [ terms : I" Most serene and mighty potentate, whose donii- lins extend as far as eye can reach, who ridelh on (Great liear, useth tlic sun as a looking-glass, and liiitaiiieth unrivalled control over (ides, madmen, jsea crabs. We thy liege subjects have just re- ned from a voyage of discovery, in the course of kicii we have lauded and taken |)Ossessiun of that tare little dirty planet, which thou beholdcst roll- t at a distance. The five uncouth monsters, which [have brought into this august presence, were once f important chiefs among their fellow-savages, who \a race of beings totally destitute of the common [ributes of humanity; and differing in every thing (11 the inhabitants of (he moon, inasmuch as they J their heads upon their shoulders, instead of un- tlieir arms — have two eyes instead of one — are lerly destitute of tails, and of a variety of unseemly nplexions, particularly of a horrible whiteness — |tead of pea green. ' We have moreover found these miserabh; savages |ik iiito a state of the utmost ignorance and dcpra- , every man shamelessly living with his own wife, 1 rearing his own children, instead of indulging in (t comiuunity of wives enjoined by the law of na- !e,as expounded by (he philosophers of the moon. la word, they have scarcely a gleam of true phi- pphy among them, but arc, in fact, utter heretics, lorainuses, and barbarians. 'J'aking compassion, Irefore, on the sad condition of these sublunary lulclies, we have endeavoured, while we remained [their planet, to introduce among Ihem the light of ion, and the comforts of the moon. \\'e have bted them to moutbfuls of moonshine, and draughts pitroHS oxyde, which they swallowed with inere- lle voracity, particularly the females; and we have pise endeavoured to instil into them the precepts jiuimr philosophy. We have insisted upon their loimcing the contemptible shackles of religion and hmion sense, and ailoriug the profound, onuii|)o- |l, and all-perfect energy, and the ecstatic, iuumit- ^, immovable perfection. lUit such was the un- lalleled obstinacy of these wretched savages, that ly persisted in cleaving to their wives, and adher- ] to their religion, and absolutely set at nought the lilime doctrines of the moon; nay, among other kminable heresies, they even went so far as blas- pously to declare, that this ineffable planet was pe of nothing more nor less than green ciieese ! " At these words, the great Man in the Moon (being a very profound philosopher) shall fall into a terrible passion, and possessing equal authority over things that do not belong to him as did whilome his holiness the pope, shall forthwith issue a formidable bull, spe- cifying, " That, whereas a certain crew of Lunatics have lately discovered and taken possession of a newly- discovered planet called Ihe earth— am\ that whereas it is inhabited by none but a race of two-legged ani- mals that carry their heads on liieir shoulders instead of under their arms; cannot talk the hmalie language; have two eyes instead of one; are destitute of tails, and of a horrible whiteness, instead of pea green; therefore, anil for a variety of other excellent reasons, they are considered incapable of possessing any pro- perty in llu: planet they infest, and the right and title to it are coniirmed to its original discoverers. And furthermore, the colonists who are now about to de- part to the aforesaid planet arc authorized and com- manded to use every means to convert these inlidel savages from the darkness of Christianity, and make them thorough and iibsolute lunatics." In consecpience of this benevolent bull, our philoso- phic l)enefactoi-s go to work with hearty zeal. They seize uiwn our fertile territories, scourge us from our rightful possessions, relieve us from our wives, and when we are unreasonable enough to complain, they will turn upon us and say, '■' IMiscrablc barbarians ! un- grateful wretches! have we not come thousands of miles to improve your worthless planet? Have we not fed you with moonshine ; have we not intoxicated you with nitrous oxyde ; does not our moon give you light every night, and have you the baseness to mur- nun-, when we claim a pitiful retin-n for all these be- nefits ? " But finding that we not only persist in abso- lute contempt of their reasoning and disbelief in their philosophy, but even go so far as daringly to defend our property, their patience shall be exluuisted, and they shall resort to their superior powers of argument; hunt us with bippogrifls, transfix us with concentrated sunbeams, demolish our cities with moon-stones; un- til, Inving by main force converted us to the true faith, they shall graciously permit us to exist in the torrid deserts of Arabia, or the frozen regions of Lap- land, there to enjoy the blessings of civilization and Ihe charms of lunar philosophy, in nuich the same manner as the reformed and enlightened savages of this country are kindly suffered to inhabit the in- hospitable forests of the north, or the iuipenclrable wihlernesses of South America. Thus, I hope, I have clearly proved, and strikingly illustrated, the right of the early colonists to the pos- session of this country, and thus is this gigantic ques- tion completely van(|uished : so having manfully sur- mounted all obstacles, and subdued all op()osition, what remains but that I sbouhl forthwith conduct my readers into the city which we have been so long in a niaiuier besieging ?— Hut hold; before I prot'eed another step, I nmst pause to lake breath, and rc(!over from Ihe excessive fatigue I have undergone, in pre- l(i i22 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. ill !l paring to begin this most accurate of liistories. A nd in tills I do but imitate the example of a renowned Dutch tumbler of antiquity, who took a start of three miles for the purpose of jumping over a hill; but having run himself out of breath by the tune he reached the foot, sat himself quietly down for a few moments to blow, and llien walked over at liis lei- sure. BOOK U. TRKATIISG OP TUE FIRST SKTTLKINEIVT OF TIIB PROVIKGE OF NIEUW NEUEBLANDTS. CHAPTER I. In which arf contained divers reasons why a man shonid not write in a hurry. Also of Master liendricli Hudson, his dis- covery of a strange country— and how he was inagniflcently rewarded by the munificence of Uieir lligli Mightinesses. My great grandfather, by the mother's side, Iler- manus Van Clattercop, when employed to build the large slone church at Rotterdam, which stands about three hundred yards to your left, after you turn off from the Boomkeys, and which is so conveniently constructed, that all the zealous Christians of Rot- terdam prefer sleeping through a sermon there to any other church in the city — my great grandfather, I say, when employed to build that famous church, did in the first place send to Delft for a box of long pipes; then having purchased a new spitting-box and a hundred weight of the best Virginia, he sat him- self down, and did nothing for the space of three months but smoke most laboriously. Then did he spend full three months more in trudging on foot, and voyaging in trekschuyt, from Rotterdam to Am- sterdam — to Delft — to Ilaerlem — to Leyden — to the Hague, knocking his head and breaking his pipe against eveiy church in his road. Then did he ad- vance gradually nearer and nearer to Rotterdam, until he came in full sight of the identical spot whereon the church was to be built. Then did he spend three months longer in walking round it and round it, contemplating it, first from one point of view, and then from another — now would he be paddled by it on the canal— now would he peep at it through a te- lescope from the other side of the Meiise — and now would he take a bird's-eye glance at it from the top of one of those gigantic wind-mills which protect the gates of the city. The good folks of the place were on the tiptoe of expectation and impatience— notwith- standing all the turmoil of my great grandfather, not a symptom of the church was yet to be seen ; they even began to fear it would never be brought into the ^orld, but that its great projector would lie down and die in labour of the mighty plan he had con- ceived. At length, having occupied twelve good months in puffing and paddling, and talking and walking— having travelled over all Holland, and even taken a peep into France and Germany— liati smoked five hundred and ninety-nine pipes, andila hundred weight of the best Virginia tolmco great grandfather gathered together all that kno« and industrious class of citizens who prefer atten to any body's business sooner than their own; ; having pulled off his coat and five pair of bre he advanced sturdily up, and laid the coiner sio of the church, in the presence of the whole mul tilde— just at the commencement of the tliirlei month. In a similar manner, and with the example ofi worthy ancestor full before my eyes, have 1 1 ceeded in writing this most authentic history, honest Rotterdamers no doubt thought my grandfather was doing nothing at all to the pur] while he was making such a world of prefatory 1 about the building of his church— and many of i| ingenious inhabitants of this fair city will unqucstiv abiy suppose that all the preliminary chapters, the discovery, population, and final setlleinenl( America, weic totally irrelevant and superfluoi and that the main business, the histoiy of New-Yoi is not a jot more advanced than if I had never I up my pen. Never were wise people more niist]) in their conjectures •. in conscipience of going tovgj slowly and deliberately, the church came out ofi great grandfather's hands one of the most sumpiiioi gooilly, and glorious edifices in the known wort excepting that, like our magnificent capito) at \Vi uigton, it was begun on so grand a scale IliaU good folks could not afford to finish more than H wing of it. So likewise, I trust, if ever I am ablelj finish this work on the plan I have coninienced, | which, in simple truth, I sometimes have my doubt it will be found that I have pursued the latest i of my art, as exemplified in the writings of all ( great American historians, and wrought a verjli history out of a small siihjecl— which, no^v-a^la^!,J considered one of the great triumphs of histories To proceed, then, with the thread of my story. In the ever-memorable year of our Lord, W,\ a Saturday morning, the five-and-twentielh dayj March, old style, did that " worthy and iriecovei discoverer, (as he has justly been called,) Ma Henry Hudson," set sail from Holland in a stout va called the Half Moon, being employed by llie Dull East India Company to seek a north-west passa^j China. Henry (or, as the Dutch historians call him, 1 drick) liudson was a seafaring man of renown, . had learned to smoke tobacco under Sir Waiter B leigli, and is said to have been tus first to introductj Into Holland, which gained him much popularitjf that country, and causeil him to find great ravoiitj the eyes of their High Mightinesses, the LonlsSlai General, and also of the honourable West IiuiiaC paiiy. He was a short, brawny old gentleman, . a double chin, a mastiff mouth, and a broad < nose, which was supposed in tliose days to liavei HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 423 tired ib fiery hue from the constant neighbonrliood [hislobacco-pipe. I He wore a true Andrea Ferrara, tncke<l in a lea- lern belt, and a commodure's cocked hat on one side Ibis iiead. He was remarkable for always jerking I liis breeches when he gave out his orders, and his > sounded not unlike the brattling of a tin trumpet owing to (he number of hard northwesters which ] had swallowed in the course of his seafaring. ■Such was Ilendrick Hudson, of whom we have anl so much, and know so little . and I have been s particular in his description for the benefit of mo- irii painters and statuaries, that they may represent I as he was; and not, according to Iheir common ilom with moilcrn heroes, make him look like C;c- y or Marcus Aurelius, or the Apollo of Itelvedere. |j\s chief mate and favourite companion, the com- HJore chose Master Robert Juet, of Limeliouse in gland. By some his name has been s|)elled Chewit, \ ascribed to the circumstance of his hiivini; been etirst man (hat ever chewed tobacco; but Ibis I be- |\eto be a mere flippancy; more especially as cer- 1 of his progeny arc living at this day, who write tirnames Juet. lie was an old cunn'ade and early oi-mate of the great Hudson, with whom he had len played truant and sailed chip Iwats in a neigh- iiring pond, when I hey were little boys— from lience it is said the commodore first derived his bias bitls a seafaring life. Certiiin it is, that the old pple about Limehouse declaral Robert Juet to be |unlucky urchin, prone lo mischief, that would one f or other come to the gallows, lie grew up, as boys of that kind often grow up, a Liltiiiig, heedless varlet, tossed about in all quarters llie world— meeting with more perils and wonders (n did Sinbad the Sailor, without growing a whit ; wise, prudent, or ill-nalurcd. Under every mis- |lune, he comforted himself with a (|uid of tobacco, I (he truly philosophic niaxhn, " it will be all the he lliiiig a hundred years hence." He was skilled Ihc art of carving anchors and true lovers' knots on [bulkheads and (piarler-railings, and was consider- |a great wit on board ship, in consc(piencc of his yiiig pranks on every body around, and now and In even making a wry face at old Hendrick, when 1 back was turned. to this universal genius are we indebted for many lliculars concerning Ibis voyage ; of which he wrote [islury, at l!te reipiest of the commodore, who had |uncon(|uerablc aversion to writing himself, from |ing received so many floggings aliout it wlien at loul. To supply the deficiencies of Master J net's Imal, which is written with true log-book brevity, m availed myself of divers family traditions, hand- Idown from my great great grandfather, who ac- ppanied the cxpeiUlion in the capacity of cabin- pm all that I can learn, few incidenU worthy of lark happened in the voyage; and it mortifies me "ngly that I have to admit so noted an expedi- tion into my work, without making any more of it. Suffice it 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 disease 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 pc^t unless the wind blew. True it is, some slight dissatisfaction was shown, on two or three occasions, at certain unreason- Jible conduct of Commodore Hudson. Thus, for instance, he forbore to shorten sail when the wind was light, and the weather serene, which was consi- dered among the most experienced Dutch seamen as certain weather-breeders, or prognostics that the wea- ther would change for the worse. He acted, more- over, in direct contradiction to tliat ancient and sage rule of the Dutch navigators, who always took in sail at night— put the helm a-port, and turned in— by which precaution they had a good night's rest — were sure of knowing where they were the next morning, and stood but little chance of running down a conti- nent in the dark. He likewise prohibited the seamen from wearing 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 liis mouth, as is the invariable Dutch custom at the present day.— All these griev- ances, though they might ruffle for a moment the constitutional tranquillity of the honest Dutch tars, made but transient impression ; they ate hugely, drank profusely, and slept immeasurably, and being under the especial guidance of I'rovidence, the ship was safe- ly conducted to the coast of America; wliere, after sundry unimportant touchings and standings off and on, she at length, on the fourth day of September, en- tered that majestic bay, which at this day ex[)auds its ample bosom before the city of New- York, and which had never before been visited by any European. ' ■ Trim it is— and I am not ignnrant of the Tact— lliat in a certain aiKicryplial Iwok of voyagfts, uoinpiletl by ow. Halvluyt, in to hf. found a Ifllcr written to Francis tlie First, l)y one Tiiovannc, or .lolni Vcrazzaiii, on which sonic writers arc inclined to found a belief that this dcliglitful l>ay had liccn visited nearly u century previous to llic voyage of the enterprising Hudson. Now this ( albeit it lias met with the countenance of eerUiin very judicious and learned men ) I hold in utter disbelief, and that for various good and substantial reasons— Pirsl, Because on strict examina- tion it will Im! found, that the de!ieri|ilion given by this Verazzani apiilies about as well lo llie l>ay of New-York as it does to my night- cap.— .Vrrotid/j/, Bccnuso that this John Verazzani, for whom I ah'eady Ix^gin to feet a most bitter enmity, is a native of Florence ; and every liwly knows the crafty wiles of these kiset Florentines, by \vliicli they DIcIkhI away the laurels fltxii the brows of the im- mortal Colon ( vulgarly culled Cohnnbns,) and iH-stowed them on Iheir oflieioiis townsman, Amerigo Vespucci— and I make no doubt they arc e(|ually ready to mb the illustrious Hudson of tlio credit of discovering this iieauteoiis island, ailoriuHl by Uie city of New- York, aiul placing it iM'side their usurped discovery of Soulli America. And, thirdly, 1 award my decision in favour of the prt^lensions of Ilendrick Hudson, Inasnnich as his nqtedition sail- ed from Holland, being truly and absolutely a Dutch cntcr|irise— and though all the proofs in the world were introtluced on the other tide, I would set them at nouglit, as undcKrviiig ray atlen- iM HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. It has been traditionary ia our family, that when Uie great navigator was lirst blessed with a view of this enclianling island, he was observed, for tlie first and only time in his lire, to exhibit strong symptoms of astonishment and admiration. lie is said to have turned to Master Juet, and uttered these remarkable words, while he pointed towards this paradise of the New World— "See! there!"— and thereupon, as was always his way when he was uncommonly plead- ed, he did puff out such clouds of dense tobacco smoke, that in one minute the vessel was out of sight of land, and Master Juet was fain to wait until the winds dispersed this impenetrable fog. It was indeed — as my great great grandfather used to say— though in trutii I never heard him, for he died, as might be expected, before I was born— "it was indeed a spot on which the eye might have revel- led for ever, in ever new and never ending beauties." The island of Mannahata spread wide before them, like some sweet vision of fancy, or some tair creation of industrious magic. Its hills of smiling green swell- ed gently one above another, crowned with lofty trees of luxuriant growth; some pointing their taper- ing foliage towards the clouds, which were gloriously transparent; and others, loaded with a verdant bur- then of clambering vines, bowing their branches to the earth, that was covered with flowers. On the gentle declivities of the hills were scattered in gay profusion the dogwood, the sumach, and the wild brier , whose scarlet berries and white blossoms glowed brighlly among the deep green of the surrounding foliage; and here and there u curling column of sniuke rising fioni the little glens that opened along the shore, seemed to promise the weary voyagers a welcome at the hands »>f their fellow-creatures. As they stood gazing with entranced attention on the scene before them, a red man, crowned with feathers, issued from one of these glens, and after contemplating in silent wonder the gallant shii>, as she sal like a stately swan swimming on a silver lake, sounded the war-whoop, and bound- ed into the wootls, like a wild deer, to the utter asto- nishment of the phlegmatic Dutchmen, who had never heard such a noise or witnessed such a caper in their whole lives. Of the transactions of our adventurers with the sa- vages, and how the latter smoked copper pipes and ate dried currants; how they brought great store of tobacco and oysters; how they shot one of the ship's crew, and how he was buried, I shall say nothing, being that I consider them unimportant to my history. After tarrying a few days in the bay, in order to re- fresh themselves after their seafaring, our voyagers weighed anchor, to explore a mighty river which emptied into the bay. This river, it is said, was known among the savages by the name of the Shaie- muck; though we are assured in an excellent litllo liun. If IhciM! (Iirec rcasoiui be not suflicipiit to satisfy uvcry burgher ot thi» ancient cily— all I can say i8 tliey arc dcRcnprato dfuccndanli) from their venerable Dutch ancestors, and totally unworthy the trouble of convincing. Thus, thrrefore, the title of Ucndrick Hudson to his renowned discovery Is hilly vindicated. histoiy published in 1G74, by John Josselyn, i that it was called the Mohegan, ' and Master Hid Blome, who wrote some time afterwards, asserts n same— so that I very much incline in favour ofn opinion of these two honest gentlemen. Be this at| may, up this river did the adventurous Hendrick r ceed, little doubting but it would turn out to beg much-looked-for passage to China ! The journal goes on to make mention of divers i| terviews between the crew and the natives, ini| voyage up the river; but as they would be imiK nent to my history, I shall pass over them in silew except the following dry joke, played off by ilieti commodore and his school-fellow Robert Juet, whi does such vast credit to their experimental p1uIo$o|i|it| that I cannot refrain frQm inserting it. " Ourmai and his mate determined to try some of the chiefen of the countrey, whether they had any treaelierie i them. So they tooke them downe into the cabin,i gave them so much wine and aqua vitse, thai i were all nterrie; and one of them had his wifev him, which sate so modestly, as any of our couoin women would do in a strange place. In the end,i of them was drunke, which had been aboarde oFoi ship all the time that we had beene there, and li was strange to them, for tliey could not tell ho«i| take it. " ' ilaving satislied himself by this ingenious exjx ment, that the natives were an honest, social race^ jolly roysters, who had no objection to adrinkingb and were very ni»;rry in their cups, the old cotninix chuckled hugely to himself, and thrusting add quid of tobacco in his cheek, directed Master Jurtll have it carefully recorded, for the satisfaction of^ the natural philosophers of the university of Leyda which done, he proceeded on his voyage, with t self-complacency. After sailing, however, abovej hundred miles up the river, he found the mte world around him begin to grow more shallow i coiillned, the current more rapid, and perfectly fn — phenomena not uncommon in the ascent of rivim but which puzzled the honest Dutchmen pro(ligiousl|| A consultation was therefore called, and having d berated full six hours, they were brought to a del ininatioii by the ship's ruiuiing aground — wliereujii they unanimously concluded that there was but lill chance of getting to China in this direction. A In however, was dispatched to explore higher up ll river, which, on its return, confirmed the opiii Upon this the ship was warped off and put about i great difficulty, being, like most of her sex, ex« iugly hard to govern ; and the adventurous lludso according to the account of my greatgreat grandfalii returned down the river — with a prodigious Heal his ear ! Being salisfled that there was lillle likelihood^ getting to China, unless, like the blind man, iier ■ This river is liltewise laid down in Ogilvy's map as Hai — NoordI— MontaiRne and Mauritius river. ^ Jucl'sJourn. Purch. I'll. HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. i25 nedfrom wlience he set out, and took a fresh start, f fortliwith recrossed the sea to Holland, where he i received with great welcome by the honourable £t India Company, who were very much rejoiced to ehini come back safe — with their ship ; and at a large respectable meeting of the first merchants and omasters of Amsterdam it was unanimously de- nined, that as a munificent reward for the eminent vices he had performed, and the important disco- j he had made, the great river Mohegan should be bled afler his name ! and it continues to be called hdson-river unto this very day. CHAPTER U. nialning an account of a mighty Ark which floated, under the irotection of St Nicholas, from Holland to Gibbet Island— thn icent of the strange Animals therefrom— a great victory, and Lewription of the ancient village of Cominuuipaw. |Thr delectable accounts given by the great Hudson, I Master Juet, of the country they had discovered, jelled not a little talk and speculation among the 1 people of Holland. Letters-patent were granted [government to an association of merchants, called e West India Company, for the exclusive trade on bdson-river, on which they erected a trading-house jiled Fort Aurania, or Orange, from whence did Iring the great city of Albany. But I forbear to jrell on (he various commercial and colonizing en- prizes which took place ; among which was that of ^iilieer Adrian Block, who discovered and gave a |me (0 Block Island, since famous for its cheese — I shall barely confine myself to that which gave nil to this renowned city. |lt was some three or four years after the return of e immortal Hendrick, that a crew of honest Low [iteh colonists set sail from the city of Amsterdam rthe shores of America. It is an irreparable loss I hislory, and a great proof of the darkness of the I and die lamentable neglect of the noble art of ok -making, since so industriously cultivated by owing sea-captains and learned supercargoes, that expedition so interesting and important in its [suits shoidd he passed over in utter silence. To my [eat great grandfather am I again indebted for the ' facls I am enabled to give concerning it — he hav- ;once more embarked for this country, with a full llermination, as he said, of ending his days hers — ](lur begetting a race of Knickerbockers, that should t to be great men in the land. |Tliesbip in which these illustrious adventurers set 1 was called the Goede Vrouw, or good woman, in npliment to Ihe wife of the President of the West ilia Company, who was allowed by every botly (ex- |)l her husband) to be a sweet-tempered lady — wlien ( in liquor. It was in truth a most gallant vessel, of ! most approved Dutch construction, and made by ! ablest ship-carpenters of Amsterdam, who, it is W known, always model their ships after the fair forms of their countrywomen. Accordfaigiy, it had one hundred feet in the beam, one lumdred feet in the keel, and one hundred feet from the bottom of the stern-post to the taffarel. Like the beauteous model, who was declared to be the greatest belle in Amster- dam, it was full in the bows, with a pair of enormous cat-heads, a copper bottom, and withal a most prodi- gious poop ! The architect, who was somewhat of a religious man, far fi om decorating the ship with pagan idols, such as Jupiter, Neptune, or Hercules, (which heathen- ish abominations, I have no doubt, occasion the mis- fortunes and shipwreck of many a noble vessel,) he, I say, on the contrary, did laudably erect for a head a goodly image of St Nicholas, equippeil with a low, broad-brimmed hat, a huge pair of Flemish trunk- hose, and a pipe that reached to the end of the bow- sprit. Thus gallantly furnished, the staunch ship floated sideways, like a majestic goose, out of tlie harbour of the great city of Amsterdam, and all the bells, that were not otherwise engaged, rang a triple bob-major on the joyful occasion. My great great grandfather remarks that the voyage was uncommonly prosperous, for, being imder the especial care of the ever-revered St Nicholas, the Goede Yrouw seemed to be endowed with qualities unknown to common vessels. Thus she made as much lee-way as head-way, could get along very nearly as fast with the wind a-head as when it was a-poop — and was particularly great in a calm; in consequence of which singular advantages, she made out to accomplish her voyage in a very few months, and came to anchor at the mouth of the Hudson, a little to the east of Gibbet Island. Here, lifting up their eyes, they beheld, on what is at present called the Jersey shore, a small Indian vil- lage, pleasantly embowered in a grove of spreading elms, and the natives all collected on the beach, gazing in stupid admiration at the Goede Yrouw. A boat was immediately dispatched io enter into a treaty with them, and, approaching the shore, hailed them through a trumpet in the most friendly terms ; but so horridly confounded were these poor savages at the tremendous and uncouth sound of the Low Dutch language, (hat they one and all took to their heels, and scampered over the Bergen hills; nor did they stop until they had buried themselves, head and ears, in the marshes on the other side, where they all miserably perished to a man— and their bones being collected, and decently coveretl by the Tammany Society of that day, formed that singular mound called IIattle- SNAKB-iiiLL, which riscs out of the centre of the sail marshes, a little to the east of the Newark Causeway. Animated by this unlooked-for victory, our valiant heroes sprang ashore in triumph, took possession of the soil as con(|uerors in the name of their High Mighti- nesses Ihe Lords States-General ; and, marching fear- lessy forward, carried the village of CoMMiKNnww by storm, notwithstanding that it was vigorously defend- ed by some half a score of old squaws and pop[K)08e6. 126 UlSTORY OF NEW-YORK. On looking about them they were so transported with the excellencies of the place, that they had very little doubt the blessed St Nicholas had guided them thither, as the very spot whereon to settle their colony. The softness of the soil was wonderfully adapted to the driving of piles ; the swamps and marslies around them afforded ample opportunities for the construct- ing of dikes and dams; the shallowness of the shore was peculiarly favourable to the building of docks— in a word, this spot abounded with all the requisites for the foundation of a great Dutch city. On making a faithful report, therefore, to the crew of the Goede Vrouw, they one and all determined that tiiis was the destined end of their voyage. Accordingly they des- cended from the Goede Yrouw^, men. women, and children, in goodly groups, as did the animals of yore from tlie ark, and formed themselves into a thriving settlement, which they called by the Indian name COHMUNIPAW. As all the world is doubtless perfectly acquainted witli Communipaw, it may seem somewhat super- fluous, to treat of it in the present work ; but my readers will please to recollect that, notwillistandiiig it is my chief desire to satisfy the present age, yet I write likewise for posterity, and have to consult the understanding and curiosity of some half a score of centuries yet to come ; by which time perhaps, were it not for this invaluable history, the great Communi- paw, like Babylon, Carthage, Nineveh, and other great cities, might be perfectly extinct— sunk and for- gotten in its own mud— its inhabitants turned into oysters,' and even its situation a fertile subject of learned controversy and hard-headed investigation among indefatigable historians. Let me then piously rescue from oblivion the humble relics of a place, which was the egg from whence was hatclied the miff hty city of New- York ! Communipaw is at present but a small village, pleasantly situated, among rural scenery, on tliat beauteous part of the Jersey shore which w^as known in ancient legends by the name of Pavonia,' and com- mands a grand prospect of the superb bay of New- York. It is within but half an hour's sail of the lat- ter place, provided you have a fair wind, and may be distinctly seen from the city. Nay, it is a well-known fact, which I can testify from my own experience, that on a clear still summer evening you may hear, from the battery of New- York, the obslrei)erous peals of broad-mouthed laughter of the Dutch negroes at Com- munipaw, who, like most other negroes, are famous for their risible powers. This is peculiarly the case on Sunday evenings, when, it is remarked by an in- genious and observant philosopher, who has made great discoveries in the neighbourhood of this city, that they always laugh loudest— which he attributes to the circumstance of tlieir having tlieir holiday- clothes on. ■ Men by inaction dcRcncratc into oystera.— J(ra{m««. > Pavonia, in Die ancient maps, \a ^ivcn to a tract ot couulry extending from about Iluboken to Amboy. These negroes, in fact, like the monks in thed ages, engross all the knowledge of the place,) being infinitely more adventurous and more kno« than their masters, carry on all the foreign trade; u ing frequent voyages to town in canoes loaded < oysters, butter-milk, and cabbages. They are »„ astrologers, predicting the different changes of «J ther almost as accurately as an almanac— iher i moreover exquisite performers on three-stringed j dies : in whistling they almost boast Uie fur-ij powers of Orpheus's lyre, for not a horse or an oijj the place, when at tlie plough or before Uie waga will budge a foot until he hears the well-kiioij whistle of his black driver and companion. And G their amazing skill at casting up accounts upon iIk fingers, they are regarded with as much venerationJ were the disciplesof Pythagorasof yore, when initu|(| into tlie sacred quaternary of numbers. As to the honest burghers of Communipaw, lil wise men and sound philosophers, they never lo^ beyond their pipes, nor trouble their heads aboutii affairs out of their immediate neighbourluxxl; soli they live in profound and enviable ignorance of allil troubles, anxieties, and revolutions, of this distrai planet. I am even told that many among ilieiii i verily believe that Holland, of which they have lie« so much from tradition, is situated somewhere g Long-Island — thai Spikiiig-devil and the Narmcn the two ends of the world— that the country b s under the dominion of their High Mightinesses, i that the city of New- York still goes by the named Nieuw Amsterdam. They meet every Salunlaya ternoon, at the only tavern in the place, which I as a sign a square-headed likeness of the Prince d Orange, where they smoke a silent pipe, by way (I promoting social conviviality, and invariably (hink^ mug of cider to the success of Admiral Van Ti'oii^ who they imagine is still sweeping the British chaiuid with a broom at his mast-head. Communipaw, in short, is one of the numerous liiil^ villages in the vicinity of this most beautiful of eilie which are so many strong holds and fastnesses, wli ther the primitive manners of our Dutch furel'atlia have retreated, and where they are clici'ished willj devout and scrupulous strictness. The dress of i original settlers is handed down inviolate from falbi to son — the identical broad-brimmed hat, broad-skiiti ed coat, and broad-bottomeil breeches, continue fro generation to generation; and several gigantic knn buckles of massy silver are still in wear, that nia gallant display in the days of the patriarchs of Gii munipaw. The language likewise continues unadul teratcd by barbarous innovations; and so crilica correct is the village schoolmaster in his dialect, his reading of a Low Dutch psalm has much tiiesam effect on the nerves as the filing of a handsaw. cbiography ot certain HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. i^ monks intheiL of the place,, and more knon foreign trade; I anoes loaded < 5. Tliey are j„ nt changes or vg almanac— tliey ) three-stringed I )ast Uie far-ij I horse or an oii )efore Uie wara the well-knoj panion. Andii iccounts upon tin much venerationj ore, when initiu ibers. Jommunipaw, , 1, they never lod eir heads about) libourh(Mxl;$o|| ignorance of all! s, of this distra( ly among iliein ich they have kei ed somewhere 1 \dthe Narromi tiie country is j Mightinesses, i es by the name (I every Saturday j •lace, wiiieiil of the Prince d pipe, by wayl invariably drink I iiiral Yan Troini le British chaiuitl le numerous 11 beautiful ufcilie d fastnesses, vli Dutcli furel'aliie re cherished «iii| The dress of ll 'iolate from fallt d tiat, broad-skirt' les, continne fra 'al gigantic linn wear, that nu atriarchsorCoii continues unadiil and so critic; this dialect,! as much the 9 a handsaw. CHAPTER ra. Lbichis set forth Ihc true art of making a bargain— together Klh the miraculous escape of a great Metropolis in a fog — and ebio^pliy of certain Heroes of Communi|)aw. ■lAViiNG, in the trifling digression which concluded ] last chapter, dischargeil Ihc fllial duty which the r of New- York owed the Coinnmnipaw, as lieing I mother settlement; <ind having given a faithful Lure of it as it stands at present, I return with a Jibing sentiment of self-approbation, to dwell upon Larlyltistory. The crew of the GoedeVronw being I reinforced by fresh importations from Holland, [settlement went jollily on, increasing in magni- ( and prosperity. The neighbouring Indians in a t lime became accustomed to the uncouth sound lie Dutch language, and an intercourse gradually t place between them and the new-c jmers. The lians were much given to long talks, and the Dutch long silence — in this particular, therefore, they lonunotlated each other completely. The chiefs laid make long speeches about the big bull, the isli, and the Great Spirit; to which the others iild listen very attentively, smoke their pipes, and nt yah, mynheer — whereat the poor savages were lidronsly delighted. They instructed the new hers in the best art of curing and smoking tobacco ; pie the latter, in return, made them drunk with t Hollands— and then taught them the art of mak- I bargains. i brisk trade for furs was soon opened : the Dutch hers were scrupulously honest in their dealings, I purchased by weight, establishing it as an inva- |)le table of avoirdupois, that the hand of a Dutch- 1 weighed one pound, and his foot two pounds. i true, the simple Indians were often puzzled by J great disproportion between bulk and weight; [let them place a bundle of furs, never so large, in 1 scale, and a Dutchman put his hand or foot in I other, the bundle was sure to kick the beam — ler was a package of furs known to weigh more than ^pounds in the market of Communipaw! fhisis a singular fact— but I have it direct from my 111 great grandfather, who had risen to considerable lortance in the colony, being promoted to the of- jof weigh-master, on account of the uncommon Inness of his foot. the Dutch possessions in this part of the globe be- jnowtoassume a very thriving appearance, and e comprehended under the general title of Nieuw Uerlandts, on account, as the sage Yander Donck pes, of their great resemblance to the Dutch herlands- which indeed was truly remarkable, [epting that the former were rugged and moun- lous, and the latter level and marshy. About this t the tranquillity of the Dutch colonists was doom- ) suffer a temporary interruption. In 1 61 4, Cap- I Sir Samuel Argal, sailing under a commission I Dale, governor of Yirginia, visited the Dutch llements on Iliidson-river, and demanded their submission to the English crown and Yii^ian do- minion. To tliis arrogant demand, as they were in no condition to resist it, they submitted for the time, like discreet and reasonable men. It does not appear that the valiant Ai^al molested the settlement of Communipaw : on the contrary, I am lold that when his vessel first hove in sight, the worthy burghers were seized with such a panic, that they fell to smoking their pipes with astonishing ve- hemence; insomuch that they cpiiekly raised a cloud, which combinmg with the surroundir.^ woods and marshes, completely enveloped and concealed their beloved village, and overhung the fair regions of Pa- vonia — So that the terrible Captain Argal passed on, totally unsuspicious that a sturdy little Dutch settle- ment lay snugly couched in the mud, under cover of all this pestilent vapour. In commemoration of this fortunate escape, the worthy inhabitants have con- tinued to smoke, almost without intermission, unto this very day; which is said to be the cause of the re- markable fog that often hangs over Conununipaw of a clear afternoon. Upon the departure of the enemy our magnani- mous ancestors took full six months to reco> sr their wind, having been exceedingly discomposed by the consternation and hurry of affairs. They then called a council of safety to smoke over the state of the pro- vince. After six months more of mature delibera- tion, during which nearly five hundred words were spoken, and almost as much tobacco was smoked as would have served a certain modern general through a whole winter's campaign of hard drinking, it was determined to fit out an armament of canoes, and dispatch them on a voyage of discovery ; to search if peradventure some more sure and formidable position might not be found, where the colony would be less subject to vexatious visitations. This perilous enterprise was entnisted to the su- perintendence of Mynheers Oloffe Yan Kortlandt, Abraham Hardenbroeck, Jacobus Yan Zandt, and Winant Ten Broeck — four indubitably great men, but of whose history, although I have made diligent inquiry, I can learn but little, previous to their leav- ing Holland. Nor need this occasion much surprise; for adventurers, like prophets, though they make great noise abroad, have seldom much celebrity in their own countries; but this much is certain, that the overflowings and off-scourings of a country are in- variably composed of the richest parts of the soil. And here I cannot help remarking how convenient it would be to many of our great men and great families of doubtful origin, could Ibey have the privilege of the heroes of yore, who, whenever their origin was involved in obscurity, mixlestly announced them- selves descended from a god —and who never visited a foreign country but what they told some cock-and- bull stories about their being kings and princes at home. This venal trespass on the truth, though it has occasionally been played off by some pseudo mar- quis, baronet, and other illustrious foreigner, in our ■i \: 128 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. land of good-natured credulity, has been completely discountenanced in this sceptical, matter-of-fact age — and I even question whether any tender virgin, who was accidentally and unaccountably enriched with a bantling, would save her character at parlour fire-sides and evening tea-parties by ascribing the phenomenon to a swan, a shower of gold, or a river- g«l. Thus being denied the l)enefit of mythology and classic fable, I should have been completely at a loss as to the early biography of my heroes, had not a ^leam of light been thrown upon their origin from their names. By this simple means have I been enabled to gather some particulars concerning the adventurers in ques- tion. Van Kortlandt, for instance, was one of those peripatetic philosophers, who tax Providence for a livelihood, and, like Diogenes, enjoy a free and unin- cumbered estate in sunshine. He was usually ar- rayed in garments suitable to his fortune, l)eing cu- riously fringed and fangled by the hand of time; and was helmeted with an old fragment of a hat, which had acquired the shape of a sugar-loaf; and so far did he carry his contempt for the adventitious distinction of dress, that it is said the remnant of a shirt, which covered his back, and dangled like a [HKket-handker- chicf out of a hole in his breeches, was never washed, except by the bountiful showers of heaven. In this garb was he usually to be seen, sunning himself at noon-day, with a heixl of philosophers of the same sect, on the side of the great canal of Amsterdam. Like your nobility of Europe, he took his name of Kortlandt (or lack land) from his landed estate, which lay somewhere in Terra Incognita. Of the next of our worthies, might I have had the benclit of mythological assistance, the want of which I have just lamented, I should have made honourable mention, as boasting equally illustrious pedigree with the proudest hero of antiquity. His name was Van Zandt, which being freely translated, signifies, from the dirt, meaning, beyond a doubt, that like Tripto- lemus, TItemis, the Cyclops, and the Titans, he sprang from Dame Terra, or the earth ! This supposition is strongly coiToborated by his size, for it is well known that all the progeny of mother earth were of a gi- gantic stature; and Van Zandt, we are told, was a tall raw-boned man, almve six feet high — with an astonishingly hard head. Nor is this origin of the illustrious Van Zandt a whit more improbable or re- pugnant to belief than what is related and univei'sally admitted of certain of our greatest, or rather richest men ; who, we are told with the utmost gravity, did originally spring from a dunghill ! Of the third hero but a faint description has reach- ed to this time, which mentions that he was a sturdy, obstinate, burly, bustling little man ; and from being usually equipped with an old pair of buckskins, was familiarly dubbed Harden Broeck, or Totigh Breeches. Ten Broeck completed this junto of adventurers. It Is a singular but ludicrous fact, which, were I not scnipnions in recording the whole truth, 1 1 most be tempted to pass over in silence, as inc tible with the gravity and dignity of history, that j worthy gentleman should likewise have been j named from the most whimsical part of his dreas, fact, the small-clothes seems to have been a veryg portant garment in the eyes of our venerated an tors, owing in all probability to its really bein;'ii largest article of raiment among them. The i of Ten Broeck, or Tin Broeck, is indilTerenlly traj lated into Ten Breeches and Tin Breeches— tlie |J Dutch commentators incline to the former upinjn and ascribe it to his being the first who inlrodui into the settlement the ancient Dutch fashion of wg ing ten pair of breeclics. But the most elegant) ingenious writers on the subject declare ui favoutj Tin, or rather Thin Breeches; from whence i infer that he was a poor, but merry rogue, who$e«i ligaskins were none of the soundest, and who wasil identical author of that truly philosophical slaiua- " Tlieii why slinultl wc quarrel for riclies, t)r any sucli gtitturin^' toys ? A liglit Iirart and lliin pair of breeches Will gu Ihruugli tlic world, iiiy brave boys \ " Such was the gallant junto chosen to conduct li voyage into unknown realms, and the whole wasji under the superintending care and direction of ( Van Kortlandt, who was held in great revere among the sages of Conimunipaw, for the varitlyi darkness of his knowledge. Having, as I befoni^ served, passed a great part of his life in the open a among the peripatetic philosophers of Amster(laiii,|| had become amazingly well acquainted with the( peel of the heavens, and could as accurately deten when a storm was brewuig, or a squall rising, nl dutiful husband can foresee, from the brow oflf spouse, when a tempest is gathering al)out liise He was moreover a great seer of ghosts and guU and a firm believer in omens; but what especiallrij commended him to public conllilence was his man lous talent at dreaming, for there never was anvil of consequence happened at Conimunipaw butvkj he declared he had previously dreamt it; being oh| those infallible prophets, who always predict evo after they ha> i come tc pass. This supernatural gift was as highly valued am the burghers of Pavonia as it was among the enli^ ened nations of antiquity . The wise Ulysses was n indebted to his sleeping than his waking niomeiilsf all his subtle achievements, and seldom under! any great exploit without first soundly sleeping u it; and the same may truly be said of the good^l Kortlandt, who was thence aptly denominated C the Dreamer. This cautious commander having chosen thee that should accompany him in the protmsed eipi tion, exhorted them to repair to their homes, tal^ good night's rest, settle all family affairs, andt their wills, before departing on this voyage inio^ HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 129 own realms. And indeed this Inst was a precan- always taken by our forefathers, even in after- nes, when they bec<ime more adventnroiis, and Laged to Ilaverstraw, or Kaatskill, or (ii'oodt Eso- L or any other far country that lay beyond the great bters of the Tap()aan Zee. . > CHAPTER IV. r the Heroes of Communipaw voyajced to llcll-Gatc, and how they were received llicre. I And now the rosy blush of morn began to mantle in eeasl,and soon the risingsun, emerging from amidst ^den and puqile clouds, shed his blithesome rays on I tin weathercocks of Communipaw. It was that Vicious season of the year when nature, breaking I the chilling thraldom of old winter, like a bloom- 5 damsel from the tyranny of a sordid old father, «\v herself, blushing with ten thousand charms, |lo llie arms of youthful spring. Every tufled copse 1 blooming grove resounded with the notes of hy- Jeneal love. The very insects, as they sipped the Iff that gemmed the tender grass of the meadows, |ned in the joyous epithalamium— the virgin bud ^idiy put forth its blushes, " the voice of the turtle I iieaid in the land," and the heart of man dis- Ivedaway in tenderness. Oh ! sweet Theocritus ! I I Ihine oaten reed, wherewith thou erst didst |armlhegay Sicilian plains— Or oh ! gentle Bion! (•pastoral pipe, wherein the happy swains of the jsbian isle so much delighted, then might I attempt [sing, in soft Bucolic or negligent Idyllium, the rural laulies of the scene — but having nothing, save this 1 goose-quill, wherewith to wing my flight, I bst fain resign all poetic disportings of the fancy, 1 pursue my narrative in humble prose; comforting kself with the hope, that though it may not steal so [eelly upon the imagination of my reader, yet may nmmend itself with virgin modesty to his better ji^ent, clothed in the chaste and simple garb of jilli. INo sooner did the first rays of cheerful Phoebus Jrl into the windows of Communipaw than the little lllemeiit was all in motion. Forth issued from his pie the sage Van Kortlandt, and seizing a conch ell, blew a far-resounding blast, that soon summon- I all his lusty followers. Then did they trudge ioiulely down to the water-side, escorted by a mid- |nde of relatives and friends, who all went down, as t common phrase expresses it, "to see them off." kI this shows the antiquity of those long family ■essions, often seen in our city, composed of all Jfs, sizes and sexes, laden with bimdies and band- Jxes, escorting some bevy of country cousins, about art for home in a market-boat. riie good Oloffe bestowed his forces in a squadron llhree canoes, and hoisted his flag on board a little find Dutch boat, shaped not unlike a tub, which I formerly been the jolly-l)oatof the Goede Vrouw. # And now, all being embarked, they bade farewel to the gazing throng upon the beach, who contin I shouting after them, even when out of hcariii:,', w li- ing them a happy voyage, advising them to lake good care of themselves, not to get drowned— with an abundance of such-like sage and invaluable cautions, generally given by landsmen to such as go down to the sea in ships, and adventure upon the deep waters. In the mean while the voyagers cheerily urged their course across the crystal bosom of the bay, and soon left Itebind them the green shores of ancient Pavonia. And first they touched at two small islands which lie nearly opposite Communipaw, and which are said to have been brought into existence about the time of the great irruption of the Hudson, when it broke through the Highlands and made its way to the ocean.' For in this tremendous uproar of the waters, we are told that many huge fragments of rock and land were rent from the mountains and swept down by this run- away river for sixty or seventy miles; where some of them ran aground on the shoals just opposite Com- munipaw, and formed the identical islands in que.>> tion, while others drifted out to sea, and were never heard of more ! A suflicient proof of the fact is, that the rock which forms the bases of these islands is exactly similar to that of the Highlands; and moreover one of our philosophers, who has diligently compared the agreement of their respective surfaces, has even gone so far as to assure me, in confidence, that Gibbet Island was originally nothing more nor less tlian a wart on Anthony's nose.* Leaving these wonderful little isles, they next coast- ed by Governor's Island, since terrible from its frown- ing fortress and grinning batteries. They would by no means, however, land upon this island, since they doubted nuich it might be the abode of demons and spirits, which in those days did greatly alMund throughout this savage and pagan country. Just at this time a shoal of jolly porpoises came rolling and tumbling by, turning up their sleek sides to the sun, and spouting up the briny element in sparkling showers. No sooner did the sage Oloffe mark this than he was greatly rejoiced. "This," exclaimed he, "if I mistake not, augurs well— the porpoise is a fat, well-conditionetl fish — a burgo- master among fishes — his looks betoken ease, plenty, and prosperity — I do greatly admire this round fat fish, and doubt not but this is a happy omen of the suc- cess of our undertaking." So saying, he directed his > It is a matter long since cstablislicd by certain of our plillo- sopliere, lliat is to say, liavius been ofleu advanced, and never contradicted, it has grown to be prcUy nigh equal to a settled fact, that tlie lliulson was originally a lake, dammed up by the nmun- lains of the Highlands. In process of time, however, lieconiing very mighty anil obstreiMuous, and the mountains waxing pursy, droiisical, and weak in Uie back, by reason of their extreme old age, it suddenly ii)se upon them, and after a violent slruggle ctfecl- cd its esca[ie. This is said to have come to pass in vay remote time, probably before that rivers had lost llic art of running up hill. The foi-egoing is a theory in which I do not prelemi to be skilled, notwithstanding that 1 do fully give it my belief. ' A promontory in the liighlamls. \7 ??!&■■ 430 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. Iff t:: sqaadron to steer in the track of these alderman fishes. Turning, therefore, directly to the left, they swept up the strait, vulgarly called the East River. And here the rapid tide which courses through this strait, seizing on the gallant tub in which Commodore Van Korllandt had embarked, hurried it forward with a velocity unparalleled in a Dutch boat navigated by Dutchmen; insomuch that the good commodore, who had all his life long been accustomed only to the drowsy navigation of canals, was more than ever con- vinced that they were in the hands of some superna- tural power, and that the jolly porpoises were towing them to some fair haven that was to fulfil all their wishes and expectations. Thus borne away by the resistless current, they doubled that boisterous point of land, since called Corlear's Hook,' and leaving to the right the rich winding cove of the Wallabont, they drifted into a magnificent expanse of water, surrounded by pleasant shores, whose verdure was exceedingly refreshing to the eye. While the voyagers were looking around them, on what they conceived to be a serene and sunny lake, they beheld at a distance a crew of paint- ed savages, busily employed in fishuig, who seemeil more like the genii of this romantic region — their slender canoe lightly balanced like a feather on the undulating surface of the bay. At sight of these the hearts of the heroes of Com- munipaw w^ere not a little troubled. But as good fortune would have it, at the bow of the commodore's boat was stationed a very valiant man, named Hen- drick Kip (which being interpreted means chicken, a name given him in token of his courage). No sooner did he behold these varlet heathens than he trembled with excessive valour, and although a good half mile distant, he seized a musquetoon that lay at hand, and turning away his head, fired it most intrepidly in the face of the blessed sun. The blundering weapon recoiled, and gave the valiant Kip an ignominious kick, that laid him prostrate with uplifted heels in the bottom of the boat. But such was the effect of this tremendous fire, that the wild men of the woods, struck with consternation, seized hastily upon their paddles, and shot away into one of the deep inlets of the Long Island shore. This signal victory gave new spirits to the hardy voyagers, and in honour of the achievement they gave the name of the valiant Kip to the surrounding bay, and it has continued to be called Kip's Bay from that time to the present. The heart of the good Van Korllandt— who, having no land of his own, was a great admirer of other people's — expanded at the sumptuous prospect of rich unsettled country around him, and falling into a delicious reverie, he straightway began to riot in the possession of vast meadows of salt marsh and interminable patches of cabbages. From this delectable vision he was all at once awakened by the sudden turning of the tide, • Properly Kpelt hoeck ( U e. a point ot land ). which wouM soon have hurried him from this Um of promise, had not the discreet navigator given ml nal to steer for shore; where they accordingly lan(U| hard by the rocky heights of Bellevue — tliat ban retreat, where our jolly aldermen eat for the goodj the city, and fatten the turtle that are sacriliced nl civic solemnities. Here, seate<I on the green sward, by the side of J small stream that ran sparkling among the grass, thHl refreshed themselves after the toils of the seas, m feasting lustily on the ample stores which they I provided for this perilous voyage. Thus having «J fortified their deliberative powers, they fell intoal earnest consultation what was further to be doati This was the first council-dinner ever eaten at Bdl^| vue by Christian burgliei's, and here, as tradition c lates, did originate the great family feud between U Hardenbroecks and the Tenbroecks, which wards had a singular influence on the building of i| city. The sturdy Uardenbroeck, whose eyes I been wondrously delighted with the salt marshes t spread their reeking bosoms along the coast, aid bottom of Kip's Bay, counselled by all means to!»| turn thither, and found the intended city. This i strenuously opposed by the unbending Ten Bn and many testy arguments passed between The particulars of this controversy have not rea us, which is ever to be lamented ; this much isc tain, that the sage Oloffc put an end to the dispi by determining to explore still farther in the i which the mysterious porpoises had so clearly | ed out — whereupon the sturdy Tough Breeches a duned the expedition, took possession of a neighln ing hill, and in a fit of great wrath peopled ail I tract of country, which has continued to be inhal by the Hardenbroecks unto this very day. By this time the jolly Pluebus, like some waul urchin sporting on the side of a green hill, beginlj roll down the declivity of the heavens ; and now, tl tide having once more turned iu their favour, then solute Pavonians again committed themselves lo il| discretion, and coasting along the western shoi were borne towards the straits of BlackweH'sl land. And here the capricious wanderings of the cun occasioned not a little marvel and peiplexity tothi illustrious mariners. INow would they be cauglilkj the wanton eddies, and, sweeping round a ju point, would wind deep into some romantic I cove, that indented the fair island of Manna-had now were they hurried narrowly by the very \m^ impending rocks, mantled with the flaunting j vine, and crowned with groves that threw a I shade on the waves beneath ; and anon they vi^ borne away into the mid-channel, and wafted ', with a rapidity that very much discomposed tlies Van Kortlandt, who, as he saw the land swiftly ' ceding on either side, began exceedingly to doi that terra firma was giving them the slip. Wherever the voyagei-s turned their eyes, a i HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 131 (tion seemed to bloom around. No signs of hu- tn thrift appeared to check the delicious wildness of iiture, who here revelled in all her luxuriant variety. ! hills now bristled, like the fretful porcupine. lith rows of poplars, (vain upstart plants ! minions of lealth and fashion !) were then adorned with the vi- Inrous natives of the soil; the lordly oak, the generous snut, the graceful elm— while here and there the L|ip-tree reared his majestic head, the giant of the It.— Where now are seen the gay retreats of xury— villas lialf buried in twilight-bowers, whence > amorous flute oft breathes the sighings of some llyswain — there the fish-hawk built his solitary nest, isome dry tree that overlooked his watery domain. be timid deer fed undisturbed along those shores U hallowed by the lover's moonlight walk, and [inted by the slender foot of beauty ; and a savage Uilude extended over those happy regions, where |)ff are reared the stalely towers of the Joneses, the bermerhornes, and the Rhinelandei's. JTlius gliding in silent wonder through these new I unknown scenes, the gallant s(|uadron of Pavonia Ireplby the foot of a promontory, that strutted forth Udly into the waves and seemed to frown upon them I they brawled against its base. This is the bluff jell known to modem mariners by the name ofGra- e's Point, from the fair castle, which, like anele- i?nt, it carries upon its back. And here broke upon [eirview a wild and varied prospect, where land crater were beauteously intermingled, as though |ey had coir-bined to heighten and set off each other's larms. To the right lay the sedgy point of Rlack- jtll's Island, dressed in the fresh garniture of living «n— beyond it stretched the pleasant coast of dswtch, and the small harbour well known by t name of Ilallett's cove — a place infamous in latter lys, by reason of its being the haunt of pirates who H$t these seas, robbing orchards and water-melon pes, and insulting gentlemen -navigators, when paging in their pleasure-boats. To the left a deep |y, or rather creek, gracefully receded between ves fringed with forests, and forming a kind of vis- [ llirough which were beheld the sylvan regions of lierlem, Morrissania, and East-Chester. Here the t reposetl with delight on a richly-wooded country, kersified by tufted knolls, shadowy intervals, and king lines of upland, swelling above each other; jiile over the whole the purple mists of spring dif- I a hue of soft voluptuousness. jiust before them the grand course of the stream ^king a sudden bend, wound among embowered ontories and shores of emerald verdure, that I to melt into the wave. A character of gentle- and mild fertility prevailed around. The sun I just descended, and the thin haze of twilight, e a transparent veil drawn over the bosom of virgin kuty, heightened the charms which it half con- m. i^h! witching scenes of foul delusion ! Ah! hapless b'lgers, gazing with simple wonder on these Cir- cean shores! Such, alas! are they, poor easy souls, who listen to the seductions of a wicked world — treacherous are its smiles ! fatal its caresses ! He who yields to its enticements launches npon a whelming tkle, and trusts his feeble bark among the dimpling eddies of a whirlpool ! And thus it fared with tlie worthies of Pavonia, who, little mistrusting the guile- ful scene before them, drifted quietly on, until they were aroused by an uncommon tossing and agitation of their vessels. For now the late dimpling current began to brawl around them, and the waves to boil and foam with horrific fury. Awakened as if from a dream, the astonisheil Oloffe bawled aloud to put about — but his words were lost amid the roaring of the waters. And now ensued a scene of direful con- sternation — at one time they were Iwrne with dread- ful velocity among tumultuous breakers, at anotlier hurried down boisterous rapids. Now they were nearly dashed upon the Hen and Chickens; (infamous rocks ! — more voracious than Scylla and her whelps) and anon they seemed sinking into yawning gulfs, that threatened to entomb them beneath the waves. All the elements combined to produce a hideous con- fusion. The waters raged— the winds howled — and as they were hurried along, several of the astonished mariners beheld the rocks and trees of the neighbom:- ing shores driving through the air! At length the mighty tub of Commodore Van Kort- landt was drawn into the vortex of that tremendous wbiripool called the Pot, where it was whirled about in giddy mazes, until the senses of the good command- er and bis crew were overpowered by the horror of the scene and the strangeness of the revolution. How the gallant squadron of Pavonia was snatched from the jaws of this modern Charybdis has never been truly made known, for so many survived to tell the tale, and, what is still more wonderful, told it in so many different ways, that there has ever prevailed a great variety of opinions on tlie subject. As to the commodore and his crew, when they came to their senses they found themselves stranded on the Long Island shore. The worthy commodore, indeed, used to relate many and wonderful stories of his adventures in this time of peril; how that he saw spectres flying in the air, and heard the yelling of hobgoblins, and put his hand into the Pot when they were whirled around, and found the water scalding hot, and beheld several uncouth-looking beings seat- ed on rocks and skimming it with huge ladles — but particularly he declared with great exultation, that he saw the losel porpoises, which had betrayed them into this peril, some broiling on the Gridiron, aud others hissing in the Fryingpan! These, however, were considered by many as mere phantasies of the commodore's imagination, while he lay in a trance; especially as be was known to be given to dreaming; and the truth of them has never been clearly ascertained. It is certain, however, that to the accounts of Olofl'e and his followiers may be traced the various traditions handed down of this 15^ IIISTOUY OF NEW-YOUK. n I ) inanellous strah— as how llie devil has been seen thei'e, silling astriile of the Hog's Bacli and playing on the (iddle — liow he broils lisli there before a storm; and many otlier stories, in wliicli we must lie cautious of putting too much faith. In conse(|uence of all these terrific circumstances, tlie Pavonian commander gave this pass the name of Helle-gat, or, as it has been interpreted, Ilell-gate: ' which it continues to bear at the present day. CHAPTER V. now the Heroes of Conimunipaw returned wmewhat wiser than Ihcy went— and huw the sage OlofTe dreamed a dream— and (he drcoin that lie dreamed. The darkness of night had closed upon this disas- trous day, and a doleful night was it to the ship- wrecked Pavonians, whose ears were incessantly as- sailed with the raging of the elements, and the howling of the hobgoblins that infested this perfidious strait. But when the morning dawned, the horrors of the preceding evening had passed away; rapids, break- ers, and whirlpools had disappeared; the stream again ran smooth and dimpling, and having changed its tide, rolled gently back towards the quarter where lay their much-regretted home. The woe-begone heroes of Communipaw eyed each other with rueful countenances; their squadron had been totally dispersed by the late disaster. Some were cast upon the western shore, where, headed by one Kuleff Hopper, they took possession of all the country lying about the six mile-stone; which is held by the Hoppers at this present writing. The VValdrons were driven by stress of weather to a distant coast, where, having with them a jug of genuine Hollands, tliey were enabled to conciliate the savages, selling up a kind of tavern; from whence, it is said, did spring the fair town of Haerlem, in M'hich their descendants have ever since continued to be reputable publicans. As to the Suydams, they were thrown upon the Long-Island coast, and may still be found in those parts. But the most singular luck attended the great Ten Broeck, who, falling overboard, was miraculously preserved from sinking by the multitude of his nether garments. Thus buoyed up, he floated on the waves, like a merman, • This is a narrow strait in the Sound, at tlie distance of six miius above Kew-Yorl(. It is dangerous to shipping, uidess under the care of slvilful pilots, by reason of numerous i-oclis, shelves, and whiripoots. These have received sundry apiiellations, such as the Gridiron^ Fryhigpan, Hog's Back , Pot, elc. and are very violent and turbulent at certain times of tide. Certain wise men who instruct these modern days ha', j softened tlie above charac- teristic name into Hurl-gale, which means nothing. I leave them to give their own etymology. The name as given by our author is supiKjrted by the map in Vander IX)ncli.'8 history, publislied in I6ji(i— by Ogilvc's Hintury of America, 1671— as also by a jownal still extant, written in the 16th wntury, and to be found in Hazard's State Papers. And an old IHS. written in French, speaking of various alterations in names about this city, observes "Ue Helle- gal, ti-on d'Eufer, lis ont bit Hell-gate, Porte d'Enfer." until he landed safely on a rock, where he wag I the next morning busily drying his many breechtsi the sunshine. I forbear to treat of the long consultation of onrj venturers — how they determined that it would i do to found a cily in this diabolical neighboiirho and how at length, with fear and trembling, ventured once more upon the briny element, j steered their course back for Conununipaw. SuQ it, in simple brevity, to say, that after loiliti;,' I through the scenes of their yesterday's voyage, i at length opened the southern point of Manna-I and gained a distant view of their beloved Cuaii nipaw. And here they were opposed by an obstinate < that resisted all (he efforts of the exliausted marin Weary and dispirited, they could no longer i head against the power of the tide, or rather, ass will have it, of old INeptune, who, anxious to jnj them to a spot, whereon should be founded his sir hold in this western world, sent half a score of i tent billows, that rolled tlie tub of Commodore V^ Kortlandt high and dry on the shores of Manna- Havuig thus in a manner been guided by sup tural power to this delightful island, their first e was to light a fire at the foot of a large tree, t stood upon the point at present called the Ball Then gathering together great store of oysters vbjj abounded on the shore, and emptying the conte of their wallets, they prepared and made a sumpia council repast. The worthy Van Kortlandt wati served to be particularly zealous in his devolionij the trencher; for having the cares of the exp especially committed to his care, he deemed itio bent on him to eat profoundly for the public j In proportion as he filled himself to the very I with the dainty viands before him, did the heart j this excellent burgher rise up towards his lliroal,i til he seAiied crammed and aUnost choked will eating and good-nature. And at sudi limes ilij when a man's heart is in his throat, that he niayi truly be said to speak from il, and his speeches a with kindness and good fellowship. Thus the m Oloffe having swallowed the last possible n)orsel,i^ wasiied it down with a fervent potation, feltiiisli yearning, and his whole frame in a manner ( with unbounded benevolence. Every thing an him seemed excellent and delightful ; and, layiii;l| hands on each side of his capacious periphery, i rolling his half-closed eyes around on the bead diversity of land and water before hiui, he exclain in a fat half smothered voice, "What a chan prospect ! " The words died away in his tiiroal-l seemed to ponder on the fair scene for a niomeilj his eyelids heavily closed over their orbs— his I drooped upon his bosom-^he slowly sunk upooj green turf, and a deep sleep stole gradually i him. And the sage Oloffe dreamed a dream— andlu,! good St. Nicholas came riding over the tups off HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 155 in that self same waggon wherein he brings ] yearly presents to ciiildren; and he came and de- ludeti liard by where the lieroes of Communipaw I made tlieir late re|>a8t. And tlie shkc?;'! V^an rtiaiult linew liim by his broad hat, liLs long pipe, I ttie n'seniblance which he bore to the figure on I uuw of the Goede Vrouw. And he lit his pipe ] Ike fire, and sat himself down and smoked; and |be sniuiceil, the smolvc from his pipe ascended into air, and spread like a cloud o\ ?r head. And jofTe bethought him, and he hastenetl and climbed I to the top of one of the tallest trees, and saw that tsDwke spread over a great extent of country— I as he considered it more attentively, he fancied Lt the great volume of smoke assumed a variety of vellous forms, where in dim obscurity be saw (lowed out palaces and domes and lofty spires, all ^ii lasted but a moment, and then faded away, lil (he whole rolled off, and nothing but the green I were left. And when St Nicholas had smok- Ibispipe, he twisted it in his hatband, and laying ) finger beside his nose, gave the astonished Van Uandt a very signiticant look; then mounting \ waggon, he returned over the tree tops and dLs- leared. j^iid Van Kortlandt awoke from his sleep greatly hructcd, and he aroused his companions, and re- \i U) them his dream ; and interpreted it, that it tlie will of St INicholas ihat they should settle m and build the city here and Ihat the smoke of > pipe was a type how vast should be the extent of ; city ; inasmuch as the volumes of its smoke should ni over a wide extent of country. And they all I one voice assented to this interpretation, except- ; Mynheer Ten Broeck, who declared the meaning |i)e, tliat it should be a city wherein a little lire uld occasion a great smoke, or in other words, a r vapouring little city— both which interpretations ke strangely come to pass ! [I'he great object of their perilous expedition, there- «, being thus happily accomplisIi.ed, the voyagers lumed merrily to Communipaw, where they were «ived with great rejoicings- And here,^ calling a jneral meeting of the wise men and the dignitaries IPavonia, they related the whole history of their Jage, and the dream of Oloffe Van Kortlandt. And [people lifted up their voices and blessed the gooil J Mcholas, and from that tune forth the sage Van plandt was held in more honour than ever, for his at talent at dreaming, and was pronounceil a most [efiil citizen and a right good man-^wheu he was «p. CHAPTER \1. niog an attempt at etymology— ami of the founding of tlie great City of New-Amsterdam. Fhe original name of the island wherein thesqna- I of Communipaw was thus propitiously (brown is a matter of some dispute, and lias already under- gone considerable vitiation — a melancholy proof of the instability of all sublunary things, and the vanity of all our hopes of lasting fame; for who can expect his name will live to |i08terity, when even the names of mighty islands are thus soon lost in contradiction and uncertauity I The name most current at the present day, and which is Ukewise countenanced by the great historian Vander Donck, is Manhattan ; which is said to have originated in a custom among the Squaws, in the early settlement, of wearing men's hats, as is still done among many tribes. " Hence," as we are told by an old governor who was somewhat of a wag, and flourished almost a century since, and had paid a visit to the wits of Philadelphia, " Hence arose the appel- lation of man-hat-on, first given to the Indians, and afterwards to the island" — a stupid joke! — but well enough for a governor. Among the more venerable sources of information on this subject, is that valuable history of the American possessions, written by Master Richard Blome in 1G87, wherein it is called Manhadaes and Manaha- nent; nor must I forget the excellent little book, full of precious matter, of that authentic historian John Josselyn, Gent, who expressly calls it Manadaes. Another etymology still more ancient, and sanction- ed by the countenance of our ever-to-be-lamented Dutch ancestors, is that found in certain letters still extant,' which passed between the early governoi-s and their neighbouring powers, wherein it is called indifferently Monhattoes — Munhatos and Manhattoes, wluch are evidently unimportant variations of the same name; for our wise forefathers set little store by those niceties either ui orthography or orthoepy, which form the sole study and ambition of many learned men and women of this hypercritical age. This last name is said to be derived from the great Indian spirit Manetho; who was supposed to make tliis is>laiid his favourite abode, on account of its un- common delights. For the Indian traditions afTirni that the bay was once a translucid lake, filled with silver and golden fish, in the midst of wliich lay this beautiful island, covered with every variety of fruits and Howei-s: but that the sudden irruption of the Hudson laid waste these blissful scenes, and Manetho took his flight beyond the great waters of Onlurio. These, however, are fabulous legends, to which very cautious credence must be given ; and although I am willing to admit the last quoted orthography of the name as very suitable for prose, yet is there an- other one founded on still more ancient and indisput- able authority, which I particularly delight in, seeing that it is at once poetical, melodious, and significant — and this is recorded in the before-mentioned voyage of the great Hudson, written by Master Juet ; who clearly and correctly calls it Manna-iiata -uvii » i^ say, the island of Manna, or in other wo** <»: -- r, /..<it<l flowing with milk and honey ! " • Vid. Uazanl's Got. Stat. Pap. 134 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. It Iiaving been solemnly resolved that tlie seat of empire sliouid be transferred from the green shores of Pavonia to tliis delectable island, a vast multitude embarked, and migrated across the mouth of the Hudson, under the guidance of Oloffe llie Dreamer, who was appointed protector or patron to the new settlement. And here let me bear testimony to the matchless honesty and magnanimity of our worthy forefalhere, who purchased the soil of the native Indians before erecting a single roof; a circumstance singular and almost incredible in the annals of discovery and colo- nization. The first settlement was made on the southwest point of the island, on the very spot where the good St iNicholas had appeared in the dream. Here they built a mighty and impregnable fort and trading- house, called FoKT Amstkruam, which stood on that eminence at present occupied by the custom-house, with the open space now called the bowling-green in front. Around this potent fortress was soon seen a nume- rous progeny of little Dutch houses, with tiled roofs, all which seemed most lovingly to nestle under its walls, like a brood of half-fledged chickens sheltered under the wings of the mother hen. The whole was surrounded by an inclosure of strong palisadoes, to guard against any sudden irruption of the savages, who wandered in hordes about the swamps and fo- rests that extended over those tracts of country at pre- sent called Broadway, Wall-street, William-street, and Pearl-street. No sooner was the colony once planted than it took root, and throve amazingly; for it would seem that this thrice-favoured island is like a munificent dung- hill, where eveiy foreign weed finds kindly nou- rishment, and soon shoots up and expands to great- ness. And now the infant settlement having advanced in age and stature, it was thought higii time it should receive an honest Christian name, and it was accord- ingly called New-Amstebdam. It is true there were seme advocates for the original Indian name, and many of the l)est writers of the province did long continue to call it by the title of " The Manhattoes; " but this was discountenanced by the authorities, as being heathenish anil savage. Besides, it was consi- dered an excellent and ftraiseworthy measure to name it after a great city of the old world ; as by that means it was induced to emulate the greatness and renown of its namesake— in the manner that little snivelling urchins are called after great statesmen, saints, and worthies, and renowned generals of yore, upon which they all industriously copy their examples, and come lo be very mighty nici In their day and generation. 1'he thriving slate of the selllement, and the rapid increase of houses, gradually awakened the good Oloffe from a deep lethargy, into which he had fallen alter the building of the fort. He now l)egan to think it was lime some plan should be devised, on which the increasing town should be built. Sumn therefore, his counsellors and coadjutors logd tliey took pipe in mouth, and forthwith sunk ioi vei-y sound deliberation on the subject. At the very outset of the business an une.v difference of opinion arose, and I mention it withn sorrowing, as being the first altercation on recon|| the councils of New-Amslenlam. It was a breati forth of the grudge and heart-burning that had eq ed Iwtween those two eminent burghers, Mynhi Tenbroeck and Hardenbroeck, ever since their g happy altercation on the coast of Bellevue. Tliea Hardenbroeck had waxed very wealthy and pom ful, from his domains, which embraced the ' chain of Apulean mountains that stretched the gulf of Kip's Bay, and from part of wliichlj descendants have been expelled in latter ages, by t powerful clans of the Joneses and the Sciiei liornes. An ingenious plan for the city was offered bylllj beer Tenbroeck, who proposed that it should k'i up and intersected by canals, after the manner olij most admired cities in Holland. To this Myii Hardenbroeck was diametrically opjwsed, sugges in place thereof, that they should run out duckii wharfs, by means of piles, driven into the botloii| the river, on which the town should be built, these means, said he triumphantly, shall we restnl considerable space of territory from these imm rivers, and build a city that shall rival Amslenl Venice, or any amphibious city in Europe. Tol proposition, Ten Broeck (or Ten Breeches) repi witli a look of as much scorn as be could possiblj J sume. He cast the utmost censure upon the \M his antagonist, as being preposterous, and iigainmiif very order of things, as he would leave to eveiylt Hollander. " For what," said he, " is a towiu out canals ? — it is like a body without veins andi ries, and must perish for want of a free circulali(«| the vital fluid."— Tough Breeches, on the conlii retorted with a sarcasm ui>on his antagonist, wlioi somewhat of an arid, dry-buned habit : he remariej that as to the circulation of the blood being neo to existence. Mynheer Ten Breeches wasa livinga tradiction to bis own assertion; fur every body liH there had not a drop of blood circulated thruiighlj wind-drieil carcass for good ten years, and yetll was not a greater busy body in the whole cold Personalities have seldom much effect in making fl verts in argument — nor have I ever seen a mano vinced of error by being convicted of deformity, least such was nut the case at present. Ten Mm was very acrunonious in reply, and Tougli Bren who was a sturdy little man, and never f;avej the last word, rejoined with increasing s|iii'it-Tl Breeches had the advantage of the greatest \o\m^ but 'J'ough Breeches bad that invaluable coalufii in argument called obstinacy — Ten Breeches I therefore, the most mettle, but 'J'ough llreeelifsil best bottom— so that though Ten Breeches mim HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. m le, "is a town? Ldful clattering abont his ears, and battered and Lboiircd him with hanl words and sound ar^u- hls, yet Tuiigh Hreeches hung on most resohilely Ihe last. Tliey parted, llierefore, as is usual in larniments where both parties are in the right, out coming to any conclusion — hut they hated 1 other most heartily for ever after, and a simi- «ach with that between the houses of Capulet k Montague did ensue between the families of Ten dies and Tough Breeches. Iwould not fatigue my reader with these dull mat- j of fact, but that my duty as a faithful historian jiires that I should be particular— and in truth, as unovv treating of the critical period, when our city, I a young twig, fu'st received the twists and turns Ihave since contributed to give it the present pic- (lue irregularity for which it is celebrated, I can- Ibetoo minute in detailing their first causes. jflerthe unhappy altercation I have just mentioned, I not liiul that any thing further was said on the kect worthy of being nxorded. The council, con- ngofthe largest and oldest heads in the commu- \, met regularly oncea-week , to ponder on this mo- blous subject. But either they were deterred by |»ar of words they had witnessed, or they were Irally averse to the exercise of the tongue, and jcoiiseqiient exercise of the brains — certain it is, Imost profound silence was maintained— the ques- |as usual lay on the table — the nieml)ers quietly M their pipes, making but few laws, without [enforcing any, and in the mean time the affairs be settlement went on— as it pleased God. Is most of the council were but little skilled in the ]tery of combming pot-books and hangers, they niiied most judiciously not to puzzle either them- I or posterity with voluminous records. The [elary, however, kept the minutes of the council 1 tolerable precision, in a large vellum folio, fast- I with massy brass clasps : the journal of each king consisted but of two lines, stating in Dutch, ] " the council sat this day, and smoked twelve \s, on the affairs of the colony." By which it ap- stliat the iii-st settlers did not regulate their lime ours, but pipes, in the same manner as they mea- '. distances in Holland at this very lime ; an ad- kbly exact measurement, as a pipe in the mouth llriie-born Dutchman is never liable to those acci- Isand irregularities that are continually putting Iclocks out of order. 1 this manner did the profound council of New- kTERUAM smoke, and doze, and ponder, from week leek, month to month, and year to year, in what jiier they should construct their infant settlement leanwhile, the town took care of itself, and like a j(ly brat which is suffered to run about wild, un- pled by clouts and lundages, and other abomina- Bby which your notable nurses and sage old wo- kcrippleanddisfigure the children of men, increased ppidly in strength and magnitude, that before the St burgomasters had dcleriniricd upon a plan, it was too late to put it in execution — whereupon they wisely abandoned Ihe subject altogether. CHAPTER Vn. How the city of New-Ainstenlam waxed great, under tlie protec- tion of OlofTe tlie Dreamer. There is something exceedingly delusive in thus looking back, through the long vista of departed years, and catching a glimpse of the fairy realms of antiquity that lie beyond. Like some goodly landscape melt- ing into distance, they receive a thousand charms from their very obscurity, and the fancy delights to fill up their outlines with graces and excellencies of its own creation. Thus beam on my imagination tliose banpier days of our city, when as yet New-Am- sterdam was a mere pastoral town, shrouded in groves of sycamore and willows, and surrounded by trackless forestj) and wide-spreading waters, that seemetl to shut out all the cares and vanities of a wicked world. In those days did this embryo city present the rare and noble spectacle of a community governed without laws ; and thus being left to its own course, and the fostering care of Providence, increased as rapidly as though it had been burthened with a dozen panniers full of those sage laws that are usually heaped on the backs of young cities— in order to make them grow. And in this particular I greatly admire the wisdom and sound knowledge of human nature, displayed by the sage Oloffe the Dreamer, and his fellow-legislators. For my part I have not so bad an opinion of mankind as many of my brother philosophers. I do not think poor human nature so sorry a piece of workmanship as they would make it out to be; and as far as I have observed, I am fully satisfied that man, if left to him- self, would about as regularly go right as wrong. It is only this eternally sound in his cars that it is his duty to go right, that makes him go the very reverse. The noble independence of bis nature revolts at this intolerable tyranny of law, and the perpetual inter- ference of oflicious morality, whichisever besetting his path with finger-posts and directions to " keep to the right, as the law directs;" and like a spirited urchin, he turns directly contrary, and gallops through mud and mire, over hedges and ditches, merely to show that he is a lad of spirit, and out of his leading-strings. And these opinions are amply substantiated by what I have alK>ve said of our worthy ancestors ; who never being be-preachcd and lie-lectured, and guided and governed by statutes and laws and by-laws, as are their more enlightened descendants, did one and all demean themselves honestly and peaceably, out of (Hire ignorance, or, in other words— because they knew no better. Nor must I omit to record one of the earliest mea- sures of this infant settlement, inasmuch as it shows the piety of our forefathers, and that, like goodChris- tians, they were always ready to serve God, after they bad fii-st served themselves. Thus, liavinj,' i56 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. quietly settled themselves down, and provided for their own comfort, tliey bethought themselves of tes- tifying their gratitude to the great and good St Nicho- las, for his protecting care, in guiding them to this delectable abode. To this end they built a fair and goodly chapel within the fort, which they consecrated to his name; whereupon he immediately took the town of New-Amsterdam under his peculiar patron- age, and he has ever since been, and I devoutly hoite will ever be, the tutelar saint of this excellent city. I am moreover told that there is a little legendary book, somewhere extant, written in Low Dutch, which says, that the image of this renowned saint, which whilome graced the bowsprit of the Goede Yrouw, was elevated in front of this chapel, in the very centre of what in modern days is called the Bowling-Green. And the legend further treats of divers miracles wrought by the mighty pipe, which the saint held in his mouth ; a whiff of which was a sovereign cure for an indigestion — an invaluable telic in this colony of brave trenchermen. As, however, in spite of the most diligent search, I cannot lay my hands upon this little book, I must confess that I en- tertain considerable doubt on the subject. Thus benignly fostered by the good St Nicholas, the burghei-s of New-Amsterdam beheld their settle- ment increase in magnitude and population, and soon become the metropolis of divers settlements, and an extensive territory. Already had the disastrous pride of colonies and dependencies, those banes of a sound- hearted empire, entered into their imaginations ; and Fort Aurania on the Hudson, Fort Nassau on the Delaware, and Fort Goed Hoop on the Connecticut- river, seemed to be the darling offspring of the vene- rable council. ' Thus prosperously, to all appearance, did the province of New-Netherlands advance in power; and the early history of its metropolis pre- sents a fair page, unsullied by crime or calamity. Hordes of painted savages still lurked about the tangled forests and rich bottoms of the unsettled part of (he island — the hunter pitched his rude bower of skins and bark lieside the rills that ran through the cool and shady glens, while here and there might be seen on some sunny knoll, a group of Indian wig- wams, whose smoke arose above the neighbouring trees, and floated in the transparent atmosphere. By degrees a mutual good-will liad grown up between these wandering beings and the burghers of New- Amslerdam. Our benevolent forefathers endeavoured as much as possible to ameliorate their situation, by • The province, about this time, extended on the north to Fort Aurania, or Orange (now the city of Albany ), situated almut IGO miles up the Hudson-river. Indeed the province elaiiuc<l (piile to the river St Lawrenee ; but this claim was not much insislitl on at (lie time, as the country beyond Fort Aurania was a perfect wilderiieii.s. Un the south, the province reached to Fort Nassim, on the south river, since called tlie Delaware— ,ind on the east It extended to th(! Varshe (or fresh) river, now tlic Connecllcut. On this last frontier was likewise erected a fort or IradinK-houNe, much aiNiul the spot where at present is situated the pleasant town nf Hartford. This was called Fort Goed Hoop ( or Cood Hope ), and was Intended as w ell fur tl e pur(KMt* of irado at of defence. giving them gin, rum, and glass beads, in excit for their peltries; for it seems the kind-hearted Dm men had conceived a great friendship for their saq neighbours, on account of their being pleasant i to trade with and little skilled in the art of maJuttl bargain. Now and then a crew of these half human sonsj the forest would make their appearance in the sin of New-Amsterdam, fantastically painted, and d rated with beads and flaunting feathers, sauntflij about with an air of listless indifference— somdig in the market-place instructing the little Dutch I in the use of the Ijow and arrow— at other times, j flamed with liquor, swaggering and whooping i yelling about the town like so many fiends, toil great dismay of all the good wives, who would hn their children into the house, fasten the doors, i throw water upon the enemy from the garret tJ dows. It is worthy of mention here, that uur riq fathers were very particular in holding up these i men as excellent domestic examples — anil for rea,^ that may be gathered from the history of master C by, who tells us, that " for the least offence llieli groom soundly beats his wife and turns lier uiitJ doors, and marries another, insomuch that sonitj Ihem have every year a new wife." "Whelheril awful example had any influence or not, liisloiyd not mention ; but it is certain that our grandniolli were miracles of (idelity and obedience. True it is, that the good understanding beim^ our ancestors and (heir savage neighbours was U to occasional interruptions, and I have heard i grandmother, who was a very wise old woman, well versed in the history of these parts, tell a I story, of a winter's evening, about a battle klvij the New-Amsterdammers and the Indians, vU was known by the name of the Peach War,i which took place near a peach orchard, in ail glen, which for a long while went by the namej Murderer's Valley. The legend of this sylvan war was longcim among the niu'ses, old wives, and other ancient c niclers of the place; but lime and improvement I almost obliterated l)oth (he tradition and lliesceoel battle; for what was once (he blood-slained val now in the centre of this populous city, and km by the name of Dey-sireet. The accumulating wealth and consequence of Nej Amsterdam and its dependencies at length awakd the tender solicitude of the mother country; i finding it a thriving and opulent colony, and llul| promised to yield great proiit and no irouble, allf once became wonderl'iilly anxious about lis $alij and began to loitd it with tokens of regani, in I same manner that yotn- knowing people are suitl overwhelm rich relations with their affeclion awllf ing kindness. The usual marks of protection shown by i cotintries lo wealthy colonies were forlhwilli i fested— Ihe llrsl care always being to semi rulfflj niUCH IS BEOORDRD HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. m > new settlement, with orders to squeeze as much Irenue from it as it will yield. Accordingly, in the rofour Loi-d <629, Mynheer Wouter Van Twil- i was appointed governor of the province of Nieuw- trlandts, under the commission and control of Ljr High Mightinesses the Lords Slates-General of ! United Netherlands, and the privileged West In- I Company. rbis renowned old gentleman arrived at New-Am- dam in tlie merry month of June, the sweetest oil) in all the year ; when Dan Apollo seems to Lee up the transparent firmament — when the ruhin, t thrush, and a thousand other wanton songsters Ike tlie woods to resound with amorous ditties, and (luxurious little boblincon revels among the clover- oms of the meadows— all which happy coinci- jice persuaded the old dames of New-Amsterdam, (o were skilled in the art of foretelling events, that was to be a happy and prosperous administra- M as it would be derogatory to the consequence ■be first Dutch governor of the great province of W-Nederlandts to be thus scurvily introduced at [end of a chapter, I will put an end to this second i of my history, that I may usher him in with be- ; dignity in the beginning of my next. BOOK III. irucn IS BECORDED THE flOLDEN KKIGN OF WOVTKH Vi\ TWILLEB. CHAPTER I. Ike renowned Wouter Van Twillcr, his unparalleled virtues—' Ukewise his unutterable wisdom in the law case of Wandlc felioonhovcn and Bai-cnt Bleecker— and the great admiration pihe public thereat. Prievous and very much to be commiserated is I task of the feeling historian, who writes the his- f of his native land. If it fall to his lot to be the I recorder of calamity or crime, the mournful page Mtered with his tears— nor can he recall the most leroiis and blissful era, without a melancholy sigh jlie reflection that it has passed away for ever ! I bw not whether it be owing to an immoderate love I the simplicity of former times, or to that certain derness of heart incident to all sentimental histo- ks; but I candidly confess that I cannot look back yhe liappier days of our city, which I now describe, lliout a deep dejection of the spirits. With falter- jhanddo I withdraw the curtain of oblivion that Is llie modest merit of our ancestors, and as their ps rise to my mental vision, humble myself bc- i the mighty shades. luch are my feelings when I revisit the family ision of the Knickerbockers, and spend a lonely Irin the chamber where hang the portraits of my kfathers, shrouded in dust, like the forms they re- present. With pious reverence do I gaze on Uie countenances of those renowned burghers, who have preceded me in the steady march of existence — whose sober and temperate blood now meanders through my veins, flowing slower and slower in Us feeble conduits, until its current shall soon be stopped for ever! These, say I to myself, are but frail memorials of the mighty men who flourished in the days of the pa- triarchs ; but who, alas ! have long since mouldered in that tomb, towards which my steps are insensibly and irresistibly hastening! As I pace the darkened chamber and lose myself in melancholy musings, the shadowy images around me almost seem to steal once more into existence — their countenances to assume the animation of life — their eyes to pursue me in every movement ! Carried away by the delusions of fancy, I almost imagine myself surrounded by the shades of the departed, and holding sw ~ ' converse with the worthies of antiquity! Ah, »,>less Die- drich! born in a degenerate age, abandoned to the buffetings of fortune — a stranger and a weary pilgrim in thy native land— blest with no weeping wife, nor family of helpless children; but doomed to wander neglected through those crowded streets, and elbow- ed by foreign upstarts from those fair abodes, where once thine ancestors held sovereign empire ! Let me not, however, lose the historian in the man, nor suffer the doting recollections of age to overcome me, while dwelling with fond garrulity on the virtuous days of the patriarchs — on those sweet days of simplicity and ease, which never more will dawn on the lovely island of Manna-hata ! The renowned Wouter (or Waller) Van Twiller was descended from a long line of Dutch burgomas- ters, who had successively dozed a ay their lives, and grown fat upon the bench of magi ira'^'f in Rotterdam, and who had comported themselver \\ith such singu- lar wisdom and propriety that they were never either heard or talked of— which, no- 1 t<^ being universally applauded, should be the object of ambition of all sage magistrates and rulers. His surname of Twiller is said to be a corruption of the original Ttcij/7er, which in English means Doubter; a name admirably descriptive of his delibe- rative 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 aflirmed that he always con- ceived every subject on so comprehensive a scale, that ho had not room in his head to turn it over and exa- mine both sides of it ; so that he always remaineil in doubt, merely in consequence of the astonishing mag- nitude of his ideas! There are two opposite ways by which some men get into notice— one by talking a vast deal and think- ing a little, and the other by holding their tongues and not thinking at all. By the first, many a vapoiir- I.S 138 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. ■( ,' ing, superflcial pretender acquires the reputation of a man of quick parts— by the other, jnany 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, wY'ch 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 gra- vity, that he was never known to laugh, or even to smile, through the course of a long and prosperous life. Certain, however, it is, there never was a matter proposed, however simple, and on which your common narrow-minded mortals would rashly deter- jnine at the first glance, but the renowned Wouter put on a mighty mysterious vacant kind of look, shook his capacious head, and having smoked for five mi- nutes with redoubled earnestness, sagely observed, that " he had his doubts about tlie matter" — which in process of time gained him the cl)aracter of a man slow of belief, and not easily imposed on. The person of this illustrious old gentleman was as regularly formed, and nobly proportioned, as though it had been moulded by the hands of some cunning Dutch statuary 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, and of such stupendous dimensions, that Dame Nature, with all her sex's in- genuity, would have been puzzled to construct a neck capable of supporting it; wherefore she wisely declin- ed the attempt, and settled it firmly on the top of his back bone, just between the shoulders. His body was of an oblong form, particularly capacious at bot- tom; 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 liad not a little the appearance of a robustious beer- barrel, standing on skids. His lace, that infallible index of the mind, presented a vast expanse, perfectly unfun'owed or deformed by any of those lines and angles which disfigure tlie 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 fullfed cheeks, which seemed to have taken toll of every thing that went into his mouth, were curiously mot- tled and streaked with dusky red, like a Spitzcnberg apple. His habits were as regular as his person. He daily look 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 settled below, the cares and perplexities of this world. He had lived in it for years, without feeling the least curiosity to know whether the sun revolved round it, or it round | sun; and he had watched, for at least half a ( the smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, will once troubling his head with any of those nun theories by which a philosopher would have | ed his brain, in accounting for its rising aboTeH surrounding atmosphere. In his council he presided with great state andi lemnity. He sat in a huge chair of solid oak hewijj the celebrated forest of the Hague, fabricated byi experienced Timmerman of Amsterdam, and cu ly carved about the arms and feet into imitatioiMj gigantic eagle's claws. Instead of a sceptre he svi; a long Turkish pipe, wrought with jasmin and an which had been presented to a stadtholder ofHoUj at the conclusion of a treaty with one of the | Barbary powers. — In this stately chair would ki and this magnificent pipe would he smoke, sliaU his right knee with a constant motion, and fim^i eye for hours together upon a little printof Amsteit which hung in a black frame against the opposilei of the council-chamber. Nay, it has even beens that when any deliberation of extraordinary 1« and intricacy was on the carpet, the renowned Woi would absolutely shut his eyes for full two bourse time, that he might not be disturbed by externali jects — at such limes the internal commotion <ii mind was evinced by certain regular guttural sou which his admirers declared were merely the noite] conflict, made by his contending doubts and i nions. It is with infinite difficulty I have been enabledj collect these biographical anecdotes of the great o under consideration?- The facts respecting liimi so scattered and vague, and divers of them soi tionablein point of authenticity, that I have had | give up the search after many, and decline Ihei mission of still more, which would have tendedj heighten the colouring of his portrait. I have been the more anxious to delineate I person and habits of the renowned Van Twiller, ft the consideration that he was not only the first, 1 also the best governor that ever presided overll ancient and respectable province; yea, so tra and l)enevolent was his reign, that I do not i throughout the whole of it a single instance ofi offender being brought to punishment— a most iiJ bitable sign of a merciful governor, and a casei paralleled, excepting in the reign of the illustii King Log, from whom, it is hinted, the renoi Van Twiller was a lineal descendant. The very outset of the career of this excellenti gistrate was distinguished by an example oflegalu men, that gave flattering presage of a wise and« table administration. The morning after he had li solemnly installed in office, and while he was i his breakfast from a prodigious earthen diab, I with milk and Indian pudding, he was suddenlyj terrupted by the appearance of one WandleScbi hoven,a very important old bnrgher ofNew-Ait m&' HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 139 a who complained bitterly of one Barent Bleecker, nocb as he fraudulently refused to come to a [lleoient of accounts, seeing that there was a heavy lance in favour of the said Wanuie. Governor Van Ljjier, as I have already observed, was a man of few s; he was likewise a mortal enemy to multi- ' vritings— or to being disturbed at his break- Having listened attentively to the statement of luxlle Schoonboven, giving an occasional grunt as lohovelled a spoonful of Indian pudding into his Qtb— either as a sign that he relished the dish or ehended the story — he called unto him his istable ; and pulling out of his breeches-pocket a i jack-knife, dispatched it after the defendant la summons, accompanied by his tobacco-box as a Irrant. fhissununary process was as effectual in those simple ia» was the seal-ring of the great Haroun Alras- I among the true believers. The two parlies being ODted before him, each produced a book of ac- InU, written in a language and character that would ■e pozzlcd any but a High Dutch commentator, or iamed decipherer of Egyptian obelisks, to un- [itand. The sage Wouter took them one after the T, and having poised them in his hands, and at- lively counted the number of leaves, fell straight- f into a very great doubt, and smoked for half an |r without saying a word ; at length, laying his :er beside his nose, and shutting his eyes for a nent, with the air of a man who has just caught a tie idea by the tail, be slowly took his pipe from I mouth, puffed forth a column of tobacco smoke, Iwith marvellous gravity and solemnity pronounc- |-that, having carefully counted the leaves, and ghed the books, it was found that one was just as land as heavy as the other — therefore it was the opinion of the court that the accounts were lilly balanced — therefore Wandle should give Ba- la receipt, and Barent should give Wandle a re- ]t-and the constable should pay the costs, [his decision being straightway made known, dif- 1 general joy throughout New-Amsterdam, for pie immediately perceived that they had a very and etfuitable magistrate to rule over them. Ills happiest effect was, that not another law-suit ] pbce throughout the whole of his administration I the oHice of constable fell into such decay, that ! was not one of those losel scouts known in the nee fur many years. I am the mure particular Pwelling on this transaction, not only because I 1 it one of the most sage and righteous judgments Old, and well worthy the attention of modern [istrales; but because it was a remarkable event I history of the renowned Wouter— being the j time he was ever known to come to a decision in ■whole course of his life. GUAPIER II. (»ntainlng mmc account of the grand council u( Ncw-Amster- dam ; as also divers especial good philosophical reasons why an alderman should be (at— with other particulars touching the stale of the province. In treating of the early governors of the province, 1 must caution my readers against confounding them, in point of dignity and power, with those worthy gentlemen, who are whimsically denominated go- vernors in this enlightened republic — a set of unhappy victims of |iopularity, who are in fact the most de- pendent, hen-pecked Ik ings in the community : doomed to bear the secret goadings and corrections oftheir own party, and tie sneers and revilings of the whole world beside. — Set up, like geese at Christmas holidays, to be pelted and shot at by every whipster and vagabond in the land. On the contrary, the Dutch governors enjoyed that uncontrolled au- thority, vested in all commanders of distant colonies or territories. They were in a manner absolute des- pots in their little domains, lording it, if so disposed, over both law and gospel, and accountable to nont; but the mother country ; which it is well known is astonishingly deaf to all complaints against its go- vernors, provided they discharge the main duty of their station — squeezing out a good revenue. This hint will be of importance, to prevent my readers from being seized with doubt and incredulity, when- ever, in the course of this autlientic history, they en- counter the uncommon circumstance of a governor acting with independence, and in opposition to the opinions of the midtitude. To assist the doubtful Wouter in the arduous bu- siness of legislation, a board of magistrates was ap- pointed, which presided immediately over the police. This potent body consisted of a schout c bailifT, with powers between those of the present mayor and she- riff—five burgermeesters, who were equivalent to al- dermen, and five schepcns, who officiated as scrubs, sub-devils, or bottle-holders to the burgermeesters; in the same manner as do assistant aldermen to their principals at the present day; it being their duty to fill the pipes of the lordly burgermeesters; to hunt the markets for delicacies for corporation-dinners; and to discharge such other little offices of kindness as were occasionally required. It was, moreover, tacitly understood, though not specifically enjoined, that they should consider themselves as butts for the blunt wits of the burgermeesters, and should laugh most heartily at aU 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 entirely, ui conse- quence of the tragical death of a fat little sdiepen — who actually died of suffiKation 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 |)er- niitted to say yes and iio at the council board, and to have that enviable privilege, the run of the (lublir i40 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. kitchen — being gracioiialy permitted to eat, and drink, and smoke, at all those snug junketings, and public gormandizings, for which the ancient magistrates were equally famous with their modern successors. The post of schepen, therefore, 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 Ihem the terror of the alms-house, and the bridewell — that shall enable them to lord it over obsequious poverty, vagrant vice, outcast prostitution, and hunger-driven dishonesty — that shall give to their beck a hound-like pack of catch-poles and bum-bailiffs — tenfold greater rogues than the culprits they hunt down! — My readers will excuse this sudden warmth, which I confess is unbe- coming of a grave historian — but I have a mortal anti- pathy to catch-poles, bum-bailifTs, and little great men. The ancient magistrates of this city corresponded with those of the present time no less in form, ma- gnitude, and intellect, than in prerogative and pri- vilege. The burgomasters, like our aldermen, were generally 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 sound thinking, regular cities, that an alderman should be fat — and the wisdom of this can be proved to a certainty. That the body is in some measure an image of the mind, or rather that the mind is moulded to the body, like melted lead to the clay in which it is cast, has been insisted on by many philosophers, who have made human nature their peculiar study — For as a learned gentleman of our own city observes, "there is a con- stant relation between the moral character of all in- telligent creatures, and their physical constitution — between their habits and the structure of their bo- dies." Thus we see, that a lean, spare, diminutive body, is generally accompanied by a petulant, restless, meddling mind — eilher the mind wears down the body by its continual motion; or else the body, not affording the mind sufficient house-room, keeps it continually in a state of fretfulness, tossing and wor- rying 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, tliat your well-fed, robustious burghers, are in general very tenacious of their ease and comfort ; being great ene- mies to noise, discord, and disturbance— and surely none are more likely to study the public tranquillity than those who are so careful of their own. Who ever hears of fat men heading a riot, or herding to- gether 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 suWi- ciently attended to by philosophers of the present age, allows to every roan three souls — one, immortal and rational, seated in the brain, that it may overlook and regulate the body — a second, consisting of the \ and irascible passions, which, like belligerent potq lie encamped around the heart — a third, mortaii sensual, destitute of reason, gross and brutaljnj propensities, and enchained in the belly, that it o not disturb the divine soul by its ravenous howlig Now, according to this excellent theory, whatcat| more clear, than that your fat alderman ismostlikj to have the most regular and well-conditioned t His head is like a huge spherical chamber, contaii a prodigious mass of soft brains, whereon the rati soul lies softly and snugly couched, as on a feait bed; and the eyes, which are the windows olg bed-chamber, are usually half closed, that its siuni ings may not be disturbed by external objscis, mind thus comfortably lodged, and protected ( disturbance, is manifestly most likely to perform l| functions with regularity and ease. By dint of e feeding, moreover, the mortal and malignant! which is confined in the belly, and which, by itsn ing and roaring, puts the irritable soul in the i Imurhood of the heart in an intolerable passion, ; thus renders men crusty and quarrelsome whenb gry, is completely pacified, silenced, and put ton — whereupon a host of honest good-fellow qualif| and kind-hearted affections, which bad lain perd slily peeping out of the loop-holes of the heart, fin this Cerberus asleep, do pluck up their spirits, t out one and all in their holiday suits, and gambolJ and down the diaphragm — disposing their possessul laughter, good humour, and a thousand friendij/ fices towards bis fellow-mortals. As a board of magistrates, formed on this i think but very little, they are the les,s likely tod and wrangle about favourite opinions — and astliejd nerally transact business upon a hearty dinner,! are naturally disposed to be lenient and indulgert| the administration of their duties. Cluirlemagne conscious of this, and, therefore, (a pitiful mm for which I can never forgive him) ordered in liisa tularies, that no judge should hold a court of jusH except in the morning, on an empty stomacii : an which, I warrant, bore hard upon all the poorcui in his kingdom. The more enlightened and lium generation of the present day have taken an oppt coutse, and have so managed, that the aldeniieflij the best ft ' men in the community ; feasting 1 on the fat thuigsof the land, and gorging so Im oyster, ^d turtles, that in process of time llieya« the activity of the .ne, and the form, the waddle,) the green fat of the other. The consequence is,* have just said, these luxurious feaslings ilo pro such a dulcet equanimity and repose of tlie soai,i| tional and irrational, that their transactions are |i verbial for unvarying monotony — and the profe laws, which they enact in their dozing moments, i the labours of digestion, are quietly suffered lorfis as dead letters, and never enforced when awaiie. a word, your fair round-l)ellied burgomaster, I full-fed mastiff, dozes quietly at the house-doorl fflSTORY OF NEW-YORK. i41 kvs at home, and always at hand to watch over its |e(y— but as to electing a lean, meddling candidate I the office, as has now and then been done, I would I soon put a greyhound to watch the house, or a race- I to drag an ox-waggon, burgomasters, then, as I have already men- ^ were wisely chosen by weight, and the sche- is or assijtant aldermen, were appointed to attend I (hem, and help them eat ; but tiie latter, in the ! of time, when they had been fed and fattened |o sufficient bulk of body and drowsiness of brain, ame very eligible candidates for the burgomasters' Lirs, having fairly eaten themseivvs into office, as a > eats his way into a comfortable lodgment in lly, blue-nosed, skimmed-milk, New-England iNothing could equal the profound deliberations that \jk place l)etween the renowned Wouter and these ; vt'ortliy compeers, unless it be those of some of r modern corporations. They would sit for hours oking and dozing over public affairs, without speak- ; a word to interrupt that perfect stillness, so ne- ary to deep reflection. — Under their sober sway, (infant settlement waxed vigorous apace, gradually kerging from the swamps and forests, and exhibit- ; that mingled appearance of town and country cus- nary in new cities, and which at this day may be Itnessed in the city of Washington ; that immense jetropuiis, which makes so glorious an appearance on «r. |lt was a pleasing sight in those times to behold the oest burgher, like a patriarch of yore, seated on the nch at the door of his white-washed house, under ! siiade of some gigantic sycamore or over-hanging Here would he smoke his pipe of a sultry lernoon, enjoying the soft southern breeze, and lis- ping with silent gratulaiion to the clucking of his 18, the cackling of his geese, and the sonorous grunt- ; of his swine; that combination of farm-yard me- py, which may truly be said to have a silver sound, ismuch as it conveys a certain assurance of prof i table irketing. |The modern spectator, who wanders through the «ts of this populous city, can scarcely form an idea [the different appearance they presented in the pri- llive days of the Doubter. The busy hum of multi- Ides, the shouts of revelry, the rumbling equipages I fashion, the rattling of accursed carts, and all the ril-giieving sounds of brawling commerce, were Jknown in the settlement of New-Amsterdam. The grew quietly in the highways— the bleating «p and frolicsome calves sported about the verdant e, where now the Broadway loungers take their irninj; stroll— the cunning fox or ravenous wolf ^Iked in the woods, where now are to be seen the J of Gomez and his righteous fraternity of money- kers— and flocks of vociferous geese cackled about i fields, where now the great Tammany wigwam 1 the patriotic tavern of Martling echo with the hngiingsofthemob. . .; ,„ . ; ;,» . ., In these good times did a true and enviable equality of rank and property prevail, equally removed from the arrogance of wealth and the servility and heart- burnings of repining poverty — and what in my mind is still more conducive to tranquillity and harmony among friends, a happy equality of intellect was like- wise to be seen. The minds of the good burghers of New-Amsterdam seemed all to have been cast in one mould, and to be those honest, blunt minds, which, like certain manufactures, are made by the gross, and considered as exceedingly good fur common use. Thus it happens that your true dull muids are ge- nerally preferred for public employ, and especially promoted to city honours; your keen intellects, like razors, being considered too sharp for common ser- vice. I know that it is usual to rail at the unequal dis- tribution of riches, as the great source of jealousies, broils, and heart-breakings ; whereas, for my part, I verily believe it to be the sad inequality of intellect, that embroils communities more than any thing else ; and I have remarked that your knowing people, who are so much wiser than any body else, are eternally keeping society in a ferment. Happily for New-Am- sterdam, nothing of the kind was known within its walls — the very words of learning, education, taste, and talents, were unheard of— a bright genius was an animal unknown, "nd a blue-slocking lady would have been regarded with as much wonder as a horned frog or a fiery dragon. No man, in fact, seemed to know more than his neighbour ; nor any man to know more than an honest man ought to know, who has nobody's business to mind but his own; the parson and the council clerk were the only men that could read in the community, and the sage Van Twiller always signed his name with a cross. Thrice-happy and ever-to-be-envied little burgh ! existing in all the security of harmless insignificance ; unnoticed and unenvied by the world; without ambi- tion, without vain-glory, without riches, and all their train of carking cares — and as of yore, in the better days of man, the deities were wont to visit him on earth and bless his rural habitations, so we are told, in the sylvan days of New-Amsterdam, the good St Nicholas would often make his appearance, in his be- loved city, of a holiday afternoon ; riding joUily among the tree tops, or over the roofs of the houses, now and then drawing forth magniflcent presents from his breeciies pockets, and dropping them down the chim- neys of his favourites. Whereas in these degenerate days of iron and brass he never shows us the light of his countenance, nor ever visits us, save one night in the year, when he rattles down the chimneys of the descendants of the patriarchs ; but confines his presents merely to the children, in token of the degeneracy of the parents. Such are the comfortable and thriving effects of a fat government. The province of the New-Nether- lands, destitute of wealth, possessed a sweet tranquil- lity that wealth could never purchase. There were neither public commotions, nor private quarrels; nei- 142 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. ther parties, nor sects, nor schisms; neither persecu- tions, nor trials, nor panislunents; nor were there counsellors, attorneys, catch-poles, ner hangmen. Every man attended to what little business he was lucky enough to have, or neglected it if he pleased, without asking the opinion of his neighbour. In those days nobody meddled with concerns above his com- prehension; nor thrust his nose into other people's aflairs; nor neglected to correct his own conduct, and reform his own character, in his zeal to pull to pieces the characters of others — but in a word, every res- pectable citizen ate when he was not hungry , drank when he was not tliirsty, and went regularly to bed, when the sun set, and the fowls went to roost, whe- ther he were sleepy or not; all which tended so re- markably to the population of the settlement, that I am told every dutiful wife throughout New-Amster- dam made a point of enriching her husband with at least one child a year, and very often a brace— this superabundance of good things clearly constituting the true luxury of life, according to the favourite Dutch maxim, that "more than enough constitutes a feast." Every thing therefore went on exactly as it should do, and, in the usual words employed by historans to ex- press the welfare of a country, "the pnfoundest tranquiUity and repose reigned throughout the pro- vince." CHAPTER m. How the town of New-Amsterdam arose out of mud, and came to be marvellously polished and polite— together with a picture of the manners of our great great grandfathers. Manifold are the tastes and dispositions of the en- lightened literati, who turn over the pages of history. Some there be whose hearts are brimful of the yeast of courage, and whose bosoms do w^ork, and swell, and foam, with untried valour, like a barrel of new cider, or a train-band captain fresh from under the hands of his tailor. This doughty class of readers can be satisGed with nothing but bloody battles and horrible encounters; they must be continually storm- ing forts, sacking cities, springing mines, marching up to the muzzles of cannon, charging hayonet through every page, and revelling in gunpowder and carnage. Others, who are of a less martial, but equally ardent imagination, and who, withal, are a little given to the marvellous, will dwell with wondrous satisfaction on descriptions of prodigies, unheard-of events, hair- breadth escapes, hardy adventures, and all those asto- nishing narrations, that do just amble along the bound- ary line of possibility.— A third class, who, not lo speak slightly of them, are of a lighter turn, and skim over tlie records of past times as they do over the edifying pages of a novel, merely for relaxation and in- nocent amusement, do singularly delight in treasons, executions, Sabine rapes, Tarquin outrages, confla- grations, murders, and all the other catalogues of hi- deous crimes, which like cayenne in cookery, do give a pungency and flavour to the dull detail of hk while a fourth class, of more philosophical habiu, J pore over the musty chronicles of time, to inve the operations of the human mind, and watch ( gradual changes in men and manners, effected btii progress of knowledge, the vicissitudes of eveob,) the influence of situation. If the three first classes find but little wliere\i to solace themselves in the tranquil reign of Woi Van Twiller, I entreat them to exert their patt for a while, and bear with the tedious picture of h piness, prosperity, and peace, which my duty«J faithful historian obliges me to draw; and I prw them, tliat as soon as I can nossibly light upon i thing horrible, uncommon, or impossible, it shalii hard but I will make it afford them entertain This being premised, I turn with great complai to the fourth class of my readers, who are inen,i if possible, women after my own heart : grave, phj sophical, and investigating; fond of analyzing dun ters, of taking a start from first causes, and so hoi ing a nation down, through all the mazes of innovjti and improvement. Such will naturally be an to witness the first developement of the newly-haid ed colony, and the primitive manners and cusio prevalent among its inhabitants, during the reign of Van Twiller, or the Doubter. I will not grieve their patience, however, byde ing minutely the increase and improvement oFNn Amsterdam. Their own imaginations will dou present to them the good burghers, like so i pains-taking and persevering beavers, slowly i surely pursuing their labours. They will behold ll prosperous transformation from the rude log I the stately Dutch mansion, with brick front, glu windows, and tiled roof; from the tangled thidutlj the luxuriant cabbage-garden ; and from the skulki Indian to the ponderous burgomaster. In a wot they will picture to themselves the steady, silent, i undeviating march to prosperity, incident to a ( destitute of pride or ambition, cherished by a I government, and whose citizens do nothing in a iiun;| The sage council, as has been mentioned in a | ceding chapter, not being able to determine uponi (>lan for the building of their city, the cows, in j laudable fit of patriotism, look it under their | charge ; and as they w ent to and from pasture, blished paths through the bushes, on each sideil which the good folks built their houses: whicliiso cause of the rambling and picturesque turns and li rinths, which distinguish certain streets of New-Yoi at this very day. The houses of the higher class were generallyo stnicted of wood, excepting the gable end, whichi of small black and yellow Dutch bricks, and al« faced on the street, — as our ancestors, like their d cendants, were very much given to outward six and noted for putting the best leg foremost, house was always furnished with abundance ofii doors and small windows on every floor; the dale (I HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 143 lers, like so i I erection was curiously designated by iron figures jibe front; and on the top of the roof was perched erce little weathercock, to let the family into the ant secret which way the wind blew. These, I the weathercocks on the tops of our steeples, nted so many different ways, that every man could Ire a wind to his mind;— the most stanch and loyal «ns, however, always wen*, according to the wea- ck on tlie top of the governor's house, which I certainly the most correct, as he had a trusty int employed every morning *o climb up and set ) the right quarter, those good days of simplicity and sunshine, a for cleanliness was the leading principle in ftic economy, and the universal test of an able ewife— a character which formed the utmost am- |ion of our unenlightened grandmothers. The front r was never opened except on marriages, funerals, J years' days, the festival of St Nicholas, or some 1 great occasion. It was ornamented with a gor- |)us brass knocker, curiously wrought, sometimes |be device of a dog, and sometimes of a lion's head, 1 was daily burnished with such religious zeal, that ivas oft-times worn out by the very precautions |en for its preservation. The whole house was isuntly in a state of inundation, under the disci- ^e of mops, and brooms, and scrubbing-brushes ; I the good housewives of those days were a kind lamphibious animal, delighting exceedingly to be )lingin water— insomuch that an historian of the J gravely tells us, that many of his townswomen Iw to have webbed fingers like unto a duck ; and ]te of them, he had little doubt, could the matter lexamined into, would be found to have the tails of aids— but this I look upon to be a mere sport Eincy, or, what is worse, a wilful misrepresen- ^he grand parlour was the sanctum sanctorum, ! the passion for cleaning was indulged without ktrol. In this sacred apartment no one was per- iled to enter excepting the mistress and her conii- ptial maid, who visited it once a-week, for the ! of giving it a thorough cleaning, and putting to rights — always taking the precaution of king their shoes at the door, and entering devoutly |lheir stocking feet. After scnibbing the floor, flkling it with fine white sand, which was cu- sly stroked into angles, and curves, and rhom- |d$, with a broom — after washing the windows, ing and polishing the furniture, and putting a I bunch of evergreens in the fire-place — the win- k-shutters were again closed to keep out the flies, 1 the room carefidly locked up until the revo- of time brought round the weekly cleaning pto the family, they always entered in at the gate, 1 most generally lived in the kitchen. To have A a numerous household :;^enibled about the fire, would have imagined that he was transported ktothose happy days of primeval simplicity, which float before our imaginations like golden visions. The fire-places were of a truly patriarchal magnitude, where the whole family, old and young, master and servant, black and white, nay, even the very cat and dog, enjoyed a community of privilege, and bad each a right to a comer. Here the old burgher would sit in perfect silence, puffing his pipe, looking in the fire with half-shut eyes, and thinking of nothing for houi-s toge- ther : the goede vrouw on the opposite side would em- ploy herself diligently in spinning yarn, or knitting stockings. The young folks would crowd around the hearth, listening with breathless attention to some old crone of a negro, who was the oracle of the family, and who, perched like a raven in a corner of the chimney, would croak forth for a long winter afternoon a string of incredible stories about New-England witches —grisly ghosts— horses without heads— and hair- breadth escapes and bloody encounters among the Indians. In those happy days a well-regulated family always rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sun-down. Dinner was invariably a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed incontestable sym- ptoms of disapprobation and uneasiness at being sur- prised by a visit from a neighbour on such occasions. But though our worthy ancestors were thus singu- larly averse to giving dinners, yet they kept up the social bands of intunacy by occasional banquetings, called tea-parties. These fashionable parties were generally confine<l to the higher classes, or noblesse, that is to say, such as kept their own cows, and drove their own wag- gons. The company commonly assembled at three o'clock, and went away about six ; unless in winter time, when the fashionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might get home before dark. The tea-table was crowned with a huge earthen dish, well stored with slices of fat pork fried brown, cut up into morsels, and swimming in gravy. The company being seated around the genial board, and each fur- nished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in launch- ing at the fattest pieces in this mighty dish — in much the same manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or our Indians spear salmon in the takes. 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-koeks — a delicious kind of cake, at present scarce known in this city, excepting in ge^ nuine Dutch families. The tea was served out of a majestic Delft teapot, or-< namented with paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds and shepherdesses tending pigs — with boats saiUng in the air, and houses built in the clouds, and sundry other ingenious Dutch fantasies. The beaux distin- guished themselves by their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a huge copper tea-kettle, which would have made the pigmy macaronies of these degenerate days sweat merely to look at it. To sweeten the be-> iU HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. verage, 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 sus- pend 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, Bergen, Fiat-Bush, and all our uncontaminated Dutch villages. At these primitive tea-parties the utmost propriety and dignity of deportment prevailed. No flirting nor coquetting— no gambling of old ladies, nor hoyden chattering and romping of young ones — no self-satis- fied 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 open- ed their lips, excepting to say, yah. Mynheer, or yah ya Vrouw, to any question that was asked them ; be- having in all things, like decent, well-educated dam- .'.els. As to the gentlemen, each of them tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed lost in contemplation of the bli^e and white tiles with which the fire-places were decorated; wherein sundry passages of Scrip- ture were piously portrayed — Tobit and his dog fi- gured to great advantage; Ilaman swung conspi- cuously on his gibbet; and Jonah appeared most manfully bouncing out of the whale, like Harlequin through a barrel of fire. The parties broke up without noise and without confusion. They were carried home fay 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 waggon. The gentlemen gal- lantly 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 woidd argue a great want of reve- rence in their descendants to say a word against it. CHAPTER IV. Containing fiirthcr particulars of the Golden Age, and what con- stituted a fine Lady and Gentleman In the days of Walter the Doubter. In this dulcet period of my history, when the beau- teous island of Manna-hata presented a scene, the very counterpart of those glowing pictures drawn of the golden reign of Saturn, there was, as I have before observed, a happy ignorance, an honest simplicity prevalent among its inhabitants, which, were I even able to depict, would be but little understood by the degenerate age for which I am doomed to write. Even the female sex, those arch innovators upood tranquillity, the honesty, and gray-beard custookj society, seemed for a while to conduct then with incredible sobriety and comeliness. Their hair, untortured by the abominations ofa was scrupulously pomatumed back from their I heads with a candle, and covered with a lillje capJ quilted calico, which fitted exactly to their Their petticoats of linsey-woolsey were striped a variety of gorgeous dyes — though I must these gallant garments were rathei* short, reaching below the knee ; but then they made upij the number, which generally equalled thalofti gentlemen's small-clothes : and what is still praiseworthy, they were all of their own manufac ^f which circumstance, as may well be sup they were not a little vain. These were the honest days, in which every i man staid at home, read the Bible, and wore [ — ay, and that too of a goodly size, fashioned patch-work into many curious devices, and o$te tiously worn on the outside. These, in fact, convenient receptacles, where all good honsevinj carefully stored away such things as they wisi have at hand ; by which means they often caineij be incredibly crammed— and I remember there i a story current when I was a boy, that the ladyj Wouter Van Twiller had occasion once toempiyli right pocket in search of a wooden ladle, andil utensil was discovered lying among some ri one corner — but we must not give too much faiili|| all 'hese stories ; the anecdotes of those remote n riods being very subject to exaggeration. Besides these notable pockets, they likewise \ scissors and pincushions suspended from their ^ by red ribands, or among the more opulent and slw classes, by brass, and even silver chains— indubilil tokens of thrifty housewives and industrious spire 1 cannot say much in vindication of the shortna| the petticoats; it doubtless was introduced fori purpose of giving the stockings a chance to be i which were generally of blue worsted, with i ficent red clocks— or perhaps to display a well-tui ankle, and a neat, though serviceable, foot ; set olll| a high-heeled leathern shoe, with a large and spiei silver buckle. Thus we find that the gentle sex h in all ages, shown the same disposition to infrinj little upon the laws of decorum, in order to betr lurking beauty, or to gratify an innocent lovej finery. From the sketch here given, it will be seen tlialij good grandmothers differed considerably in tlieirH of a fine figure from their scantily dressed de ants of the present day. A fine lady, in those t waddled under more clothes, even on a fair siinioi day, than would have clad the whole bevy of ai dern ball-room. Nor were they the less admiredbj^ gentlemen in consequence thereof. On the conir the greatness of a lover's passion seemed to m in proportion to the magnitude of its object-an' mSTORY OF NEW-YORK. 145 pinous damsel, arrayed in a dozen uf petticoats, I declared by a Low-Duicli soniietteer of tlie pro- nto be radiant as a sunflower, and luxuriant as a [.blown cabluge. Ceriainitis, tliatintliosedaysthe ktof a lover could not contain more tlian one lady [time; whereas the heart of a modern gallant has [ti room enough to accommodate half a dozen — The 011 of which I conclude to be, that either the I of the gentlemen have grown larger, or the sof the ladies smaller — this, however, is a ques- I for physiologists to determine. ut there was a secret charm in these petticoats, ich, no doubt, entered into the consideration of the iilent gallants. The wardrobe of a lady was in ;(lays her only fortune ; and she who had a good 1 of petticoats and stockings was as absolutely an tss as is a Kainschatka damsel with a store of bear- is, or a Lapland belle with a plenty of rein-deer. [ ladies, therefore, were very anxious to display ; powerful attractions to 'he greatest advantage ; J the best rooms in the house, instead of being ^ned with caricatures of Dame Nature, ui water- ors an-i needle-work, were always hung round I abundance of homespun garments, the nianu- jure and the property of the females — a piece of lable ostentation that still prevails among the (esses of our Dutch villages. Ike gentlemen, in fact, who figured in the circles negay world in these ancient times, corresponded, post particulars, with the beauteous damsels whose Jestliey were ambitious to deserve. True it is, merits would make but a very inconsiderable jression upon the hsart of a modern fair; they per drove their curricles nor sported their tandems, syet those gaudy vehicles were not even dreamt Incitlier did they distinguish themselves by their Ancy at the table, and their consequent rencontres I watclunen ; for our forefathers were of too pa- la disposition to need those guardians of the night, fsoul throughout the town being sound asleep enine o'clock. Neither did they establish their b to gentility at the expense of their tailors — for n those offenders against the pockets of society, ■the tranquillity of all aspiring young gentlemen, punknown in New-Amsterdam; every good house- made the clothes of her husband and family, [even the goede vrouw of Van Twiller himself gilt it no disparagement to cut out her husband's '-woolsey galligaskins, bt but that there were some two or tlwee young- I fliio manifested the first dawnings of what is li lire and spirit; w ho held all labour In contempt; pi about docks and market-places ; loitered in the line; squandered what little money they could lireat hustle-cap and chuck-farthing ; swore, box- jmght cocks, and raced their neiglibours' horses Ishort, who promised to be the wonder, the talk, pbomination of the town, had not their stylish • been unfortunately cut short, by an affair of br with a whipping-post. ■. . ■ Far other, however, was tlie truly fashionable gen- tleman of those days — his dress, which served for both morning and evening, street and drawing-room, was a linsey-woolsey coat, made, perhaps, by the fair hands of tlie mistress of his affections, and gallantly bedecked with abundance of large brass buttons. Haifa score of breeches heightened the proportions of his figure — his shoes were decorated by enormous copper buckles — a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat overshadowed his burly visage, and liis hair dangled down his back, in a prodigious queue of eel-skin. 1'hus equipped, he would manfully sally forth with pipe in moutli to besiege some fair damsel's obdurate lieart— notsuchapipe, good reader, as that which Acis did sweetly tune in praise of his Galatea, but one of true Delft manufacture, and furnished with a charge of fragrant tobacco. With this w^uld he resolutely set himself down before the fortress, and rarely failed, in the process of time, to smoke the fair enemy into a surrender, upon honourable terms. Such was the happy reign of Wouter Van Twiller, celebrated in many a long-forgotten song as the real golden age, the rest being nothing but counterfeit copper- washed coin. In that delightful period , a sweet and holy calm reigned over the whule province. The burgomaster smoked his pipe in peace — the substantial solace of liis domestic cares, after her daily toils were done, sat soberly at the door with her arms crossed over her apron of snowy white, without being insult- ed by ribald street-walkers or vagabond boys— those unlucky urchins, who do so infest our streets, display- ing under the roses of youth the thorns and briers of iniquity. Then it was that the lover with ten breech- es, and the damsel with petticoats of half a score, in- dulged in all the innocent endearments of virtuous love, without fear and without reproach : for what had that virtue to fear, which was defended by a shield of good linsey-woolseys, equal at least to the seven bull-hides of the invincible Ajax? Ah blissful, and never-to-be-forgotten age! when every thing was better than it has ever been since, or ever will be again— when Buttermilk channel was quite dry at low water— when the shad in the Hudson were all salmon, and when the moon shone with a pure and resplendent whiteness, instead of that me- lancholy yellow light, which is the consequence of her sickening at the abominations she every night wit- nesses in this degenerate city ! Happy would it have been for New-Amsterdam could it always have existed in this state of blissful ignorance and lowly simplicity : but, alas ! the days of childhood are too sweet to last ! Cities, like men, grow out of them in time, and are doomed alike to grow into the bustle, the cares, and miseries of the world. Let no man congratulate himself, when he beholds the child of his bosom, or the city of his birth, increasing ui magnitude and importance— let the his- tory of his own life teach him the dangers of the one, and let this excellent little history of Manna-hata con- vince him of the calamities of the other. 19 146 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. CHAPTER V. In which the reader is he^uiled into a delfctablc waltc, which rnds very dilTerciiUy from what it commenced. In the year of our Lord one thousand eiglit hundred and four, on a fine afternoon, in the glowing month of September, I took my customary walk upon tlie Battery, wliich is at once the pride and bulwark of this ancient and impregnable city of New-York. The ground on which I trod was hallowed by recol- lections of the past, and as I slowly wandered through the long alley of poplars, which like so many birch brooms standing on end, diffused a melancholy and lugubrious shade, my imagination drew a contrast between the surrounding scenery, and what it was in the classic days of our forefathers. Where the go- vernment-house by name, but the custom-house by occupation, proudly reared its brick walls and wooden pillars, there whilome stood the low, but substantial, red-tiled mansion of the renowned Wouter Van Twiller. Around it the mighty bulwarks of Fort Amsterdam frowned defiance to every absent foe; but, like many a whiskered warrior and gallant mili- tia captain, confined their martial deeds to frowns alone. The mud breastworks had long been levelled with the earth, and their site converted into the green walls and leafy alleys of the Battery ; where the gay apprentice sported his Sunday coat, and the laborious mechanic, relieved from dirt and drudgery, poured his weekly tale of love into the half-averted ear of the sentimental chambermaid. The capacious bay slill presented the same expansive sheet of water, stud- ded with islands, sprinkled with fishing-boats, and bounde<l by shores of picturesque beauty. But the dark forests which once clothed these shores had been violated by the savage hand of cultivation, and their tangled mazes, and impenetrable thickets, had dege- nerated into teeming orchards and waving fields of grain. Even Governor's Island, once a smiling gar- den, appertaining to the sovereigns of the province , was now covered with fortifications, inclosing a tre- mendous block-house— so that this once-peaceful island resembled a fierce little warrior in a big cock- ed hat, breathing gunpowder and defiance to the world ! For some time did I indulge in this pensive train of thought; contrasting, in sober sadness, the present day with the hallowed years behind the mountains; lamenting the melancholy progress of improvement, and praising the zeal with which our worthy burgh- ers endeavour to preserve the wrecks of venerable customs, prejudices, and errors, from the overwhelm- ing tide of modem innovation — when by degrees my ideas took a different turn, and I insensibly awakened to an enjoyment of the beauties around me. It was one of those rich autumnal days which Heaven particularly bestows upon the beauteous is- land of Manna-hata and its vicinity— not a floating cloud obscured the azure firmament— the sun, rolling in glorious splendour through his ethereal course, seemed to expand his honest Dnich conntenanre i an unusual expression of benevolence, as he j his evening salutation upon a city, which lie dtUi to visit with his most iNNinteoiis beams— (he i winds seemed to hokl in their breaths in iniit ; j tion, lest they should ruffle the tran(|uillitr otj hour— and the waveless Imsom of the bay prK a polished mirror, in which nature beheld heivlfj smiled.— The standard of our city, reserved, 1 choice handkerchief, fur days of gala, liiin;> i tionless on the flag-staff, which forms the liandltN gigantic churn; and even the tremulous leaves of) poplar and (he aspen ceased to vibrate to the bre| lieaven. Every thing seemed to acquiesce in (Ik|J found re|H)se of nature. — The formidable ei;^ iwunders slept in the embrazures of the woodenh teries, seemingly gathering fresh strength to O^J battles of their country on the next foiirlh of ]A the solitary drum on Governor's Island forgot to J the garrison to their sJiovels — the evening guny not yet sounded its signal for all the regular, i meaning poultry througliout the country (o i roost; and the fleet of canoes, at anchor heii( Gibbet Island and Coinmiini[iaw, slumbered out rakes, and suffered the innocent oysters to lie i while unmolested in the soft mud of their nativeh — IMy own feelings sympathized with (he conia tranquillity, and I should infallibly have dozedq one of those fragments of benches, which our I volent magistrates have provided fur the ben convalescent loungers, had not the extraur(linaiy| convenience of the couch set all repose at defun In the midst of this slumber of the soul, mj i tion was attracted to a black speck, peering aboT(| western horizon, just in the rear of Bergen s gradually it augments and overhangs the vo cities of Jersey, Ilarsimus, and Hoboken, wh three jockeys, are starting on the course of eiisl and jostling each other at the commencement o race. Now it skirts the long shore of ancient F nia, spreading its wide shadows from the lii^| tleinents at Weehawk (piile to the lazaretto anil|[ ranline, erected by the sagacity of our police, embairassment of commerce— now it climbs ll rene vault of heaven, cloud rolling over cloud, shi ing the orb of day, darkening the vast e.\pan«,j bearing thunder and hail and tempest in its 1 The earth seems agitated at the confusion tl| heavens — the late waveless mirror is lashed iit rious waves, that roll in hollow murmurs to tbeil the oyster-boats, which erst sported in the pla cinity of Gibbet Island, now hurry affrighted l»| land— the poplar writhes and twists and wiiiS the blast— torrents of drenching rain and i hail deluge the Battery walks— the gates arelim^ by apprentices, servant-maids, and little Frem with pocket-handkerchiefs over tlieir hats, ing from the storm— the late beauteous prosprtl sents a scene of anarchy and wild uproar, as IM old Chaos had resumed his reign, and was hd dnto one vast ti out flinching, ai HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 147 Unto one vast turmoil the conflicting elements of V'liether I fled from the fury of the storm, or re- ned boldly at my post, as our gallant train-band Lains, who march their soldiers through the rain out flinching, are points which I leave to the con- llureofthe reader. It is possible he may be a little plexed also to know the reason why I liave intro- lliis tri'mendous tempest, to disturb the sere- . of my work. On this latter p4)int I will gratuit- ||y instruct his ignorance. The panorama view of [Battery was given merely to gratify the reader I a correct description of that celebrated place, I liie parts adjacent : secondly the storm was play- bff, partly to give a little bustle and life to tliis quil part of my work, and to keep my drowsy Iden from falling asleep, and partly to serve as an riure to the tempestuous times that are about to ^il the pacific province ot' INieuw-Nederlandls, and i overhang the slumbrous administration of tlie Uneil Wouler Van T wilier. It is thus the expe- ^ced play-wright puts all the fiddles, the French IS, the kettle-drums, and trumpets of his orcbes- I in requisition, to usher in one of those horrible I brimstone uproars called melo-drames; and it is k discharges his thunder, his lightning, his D, and saltpetre, preparatory to the rising of a Ist, or the murdering of a hero. We will now I with our history. Vhatever may be advanced by philosophers to the t[,iry, I am of opinion, that, as to nations, the old rim, that "honesty is the best policy," is a sheer Iniinous mistake. It might have answered well ^gh in the honest times when it Avas made, but in ! degenerate days, if a nation pretends to rely «ly upon the justice of its dealings, it will fare rtliing like an honest man among thieves, who, > lie have something more than his honesty to lend upon, stands but a poor chance of profiting by ■company. Such at least was the case with the Icless government of the New-Netherlands; which, I a worthy unsuspicious old burgher, quietly set- j itself down into the city of New-Amsterdam, as I a snug elbow-chair, and fell into a comfortable |; while, in the mean time, its cunning neighbours in and picked its pockets. Thus may we Kbe the commencement of all the woes of this ^t province, and its magnificent metropolis, to the quil security, or, to speak more accurately, to lunfortunate honesty of its government. But as plike to begin an important part of my history prds the end of a chapter ; and as my readers, [myself, must doubtless be exceedingly fatigued I the long walk we have taken, and the tempest have sustained, I hold it meet we shut up the k, smoke a pipe, and having thus refreshed our Its, take a fiiir start in the next chapter. CHAPTER W. Faitlitkilly descrlblnf; tlio ingcnloua people of Connecticut and Uiercaboiits— Showing, moreover, llie Irue meaning ofliiicrty of cunsciencc, and a cirious dcvicu nmoag lliesc sturdy bar- lariiuiH, (o keep up a liarmony of uitercouTM, and promote |)0|iulatiun. That my readers may llie more fully comprehend the extent of the calamity at this very moment im- pending over the lionest, unsuspecting province of Nieuw-Nederlandts, and its dubious governor, it is necessary that I should give some account of a horde of strange barbarians bordering upon the eastern fron- tier. Now so it came to pass that many years previous to the time of which we are treating, the sage cabinet of England had adopted a certain national creed, a kind of public walk of faith, or rather a religious turn- pike, in which every loyal subject was directed to travel to Zion— taking care to pay the toll-gatherers by the way. Albeit, a certain shrewd race of men, being very much given to indulge their own opinions, on all manner of subjecLs (a propensity exceedingly offen- sive to your free governments of Europe), did most presumptuously dare to think for themselves in mat- ters of religion, exercising what they considered a natural and unextinguishable right— the liberty of conscience. As, however, they possessed that ingenious habit of mind which always thinks aloud ; which rides cock- a-hoop on the tongue, and is for ever galloping into other people's ears, it naturally followed that their li- berty of conscience likewise implied liberty of speech, which being freely indulged, soon put the country in a hubbub, and aroused the pious indignation of the vigilant fathers of the church. The usual methods were adopted to reclaim them, that in those days were considered so efficacious iu bringing back stray sheep to the fold ; that is to say, they were coaxed, they were admonished, they were menaced, they were buffeted— line upon line, pre- cept upon precept, lash upon lash, here a little and there a great deal, were exhausted without mercy, and without success ; until at length the worthy fias- tors of the church, wearied out by their unparalleled stubbornness, were driven, in the excess of their ten- der mercy, to adopt the Scripture text, and literally " heaped live embers on their heads." Nothing, however, could sulnlue that invincible spirit of independence which has ever distinguished this singular race of people, so ttiat rather than sub- mit to such horrible tyranny, they one and all em- barked for the wilderness of America, where they might enjoy, unmolested, the inestimable luxury of talking. No sooner did they land on this loquacious soil, than, as if they had caught the disease from the climate, they all lifted up their voices at once, and for the space of one whole year did keep up such a joyful clamour, that we are told they frightened every bird and beast out of the neighbourhood, and so 448 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. i- i] N^ completely dnmb-founded certain flsh, which ationnd on their coast, tliat tliey liave been called dumb-fish ever since. From this simple circumstance, unimportant as it may seem, did first originate that renowned privilege so loudly boasted of throughout this country — which is so eloquently exercised in newspapers, pamphlels, ward-meetings, pot-house committees, and congres- sional deliberations — which establishes the right of talking without ideas and without information — of misrepresenting public affairs— of decrying public measures — of aspersing great characters, and destroy- ing little ones; in short, that grand palladium of our country, the liberty of speech. The simple aborigines of the land for a while con- templated these strange folk in utter astonishment, but discovering that they wielded harmless though noisy weapons, and were a lively, ingenious, good- humoured race of men, they became very friendly and sociable, and gave them the name of Yauokies, which in the Mais-Tchusaeg (or Massachusett) lan- guage signifies silent men — a waggish a[)pellation, since shortened into the familiar epithet of Yankees, which they retain unto the present day. True it is, and my fidelity as an historian will not allow me to pass it over in silence, that the zeal of these good people to maintain their rights and privi- leges unimpaired, did for a while betray them into errors, which it is easier to pardon than defend. Having served a regular apprenticeship in the school of persecution, it behoved them to show that they had become proficients in the art. They accordingly employed their leisure hours in banishing, scourging, or hanging, divers heretical papists, (|uakcrs, and ana- l)aptisls, for daring to abuse the liberty of conscience; which they now clearly proved to imply nothing more than that every man should think as he pleased in matters of religion— proi-irierf he thought right: for otherwise it would be giving a latitude to damn- able heresies. Now as they (the majority) were per- fectly convinced that they alone thought right, it consequently followed, that whoever thought dif- ferent from them thought wrong — and whoever thought wrong, and obstinately persisted in not being convinced and converted, was a flagrant violator of the inestimable liberty of conscience, and a corrupt and infectious member of the body politic, and de- served to be lopped off and cast into the lire. Now I'll warrant there are hosts of my readers ready at once to lift up their hands and eyes, with that virtuous indignation with which we always con- template the faults and errors of our neighbours, and to exclaim at these well-meaning but mistaken peo|)le, for iullieling on others the injuries they had suffered themselves — for indulging the preposterous idea of co.ivinciug the mind by lornienting the body, and establishing the doctrine of charity and forbearance by intolerant persecution. lUit, in simple truth, what are we doing at this very day, and in this very enlightened nation, but acting upon (he very sanu; principle, in our political controversies? Havei not within but a few years released ourselves I the shackles iS a government which cruelly deii us the privilege of governing ourselves, and usiii»| full latitude that invaluable member, the tonf,'ue?>i are we not at this very moment striving our Iks tyrannise over the opinions, tie up the tongues i ruin the fortunes of one another? What arej great political societies hut mere political inquisiiJ — our pot-house committees but little tribunals olj nunciation — our newspapers but mere wliipping.p and pillories, where unfortunate individuals arepeiJ with rotten eggs — and our council of appointii but a grand auto da fe, where culprits are aiuiu sacrificed for their political heresies ? Where, then, is the difference in principle betm our measures and those you are so ready to conile among the people I am treating of? There is r the difierence is merely circumstantial.— Tlius J denounce, instead of banishing — we libel, mm scourging — we turn out of office, instead oflianJ — and wliere they burned an offender in proiwkf sona, we either tar or feather or burn himm^ — this political persecution being, somehow oro the grand palladium of oiu' liberties, and an iiicomi vertlble proof that this is « free country! But notwithstanding the fervent zeal with v/i this holy war was proseculetl against the wliole t of unbelievers, we do not find that the popiilalioul this new colony was in any wise hindered therd)v;j the contrary, they multiplied to a degree wliiclnvoi be incredible to any man unacquainted with tlieii vellous fecundity of this growing country. This amazing increase may indeed be partly ase ed to a singular custom prevalent among lliem,(i monly known by the nanieof ftMHrf/itig— asujn tions rite observed by the young people of bollised with which they usually terminated their festi\iliil and which was kept up with religious stricliie!i,| the more bigoted and vulgar part of the coiiimuiiil This ceremony was likewise, in those primitive liii considered as an indis|)ensable preliminary to nul niouy; their courtships commencing wliere i usually finish— by which means they ac(|iiifeJ ll intimate acquaintance with each other's good qui ties before marriage, which has been pronoiiiiceilj philosophers the sure basis of a happy union, early did this cunning and ingetiious people disphi shrewdness at making a bargaui, Mhicli since distinguished them— and a strict ailliere to the good old vulgar maxim altout " buying a || in a poke." To this sagacious custom, therefore, do I cliiil attribute the unparalleled increase of the yanolii(| yaiikee tribe ; for it is a certain fact, well i cated by court recordsand parish registers, tliaHl^ ever the practice of bundling prevailed, lliere i an amazing number of sturdy brats annua unto the state, without the licence of the lavvorj l)euellt of clergy. Neither did the irregularity m HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 149 Irlli operate In the least to their disparagement. On le contrary, tliey grew up a long-sided, raw-boned, L(ly race of whoreson M'halers, woodcutters, lisher- len, and pedlers, and strapping corn-fed wenches ; [|,o by their united elTorls tended marvellously fcwards popiila.nig those notable tracts of country lUetl Nantucket, Piscataway, and Cape Cod. CHAPTER \n. low llipsc singular barbarians tlic Yanoliics turned out to be fiolorioiis S(iuattcrs. How tliey built air casOrs, and attempted Itoinitiatc tlie Jiedeilanders in tlie mystery of bundling. In the last chapter I have given a faithful and un- tfjudicfd account of the origin of that singular race of opie, inhabiting the countiy eastward of Nieuw- ledeilandts ; but I have yet to mention certain pe- liliar habits which rendered them exceedingly ob- loxious to oiu- ever-honotired Dutch ancestors. I The most prominent of these was a certain rambling ■opensily, with which, like the sons of Ishmael, ley seem to have been gifted by heaven, and which |)nliiuially goads them on to shift their residence |om place to place, — so that a Yankee farmer is in Iconslanl state of migration; tarry huj occasionally We and there, clearing lands for other people to iijoy, building houses for others to inliabil, and in I manner may be considered the wandering Arab of luierica. I His lirst thoti^ht, on coming to the years of man- [kkI, is to settle himself in the world — which means jotliing more nor less than to begin his rambles. To his end he takes unto himself for a wife some buxom puiitry heiress, passing rich in red ribands, glass pds, and mock tortoiseshcll combs, with a white mvn and morocco shoes for Simday, and deeply lillttl in the mystery of making apple sweetmeats, Ing sauce, and pumpkin pie. ] Having thus provided himself, like a pedler, with a eavy knapsack, wherewith to regale his shoulders kioiigh tlie journey of life, he literally sets out on be peregrination. His whole family, liousehold fur- tluro, and farming utensils, are hoisted uito a co- ped cart; his own and his wife's wardrobe packed )ina lirkiu— which done, he shoulders his axe, IkesslalTin hand, whistles " yankee doodle," and judges off to the woods, conlident of the protection I I'lovidence, and relying as cheerfidly upon his |ivii resources, as did ever a patriarch of yore when ejmnneyed into a strange coinitry of the Gentiles. laving buried himself in the wilderness, he builds linscif a log hut, clears away a corn-Held and potatoc- plcli, and, i'rovidcnce smiling upon his labours, is m sunouudcd by a snug farm, and some half a «ie of llaxcn-hcaded urchins, who, by Iheiretpialily fsize, sccni to have sprung all at once out of the ki'lli, like a crop of toadstools. I Hilt it is not the nature of this most indefatigable of ^'cidatorsto rest contented with any slate of sublu- nary enjoyment — Improvement is his darling passion ; and having thus improved his lands, the next care is to provide a mansion worthy the residence of a land- holder. A huge palace of pine boards immediately springs up in the midst of (be wilderness, large enough for a parish church, and furnished with windows of all dimensions; but so rickety and flimsy withal, that every blast gives it a lit of the ague. By the time the outside of this mighty air castle is completed, either the funds or the zeal of oin* adven- turer are exhausted, so that he barely manages to half finish one room within, where the whole family bur- row together — while the rest of the house is devoted to the curing of pumpkins, or storing of carrots and potatoes, and is decorated with fanciful festoons of ihled apples and peaches. The ouLside, remaining unpainted, grows venerably black with time ; the fa- mily wardrobe is laid under contribution for old hats, petticoats, and breeches, to stuff into the broken win- dows : while the four winds of heaven keep up a whistling and howling about this aerial palace, and play as many unruly gambols as they diil of yore in the cave of old jEolus. The humble log hut, which whilome nestled this improvimj family snugly within its narrow but comfortable walls, stands hard by, in ignominious contrast, degraded into a cow-house or pig-sty ; and the whole scene reminds one forcibly of a fable, which I am surprised has never been recorded, of an aspir- ing snail, who abandoned tlie humble habitation which he had long lilled with great respectability, to crawl into the empty shell of a lobster — where he would no doubt have resided with great style and splendour, tlie envy and hate of all the pains-taking snails of his neighbomhood, had he not perished with cold, in one corner of his stupendous mansion. licing thus completely settled, and, to use his own words, " to rights," one would imag'ne that he would begin to enjoy the comforts of his situation ; to read newspapers, talk ])olitics, neglect his own affaivs, and attend to the affairs of the nation, like a uscfid and patriotic citizen ; but now it is that his wayward dis- position begins again to operate. He soon grows tired of a spot where there is no longer any room for im- provement—sells his farm, air caslle, petticoat win- dows and all, reloads his cart, shoidders his axe, puts himself at the heail of his family, and wanders away in search of new lands— again to fell trees, again to clear corn-fields, again to build a shingle palace, and again to sell olT, and wander. Such were the peiiplc of (-onnecticiil, who border- ed upon the easterp. fiotilier of l*Jieuw-!Neiierland(s, and my readers may easily imagine what neighbours this light-hcarled but restless tribe must have been to oin- traiKitiil progenitors. If I hey cannot, 1 would ask them, if they have ever known one of our regular well-organized Dutch lamilirs, whom it halh pleased Heaven to alllict with the neighbourhood ofa French boarding-house? The honest old burgher cannot take Ills afternoon's pipe, on the bench before his door, luO HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. but he is persccnted with the scraping of fiddles, the chattering of women, and the squalling of children —he cannot sleep at night for the horrible'melodies of some amateur, who chooses to serenade the moon, and display his terrible proficiency in execution on the clarionet, the hautboy, or some other soft-toned instrument — nor can he leave the street-door open but his house is defilal by the unsavoury visits of a troop of pug dogs, who even sometimes carry their loath- some ravages into the sanctum sanctorum, tiie par- lour. If my readers have ever witnessed the sufferings of such a family, so situated, they may form some idea how our worthy ancestors were distressed by their mercurial neighbours of Connecticut. Gangs of these marauders, we are told, penetrated into the New-Nelherland selUcments, and threw whole villages into consternation by their unparallel- ed volubility, and their intolerable inquisiliveness — two evil habits hitherto unknown in lliose parts, or only known to be abhorred ; for our ancestors were noted as being men of truly Spartan taciturnity, who neither knew nor cared aught about any body's con- cerns but their own. Many enormities were com- mitted on the highways, where several unoffendini? burghers were brought to a stand, and tortured with questions and guesses ; which outrages occasioiietl as much vexation and heart-burning as does the modern right of search on the high seas. (keat jealousy did they likewise stir up by their internieddlings and successes among the divine .sex ; for being a race of brisk, comely pleasant-tongued varlets, they soon seduced the affections of the simple damsels, from their ponderous Dutch gallants. Among other hideous cuslonis, they attempted to introduce among them Ihal oi buudling, which tiie Dutch lasses of the Psederlaudts, with that eager passion for no- velty and foreign fashions natural to their sex, seem- ed very well inclined to follow ; but that their mothers, being more experienced in the world, and belter ac- quainted with men and things, strenu(»usly discoun- tenanced all such outiiuidish innovations. But what chielly operated to embroil our ancestors with these strange folk was <m unw.irrantable liberty which they occasionally took of entering in hordes into the territories of the INew-Netherlands, and set- tling themselves down, without leave or licence, to improve the land, in the jnanner I have before no- ticed. 'J'hisuncerenionions mode of taking possession of new laud was technically termed squdliiiitj, and hence is derived the appellation ofsiiiiatti'rs: a name odious in the ears of all great landlioidcrs, and which is given lo those enterprising worthies, who seize n[ton land lirsl, and take their chance lo make good their title lo it afterwards. Alldiesc grievatKes, and many others wiiieli were constantly aeeunuilating. tended loiorni that dark and portentous cloud, wbich, as I olwerved in a former chapter, was slowly gathering over the tranquil pro- vince of INew-lNeli»erlaud8. The pacific cabinet of Van T wilier, however, as will I)e perceivetl In ihes quel, bore them all witJi a magnanimity that redouu to their immortal credit— becoming by passive endu] ranee inured to this increasing mass of wrongs •|i|] that mighty man of old, who, by dint of carrying ah a calf from the time it was born, continued to cair it without difficulty when it had grown to Ire an oil CHAPTER \m. How Hie fort Gord Hoop was fearfully l)eleaguerc(l-h(m ( renowned Wouter fell into a pi-ofound doubt, and liow he Gm evaiwrated. By this time my readers must fully perceive vii an arduous task I have undertaken— colleclin!; anl collating, with painful minuteness, the chronidesij past times, who.se events almost defy the powersd research — exploring a kind of little Herculaneiim ^ history, which had lain buried under the rubbisli years, and almost totally forgotten — raking up i lind)s and fragments of disjointed facts, and emleavimj ing to put them scrupulously together, so as loieslur them to their original form and connexion— now ly>i ging forth the character of an almosl-forgollen lierj like a mutilated statue— now deciphering a liiilf-def* ed inscri[ilion, and now lighting upon a inoiild™ manuscript, which, alter painful study, scarce iqiaji| the trouble of perusal. In such case how much has the reader to (Ifpei^ upon the honour and probity of his author, lesl, III a cunning anti(inarian. lie eillier impose upoiilii^ s(»me spurious faliriealiim for a precious relic iVoiiiaii| li(|uity— or else dress up the dismembered I'lai,™ with such false trappings, that it is scarcely possM to distinguish the truth from tiie llction wilhwli is enveloped. This is a grievance which I liavenioi than once had to lament in llie cour.se ofniyweaiisoii researches among the works of my fellow hisloiiai)i| who have strangely disguised and distorted liie ladi respecting this counlry, and particularly rospeotinj the great province of Kew-Netherlandsj as wil perceiveil by any who will take the Iroulile to m pare their romaiilie effusions, tricked out in the mm tricious gauds of fahle, willi this authentic liisloiy, I have had more vexations of the kind to eiicoiiiil!^ in those parts of my history wliieli ireatofliieliain actions on the eastern itorder Hiaii in any other, iJ conseipiencc of the troops of historians who l!,.vi'iii[ tested those ipiarters, and have shown ilie i;i« people of INieuw-INeilerlaiidls no mercy in liieirworki Among Ihe rest, Mr Benjamin 'irunibiill airosiiillj declares, that " tiie Diileli wore always iiici('ii!!:j| ders."— ?Sow In this I, shall make no other rt'|ilyi!iii to proceed in the steady narration of my hisloiy.wli will conlain not only proofs that tin- Diilcli iimlclti lille and [lossession in the fair valleys of (lie (loiiii« ticul, and that lliey were wrongfully ili.siinssi's thereof— but, likewise, that they have been .scJimlil ously maltreated ever since, by the niisiTiiresfnlJ| HISTORY OF NEW-YOKK. l.'il irceivedinthesi lity that redouni by passive ( J of wrongs ;iijJ of carrying al* siitiniied tocair )wn toljeaiioi'l eleaguercd— hnw j ibt, andliuwlii'li i!ly perceive wli n — collecting anl the clironidesD lefy the powersd i Herculaneum rt ler the nibbisii n — raking tip i ;ts,aiulemleavoiit^ ler, so as to reslw iiexion— now In,*] Dsl-forgotleii here lering a lialf-ilff» ipon a nioiildcrigj luly, scarce repijj roailer to (Ippaii li author, lesl, impose upoiil ions rdic from iij einberetl fia!;n\e s scarcely possiH ion '^'itli whicliil iviiichi have 1110 ieofiiiyweariwDi fellow liistoiiaiiil istortcd lilt facJ cular'y respeclinj lands; as wil le trouhle to cot out ill the men icnlic liisldiy, kind to eiicouiiiii ireat of the tiaw 1 in any oilier, lans who liavpinj 10 wn ilie 'lun cy inllit'irwwt* lunhuU arro;: ways mere in!:!' i» other reply my history, wliidi (> Duleh had rid ys of IlieCoiiiif* j'lijiy dispossess ivc hecn scumlJ lie nilsre|)restnW ^iis of the crafty historians of New-England. And this I sliall be guided by a spirit of truth and iin- EirtialitY, and a regard to immortal fame — for I would Kjt wittingly dishonour my work by a single false- xl misrepresentation, or prejudice, though it should lam our forefathers the whole country of INew-Eng- iml. It was at an early period of the province, and pre- liuus to the arrival of the renowned VVoulcr, that L cabinet of Nieuw-Nederlandls purchased the Liuls alwut the Connecticut, and established, for Lir superintendence and protection, a forlilicd post 1 the banks of the river, which was called Fort koed Hoop, and was situated hard by the present L cily of Hartford. 'J'he command of this ini- Llaiit post, together with the rank, title, and ap- )iiilmentof connnissary, were given in charge to the Lllaiit Jacobus Van Curlel, or, as some historians will Lveit, Van Curlis — a doughty soldic', of that slo- taciiftil class of which we have such nundiers on pa- wle (lays— who are famous for eaiing all they kill. |e was of a very sohlierlike appearance, anil would lave been an exceeding tall man, had his legs been j proportion to his body ; but the latter being long, lul the former uncommonly short, it gave him the ^coutli appearance of a tall man's body mounted wn a little man's legs. lie made up for this turnspit [nslriictioii of body by throwing his legs lo such an lilent when he marched, that you would have sworn ■ iiaiionlhe identical seven-league Iniots of the far- t ick the giant-killer : and so astonishingly high 1(1 he tread, on any great military occasion, that his lldieis were oft-times alarmed, lest he should trample uiiself under fool. jliiilnotwithslamling tho erection of this fort, and leappohitment of this ugly little man of war as a Inimaniler, the intrepid Yankees continued those Iriiig inlevlopings, which I have hinted at in my jsl diapler ; ind taking advantage of the character liiicli the cabinet of VVouter Van Twiller soon ae- liired for profound and phleginatii; tranciiiillity, did lidadodsly invade the territories of the Meuw-Ne- fi'lamlls, and.sf/iia< themselves down within tlie vety Irisdiction of I'orl (ioed Hoop. 1 On beholding this outrage, the long-liodicd Van |urli'l proceeded as became a prompt and valiani of- ler. lie immediately protested against these un- lanaiilable encroachments, in Low Dutch, by way [iiispi ifi^ more terror, and forthwith dispatched a |ipy of ! ,(^ i)rotesl to the governor at New-A mslerdam, ''( with a long and hitler account of the aggres- toiis .iitlie enemy. This done, he ordered his men, neaml all, to he of . lod cbeer— shut the gate of the irl, smoked three |>iiK's, went to bed, and awaited leresiitl with a resolute and intrepid trantpiillily, lat greatly animated his adherents, and no doubt jriick sore dismay into the hearts of the enemy. Now it came to pass, that about this time the re- bvvned VVouter Van Twiller, fidl of years and ho- pms, and counc;' dinners, bad reached that period of life and faculty which, according to the great Gnl- liver, entitles a man to admission into the ancient order of Slruldbruggs. He employed his time in smoking his Turkish piiR>, amid an assemblage of sages, eipially eiilii:hlened, and nearly as venerable as himself, and who, for their silence, their gravity, their wisdoni, and their raulious avcrsencNs to com- ing to any conclusion in business,. are only lo be equalled by certain prol'oimd eorporati<">s which I have known in my time. I |ton reading the protest of the gallant .lacoluis Van Curlet, therefore, his ex- cellency I'ell straightway into one of I he deepest doubts that ever he was known to en(.'ounler; his capacious head gradually drooped (m his chest, he closed his eyes, and inclined his ear lo one side, as if listening with great attention to the discussion that was going on in his belly : which all who knew him declared to he the huge (»urt-house or coun(r:l-chan!l)er of his thoughts ; forming lo his bead what the bouse of re- presentatives does to the senate. An inarticulate sound, very much resembling a snore, occasionally escaped him— but Ihc naline of this internal cogita- tion was never known, as he never opened his lips on the subject lo man, woman, or child. In the mean lime, the protest of Nan Curlet lay (piietly on the table, where it served lo light the pipes of the ve- nerable sages assembled in coinicil ; and in the great smoke which they raised, the; gallant Jacobus, his protest, and his mighty fori Goed Hoop, were soon as complelely beclouded and forgotten, as is a (jiiiS- tion of emergency swallowed up in the speeches and resolutions of a session of (Congress. There are certain emergencies when your profound legislators and sage deliberative coun(;ils are mightily in the way of a nation ; and when an oimce of hare- brained decision is worth a pound of sage docht and cautious discussion. Surh, at least, was the case at present ; for while the renowned Wonter Van Twil- ler was daily battling with his doubts, and his reso- lution growing weakt and weaker in the contest, the enemy jtiished farther and farther into his terri- tories, and assinned a most formidable appearance in llic neighbourhood oC Fort Goed Hoop. Here they founded the mighty town of Pyifuag, or, as it has since been called, ]Vmlhers field, a jdace which, if we may credit the assertions of that worthy historian, John Josselyn, gent, "hath been infamous by reason of the witches t! "in." And so daring did these men of Py(piag '..-•■come, thai Ihey extended those plantations of onions, for whi(;h their town is illus- trious, under the very noses of the garrison of Fort Goed Hoop — insonuich that the honest Dutchmen could not look Uiward that (juartcr without tears in their eyes. This crying injustice, was regarded with proper in- dignation by the gallant Jacobus Van Curlet. He absolutely trembled with the violence of his choler, and the exacerbations of his valour; which seemed lo be the more turbulent in their workings, from the length of the body in which they were agitated. He 452 raSTORY OF NEW-YORK. forthwith proceeded to strengthen his redouhts, heighten his breastworks, deepen Iris fosse, and for- tify his position with a double row of abatis; after wluch precautiors, he dispalclied a fresh courier with tremendous accounts of his perilous situation. The courier chosen to bear these alarming dis- patches was a fat, oily little man, as being least liable to be worn out, or to lose leather on the journey ; and to insure his speed, he was mounted on the tteet- esL waggon horse in the garrison, remarkable for his length of limb, largeness of bone, and hardness of trot ; and so tall, that the little messenger was oblig 'd to climb on his Ijuck by means of his tail and crup- per. Such extraordinai7 speed did he make, lliat be arrived at Fort Amsterdam in little less than a month, though the distance was full two hundi ed pipes, or about one hundred and twenty miles. The extraordinary appearance of this portentous stranger would have thrown the whole town of New- Amsterdam into a quandary had the good people troubled themselves about any lliin;; more than Iheir domestic affairs. With an ap(K>arance of great hurry and business, and smoking a siiort travelling pipe, he proceeded on a long swing I rot tluougb the muddy lanes of the metropolis, demolishing whole batches of dirt pies, which the Utile Dutch children were mak- ing in the road; and for which kind of pastry the children of this city have ever been famous. On ar- riving at the governor's liouse, he climbed down from bis steed in great trepidation ; roused the gray- headed door-keeper, old Skaals, who, like his lineal descendant and faithful represenlative, the venerable crier of our court, was nodding at bis post— rallied at the dooL of the council-eluunber, and slarlled the members as they were dozing over a plan for esta- blishing a pid)lic market. At that very moment a gentle grunt, or rather a di. op-drawn snore, was heard from the chair of the governor ; a whiff of smoke was at the same instant observed to escape from his lips, an<l a light cloud lo ascend from the bowl of bis pipe. The council of course supposed him engaged in deep sleep for the good of the coniimmity, and according to custom in all su(;h cases established, every man l)awled out si- lence, in order to maintain trancpiillily ; when, of a snilden, (he door Hew open, and the lillle courier r.lraddled into the a|)artment, cased to the middle in a pair of Hessian boots, which he had got into for llie sake of expedition. In bis right hanil be held forth the ominous dispatches, and with his left ho grasped (irmly the waistband of his galligaskins, which had unfortunately given way, in Ihi^ exertion of descend- ing from his horse, lie slumped resolutely up lo the governor, and with more hiury than perspicuity, de- livered his message. Hut Ibrtuualely his ill tidings came too late to ruflle the trantjuillity of this most lran(|uil of rulers. His venerable excellency had just breathed and smoked his last— his lungs and his pipe having been exhausted together, and his peaceful soul having escaped in the last whiff that curlctl from his tobacco-pipe. In a word, the renowned Waken Doubter, who had so often slumbered with his temi>oraries, now slept with his fathers, and VVl hehnus Kieft governed in his stead. BOOK IV. OOTiTAIMNG THE CHBOMCLES OP THE BEICN OF WIUUn i TESTY. CHAPTER I. Sliowins the naiurc of lu.tory in general ; containint fiirlliern till! universal aciiuirenieiils of William the Tesly, and lir,,! man ni.>y learii so nuicli as to render himself good for noih^,! WnKX the lofty Thucydides is about to enter up( his description of the plague that desolated Atlien; one of his modern commentators assures the reaiij that the history is now going to be exceedingly s lemii, serious, and pathetic; and hints, wilhtliaiij of chuckling gralidalioii, with which a good djn draws forth a choice morsel from a cupboard lo t gale a favourite, that Ibis plague will give his liisi a most agreeable variety. In like manner did my heart leap within me. wIh I came lo the dolorous dilemma of Fort Good liopi which I at once perceived to be the forerunner ii\ series of great events and enterlaiiiiug disasters. !j« are Ibe true subjects for the historic pen; for wliaijj history, in fact, but a kind of Newgale ealoiHlar,| register of the crimes and miseries that man ii Hided on his fellow man ? It is a huge liliel on I natiu'e, to which we industriously add pjijie alli page, volume after volume, as if we were iui up a nionimieiil lo the honour, rather than to l famy of our species. If we turn over Ihe pajreii these chronicles which man has written of liinis what are Ihe characters dignified by the appelLnio of great, and hehl up to Ihe admiration of posterilyj 'J'yranls, robbers, contpierors, renowneil only furl magnitude of their misdeeds, and the .sUipen wrongs and miseries they have inflicted on niiin — warriors who have hired themselves to the Ira of bluod, not from motives of virtuous patriulisjin,! lo prolect the injured and defenceless, but merely li gain Ibe vaunted glory of being adroit and snccesil in massacring their fellow beings ! What are tliejrt events that conslilule a glorious era? — The empires— the desolation of happy countries— spleiiil cities smoking in Iheir ruins — the proudest woikso art tumbled in the dust — the shrieks and gioiiiisi whole nations a.scendiiig unto heaven ! It is thus the historians may be said lo thrive ( the miseries of mankind, like birds of [trey thai ^i over the licld of battle, to fatten on the migiilydf* It was ol)served by a great projector of inland navij;alion, that rivers, lakes, and (Mieaus, wenonH formed lo feed canals. In like manner I am Ii'ih|)K to believe, that plots, conspiracies, wars, victonH fflSTORY OF NFAV-YORK. iim IGN OF WILimi 1 I massacres, are ordained by Providence only as I for the historian. lit is a source of great delight to the philosopher, in Idying the wonderful economy of nature, to trace mutual dependencies of things, how they are taWl reciprocally for each otiier, and how the most Isioiis, and apparently unnecessary niiimal has its Thus lliose swarms of flies, which are so often jecralcd as useless vermin, are created for (he tifiiance of spiders— and spiders, on the other hand, [ evidently made to devour flies. So those heroes |o have heen such scourges to the world were ^iileously provided as themes for the poet and the iiiaii, wliile the poet and the historian were des- Ito record the achievements of heroes ! Ilifse, and many similar reflections, naturally arose Imv miud, as I took up my pen to commence the Ign of William Kieft : for now the stream of our lory, which hitherto has rolled in a tran<|uil cur- hl, is about to depart for ever from its peaceful Lis, and to brawl through many a turbulent and bed scene. Like some sleek ox, which, having I ami fattened in a rich clover-field, lies sunk in tii'ioiis repose, and will bear repeated taunts and Jffs, before it heaves its unwieldy limbs, and clum- j arouses from its slumbers ; so the province of the m-Nederlandts, having long slept and grown fat Jder the prosperous reign of the Doubter, was re- llantiy cudgelled awake under the fidgetting reign Ihis successor. The reader will now witness the Inner in which a peaceful community advances lards a state of war ; which it is loo apt to approach, irse does a drum, with much prancing and pa- le, luil with little progress — and too often with the Wend foremost. RVii.iii'LMi s Kieft, who in iC>!ii ascended the ll)cnin((i»mJ chair ( to borrow a fuvourile, though Jinsy, appellation of modern phraseologists), was jform, feature, and character, the very reverse of |reiiowued predecessor. He was of very respecl- Bdeseent, his father being ruspeclor of Windmills jliie ancient town of Saardam; and onr hero, we il, made very curious investigations into the lure and operations oflho.se machines when a boy, llch is one reason why he af'crwards came to he so pious a governor. His name, according to the p InRenious etymologists, was a rorrnplion of fier. that is to say, a n/diif/Zer or snildfr. and ex- ■>;d the hereditary disposition of his family; which Ini'ariy two centuries had kept the windy town of Irdain in hot water, and produced more tartars and pistones than any ten families in the place — and Inilydid VVillielmus Kieft iidierit this family en- piiuiit, that he had scarcely been a year in the fciiarite of his government hefi)re he was universally kwii by the appellation of \\ ii,i,i,VM tiik Tkstv. pwiisabri.sk, waspish, little old gentleman, who dried and withered away, partly through the hral inocess of years, and partly from being parch- laiidbmnl up by his licry soul; whicii l)la«e<l like a vehement rush-light in his ))osom, constantly incit- ing him to most valorous broils, altercations, and misadventures. I have heard it observed by a pro- found philosopher, that if a woman waxes fat as she grows old, the tenure of her life is precarious; but if haply she withers, she lives for ever — such was the case with William the Testy, who grew tougher in proportion as he dried. He was son:e such a little Dutchman as we may now and then see stumping briskly about the streets of our city, in a broad-skirted coat, with huge buttons, an old-fashioned rocked hat stuck on the back of his head, and a cane as high as his chin. His visage was broad, and his features sharp ; his nose tinned up with a most petulant curl ; his cheeks were scorched into a dusky red — doubtless in conse(|uence of the neighboiuhood of two fierce little gray eyes, through which his torrid .soul beamed with tropical fervour. 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 on( of the most positive, restless, ugly, little men, that ever put him- self in a passion about notliing. Such were the personal endowments of M illiam the Testy, but it was the sterling riches of lis mind that raised him to dignity and power. In his youth he had passed with great credit through a celebrat- ed academy at the Hague, noted for manufacturing scholars with a dispatch unequalled, except by certain of our American colleges. Here he skirmished very smartly on the frontiers of several of the sciences, and made so gallant an inroad into the dead languages, as to bring off captive a host of Greek nouns and Nalin verbs, together with divers pithy saws and apoph- thegms, all which he constantly paraded in conver- sation and writing, with as inueli vain-glory as would a triumphant general of yore display the .spoils of the coimtries he had ravaged. He had, moreover, puzxied himself consideraldv \vith logic, in which he bad advanccil so far as to attain a very familiar ac- quaintance, by name at least, with the whole family of syllogisms and dilemmas; but what he chiefly valued himself on was his knowleilge of metaphysics, in which, having once u|)on a time ventureu too deeply, he caine «ell nigh b(;ing smothered in a slough of unintelligible learning — a fearful peril, from the effects of which he never perfectly recovered. This, I nnist confess, was in some nicnsure a misfor- tune, for he never engaged in argumenf. of which he was exceedingly fond, btit what, between logical de- ductions and metaphysical jargon, he soop involved himself and his subject in a fog of contradictions and perplexities, and then would get into a mighty pas- sion with his adversary, for not being convinced gratis. II is in knowie 'gc, as in swimming : he who osten- tatiously sports and flounders on the surface makes more noise and splashing, and attiacts more atten- tion, than the industrious pearl diver, who plunges in search of treasures to the bolloin. The " univei.sal 2(» iia HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. .'icquircments" of William Kieft were the subject of great marvel and admiration among his countrymen — he figured about at tlie Hague with as much vain- glory as does a profound bonze at Peliin, who has mastered half tlie letters of the Chinese alphal)et ; and, in a word, was unanimously pronounced an u»i%'ersal genius f — I have known many universal geniuses in my time, though, to speak my mind freely, I never knew one who, for the ordinary pur- poses of life, was worth his weight in straw — but for 4he purposes of government, 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 aajuirements of Wilhelmus Kieft were very much in his way ; and had he been a less learned man, it is possible he would have been a much greater go- vernor. He was exceedingly fond of trying philoso- phical and political experiments ; and having stuffed his liead 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 commonwealth of Plato, and the Pandects of Justinian, and a thousand other fragments of venerable antiquity, he was for ever bent upon in- troducing 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 admi- nistration than lialf a dozen successors could have untied. No sooner had (his 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 anima'^l speech on th^^ affairs of the province. As every body knows wha; a glorious opportunity a go- vernor, a president, or even an emperor has, of drul> bing his enemies in his speeches, messages, and bul- letin, 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, iti general, I believe, is intended as a signal trumpet , to call the attention of the auditors; but with William the Testy it boast- ed a more classic cause, fur he had read of the sin- gular expedient of that famous demagogue Caius Gracchus, who, when he harangued the lloman populace, modulated his tones by an oralorial tlute or pitch-pipe. This preparatory symphony being performed, he commenced by expressing a humble se.ise of his own want of talentS'-his utter unworlhiness of the ho- nour conferred upon him, and his humiliating inca- pacity to dischar " 'Ii^ important duties of his new station— in shori, he (expressed so contemptible an opinion of himsHf, that many simple country membere present, ignorant that these were mere words J course, always used on such occasions, were Tn uneasy, and even felt wroth that he should accept i office for which he was consciously so inadequate, j He then proceetled in a manner highly classic 9 profoundly erudite, though nothing at all to the pg pose, to give a pompous account of all the govetg ments of ancient Greece, and the wars of Rome a Carthage, together with the rise and fall of sundi outlandish empires, about which the assembly km no more than their great grandchildren yet unh Thus having, after the manner of your learned ( tors, convinced the audience that he was a man i many words and great erudition, he at length caJ to the less impartant part of his speech, the situ,ii of the province — and here he soon worked him into a fearful rage against the Yankees, whoml compared to the Gauls who desolated Rome, andit Goths and Vandals who overran the fairest plainsJ Europe; nor did he forget to mention, in terms | adequate opprobrium, the insolence with which il had encroached upon the territories of New-Neilid lands, and (he unparalleled audacity with wiiichll had commenced the town of New-Plymoutli, jgj planted the onion patches of Weathersfield under ll very walls of Fort Goed Hoop. Having thus artfully wrought up his tale of lerr to a climax, he assumed a sell-satisfied look, andd clared, with a nod of knowing import, that he I taken measures to put a final stop to these encroaclJ ments— that he had been obliged to have recourse I a dreadful engine of warfare, lately invented, anf^ in its effects, but authorized by direful necessity ; a word, he was resolved to conquer the Yankees- proclamation ! For this purpose he had prepared a tremendoi instrument of the kind, ordering, commanding, auj enjoining the intruders aforesaid, forthwith to 1 move, depart, and withdraw from the districts, 1 giuns, and territories aforesaid, under pain of suiTerinj all (he penalties, forfeitures, and punishments in sucj case made and provided. This proclamation, lie a sured them, would at once exterminate (he enem from the face of the country; and he pledged iiis vJ lour as a governor, that within two months after f was published, not one stone should remain un i other in any of the towns which they had built. 1'he council remained silent for some time after b had fmished; whether struck dumb with admiralioi at the brilliancy of his project, or put to sleep by ihj length of his harangue, the minutes of the nieelin do not mention. Suffice it to say, (hey a( lenglliga'l a luiiversal grunt of accjuiescence, and the procianffl (ion was inmietliately dispatched with due ceremonn having the great seal of (he province, which tii about the size of a buck-wheat pancake, attached l| it by a broad red riband. Governor Kieft, havinj thus vented his indignation, felt greatly relieved-] adjourned the council — put on his cocked hat and f dnroy small-clo(he8, an<i mounting a tall raw-lmi HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 155 urirer, ti'olled out lu liis country seat, which was mated ill a sweet, sequestered swamp, now called Igtch-street, but more commonly known by the i„,e of Dog's Misery. iHere, likt: the gotid Numa, he re|)osed from llie jorieo>!il'iti')i^i taking lessons in government, not L the iiymph Egeria, but from the honoured wife lliis bosom ; who was one of that peculiar kind of giales, sent upon earth a little after the Hood, as a giislinient for the sins of iiiankind, and commonly lown by the appellation of knouiiKj women. In d, my duty as an historian obliges ine to make Dvm a circumstance which was a great secret at ciiine, and conse(|uently was not a subject of scan- J at more than half the tea-tiibles in New-Amster- u, but which, like many other great secrets, has ikcd out in the lapse of years — and this was, that }ilhelmus the Testy, though one of the most |)otent lie men that ever breathed, yet submitted at home la species of government neither laiil down in Aris- (le or Plato; in short, it partook of the nature of a ire unmixed tyranny, and is familiarly denouiinat- ImUiroat (jovcrumeni — An absolute sway, which, iougli exceedmgly comnio.'i in these motlern days, Lvery rare among the ancients, if we may judge 1 tlie rout made about the domestic economy uf Lnesl Socrates; which is the only ancient case on »rtl. IlliegreatKieft, however, wardetloffall the sneers i sarcasms of his particular friends, who are ever [ady to joke with a man on sore points of the kind, f alleging that it was a government of his own elec- n, to which he submitted through choice ; adding, [lliesanie time, a profound maxim which he had luml ill an ancient author, that " he who would as- Ire lu (jovern should first leara to obey." CHAPTER II. Uhluli arc recordwl the sage projects of a ruler of univei-sal Ipnius. Ttic an of tighliii^ by proclamaUon,— and Iiow Uiaf llbe valiant Jacobus Van Curlet coiuc to l)c foully disliunourrd 111 Furl Goed lluop. I Never was a more comprehensive, a more expedi- m, ur, what is still better, a more economical mea- lire devised, than this of defeating the Yankees by loolamalion — an expedient, likewise, so humane, so Jenlle ami pacific, there were ten chances to one in Ivniir of its succeeding; — but then there was one lance to ten that it would not succeed : — as the ill- Luired fates would have it, that single chance car- Id llie day! The proclamation was perfecl in all s parts, well conslniclcd, well writlen, well sealed, Iwell piihlished— .ill that was wanting to insure B tlTeti was thai the Yankees should stand in awe (il; but, provoking lo ivlate, they treated it with jieiiiost absolute (H)ni<>uipl, applied it to an nuscfinly urpoHc, and iHiis did the tirsl warlike proclanialioii mic to a shameful end — a fate which I am credibly informed has befallen but too many of its successors. It was a long lime before Wilbelmns Kieft could be persuaded, by the united efforts of all his counsel- lors, that his war measure liad failed in producing any effect. — On the contrary, he Hew in a passion when- ever any one dared to question its eflicacy ; and swore that, though it was slow in operating, yet when once it began to work, it would soon purge the land of these rapacious intruders. Time, however, that test of all experiments both in philosophy and politics, at length convinced him that bis proclamation was abortive ; and that notwithstanding be had waited nearly four years, in a state of constant irritation, yet he was slill farther off than ever from the object of bis wishes. His implacable adversaries hi the east became more and more troublesome in their encroachments, and founded the thriving colony of Hartford close upon the skirts of Fort Goed Hoop. They, moreover, commenced the fair settlement of New-Haven (other- wise called the Reil Hills), within thedomains of their High Mightinesses — while the onion patches of Py- (piag were a continual eye-sore to the garrison of Van Curlet. Upon beholding, therefore, the ineflicacy of his measure, the sage Kieft, like many a worthy prac- titioner of physic, laid the blame, not to the medicine, but to the quantity administered, and resolved to double the dose. lathe year iiiSS, therefore, that ))eing the fourth year uf his reign, be fubnmated against them a second proclamation, of heavier metal than the former ; writ- ten in thmidering long sentences, not one word of which was under live syllables. This, in fact, was a kind of non-intercourse bill, prohibiting all conunerce and connexion between any and every of the said ^ ankee intruders, and the said fortified post of I'orl Goed Hoop, and ordering, commanding, and advising all his trusty, loyal, and well-beloved subjects, to fur- nisli Miem with no supplies of gin, gingerbread, or sour crout ; to buy none of their pacing horses, measly pork, apple brandy, Yankee rum, cider w;.ter, apple sweetmeats, Weathersfield onions, or woalen bowls, but to starve and exterminate them from the face of the land. Another pause of a twelvemonth ensued, during which the last proclamation received the same atten- tion, and experienced the same fate as the first — at the end of which term, the gallant Jacobus Van Cur- let dispatched his annual messenger, with his custo- mary budget of complaints and entreaties. Whe- ther the regular interval of a year, intervening between the arrival of Van Curlet's couriers, was occasioned by the systematic regularity of his movements, or by the immense distance at which he was stationed from the seat of government, is a mailer of uncertainty. Some have ascribed it to the slowness of his messen- gers, who, as I have before nolici'tl, were chosen from the sliortesi and faHist of his garrison, as least likely to he w(»rnout on the road; and who, being pursy, shorl-wiiHle<l lilllc men, generally travelled fifteen miles a-day, and then laid by a whole week to rest 156 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. i,i; All these, however, are matters of conjecture; and I rather think it may be ascribed to the immemorial maxim of tliis worthy country — and wliich lias ever influenced all its public transactions — not to do things in a hurry. The gallant Jacobus Van Curlet in his dispatches respectfully represented, that several years had now elapsed since his lirsl application to his late excellency, Wouter Van Twilltr; during which interval, his garrison had been reduced nearly one-eighth by the death of two of his most valiant and corpulent soldiers, who had accidentally overeaten themselves on some fat salmon, caught in the Yarsclie-river. He further slated, that the enemy persisted in their inroads, taking no notice of the fort or its inhabitants ; but squatting themselves down, and forming settlements all around it; so that, in a little while, he should find himself enclosed and blockaded by the enemy, and totally at their mercy. But among the most atrocious of his grievances, I find the following still on record, which may serve to show the blootly-minded outrages of these savage intruders. "In the mean time, they of Hartford have not onely usurped and taken in the lands of Connec- ticott, although unrighteously, and against the lawes of nations, but have hindered our nation in sowing theire owne purchased broken up lands, but have also sowed them with corne in the night, which the Ne- therlanders had broken up and intended to sowe : and have beaten the servants of the high and mighty the honored companie, which were labouring upon theire master's lands, from theire lands, with sticks and plow staves in hostile manner laming, and amongst the rest, struck Ever Duckings ' a hole in his head, with a slick, soe that the blood ran downe very strongly downe upon his body." But what is still more atrocious — " Those of Hartford sold a hogg, that belonged to the honored companie, under pretence that it had eaten of theire grounde grass, when they had not any foot of inheritance. They proffered the hogg for Ss. if the commissioners would have given 5s. for d-'iage; which the commissioners denied, because noe man's owne hogg (as men used to say) can tres- pass upon his owne master's ground."' The receipt of this melancholy intelligence incensed the whole community — there was something in it that spoke to the dull comprehension, and touched the obtuse feelings even of the puissant vulgar, who ge- nerally require a kick in the rear to awaken their slumbering dignity. I have known my profound fellow-citizens bear without murmur a thousand es- sential infringements of uieir rights, merely because they were not immediately obvious to their senses; but the moment the unlucky Pearce was shot upon our coasts, ll»e whole body politic was in a ferment : ' Tliis nanr . no doiiht iiils-spclf. In some old Dutcli MSS. of ll»r lime, wf li.id llie name of Evert Duyckingli, wlio is unques- li()fKtl)ly ilie uufoi'lnnatc liero tkboye alluded to. ■" llaK. <:ol, S(«t. I'apers. so the enlightened Nederlanders, though they treated the encroachments of their eastern neij^hb with but little regard, and left their quill-valiant i vernor to bear the whole brunt of war with his sinj pen — yet now every individual felt his head \m in the broken head of Duckings — and the unliatu fate of their fellow-citizen the hog, being imprei carried, and sold into captivity, awakened a gruntj sympathy from every bosom. The governor and council, goaded by the dart of the multitude, now set themselves earnesliy tod liberate upon what was to be done. — Proclamalio( had at length fallen into temporary disrepute ; : were for sending the Yankees a tribute, as we niaH peace-offerings to the petty Barbary powers, or asil Indians sacrifice to the devil. Others wero for biiyij them out; but this was opposed, as it would I acknowledging their title to the land they had seized A variety of measures were, as usual in such cas proposed, discussed, and abandoned; and thecouix liad at last to adopt the means, which, bein^iij most common and obvious, had been ktio\viii°| overlooked — for yotir amazing acute politicians j for ever looking through telescopes, wliicli onl enable them to see such objects as are far olT, aij unattainable ; but which incapacitate them to ! such things as are in their reach, and obvious | all simple folks, who are content to look with i naked eyes Heaven has given them. Tlie | found council, as I have said, in their pursuit alli Jack-o' lanterns, accidentally stumbled on tlievei measure they were in need of; which was to raise! body of ti oops, and dispatch them to the relief ai reinforcement of the garrison. This measure vr| carried into such prompt operation, that in lesslhi twelve months ihc whole expedition, consisting cfl sergeant and twelve men, was ready to niaicli; an was reviewed for that purpose in the public sqiiarj now known by the name of the Bowling-Green. Jij at this juncture the whole community was tliron into consternation by the sudden arrival of the galii Jacobus Van Curlet, who came straggling; into tod at the head of his crew of tatterdemaliotis, and brinj ing the melancholy tidings of his own defeit, andl capture of the redoubtable post of Fort Goed llo( by the ferocious Yankees. The fate of this important fortress is an imprtssil warning to all military commanders. It was neilhT carried by storm nor famine; no practicable br«J was effected by cannon nor mines; no iitagazinj wore blown up by red-hot shot ; nor were the I racks demolished, nor the garrison destroyed, byi bursting of bomb-shells. In fact, the place was lak(| by a stratagem no less singular than effectual, i otie that can never fail of success, whenever ano porlunily occurs of putting it iti practice. Happy a I to add, for the credit of ottr illustrious amesioi that it was a stratagem which, though il iiiipwuii the vigilance, yet left the bravery of the ititiepiil \^ Ctirlet and his garrison perfectly free from K\tmA mSTORY OF NEW-YORK. 157 III appears that the crafty Yankees, having heard of 1 regular liabita of the garrison, watched a favour- t opportr.nity, and silently intrwiuceil themselves gthe furt about tlie middle of a sultry day ; when Itigilant defenders, having gorged tiieniselves with larty dinner, and smoked out tl. -ir pipes, were (and all snoring most obstreperously at their [tosis, b (ireaming of su disastrous an occurrence. The Ly most inhumanly seized Ja( obus Y.n Curlet this sturdy myrmidons by the nape of the neck, lanleil them to the gate of the fort, and dismissed gseverally, with a kick on the crupper, as Charles ^Twelfth dismissed the heavy-lwltomed Russians ■ ilie battle of Narva— only taking care to give okicks to Van Curlet, as a signal mark of distinction, t strong garrison was immediately established in ^fort, consisting of twenty long-sided, hard-fisted nkecs, with VVeathersfield onions stuck in their k by way of cockades and feathers — long rusty m-pieces fur muskets — hasty pudding, dumb lish, it, and molasses, for stores ; and a huge pumpkin IS hoisted on the end of a pole, as a standard — li- j'caps not having as yet co .ic into fashion. CHAPTER HI. bluing tlie fearful wratli of William ttic Testy, and the great Hir of tlic New-Amsteitlainmci's, tecause of the affair of rtGotfl Hoop.— And, moreover, how William the Testy did igly fortify the city.— Together with the exploits of Stotfel inlLCI'llufr. |Luguage cannot express the prodigious fury into icii Wilhelmus Kieft was thrown by this provok- I inlclligence. For three good hours the rage of ^liltle man was too great for words, or rather tiie lis were too great for him; and he was nearly U by some dozen huge, mis-shapen, nine cor- 1 Dutch oaths, that crowded ail at once into his Uet. Having blazed off the first broadside, he kept la runstanl firing for three whole days — anathe- jilizing the Yankees, man, woman, and child, body il, for a set of dieven, schobbejaken, deuge- ^en, twist-zoekeren, loozen-schalken, blaes-kaken, ilien-bedden, and a thousand other names of which, fortunately for posterity, history dues not make Mlion. Finally, he swore that he would have no- log more to do with such a squatting, bundling, tsiing, questioning, swapping, pumpkin - e<-iting, [Masses -daubing, shingle-splilling, cider-watering, w-jockeying, notion - peddUng crew — that they k slay at Fort Goed Hoop and rot, before he will dirty his hands by attempting to drive them |ay; in jiroof of which he ordered the new-raised »l>s to be marched forliivvith into winter-(|uarters, ra;'ii it was not as yet quite midsummer. Co- lor ivieft ffiiUifiilly kept his word, and his adver- ts <is I'ailhfully kept their post; and thus the glo- srivf r (Connecticut, and all the gay valleys through ill) it rolls, together with the salmon, shad, and other fish within its waters, fell into the hands of the victorious Yankees, by whom they are lield at this very day. Great despondency seized upon the city of New- Amsterdam, in consequence of these melancholy events. The name of Yankee became as terrible among our good ancestors as was that of Gaul among the ancient Romans; and all the sage old women of the province used it as a bugbear, wherewith to frighten their unruly rhildren into obedience. The eyes of all the province were now turned upon the governor, to know what he would do for the pro- tection of the common weal, in these days of darkness and peril. Great apprehensions prevailed among the reflecting part of the comnumity, especially the old women, that these terrible warriors of Connecticut, not content with the conquest of Fort Goed Hoop, would incontinently march on to New-Amsterdam and take it by storm — and as these old ladies, through means of the governor's spouse, who, as has been al- ready hinted, was "the better horse," had obtained considerable influence in public affairs, keeping the province under a kind of petticoat government, il was determined that measures should be taken for the ef- fective fortification of the city. Now it happened that at this time there sojourned in New-Amsterdam one Anthony Van Corlear, • a jolly fat Dutch trumpeter, of a pleasant burly visage, famous fur his long wind and his huge whiskers, and who, as the story goes, could twang so potently upon his instrument, as to produce an effect upon all within bearing, as though ten thousand bag[>ipes were sing- ing right lustily i' the nose. Him did the illustrious Kieft pick out as the man of all the world most fitted to be the champion of New-Amsterdam, and to gar- rison its fort ; making little doubt but that his instru- ment would be as etfectual and offensive in war as was that of the Paladin Astolpho, or the more classic horn of Alecto. It would have done one's heart good to have seen the governor snapping his fingers and fidgetting witli delight, while his sturdy trumpeter strutted up and down the ramparts, fearlessly twang- ing his trumpet in the face of the whole world, like a thrice-valorous editor daringly insulting all the prin- cipalities and powers — on the other sideof the Atlantic. Nor was he content with thus strongly garrisoning the fort, but he likewise added exceedingly to its strength, by furnishing it with a formidable battery of quaker guns— rearing a stupendous flagstaff in the centre, which overtopped the whole city— and, more- over, by building a great windmill on one of the bas- tions. ^ This last, to be sure, was somewhat of a novelty in the art of fortification; but as I have al- > David Pitlrcz l)e rries inhis " llryze iiaer Nicuw-Ncderjandt ondcr hot year IfiW," makes mention of one corlear, a trumpeter iti Fort Amsterdam, who gave name to Corlear's lloolv, and who was ( loubl le js this same champion described by M r Kniclierbocker. -Edit. ' 1)1! Vrios mentions that this windmill stood on the .-(uth-casi bastion, and it is likewise to be seen, together with the flagstaff, in Justus Danker 's View of New-Amsterdam. 1.% raSTORY OF NEW-YORK. ready observed, William Klefl was notorious for inno- vations and experiments, and traditions do aflirm that he was liiuch given to mechanical inventions— con- structing (talent smoke-jacks — carts that went before the horses, and fspecially crectinj^ windmills, for wliich machines hu had ac(|uired a singular predilec- tion in his native town of Saardam. All these seienlific vagari(\s of the little governor were cried up with ecstasy by his adherents, as proof of his universal genius— but there were not wauling ill-natured grumblers, who railed at him as employ- ing his mind in frivolous pursuits, aiid devoting thai time to smoke -jacks and windmills, which should have been occupied in the more important concerns of the province. iNay, they even went so far as l<> hint once or twice that his head was turned by his ex- periments, and thai lie really thouglil to manage his government as he did his mills — by mere wind I — such is the illiberality andslanderto which enlighten- ed rulers are ever subject. Notwithslanding all the measures, therefore, of William Ihe Testy to place the city in a posture of de- fence, the inhabilanis continued in great alarm and despondency. But fortune, who seems always care- ful, in the very nick of time, to throw a bone for hope to gnaw upon, that the starveling elf may be kept alive, did about this time crown the arms of Ihe pro- vince with success in another quarter, and thus cheer- ed the drooping hearts of the forlorn Nederlanders ; otherwise there is no knowing to what lengths they might have gone in the excess of their sorrowing — '* for grief," says the profound historian of the seven champions of Cluistendom, " is companion with des- pair, and despair a procurer of infamous death!'* Among the numerous iiu'oads of the moss-troopers of Connecticut, which for some time past had occa- sioned such great tribulation, I should particularly have mentioned a seltlemenl made on the eastern pari of Long-Island, at a place which, from the pe- culiar excellence of its shell-lish, was called Oysl.'r Bay. This was aUacking the province in a most sen- sible part, and occasioned great agitation at JNew- Amsterdam. It is an incontrovertible fact, well known to phy- siologists, that the high road to the affections is through the throat; and this may be accounted for on 'he same principles which I have already (|uoled in my stric- tures on fat aldermen. Nor is the fact unknown to the world at large ; and hence do we observe, that the surest way to gain Ihe hearts of the million is to feed them well — and that a man is never so disposed to Halter, to fdease, and serve another, as when he is feeding at his expense ; which is one reason why your rich men, who give frequent dinners, have such abun- dance of sincere and faithful friends. It is on this principle that our knowing leaders of parlies secure Ihe affections of their partisans, by rewarduig them bountifully with loaves and iishes; and entrap Ihe suffrages of the greasy mob, by treating them with hull-feasts and roasted oxen. I have known many a man in this same city acquire considerable iniportaj in society, and usur[i a large share of the good wiil his enlightened fellow-citizens, when the only i|w that could be said in his eulogium was, that " |ie;rj| a good iliuner, and kept excellent wine." Since, then, Ihe heart and the sluniarh aresoneaj allied, it lulluws couclusively, that wliut alTirl:.! one must sympathelically atVeet the other. Now in an equally incontrovertible fact, that, of all orirrjJ to Ihe stomach, Ihere is none more {;ralefiil ihanii testaceous marine animal, known connnonly In vulgar name of oyster : and in such great rcveifij has il ever been held by my gormandizing k\\m.{ tizens, thai temples have been dedicated to ji, J oiil of mind, in every sireet, lane, and alley, tlnouj out this well-fed tily. It is not to he expw Iherelore, lli.il Ihe seizing of Oyster Bay, a |j{J abounding with their favourite delicacy, would be) lerated by Ihe inhabilanis of New-Amsterdam. attack upon their hoiiniir they might have punJunfJ even the massacre of a few citizens might li passed over hi silence; but an outrage that affecledil larders of the great city of New-AuLsterdam, aiiiiilire| ened the stomachs of ils corpulent burgomasters, v loo serious to pass unrevenged. — The whole couij was unanhnous in opinion, that Ihe intruders Am be immediately driven by force of arms from Oysi Bay and its vicinity ; and a detachment was arcordiiJ ly dispatched for the purpose, under the coininandl one Stoffel Brinkerhoff, or Brinkerhuofd, (i. e. SloHl the head-breaker,) so called because he wasamanl mighty deeds, famous throughout the wliole cxtej ofNieuw-Nederlandts for his skill alquarler-sliirr;ai for size, he would have been a match for Golbranj the Danish champion, slain by Guy of Warwick. Stoffel Brinkerhoff was a man of few words, I prompt actions — one of your straight-going ollicei who march directly forward, and do their ordej without making any parade. He used no extra dinary speed in his movements, hut trudged steadi| on, through Nineveh and Babylon, and Jericliu, various olher renowned cities of yore, which, bys unaccountable witchcraft of the Yankees, have 1 strangely transplani.ed to Long-Island : neither did II tarry at Puspanich, nor at Palchog, noratlliemi^hl townof Qnag; but marched steadfastly forward, iinj he arrived in Ihe neighbourhood of Oyster Bay. Here was he encountered by a tumullnoii$liosl| valiant warriors, beaded by Preserve:! Tisli, J ilabbakuk Nutler, and Return Strong, andZeriiblJ bcl l-'isk, and Jonathan Doolillle, and l)elei'niiii| Cock ! — at the sound of whose names he verily I ed that the whole parliament of Praise (iod liaicta had been let loose to discomiil him. Fiiidini,', ever, that Ibis formidable body was composed iiirrel of Ihe "selectmen" of Ihesetllement, arniedwilliij olher weapon but their tongues, and that lliey I issued forth with no other intent than to nieel liin the held of argument — he suce^etled in pulling llifj to Ihe rout with little diflicidty, and complelelybir [dieir settlement. (Kint of his victory [enemy slip through [in; his own laurels, dd have done, thebi Lmpleling his ente bees from the islam lormrd in much the Blomed to drive his i> liim, he pulled u jjy alter them, an( 1 into the sea, had jaiieed to pay tribii news of this ac loralive to the spirits m. To gratify th olved lo astonish thei ftacles known in th laitminl of which la J when a school-b upli, therefore, wasi omade his entrance set pacer; live pui Ijes, had served the ei I before him— fifty idred bushels of We; ^tals of cod-fish, lw( ions olher treasures, i Irilnite of the Yan ^terfeiters of Manhat ! Ilie hero's trium| med by martial musi iny Van Corlear the ( d of boys and negroe Itniments of ratllehoix isdevoured the spoils I man did honour |niatly drunk on N( raed Wilhehoiis Kief jotary fit of enlhusia Is customary among t jlorions generals with B decree, by which t 1 lo paint the head CIIA] ipliical reflections on t icrity. -Sundry troul)l( piUiam tlie Testy had well alislic word.— As also tl Mam, iind his astoiiishi ' we could but get ^une, where, like a [Chalks up the d°bl Inkind, we should hn( |This is one of those trivii t in tlie course of this c il Manhattan nolef lie co« HISTORY OF NEVVYORK. 1S() jiiriromasters, I tlieir selllement. Without waiting to write an Mint of his victory on the spot, and thus letting lenemy slip through his finfters, while he was se- rins liis own laurels, as a more experienced general mid have done, the hrave Stoffel thought of nothing icnnipleling his enterprise, and utterly driving tlie Lkees from the island. This hardy enterprise he lormed in much the same manner as he had heen jislnnied to drive his oxen; for, as the Yankees lied > liim, he pulled up his hreeehes, and trudged after them, and would infailihiy have driven liiilo the sea, had they not begged for quarter, lai'ieed to pay tribute. news of this achievement was a seasonable (oralive to the spirits of the citizens of New-Auis- Idani. To gratify them still more, the governor elvrd lo astonish them with one of those gorgeous flacles known in the days of classic anli(|uily, a llairniinl of which hatl been flogged into his me- when a school-boy at the Hague. A grand upli, liierefore, wasdecreed lo Stoffel Brinkerhoff, omade his entrance into town riding on a Nara- iet pacer; live pumpkins, which, like Roman lj5, iiad served the enemy for standards, were ear- before him — fifty cart-loads of oysters, live inlred bushels of Wealhersfield onions, a hundred intals of cod-fish, two hogsheads of molasses, and ions other treasures, were exhibited as the spoils I trilmie of the Yankees ; while three notorious mterfeiters of Manhattan notes' were led captive to ■ llie hero's triumph. The procession was en- jtneJ by martial music, from the trumpet of An- Hi) Van Corlear the champion, accompanied by a Jof boys and negroes, performing on the national liniments of ralllebones and clamshells. The cili- sdevoured the spoils in sheer gladness of heart — man did honour lo the conqueror, by gelling |ioully drunk on New -England rum— and the md VVilhelmus Kieft calling to mind, in a mo- lolary fit of enthusiasm and generosity, that it 8 customary among the ancients to honour their |lorioiis generals with public statues, passed a gra- s decree, by which every tavern-keeper was per- I to paint the head of the intrepid Stoffel on his CHAPTER IV. iphical rcdpctions on tlie folly of beinf? Jiappy in times of lerlty. - Sundry troul)les on (lie southern frontiers.— How l^illiam tlic Testy liad well ni^li ruined the province throui^h a ilislic word.— As also the secret expedition of Jan Jansen [leiKlam, and his astonishing reward. ' we could but get a peep at the tally of Dame ^iine, where, like a notable landlady, she regu- f chalks up the d °blor and creditor accounts of kkind, we should lind that, upon the whole, good |Tliis is one of those trivial anachronisms that now and then t in tbe course of this otherwise authentic history. How il Manhattan note? be connterfeitcd, when as yet bankn were and evil are pretty nearly balanced in this world ; and that though we may for a long while revel in the very lap of prosperity, the lime will at length come when we must ruefully pay off the reckoning. Fortune, in fact, is a pestilent shrew, and withal a most inex- orable creditor; for though slif may indulge her fa- vourites in long credits, and overwhelm them with her favours, yet sooner or later she brings up her ar- rears, with the rigour of an experienced publican, and washes out her scores with their tears. "Since," says good old Boetiiis, " no man can retain her at his pleasure, and since her flight is so deeply lamented, what are her favours but sure prognostications of ap- proaching troid)le and calamity !" There is nothing that more moves my contempt at the stupidity and want of reflection of my fellow men than lo behold them rejoicing, and indulging in se- ciuily and self-confidence, in limes of prosperity. To a wise man who is blessed with the light of reason, those are the very moments of anxiety and appre- hension; well knowing that, according to the system of things, happintss is at best but transient — and that the higher he is elevated by the capricious breath of fortune, the lower must be his proportionate depres- sion. Whereas he who is overwhelmed by calamity, has the less chance of encountering fresh disasters, as a man at the bottom of a ladder runs very little risk of breaking his neck by tumbling to the top. This is the very essence of true wisdom, which consists in knowing when we ought to be miserable, and was discovered much al)out the same time with that invaluable secret, that "every thing is vanity and vexation of spirit : " in consequence of which maxim, your wise men have ever been the unhappiest of the human race ; esteeming it as an infallible mark of ge- nius to be distressed without reason — since any man may be miserable in time of misfortime, but il is the philosopher alone who can discover cause for grief in the very hour of prosperity. According to the principle I have just advanced, we lind that the colony of New-Nelherlands, which, under the reign of the renowned Van Twiller, had flourished in such alarming and fatal serenity, is now paying for its former welfare, and discharging the enormous debt of coinforl which it contracteil. Foes harass il from different quarters; the city of New- Amsterdam, while yet in its infancy, is kept in con- stant alarm; and its valiant commander, William the Testy, answers the vulgar, but expressive idea, of "a man in a peck of troubles." While i)usily engaged repelling his bitter enemies the Yankees, on one side, we find him suddenly mo- lested in another quarter, and by other assailants. A vagrant colony of Swedes, under the conduct of Peter Minnewits, and professing allegiance to that redoubtable virago, Christina, Queen of Sweden, had settled themselves, and erected a fort on South (or unknown in this country— and our simple progenitors had not even dreamt of Iho^e ineihaustible mines of pnfer opulew^? —Print. Dev. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I lti|2B 12.5 |5o *^* nil ■tt Ui2 12.2 S Li IE lllpS III 1.4 1 1.6 ^ 6" > pm ^> V Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STRUT WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SI0 (716) S72-4S03 \ ;V 4 •s^ ^v '.^ ino HISTORY OF NKW-YOHK. I)(>lnwnn>) i-ivnr— williin the l»nniidnii«'H claimtHl by till! Kovi'i'iiineiil of llic Ncw-NiMIkm-IiiiuIn. liiNtory in mute AM to llin pnrlinilfli'N of their Hrsi Iniiiiiiif^, and their rcnl pri'tciiNioiiH to lh(* soil ; nnd this is tlie more lu Im> himi'iiled, ns this snine colony n( Swfilcs will hercnfter Ih> found most materiiilly to nfft'ti not only the interests of llio Mvlhcrlandurs, hut of the worhl nl Inr^e ! In whatever manner, therefore, this va^alHtnd eo- lony of Swetles lirst look |>ossessionof the eonntry, it iseertain that in (((.W they established a fort, and Minnewils, aeeoitlinp; to the off-hand nsa^e of his eonteni|iorarh-s, deelared himself governor of all the adjaeeni eonntry, under the name of the provinett of N|':\v-SwI';i>I';n. ^o sooner did this reaeli the ears of the eholeri(! Wilbehnus, than, like a true-spirited ehieflaiii, he broke into a violent rai^e, and eallin^ lUKether his eouneil, belalHturetl the Swedes most lustily in the louKi-st speech that hail been heard in Iho eohtny, sinee the memorable dispul(< of 'I'en llreeehes and 'l'ou);b llreeehes. Having thus f;iven vent to the lirst ebullitions of his intliKnaliou, he bad resort lo his favourite measure of pnielamalion, and dispatched one, |-ipin^ hot, in the lirst year of his rei^n, iuforminK Peter IMiimewits that the wboUilcr' rilory lionhTin^ou the South-river had, lime out of mind, been in possession of the Dutch colonists, hav- ing been " beset with forts, and sealed with their bl<MNl." The latter sauKuinary sentence would convey an idea of ilircful war and bltHHlshed, were we not re- lieved by the information that it uu'rely related to a fray, in which sonu> half a dozen nntchmen had been killed by the Indians, in their benevolent attenipis lo esiabiish a colony, and promote civilization. Hy this it will b(> seen that William Kieft, Ibou^h a very small man, delii;hte<l in bi^; expressions, and was nuich given to a praiseworthy liKiu-e in rhetoric, ge- nerally cnltivatetl by your little )]:reat men, called hy- (lerlHile : a limure wbieli has been found of inllnilc service among many of his class, and which has helped to swell the granilenr of many a mighty, self- ini|K)rtant, hut windy chief magistrate. INor can I resist in this placHt, from observing how nmeli my beloved country is indebted to this same ligiu'c of by- perltole for supporting certain of her greatest ehi;- raeters— slatesnu^n, orators, civilians, and divines; who, by dint of big words, inllaled perimls, and windy (hHMrines, are kept alloat on the surface of so- ciety, as ignorant swinnncrs are huuyed uphy blown blatlders. The pnM-lamation against Miimewits concluded by ortlering the self-dublMul governor, and his gang of Swedish adventurers, inuuediately lo leave the coun- try, mider penally of the high dis|)leasiu'e and in- evital>le vengeance of the puissant government of the ^ienw-^wlcrlandts. This "stn)ng measure," how- ever, d«H!s not seem lo have had a whit mor<^ effect Ihflii il8 priHlecessors, which had been tUundereil against the Yankifs— the Swedes resolutely held on lu the territory they liad taken possession of— wh u|H>n nuillers for the present remained in sUiiu i That Wilhelmiis Kieft sliouhl put up witli||it,j Solent obstinacy in the Swedes would appear \n(< Itatible with his valorous lemperanuMit; hiitwc that alHuit this time the litlli; man had bis lijiiulirj and what witli oiut amioyance and another, vttisi continually on tlw bounce. There is a certain description of active It'itislaig who, by shrewd management, contrive <ilwjn| have a hundred irons on the anvil, every oneorwli] uuist be inuuediately attended to; who coiisniim are <-vcr full of temporary Nhifis and ex|MKlii>i |)atcliing up tMe pidilie w<>lfare, and cobhliii;;!!^! lioiial affairs, so as lo make nine holes wlmr i|j mend one — snipping chinks and Haws with whaitt conu's lirst to hanil, like the Yankees I litivc nij lioiu'd, stufling oltl chtlhes in broken wintlous. this i!lass of stalesux n was William the Traly- had be only been ilcssed with powers ei|ii,'il lo | zeal, or nis zeal been disciplined by a little disciiii there is very little doubt but be would liiivc ini the greatest governor of bis size on reconi— ihf | nowned governor of the islan<i tif Huratariii nlone j ceptcd. The great defect of Wilbehnus Kiefl's poliryv thai though no man could be more ready lo ; forth in an hour of emergency, yet he was soinl^ upon guariling the national p*M-kel, that lie siifri!^ the enemy to break its head — in other wnnis, wh ever prccanlion for public safety he adopted, liei so intent upon rendering it cheap, that he iiiraria| riMidercd it ineffectual. All this was a renuilei sopu'uee of his education at the Hague; when', I ing a(upiire<l a smattering of knowledge, Ik< ever after a great Conner of indexes, coutiiuially ( ping into books, without ever studying to tlic of any subject; so that \w had the sciunofiillkiiHlj authors fermenting in his pericranium. In soniel these tille-pnge researches lie unluckily stuiiiiiNo a graiul ixtlitical rnhalisiir tcorrf, which, willi customary facility, be inuuediately incoriHiratnl 1 his great s(*heme of govermnent, lo the irrt'lriniT injury and delusion uf the honest province ofMti INederlandls, and the eternal misleading of nllnp mental rulers. In vain have I pored over tlie theurgia of IIipCIiI deans, the cabalo of the Jews, the neeroiuaiicy iif| Arabians, the magic of the Persians, the liomsf of the I'^nglish, the wilcherafl of the Yankee!), nrj pow-wowingoflhe Intlians, to discover wlinci little man lirst laid eyes on this terrible w ril. ^t'ill| the Sephir Jetzirah, that famous cabalistic voliiij ascribed to the patriarch Abraham ; nor tliu ^ff the /ohar, containing the mysteries of the caiMlaJ cordtni by the learned rabbi Simeon Joclinidcs. )l any light to my impiiricH. Nor nm I in tlit^ Mf nellted by my painful reseorelies in the Sliein-li^ phorali of Ilenjomin, the waiulering Jew, llioiii;! enabled Davidus Elm lo make a ten days' .jooriwl IIISKmY OV INKW-YOIIK. IM nty-fuiir lioum. Nftitlicr can I pt>rc«ivv llio tiliKlit- lilliiiily in tlio Tclrn^i-aniiiinloii, or Kiirml iiainr tirlelli'tK, tlic profoiiiHlcNl word of lltu llcliriiw ilia; a inyNtt'ry Niililiiiic, iiicflJiliU', nriil iiiconiiiiii- blr— iiikI IIic iMt'VH of wliirli .l<Nl-ll«;-V'nii-lli', ijiig \n'.en Hlol<!ii by lliu pji;f<iiiN, «-niiNtitiil<!<i llifir liliiaiiiv Jiio, or .lov<>. In Nliorl, in till my cahn- ic,liiriii'Ki<'i iiiTroinanlic, iiiiiKi<'iil, Jiixl aslrolo^irnl iin'lifN, fntin llic 'rrlrnclyNol' i>yllia;;iM'iis lo llic itlilt' works ontn'KlawaiHl Mollutr llinu*li, I liavc |(liMWt'r<><l lilt' IininI vcsIIku of an origin of lliLs d, nor have I (list^overtMl any wort! of siinirieiil nicy lo <'onn(<n'a('l il. kot lo k*T|> my rradrr III any Nns|H>nNC, llin won! lichlind so wondrrfnlly arrrstfd llio altciilion of paiiiliio 'IVsty, and wliirli inCieiiiian cliaraclcrs jii|)aiiiri)lurly lilack and itniinoiis aspect, on licinK h) IrniisiaU <l iiilo llu; JliiKlisli is no other lliaii pvotir— a lalisinanie term, wliicli, liy eonslant iisn |fr('(|ii(!iit mention, lias ceased lo Im formidalilu In \ifjvs, litit wliif^li has as lerriliiu potency as any in lirriina oriieeioinancy. wIh'II |iroiioiinced in a national nssemhly it has an NlialR elTect in closing the hearts, heeloiidiiiK Iliu ^lccl!i,(li'a\vln);lhepnrse-sliiii;;s,andliiilloiiingtli<! iolies-|M)ckels of all pliilosoplnc le;;islalors. Nor |iL<«fli>('ls on III*; eyes less wonderful. II produces mlnidioii of the relina, an obseiii ily of the cryslal- ^leiis, a viseidily of Hie vitreous, and an inspissa- loniin aipicoiis liumoiirs, an iiidnralion of the ira scleroliea, and a eoiivcxily of the cornea; iiiso- (lilliat the oi'Kan of vision loses its streiiKlli and biily, and IIm; niiforttinalc palicnl hccomes or in plain I'iiiKlisli, purblind; perceivinic llic ainoiint of imnicdiale expense, without ;alile to look farlhur, and ref^ard it in connexion hllic iilliiiinlc object lo Im; effected. " So that." kiioletliu words of llii! ehxpienl Itnrke, "a brier piinsf is of greater niagiiiludc than an oak at live Mlml yards <lislancc." Such an; its inslanlaneoiis fnliuiiH, and Hk; results arc still tiiore aslonishiiig. ill* niiiKic iiilliK^nce seventy-fours shrink into !iic8, fripleH into sloops, and sloops into gun- riiisall-polenl word, which served as his loiicb- iin politics, at once explains the whole system of domaliuns, protests, empty threats, windmills, in|M>lers, and paper war, carried on by Wilhehniis ^T(>8ty; and we may trace its operations in an ur- «iil which lie fitted out in 10(2, in n inoiiient of W wrath, consisting of two sliMtps and thirty men, kr the command of Mynheer Jan Janscn Alpen- Ki as admiral of the licet, and commaiKler-in- f of ilie forces, 'riiis formidable expedition, di can only Im; paralleled by some of Ibu daring I of our infant navy ulmut the bay and up tlie xli was inlended lo drive the Marylanders from >>'H:liuylkill, of wiiicli they liad recently taken iion, and whicli was claimed os part of the tincc uf Miciiw-NislerlaiiUtsi for it ap^tears thai at this timn our infant colony was Ui that cnvialilo slate, HO much coveted liy ambitious nations, that is to say, the government had a vast cxlenlof territory, part of which it enjoyed, and the greater pari of which it had cimtiniially toipiarrel about. Admiral Jan Jansen Alpendam was a man of great inetllc and prowess, and no way dismayed at the cha- racter of Hie enemy, who were represenled as a gi- gaiilii;, gunpowder race of men, who lived on hoe cakes and bacon, drank mint juleps and apple UkI- dy, and were exceedingly expert at boxing, biting, gouging, tar ami fealhering, and a variety of other athlelic aciMmiplishmeiits, which they had JHirrowed from their cousins gtirman and |>rotolypes the Virgi- nians, to wlioiii they have ever iHtriie considerable resemblance. INotwilbslanding all these alarming represciilalions, the admiral enlitred the Si^hiiylkill most iiiidaunledty wilh bis Ibx-t, and arrived willi- oiitdisast«>r or opposition at the place of destination. Here he attacked tlu; enemy in a vigorous spueeb in Low Diiti-h, which Ihe wary Kieftbad previously put in bis pocket; wherein lie courleonsly commenced by calling llienia pack of la/y,ioutiiig, dram-drinking, ctH-k- lighting, horse-raeiiig, slave-driving, lavern- haunting, sabbath-breakings, niulatlo-breuling up- starts; and coneliided by ordering them to evaeuale the country iinmedialely— lo which Ihey laconically n'plied, in plain JMiglish, " they'd see bi:ii d d lirst. " Now this was a reply for which ncilber Jan Jansen Alpendam nor Wilhelmus Ki(!fl bad made any calcii- lalioii— and linding himself totally unprepared to answer so terrible a rebuff with suitable hostility, he concluded that his wisest course was to return home and i'e|H)rt progn*ss. lie accordingly suileii liack lu New-Amsterdam, where he was received wilh great lionourM, and considered asa pattern for all command- ers, having achieved a most hazardous enterprise at a trilling ex|M>nse of treasure, and wilhoiil losing a single man to the state ! He was unanimously called the deliverer of his country (an appellation liberally bestowed on all great men) ; bis two sloops, having done their duty, were laid up (or dry d(H;kcd) In a cove now called the Albany basin, were Ihey (piietly rotted in Ihe mud ; and, to imiiiortali/e bis name, they erected, by siiliM^ription, a magnilleent moiinment of pine iMianIs on the top of flatten iiarrack Mill, which lasted tbri^ whole years, when it fell tu pieces, and was burnt for firewood. CHAPTER V. Ilnw Willlnm llin Truly cnrlrlicd Ihn pmvlncfl liy a iniilliliHlo of lawR, mill ciiiiio lo In> tlii! iMilitiii of lawyerN anil iMini-lMJIinii. Ami liiiw tli« |Mii|ilu Im'ciiiiii exei-cdiiigjy viiligliluacd and iin. Iiappy 'iniirr Ills liiNlniiUluiii. A MONO the many wrecks and fragments of exalted wisdom, which have floated down the stream of lime, rrom venerable antiquity, and have been carefully 1(»2 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. picked up by those liumble, but initustrious wights, wlio ply along the shores of literature, we find the following ordinance of Charondas, the Locrian legis- lator. — Anxious to preserve the ancient laws of the state from the additions and improvements of profound " country members, " or ofllcious candidates for po- pularity, he ordained, that whoever proposed a new law should do it with a halter about his neck ; so that in case his proposition were rejected, they just hung him up — and there the matter ended. This salutary institution had such an effect, that for more than two hundred years there was only one trifling alteration in the criminal code, — and the whole race of lawyers starved to death for w^ant of employ- ment. The conse(|uence of this was, that t he Locrians being unprotected by an overwhelming load of ex- cellent laws, and undefended by a standing army of pettifoggers and sheriff's officers, lived very lovingly together, and were such a happy people, that they scarce make any figure throughout the whole Grecian history— for it is well known that none but your un- lucky, quarrelsome, rantipole nations make any noise in the world. Well would it have been for William the Testy, had he haply, in the course of his " universal acquire- mentJi, " stumbled upon this precaution of the good Charondas. On the contrary, he conceived that the true policy of a legislator was to multiply laws ; and he went to work to secure the property, the persons, and the morals of the people, by surrounding them in a manner with men-traps and spring-guns, and be- setting even the sweet sequestered walks of private life with quickset hedges; so that a man could scarce- ly turn without the risk of encountering some of these pestiferous protectors. Thus was he continually coining petty laws for every petty offence that occu- red, until in time they became too numerous to be re- membered, and remained, like those of certain modern legislators, mere dead letters— revived occasionally for the purpose of individual oppression, or to entrap ignorant offenders. Petty courts consequently began to appear, where the law was administered with nearly as much wis- dom and impartiality as in those august tribunals, the aldermen's and justices' courts of the present day. The plaintiff was generally favoured, as being a cus- tomer, and bringing business to the shop ; the offences of the rich were discreetly winked at — for fear of hurt- ing the feelings of their friends;— but it could never be laid to the charge of the vigilant burgomasters, that they suffered vice to skulk unpunished under the dis- graceful rags of poverty. About this time may we date the first introduction of capital punishments — a goodly gallows being erect- ed on the water-side, about where Whitehall-stairs are at present, a little to the east of the battery. Hard by also was erected another gibbet of a very strange, un- couth, and unmatchable description, but on which the ingenious William Kiefl valued himself not a little, being a punishment entirely of his own invention. It was for loftiness of altitude not a whit infetj that of Haman, so renowned in Bible history; baJ marvel of the contrivance was, that the culprjij stead of being suspended by the neck, acco venerable custom, was hoisted by the waistband ] was kept for an hour together dangling and spran between heaven and earth— to the infinite entert ment, and doubtless great edification, of the i tudc of respectable citizens who usually attend i cxiiibitions of the kind. It is incredible how the little governor chuckled beholding caitiff vagrants and sturdy beggars) swinging by the crupper, and cutting antic gai in the air. He had a thousand pleasantries and n ful conceits to utter upon these occasions. Hec them his dandle-lions — his wild fowl — his liigh-ji — his spread eagles — his goshawks — his scarei and finally his gallows-birds, which ingenious apl lalion, though originally confined to worlliiesi had taken the air in this strange manner, has s grown to be a cant name given to all candidates! legal elevation. This punishment, moreover, ifl may credit the assertions of certain grave etyni gists, gave the first hint for a kind of harnessiogJ strapping, by which our forefathers braced up i multifarious breeches, and which has of late yJ been revived, and continues to be worn at the | sent day. Such were the admirable improvements of Will| Kieft in criminal law — nor was his civil cude li matter of wonderment ; and nuicli does it grieve I that the limits of my work will not suffer nie to ei[ tiate on both with the prolixity they deserve, suffice then to say, that in a little while the ble of imumierable laws became notoriously appan It was soon found necessary to have a certain clasj men to expound and confound them : divers { foggers accordingly made their appearance, unj whose protecting care the community was soon| together by the ears. I would not here be thought to insinuate any lU derogatory to the profession of the law, or to Wsi fied members. Well am I aware, that we bavJ this ancient city innumerable worthy gentlemen v| bless their souls ! have embraced that honour! order, not for the soi-did love of filthy lucre, norj selfish cravings of renown ; but through no < •notives but a fervent zeal for the correct admiij tration of justice, and a generous and desinten devotion to the interests of their fellow -citiM Sooner would I throw this trusty pen into the \ mes, and cork up my ink-horn for ever, than I fringe even for a nail's breadth upon the dignityj this truly benevolent class of citizens. On the c trary, I allude solely to that crew of caitiff ! who, in these latter days of evil, have become so | merous— who infest the skirts of the profession, did the recreant Cornish knights the honounj order of chivalry— who, under its auspices, their depretlationson society— who thrive by quild HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 165 |j and chicanery, and, like vennin, swarm most e there is most corruption. ng so soon awakens tlie malevolent passions I facility of gratification. The courts of law I never be so constantly crowded with petty, us, and disgraceful suits, were it not for the ^of pettifogging lawyers that infest them. These r witli tlie passions of the lower and more igno- \i3sses; who, as if poverty were not a suflicient J In itself, are always ready to heighten it by Itilterness of litigation. They are in law what sare in medicine — excituig the malady for the I of proiiting by the cure, and retarding the jlortlie purpose of augmenting the fees. Where Idestroys the constitution, the other impoverishes 'se; and it may likewise be observed, that as a who has once been under the hands of a i, is ever after dabblmg in drugs, and poisoning (If with infallible remedies; su an ignorant man, \\m once meddled willi the law under the aus- jiofoiie of these empirics, is forever after em- ; himself with bis neighbours, and impoverish- lljiiiself with successful law-suits. My readers leiciise this digression, into which I have been rily betrayed; but I could not avoid giving a Unprejudiced account of an abomination too pre- I in this excellent city, and with the etTects of blam unluckily acquainted to my cost; having ^nearly ruined by a law-suit, which was unjustly I against me — and my ruin having been com- j by another, which was decided in my favour. lb been remarked by the observant writer of iuyvesant manuscript, that under the adminis- lof Wilheimus Kieft the disposition of the in- ols of New-Amsterdam experienced an essen- Idunge, so that they became very meddlesome Iktiuus. The constant exacerbations of temper I which the Ultle governor was thrown by the duigs on his frontiers, and his unfortunate pro- Iky to experiment and innovation, occasioned him qi iiis council in a continual worry— and the being to the people At large what yeast or nistoa l)atch, they threw the whole community lifermeHl — and the people at large l)eing to the Idiat the mind is to the liody, the unhappy com- ithey underwent operated most disastrously l^ew-Amsterdam, insomuch that in certain of kjaroxysnis of consternation and perplexity, (hey Iteveral of the most crooked, distorted, and abo- blc streets, lanes, and alleys, with which this me- sisdisligured. filihe worst of the matter was, that just about llime the mob, since called the sovereign people, , like Dalaani's ass, to grow more enlightened kib rider, and exhibited a strange desire of go- ; itself. This was another effect of the " uni- d acquirements" ofWilliam (he Testy. Insome I pestilent researches among the rubbish of an- fiy, he was struck with admiration at the insti- I of public tables among the Lacedsmonians, where they discussed topics of a general and interest- ing nature — at the schools of the philosophers, where they disputed upon politics and morals— where gray- beards were taught the rudiments of wisdom, and youths learned (o become little men, before they were boys.—" There is nothing," said the ingenious Kieft, shutting up (he book, " (here is nodiing more essen- (ial to the well management of a country than educa- tion among the i)eople; the basis of a good govern- ment should be laid in the public mind."— INow this was true enough, but it was ever the wayward fate of William (he Testy, that when he thought right, he was sure to go to work wrong. In (he present instance, he could scarcely eat or sleep until lie had set on foot brawling debating societies among the simple citizens of New-Amsterdam. This was the one thing wanting to complete his confusion. 'J'be honest Dutch burghers, though in truth but little given to argument or wordy altercation, yet by dint of meeting often together, fuddling themselves wi(h strong drink, beclouding their brains with tobacco- smoke, and listening to the harangues of some half a dozen oracles, soon became exceedingly wise, and, as is always the case where the mob is politically enlight- ened, exceedingly discontented. They found out, with wonderful quickness of discernment, the fearful error in which they bad indulged, in fancying them- selves (he happiest people in creation— and were for- tunately convinced, that, all circumstances to (he contrary notwilfistanding, they were a very unhappy, deluded, and consequently ruined people. In a short time the quidnuncs of New-Amsterdam formed themselves into sage juntos of {lohtical croak- el's, who daily met together to groan over political affaii's, and make themselves miserable ; thronging to these unhappy assemblages with the same eagerness (hat zealots have in all ages abandoned (he milder and more peaceful paths of religion, to crowd (o (he howling convocadons of fanaticism. We are natu- rally prone to discontent, and avaricious after ima- ginary causes of lamentation — like lubberly monks, we belabour our own shoulders, and seem to take a vast satisfaction in the music of our own groans. Nor is this said for the sake of paradox ; daily expei'ient;e shows the truth of these olmervalions. It is almost impossible to elevate the spirits of a man groaning under ideal calamities; but nothing is more easy than to render him wretched, though on the pinn;icle of felicity ; as it is an Ilerculanean task (o hoist a man (0 the top of a steeple, (bough the merest child can topple him off from thence. In the assemblages I have noticed, the reader will at once perceive the fault germs of those sapient con- vocations called popular meetings, [irevalent at our day. Thither resorted all those idlers and " scpiires of low degree," who, like rags, bang loose upon the back of society, and are ready to be blown away by every wind of doctrine. Cobblers abandoned their stalls, and hastened (hi(her (o give lessons on poli- (ical economy— blacksmiths left their handicraft, and 1 i 164 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. suffered their own tires tu gu out, while they blew the bellows and stirred up the lire of faction ; and even tailors, though but the shreds and patches, the ninth parts of humanity, neglected their own mea- sures to attend to the measures of government. No- thing was wanting but lialf a dozen newspapers and patriotic editors to have completed this public illu- mination, and to have thrown the whole province in an uproar ! I should not forget to mention, that these popular meetings were held at a noted tavern : for houses of Uiat description liave always been found the most fostering nurseries of politics; abounding with those genial streams which give strength and sustenance to faction. We are told that the ancient Germans had an admirable mode of treating any question of im- portance ; they flrst deliberated upon it when drunk, and afterwards reconsidered it when solter. The shrewder mobs of America, who dislike having two minds upon a subject, both determine and act upon it drunk ; by which means a world of cold and tedious speculations is dispensed with — and as it is univer- sally allowed, that when a man is drunk he sees double, it follows most conclusively that he sees twice as well as his sober neighbours. CHAPTER Vr. of the ureat I'ijw Plot— and of the dolorous peiplexltlcs into w hicli William the Testy was llirowii, by reason ofhis having eniiglit- eneU llic nmllitude. WiLHELMus KiEFT, as has already been made ma- nifest, was a great legislator upon a small scale. lie was of an active, or rather a busy mind; that is to say, his was one of those small, but brisk minds, which make up by bustle and constant motion for tlie want of great scope and power. lie had, when quite a youngling, been impressed with the advice of So- lomon, " go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise : " in conforinily to which, he had ever been of a restless, ant-like turn, worrying hither and thither, busying himself about little matters, with an air of great importance and anxiety, laying up wisdom by the morsel, and often toiling and pufling at a grain of mustard-seed, under the full conviction that he was moving a mountain. Thus we are told, that once upon a time, in one of his (its of mental bustle, which lie termed delibera- tion, he framed an unlucky law, to prohibit the uni- versal practice of smoking. This he proved, by ma- thematical demonstration, to be not merely a heavy tax on the public pocket, but an incredible consumer of time, a great cncourager of idleness, and, of course, a deadly banc to the prosperity and morals of the people. Ill-fated Kieft ! had he lived in this enlight- ened and libel-loving age, and attempted to subvert the inestimable liberty of the press, he could not have struck more closely on the sensibilities of the million. The populace were in as violent a turmoil as I constitutional gravity of their deportment would/ mit — a mob of factious citizens had even the 1 hood to assemble before the governor's house, vin sitting themselves resolutely down, like a b«i« army before a fortress, they one and all fell to si^ ing with determined perseverance, as though iti their intention to smoke him into terms. The i William issued out of his mansion like a wrall spider, and demanded to know the cause of ly ditious assemblage, and this lawless fumigationl which these sturdy rioters made no other reply i to loll back phlegmatically in their seats, audi away with redoubled fury ; whereby they raised J a murky cloud, that the little man was faiti to | refuge in the interior of his castle. The governor immediately perceived the obj« this unusual tumult, and that it would be iriip to suppress a practice, which, by long indulgi had become a second nature. And here I wouM serve, partly to explain why I have so often i mention of this practice in my history, that itvai separably connected with all the affairs, both p and private, of our revered ancestors. The pip fact, was never from the mouth of the true-bom I derlander. It was his companion in solitude,! relaxation of his gayer hours, his counsellor, his( soler, his joy, his pride; in a word, he seemed toll and breathe through his pipe. WhenAVilliam the Testy bethought himself o these matters, which he certainly did, altlioiid little too late, he came to a compromise with tliel sieging multitude. The result was, that [\mm continued to permit the custom of smoking, yetdi| abolish the fair long pines v,'hic!i ^vere pi-evalentii days of Wouter Vai; Twiller, ii'noling ease, \\ quillity, and sobriety of deportment; anil, in[ thereof, did introdiice little, captious, short pipe$,| inches in length; which, he observed, could bei in one corner of the mouth, or twisted inthebat-bi and would not be in the way of business. By (hi^ multitude seemed somewhat appeased, and disp to their habitations. Thus ended this alarming in reclion, which was long known by the name of| Pipe Plot, and which, it has been somew hat qiiii observed, did end, like most other plots, seditions,| conspiracies, in mere smoke. Hut mark, oh reader ! the deplorable consequel V.uf did afterwards result. The smoke of tiiese| lanous little pipes, contiimally ascending in a i about the nose, penetrated into and befogged the| rebellum, dried up all the kindly moisture of the I and rendered the people that used them as vap and testy as their renowned little governor-l what is more, from a goodly, burly race of folk, Ij^ l)ecamc, like our worthy Dutch farmers, wbo sn short pipes, a lantern-jawed, smoke-dried, leatl hided race of men. Nor was this all; for from hence ntay we datej rise of parlies In this province. Certain of the i HISTORY OF Pffi:W-YORK. 16r> vas, tliat (lioiisl hy and important burghers, adhering to the an- i fashion, formed a Iwind of aristocracy, which ft by liie appellation of the Long Pipes: while the onlers, submitting to the innovation, which r found to be more convenient in their liandicraft Joyments, and to leave them more liberty of ac- p were branded with the plelieian name of S/ior( A third party likewise sprang up, differing ] both the other, headed by the descendants of I famous Robert Chewit, the companion of the tat Hudson. These entirely discarded the use of s, and took to chewing tobacco, and tience they e called Quids. It is worthy of notice, that this itappellation has since come to be invariably applied Lihose mongrel or third parties, that will sometimes king up between two great contending parties, as a cis produced between a horse and an ass. [And here I would remark the great benefit of these /distinctions, by which the people at large are ^ed the vast trouble of thinking. Hesiod divides lalind into three classes — those who think for elves, those who let others think for them, and • who will neither do one nor the other. The toad class, however, comprises the great mass of iety, and hence is tlie origin of party, by which is nt a large body of people, some few of whom Ink, and all the rest talk. The former, who are I the leaders, marshal out and discipline the lat- , teaching them what they must approve— what I must hoot at— what they must say— whom they Bl support— but, above all, whom they must hate for no man can be a right good partisan, unless he II determined and thorough-going hater. I Bat when the sovereign people are thus properly iken to the harness, yoked, curbed, and reined, it ^delectable to see with what docility and harmony key jog onward through mud and mire, at the will of eir drivers, dragging the dirlcarls of faction at their How msny a patriotic member of congress |ive I seen, who wouhl never have known how to vkt np his mind on any question, and might have 1 a great risk of voting right by mere accident, had tnot had others to think for him, and a lile leader liTote after ! Thus then the enlightened inhabitants of the Man- ptloes, \mng divided into parties, were enabled to anize dissension, and to oppose and hate one an- «r with accuracy. And now the great business of ilitics went bravely on ; the parties assembling in urate beer-houses, and smoking at each other with ipiacable animosity, to the great support of the state, 1 emolument of the tavern-keepers. Some, indeed, ) were more zealous than the rest, went farther, I began to bespatter one another with numerous '\md names and scandalous little words, to be vndin the Dutch language; every partisan believ- ; religiously that he was serving liis country when (traduced the character or impoverished the pocket (apolitical adversary. But however they might ^ between themselves, all parties agreed on one point, to cavil at and condemn every measure of go- vernment, whether right or wrong; for as the go- vernor was by his station independent of their power, and was not elected by their choice, and as he had not decided in favour of either faction, neither of them was interested in his success, nor in the prosperity of the country while under his administration. "Unhappy William Kiefl!" exclaims the sage writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript, "doomed to contend with enemies tou knnwlng to be entrapped, and to reign over a people too wise to be governed ! " All his expeditions against his enemies were baffled and set at naught, and all his measures for the public safety were cavilled al by the people. Did he pro- pose levying an eflicient body of troops for internal defence — the mob, that is to say, those vagabond members of the community who have nothing to lose, immediately took the alarm, vociferated that their interests were in danger — that a standing army was a legion of locusts, preying on society; a rod of iron in the hands of government; and that a government with a military force at its command would inevitably swell into a despotism. Did he, as was but too com- monly the case, defer preparation until the moment of emergency, and then hastily collect a handful of undisciplined vagrants — the measure was hooted at, as feeble and inadequate, as trifling with the public dignity and4afety, and as lavishing the public funds on impotent enterprises. Did he resort to the economic measure of proclamation — he was laughed at by the Yankees; did he back it by non-intercourse — it was evaded and counteracted by his own subjects. Which- ever way he turned himself, he was beleaguered and distracted by petitions of " numerous and respectable meetings," consisting of some half a dozen brawling pot-house politicians— all of which he read, and, what is worse, all of which he attended to. The conse- quence was, that, by incessantly changing his mea- sures, he gave none of them a fair trial ; and by listen- ing to the clamours of the mob, and endeavouring to do every thing, he, in sober truth, did nothing. I would not have it supposed, however, that he took all these memorials and interferences good-naturedly, for such an idea would do inj ustice to his valiant spirit : on the contrary, he never received a piece of advice in the whole course of his life without first getting into a passion with the giver. But I have ever ob- served that your passionate little men, like small boats with large sails, are the easiest upset or blown out of their course; and this is demonstrated by Governor Kieft, who, though in temperament as hot as an old radish, and with a mind, the territory of which was subjected to perpetual whirlwinds and tornadoes, yet never failed to be carried away by the last piece of ad- vice that was blown into his ear. Lucky was it for him that his power was not dependent upon the greasy multitude, and that as yet the populace did not possess the important privilege of nominating their chief ma- gistrate. They did their best, however, to help along public affairs; pestering their governor incessantly, I i im IlISTOKY OF NEW-YORK. by goading him on with harangues and petitions, and then tbwaFling his fiery spirit with reproaches and me- morials, like Sunday joelceys managing an unlucky devil of a hack horse — so that Wilhelmus Kieft may he said to have heen kept either on a worry or a hand- gallop throughout the whole of his administration. CHAPTER Vn. ConUining diven foarhil accounts of Border wan, and tlic fla- grant outragi-9 of the Musg-truo[)ei-9 of Couuccticut— with the rise of the great Auipliictyonic council of the east, and the de- cline of William the Testy. It was asserted by the wise men of ancient times, who were intimately acquainted with these matters, that at tlie gate of Jupiter's palace lay two huge tuns, the one filled with blessings, the other with misfortunes —and it verily seems asif the latter had l)een completely overturned, and left to deluge the unlucky province of Nieuw-Nederlandts. Among the many internal and external causes of irritation, the incessant irruptions of the Yankees upon his frontiers were continually add- uig fuel to the inflammable temper of William the Testy. Numerous accounts of these molestations may still be found among the recoi ds of the times ; for the commanders on the frontiers were especially careful to evince their vigilance and zeal, by striving who should send home the most frequent and volu- minous budgets of complaints, as your faithful servant is eternally running with complainis to the parlour, of the petty squabbles and misdemeanours of the kitchen. Far be it from me to insinuate, however, that our worthy ancestors indulged in groundless alarms ; on the contrary, they were daily suffering a repetition of cruel wrongs, not one of which but was a sufficient reason, according to the maxims of national dignity and honour, for throwing the whole universe into hostility and confusion. From among a multitude of bitter grievances still on record, I select a few of the most atrocious, and leave my readers to judge if our ancestors were not justifiable in getting into a very valiant passion on the occasion. " 24 June, 1641 . Some of Hartford have taken a hogg out of the vlact or common, and shut it up out of meer hate or other prejudice, causing it to starve for hunger in the stye ! " 26 July. The foremencioned English did againe drive the Companies' hoggs out of the vlact of Sicojoke Into Hartford; contending daily with reproaches, blows, heating the people with all disgrace that they could imagine. " May 20, 4642. The English of Hartford have violently cut loose a horse of the honoured Compa- nies', that stood bound upon the common or vlact. " May 0, 1643. The Companies' horses pastured upon the Companies' ground were driven away by them of Connecticott or Hartford, and the herdsmen lustily beaten with hatchets and sticks. " 16. Again they sold a young hogg belonging to the Companie, which pigg had pastured on the I panics' land.—" ' Oh ye powers! into what indignation did ever>'« of theseoulrages throw the philosophic William! ietij after letter, protest after protest, proclamation al|( proclamation, lud Lalin, worse English, and lijd;, low Dutch, were exhausted in vain u|M>n the inexoraij Yankees; and the four-and-twenty letters of iheali^ liet, which, excepting his champion, the sturdy in peter Van Corlear, composed the only standing ^ti he had at his command, were never off duty lhruu;'tiQ the whole of his administration.- Nor was AntlKi the trumpeter, a whit behind his patron inderyzeji but, like a faithful champion of the public safely, , the arrival of every fresh article of news, he wass to sound his trunipet from the ramparts, willi nm disastrous notes, throwing the people into viol alarms, and disturbing their rest at all times and s sons — which caused him to be held in very ^reat t gard, the public pampering and rewarding him, as « do brawling eililors, for similar services. lam well aware of the perils that environ ni(| this part of my history. While raking, with curM hand but pious heart, among the mouldering remain of former days, anxious to draw therefrom the Itontj of wisdom, I may fare somewhat like that valiai worthy, Samson, who, in meddling with the cara of a dead lion, drew a swarm of bees altout his eai^ Thus while narrating the many ml<^leeds ofijj Yanokie or Yankee tribe, it is ten chances to one li I offend the morbid sensibilities of certain of their u reasonable descendants, who may fly out and raise sue! a buzzing aliout this unlucky head of mine, Ibai I shall need the tough hide of an Achilles, or aiiOr| lanilo Furioso, to protect me from their stings. Should such be the case, I should deeply and t cerely lament — not my misfortune in giving olfencj —but the wrong-headed perverseness of an ill-nalutj ed generation, in taking offence at any Ihiii!; I sa]f| That their ancestors did use my ancestors ill is Irw and I am very sorry for it. I would with all mj heart the fact were otherwise ; but as I am recoixiin the sacred events of history, I'd not bate one nail'j breadth of the honest truth, though I were sure t whole edition of my work should be bought up an burnt by the conmion hangman of Connecticut. An in sooth, now that these testy gentlemen have drawd me out, I will make bold to go farther, and obser^d that this is one of the grand pur|H)8es for whicln?^ impartial historians are sent into the world— to r dress wrongs and render justice on the heads of t guilty. So that though a powerful nation may wr its neighbours with temporary impunity, yet soond or later an historian springs up, who wreaks ani( chastisement on it in return. Thus these moss-troopers of the east little thoughll I'll warrant it, while tliey were harassing the inof| fensive province of Nieuw-Nederlandls, and drivini its unhappy governor to his wit's end, that an histoj < Hai. Col. stale Papers. [sarages, among whi HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. m , should ever arise, and give them their own, willi St. Since tlien I am but performing my liound- Ijuiy as an historian, in avenging tlie wrongs of ' revere<l ancestors, I sliall make no further apo- j; and indeed, when it Ls considered that I liave flbcse ancient borderers of llie east in my power, ^at llie mercy of my pen, I trust tliat it will be ad- ed I conduct myself with great humanity and mo- on. ITo resume then the course of my histoi7 — Appear- s to the eastward began now to assume a more ilable aspect than ever— for I would have you (that hitherto the province had been chielly molest- ||ir lis immediate neighbours, the people of Con- licut, particularly of Hartford; which, if we may efrom ancient chronicles, was the strong hold of estunly moss-troopers, from whence they sallied bon their daring incursions, carrying terror and elation into tlie barns, the hen-roosts, and pig- s of our revered ancestors. IjUbeit about the year IG43, the people of the east itry, inhabiting the colonies of Massachusetts, Con- nil, New-Plymouth, and Kew-llaven, gathered rther into a mighty conclave, and after buzzing j debating for many days, like a political hive of tin swarming time, at length settled themselves ^afomiidable confederation, under the title of the ml Colonies of New-England. By this union f pledged themselves to stand by one another in Iperiis and assaults, and to co-operate in all mea- ts, ofTensive and defensive, against the surround- [iivages, among which were doubtlessly included ||ioiioured ancestors of the Manhattoes; and to tnwre strength and system to this confederation, leral assembly or grand council was to be an- lUy held, composed of representatives from each B provinces. I receiving accounts of this combination, Wilhel- iKieft was struck with consternation, and, for the jttime in his whole life, forgot to bounce, at hear- |in unwelcome piece Oi" intelligence — which a ve- ii)le historian of the times observes was especially I among the politicians of New-Amsterdam, etnilh was, on turning over in his mind ail that |y read at the Hague , about leagues and combi- is, he found that this was an exact imitation of I Amphictyonic council, by which the slates of '. were enabled to attain to such power and at^ Bcy, and the very idea made his heart to quake |the safety of his empire at the Manhattoes. e strenuously insisted, that the whole object of f confederation was to drive the Nederlanders out eir fair domains; and always ilew into a great e if any one presumed to doubt the probability of |0)njecture. Nor was he wholly unwarranted in b suspicion; for at the very first annual meeting e grand council, held at Boston (wliich Governor Nenominated the Delphos of this truly classic le), strong representations were made against jNederlanders, forasmuch as that in their dealings witli tlie Indians they carried on a traffic in " guns, powther, and shott— a trade damnable and injurious to the colonists." ■ Not but what certain of the Con- necticut traders did likewise dabble a little in this " damnal)le traffic"— but then they always sold the Indians such scurvy guns, that they burst at the first discliarge— and consequently hurl no one but these pagan savages. The rise of this potent confederacy was a death- blow to the glory of William the Testy; for from that day forward, it was remarked by many, lie never held up his head, but appeared quite crest-fallen. His subsequent reign, tlierefore, affords but scanty food for the historic pen — we find the grand council continually augmenting in power, and threatening to overwhelm the province of Nieuw - Nederlandts ; while Wilhelmus Kieft kept constantly fulminating proclamations and protests, like a shrewd sea cap- tain, firing off carronades and swivels, in order to break and disperse a waterspout — but, alas! they had no more effect than if they had Iieen so many blank cartridges. The last document on record of this learned, phi- losophic, but unfortunate little potentate, is a long letter to the council of the Amphictyons, wherein, in the bitterness of his heart, he rails at the people of New-Haven, or Red Hills, for their discourteous con- tempt of his protest, levelled at them for squatting within the province of their High Mightinesses. From this letter, whicii is a model of epistolary wri- ting, abounding witli pithy apophthegms and classic figures, my limits will barely allow me to extract the following recondite passage : ' — " Certainly when we heare the inhabitants of New-Hartford complayninge of us, we seem to heare ^sop's wolf complayninge of tlie lamb, or the admonition of the younge man, who cryed out to his mother, chideing with her neighboures, 'Oh Mother, revile her, lest she first take up that practice against you.' But being taught by precedent passages, we received sue'- .in answer to our protest from the inhabitants of i\«. ■ <a\en as we expected : the Eagle always despiseth .'le lieetle- fly: yet notwithstanding we doe undauntedly continue on our purpose of pursuing our own right, by just arms and righteous means, and doc hope without, scruple to execute the express commands of our su- periours." To show that this last sentence was not a mere empty menace, he concluded his letter by in- trepidly protesting against the whole council, as a horde of squatters and interlopers, inasmuch as they held their meeting at New-Haven, or the Red Hills, which he claimed, as being within the province of the New-Netherlands. Thus end the authenticated chronicles of the reign of William the Testy— for henceforth, in the troubles, the perplexities, and the confusion of the tunes, he seems to have been totally overlooked, and to have slipped for ever through tlie fingers of scrupulous his- ■ llai. Col. Slate Vapen, > Vide llaz. Got. state Papen. ^ 168 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. :? tory. Indeed, for some canse or oHier, whicli I can- not divine, there appears to have been a combination among historians to sink his very name into oblivion, in consetiuence of wliicli they have one and all for- borne even to speak of his exploits. This shows how important it is for great men to cultivate the favour of the learned, if they are ambitious of honour and renown. *' Insult not the dervise, " said a wise caliph to his son, " lest thou offend thine his- torian ; " and many a mighty man of the olden time, had he observed so obvious a maxim, might have es- caped divers cruel wipes of the pen which have been drawn across his character. It has been a matter of deep concern to me, that such darkness and obscurity should hang over the latter days of the illustrious Kiefl — for he was a mighty and great little man, worthy of being utterly renown- ed, seeing that he was the first potentate that intro- duced into this land the art of fighting by proclamation, and defending a country by trumpeters and windmills — an economic and humane mode of warfare, since revived with great applause, and which promises, if it can ever be carried into full efTect, to save great trouble and treasure, and spare infinitely more bloodshed than either the discovery of gunpowder or the invention of torpedoes. It is true, that certain of the early provincial poets, of whom there were great numbers in the Nieuw- NederlaiTdls, taking advantage of the mysterious exit of William the Testy, have fabled, that like Romulus, he was translated to the skies, and that he forms a very fiery little star, somewhere on the left claw of the crab ; while others, equally fanciful, declare that he has experienced a fate similar to that of the good King Arthur ; who, we are assured by ancient bards, was carried away to the delicious abodes of fairy land, where he still exists in pristine worth and vigour, and will one day or another return to restore the gallantry, the honour, and the immaculate probity, which pre- vailed in tlie glorious days of the Round Table. ' All these, however, are but pleasing fantasies, the cobweb visions of those dreaming varlets, the poets, to which I would not have my judicious reader attach any credibility. Neither am I disposed to yield any credit to the assertion of an ancient and rather apo- cryphal historian, who alleges that the ingenious Wil- helmus was annihilated by the blowing down of one of bis windmills— nor to that of a writer of later times, who affirms that he fell a victim to a philosophical ex- periment, which he had for many years been vainly striving to accomplish ; having the misfortune to break his neck from the garret window of thestadthouse, in • The old Welsh bards believed that King Arthur was not dead, but carried awaie by the faries into some pleasent place, where he shold remaine for a time, and then returne agalne and rclgne in as P'. It authority as ever.— Hni,LiNG.siiED. The Britons suppose that be shall come yet and conquerc all Britaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Herlyn.— lie say'd that hisdeth shall be doubteous; and said soth, for men thereof yet have double and shuUen for ever more— (br men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede.— Dk Lbew. Cubon . an attempt to catch swallows, by sprinkling fresh i upon their tails. The most probable account, and to which I ami dined to give my implicit faith, is contauied in a J obscure tradition, which declares, that what \r| the constant troubles on his frontiers — the ince: schemings and projects going on in his own peric niuin — the memorials, petitions, remonstrances, i sage pieces of advice from divers respectable meetiJ of the sovereign |)eople — togethe: with the refraclj disposition of his council, wiiu were sure to (lifTerfiJ him on every point, and uniformly to l)e in the vro — all these, I say, did eternally operate to keep I mind in a kind of furnace heat, until he at length U came as completely burnt out as a Dutch family i which has passed through three generations of I smokers. In this manner did the choleric but i gnanimous William the Testy undergo a kindofi mal combustion, consuming away like a farlliingr light— so that when grim death finally sniifTed I out, there was scarce left enough of him to bury.' BOOK V. CONTAIMNG THE FIRST PABT OF THE BEIGN OF PETER $nij SANT, AND HIS TBOUBLES WITB TUE AMPUICTYONIC COIJU CHAPTER L In which the death of a great man is shown to be no vcn' m sulablc matter of sorrow— and bow I'ctor Sliiyvrsaiit aapiir^ great name from the uncommon strength of his head. To a profound philosopher, like myself, wiio j apt to see clear through a subject, where tliepenelj tion of ordinary people extends but halfway, tiiei no fact more simple and manifest than that thedcj of a great man is a matter of very little iiiiportai Much as we may think of ourselves, and much as I may excite the empty plaudits of the million, itiscf tain that the greatest among us do actually fill bull exceeding small space in the world; and it is eqiii certain, that even that small space is quickly sup when we leave it vacant. " Of what consequencj it," said Pliny, " that individuals appear, or makcllj exit? the world is a theatre whose scenes and ad are continually changing." Never did piiilos( speak more correctly, and I only wonder llialsos a remark could have existed so many ages, and i kind not have laid it more to heart. Sage i in the footsteps of sage; one hero just steps outor| triumphal car, to make way for the hero who ( after him; and of the proudest monarch it is met said, that—" he slept with his fathers, and his J cessor reigned in his stead." The world, to tell the private truth, cares but l| for their loss, and if left to itself would soon fon grieve; and though a nation has often been ilguratl ly drowned in tears on the death of a great man, mSTORY OF NEW-YORK. 16!) ^ten chances to one if an individual tear has been Jon the occasion, excepting from tlie forlorn pen hungry autlior. It is tlie historian, the bio- «r, and the poet, wlio liave the whole burden of f to sustain; who— kind souls !— like undertalcers jgiriaml, act ihe part of cliief mourners — who in- tination with sighs it never heaved, and dehige 1 tears it never dreamt of shedding. Thus, while jpatriolic author is weeping and howling, in prose, nk verse, and in rhyme, and collecting the drops igMic sorrow into his volume, as into a Iachi7mal >, it is more than proliable his fellow-citizens are and drinking, fiddling and dancing, as utterly intoflhe bitter lamentations made in their name, e those men of straw, John Doe and Richard Roe, (plaintiffs for whom they are generously pleased Itfers occasions to become sureties. t most glorious and praiseworthy hero that ever baled nations might have mouldered into oblivion pg the rubbish of his own monument, did not rhistorian take him into favour, and benevolently nil his name to jwsterity — and much as the va- I William Kiefl worried, and bustled, and tur- i while he had the destinies of a whole colony ^liand, I question seriously whether he will not ili^ to this authentic history for all his future fily. isevit occasioned no convulsion in the city of New- |fleitlam or its vicinity : the earth trembled not, rdid any stars shoot from their spheres — the jrens were not shrouded in black, as poets would Ipersuade us they have been, on the unfortunate lof a hero — the rocks (hard-hearted varlets!) I not into tears, nor did Ihe trees hang their Is in silent sorrow; and as to the sun, he lay a-bed |iiext night just as long, and showed as jolly a face I ke rose, as he ever did on the same day of the bin any year, either before or since. The good ^of New-Amsterdam, one and all, declared that I been a very busy, active, bustling little go- f; that he was " the father of his country"— |iwvas " the noblest work of God"— that " he I man, take him for all in all, they ne'er should luponhis like again"— together with sundry other |iod affectionate speeches that are regularly said (death of all great men ; after which they smok- heir pipes, thought no more about him, and Peter jresant succeeded to his station. rStuyvesant was the last, and, like the renown- fouter Van Twiller, he was also the best, of our Bt Dutch governors. Wouter having surpassed jibo preceded him, and Pieter or Piet, as he was Wy called by the old Dutch burghers, who were [jmne to familiarize names, having never been Iby any successor. He was in fact the very [lilted by nature to retrieve the desperate fortunes (beloved province, had not the fates, those most dand unrelenting of all ancientspinslers, destined |to inextricable confusion. Ny merely that he was a hero would be doing him great injustice— he was in truth a combination of heroes— for he was of a sturdy, rawlmne make like Ajax elamon, with a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would have given his hide for (meaning his lion's hide) when he undertook to ease old Alias of his load. He was moreover, as Plutarch describes Coriolanus, not only terrible for the force of his arm. but likewise of his voice, which sounded as though it came out of a barrel ; and, like the self-same warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough of it- self to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake with terror and dismay. All this martial excellency of appearance was inexpressibly heightened by an ac- cidental advantage, with which I am surprised that neither Homer nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes. This was nothing less than a wooden leg, which was the only prize he had gained in bravely Fighting the battles of his country, but of which he was so proud, that he was often heard lo declare he valued it more than all his other limbs put together; indeed so highly did he esteem it, that lie had it gal- lantly enchased and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be related in divers histories and legends that he wore a silver leg. ' Like that choleric warrior Achilles, he was some- what subject to extempore bursts of passion, which were oft-times rather unpleasant to his favourites and attendants, whose perceptions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his illustrious imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing their shoulders with his walking- staff. Though I cannot find that he had read Plato, or Aristotle, or Hobbes, or Bacon, or Algernon Sydney, or Tom Paine, yet did he sometimes manifest a shrewdness and sagacity in his measures, that one would hardly expect from a man who did not know Greek, and had never studied Ihe ancients. True it is, and I confess it with sorrow, that he had an un- reasonable aversion to experiments, and was fond of governing his province after the simplest manner- hut then he contrived to keep it in better order than did the erudite Kieft, though he had all the philoso- phers, ancient and modern, to assist and perplex him. I must likewise own that he made but very few laws, but then again he took care that those few were ri- gidly and impartially enforced— and I do not know but justice on the whole was as well administered as if there had been volumes of sage acts and statutes yearly made, and daily neglected and forgotten. He was, in fact, the very reverse of his prede- cessors, being neither tranquil and inert, like Walter the Doubter, nor restless and fidgeting, like William the Testy ; but a man, or rather a governor, of such uncommon activity and decision of mind, that he never sought or accepted the advice of others ; depending confidently upon his single head, as would a hero of yore upon his single arm, to work his way through all difficulties and dangers. To tell the simple truth, ■ See the histories of Masters Josselyn and Biome. 22 170 inSTORY OF NEW-YORK. he wanted no other requisite for a perfect statesman llian to tlunl( always ri^lit, for no one can deny tliat lie always acted as lie thought ; and if he wanted in correctness, he made up for it in perseverance — an excellent quality ! since it is surely more dignified for a ruler to be persevering and consistent in error than wavering and contradictory in endeavouring to do what is right. This much is certain, and it is a maxim worthy the attention of all legislators, both great and small, who stand shaking in the wind, without know- ing which way to steer — a ruler who acts according to his own will is sure ^of pleasing himself, while he who seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims of others runs a great risk of pleasing nobody. The clock that stands still, and points steadfastly in one direction, is certain of being right twice in the four-and-twenty hours — while others may keep going continually, and continually be going wrong. Nor did this magnanimous virtue escape the dis- cernment of the good people of Nieuw-Nederlandts ; on the contrary, so high an opinion had they of the independent mind and vigorous intellects of their new governor, that they universally called him Hard-kop- pig Piet, or Peter the Headstrong — a great compli- ment to his understanding ! If, from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, weather-beaten, mettlesome, obsti- nate, leathern -sided, lion-hearted, generous -spirit- ed old governor, either I have written to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing conclu- sions. This most excellent governor, whose character I have thus attempted feebly to delineate, commenced his administration on the 29th of May 1647, a re- markably stormy day, distinguished in all the alma- nacs of the time which have come down to us by the name of Windy Friday. As he was very jealous of his personal and official dignity, he was inaugurated into office with great ceremony; the goodly oaken chair of the renowned Wouter "Van Twiller being care- fully preserved for such occasions, in like manner as the chair and stone were reverentially preserved at Schone, in Scotland, for the coronation of the Caledo- nian monarchs. I must not omit to mention, that the tempestuous state of the elements, together with its being that unlucky day of the week termed " hanging day," did not fail to excite much grave speculation and divers very reasonable apprehensions among the more an- cient and enlightened inhabitants ; and several of the sager sex, who were reputed to be not a little skilled in the mysteries of astrology and fortune-telling, did declare outright that they were omens of a disastrous administration— an event that came to be lamentably verified, and which proves, beyond dispute, the wis- dom of attending to those preternatural intimations furnished by dreams and visions, the flying of birds, falling of stones, and cackling of geese, on which the sages and rulers of ancient times placed such reliance — or to those shootings of stars, eclipses of the r bowlings of dogs, and flarings of candles, can noted and interpreted by the oracular sibyls of| day ; who, in my humble opinion, are the legjti inheritors and preservers of the ancient science o vination. This much is certain, that Governors vesant succeeiled to the chair of state at a turb period; when foes thronged and threatened without ; when anarchy and stiff-necked uppi reigned rampant witltin; when the authority of tl High Mightinesses the Lonis States-General, tit founded on the broad Dutcli bottom of unofFeni imbecility ; though supported by economy, andl fended by speeches, protests and proclamations, | tottered to its very centre ; and when the great [ of New-Amsterdam, though fortified by flag-sul trumpeters, and windmills, seemed, like some f lady of easy virtue, to lie open to attack, and i to yield to the first invader. CHAPTER U. showing how Peter the Headstrong bestirred hinudf a rats and cobwebs on entiTing into oflice ; and the |)erilow| take he was guilty of, in his dealings with the AinphictyM The very first movements of the great PeterJ taking the reins of government, displayed then nimity of his mind, though they occasioned not all marvel and uneasiness among the people of the I hattoes. Finding himself constantly interroptM the opposition, and annoyed by the advice of his|i council, the members of which had acquired the| reasonable habit of thinking and speaking for selves during the preceding reign, he deterrob once to put a stop to such grievous abomimll Scarcely, tlierefore, had he entered upon his aul| ity, than he turned out of oflice all those me( some spirits that composed the factious cab William the Testy; in place of whom he chose J himself counsellors from those fat, somniferous, | pectable families, tliat had flourished and slan under the easy reign of Walter the Doubter. | these he caused to be furnished with abundan fair long pipes, and to be regaled with frequent I poration dinners, admonishing them to smoke, eat, and sleep, for the good of the nation, whiij took the burden of government upon his own i ders — an arrangement to which they all gave t acquiescence. Nor did he stop here, but made a hideoosj among the inventions and expedients of his lei predecessor — demolishing his flag-staves and ' mills, which, like mighty giants, guarded the j parts of New-Amsterdam— -pitching to the whole batteries of quaker guns— rooting up iiisp gallows, where caitiff vagabonds were suspendej the waistband— and, in a word, turning topsy-t the whole philosophic, economic, and windmills; of the immortal sage of Saardam. I tbe trumpeter, ^ HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. Hi ebonesl fulk ofNew-Amsterdam began to quake llur the fate of their matcliless cliampiun, Aii- f (be trumpeter, who liad acquired pruiligious rill the eyes of the women, by means of his ^g(s and his trumpet. Him did Peter the llead- I cause to be brouglit into his presence, and ; hiiii for a moment from head to foot, witli a ieiiance that would have appalled any thing else jas(Hinderof brass— "Pr'ythee, who and what llhoui'" said be. "Sire," replied the other, in ; dismayed, " for my name, it is Anthony Van ar— fur my parentage, I am the son of my mo- -fur my profession, I am champion and garrison great city of New-Amsterdam." " I doubt luucli," said Peter Stuyvesant, " that thou art scurvy costard-monger knave : — how didst ■ acquire this paramount honour and dignity?" y, sir," replied the other, " like many a great ibefore me, simply by sounding my own trum- "Ay, is it so?" quoth the governor; " why I let us have a relish of thy art." Whereupon he Ibis uislrument to his lips, and sounded a charge I such a tremendous outset, such a delectable if, and such a triumphant cadence, that it was I to make your heart leap out of your mouth klobe witliin a mile of it. Like as a war-worn while sporting in peaceful plains, if by i he hear the strains of martial music, pricks sears, and snorts, and paws, and kindles at tlie ., so did the heroic soul of the mighty Peter joy r the clangour of the trumpet; for of him might [ be said, what was reconled of the renowned ge of England, " there was nothing in all the 1 that more rejoiced his heart than to hear the ot sound of war, and see the soldiers brandish kibeir steeled weapons." Casting his eyes more |lf, therefore, upon the sturdy Van Corlear, and iDg him to be a jolly, fat, little man, shrewd in |dkourse, yet of great discretion and immeasu- ewind, he straightway conceived a vast kindness Ihiai, and discharging him from the troublesome f of garrisoning, defending, and alarming the [,eYer after retained him alwut his person, as his f bvourite, confidential envoy, and trusty squire. of disturbing the city with disastrous no- I he was instructed to play so as to delight the mor while at his repasts, as did the minstrels of jein the days of glorious chivalry — and on all pu- loccasions to rejoice the ears of the people with ike melody— thereby keeping alive a noble and 1 spirit. ny other alterations and reformations, both for Itetter and for the worse, did the governor make, jthich my time will not serve me to record the nlars; sufiice it to say, he soon contrived to ^e the province feel that he was its master, and I the sovereign people with such tyrannical ri- |r,that they were all fain to hold their tongues, ^ilhome, and attend to their business ; insomuch I parly feuds and distinctions were almost for- gotten, and many thriving keepers of taverns and dram -shops were utterly ruined for want of busi- ness. Indeed, the critical state of public affairs at this time demanded the utmost vigilance and promptitude. The formidable council of the Amphictyons, which had caused so much tribulation to the unfortunate Kieft, still continued augmenting its forces, and threatened to link witliin its union all the mighty pruicipalities and powers of the east. In the very year following the inauguration of Governor Stuyve- sant, a grand deputation departed from the City of Providence, (famous for its dusty streets and beau- teous women,) in behalf of the puissant plantation of Rhode Island, praying to be admitted into the league. The following mention is made of this application in certain records of that assemblage of worthies, which are still extant' " Mr Will Cottington and Captain Partridg of Rhoode-Iland presented this insewmg request to the commissioners in wrighting. " Our request and motion is in bebalfe of Rhoode- Iland, that wee the Ilanders of Rhoode-Iland may be rescauied into combination with all the united colo- nyes of New-England in a flrme and perpetual league of friendship and amity of ofence and defence, mu- tuall advice and succor upon all just occasions for our mutuall safety and wellfaire, etc. Will Cottington, Alicxsandeb Partridg." There is certainly something in the very physio- gnomy of this document that might well inspire appreIien»on. The name of Alexander, however mis-spelt, has been warlike in every age, and though its fierceness is in some measure softened by being coupled with the gentle cognomen of Partridge, still, like the colour of scarlet, it bears an exceeding great resemblance to the sound of a trumpet. From the style of tlie letter, moreover, and tlie soldierlike igno- rance of ortliography displayed by the noble captain Alicxsander Partridg in spelling his own name, wo may picture to ourselves tliis mighty man of Rhodes, strong in arms, potent in the Held, and as great a scholar as though he had been educated among that learned people of Thrace, who, Aristotle assures us, could not count beyond the number four. But whatever might be the threatening aspect of this famous confederation, Peter Stuyvesant was not a man to be kept in a slate of incertitude and vague apprehension ; be liked nothing so much as to meet danger face to face, and take it by the beaitl. De- tennuied, therefore, to put an end to all these petty maraudings on the borders, he wrote two or three categorical letters to the grand council ; which, though neither couched in bad Latin, nor yet graced by rhe- torical tropes about wolves and lambs, and beetle flies, yet had more effect than all the elaborate epis- > llaz. Cnl. Slat. Pap. 172 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. ties, protests, aud proclamations of his learned prede- cessor put together. In consequence of his urgent prqiositions, the great confederacy of the east agreed to enter into a final adjustment of grievances and pet- tlemont of boundaries, to the end that a perpetual and happy peace might take place between the two powers. For this purpose Governor Stuyvesant de- puted two ambassadors to negotiate with commis- sioners from the grand council of the league, and a treaty was solemnly concluded at Hartford. On re- ceiving mtelligence of this event, the whole conunu- nit{r was in an uproar of exultation. The trumpet of the sturdy Van Corlear sounded all day with joyful clangour from the ramparts of Fort Amsterdam, and at night tht. city was magnificently illuminated with two hundred and fifty tallow candles; besides a bar- rel of tar which was burnt before the governor's house, on the cheering aspect of public affairs. And now my worthy reader is, doubtless, like the great and good Peter, congratulating himself with the idea, that his feelings will no longer be molested by afflicting details of stolen horses, broken heads, impounded hogs, and all the other catalogue of heart- rending cruelties that disgraced these border wars. But if he should indulge in such expectations, it is a proof that he is but little versed in the paradoxical ways of cabinets; to convince him of which, I solicit his serious attention to my next chapter, wherein I will show that Peter Stuyvesant has already committed a great error in politics; and by effecting a peace, has materially hazarded the tranquilUty of the province. CHAxTER m. Containing divers speculations on war and negotiations— showing that a treaty of peace is a great national evil. It was the opinion of that poetical philosopher, Lucretius, tli?>t v«dr was the original state of man, whom he described as being primitively a savage beast of prey, engaged in a constant state of hoslilily villi his own species, and that this ferocious spirit was tam- ed and ameliorated by society. The same opinion has been advocated by Hobbes,' nor have there been wanting many other philosophers to admit and de- fend it. For my part, though prodigiously fond of these valuab'e speculations, so complimentary to human nature, yet, in this instance, I am inclined to take the proposition by halves, believing with Horace,' that though war may have been originally the favourite umusement and induslr'ous employment of our pro- genitors, yet, like many other excellent habits, so far from being ameliorated, it has been cultivated and ■ IIolib<'N's Leviathan. I'arti. rliap. <X • Qiium proropserunt primis animalia terris, Miiliiuin ac tur|)c pecus, giamlcin atcpie cubilia propter, Ungiiihiiset piignls, dcin riistibus, atcpie Ita porro Piignabant armis, qua; post (abriuavcral mm. HOR. Sal. L. i. S. .'. confirmed by refinement and civilization, and! creases in exact proportion as we approach lo«| that state of perfection, which is the neplut u/J modern philosophy. Thefirst conflict between man and manwasthej. exertion of physical force, unaided by auxiliary weaj — his arm was his buckler, his fist was his mace 1 a broken head the catastrophe of his encounters, battle of unassisted strength was succeeded b?| more rugged one of stones and clubs, and wara ed a sanguinary aspect. As man advanced in rel ment, as his faculties expanded, and his sensibil became more exquisite, he grew rapidly more i| nious and experienced in the art of murdering his low beings. He invented a thousand devia defend and to assault — the helmet, the cuirass I the buckler, the sword, the dart, and the javelin I pared him to elude the wound as well as ' '-<iinci blow. Still urging on, in the career of punanlii invention, he enlarges and heightens Ins poweJ defence and injury :— The Aries, the Scorpio," Balista, and the Catapulta, give a horror and a mity to war, and magnify ils glory, by increasin desolation. Still insatiable, tho(';^Ii armed witji] chinery that seemed to reach the limits of deslruj invention, and to yield a power of injury arvm even with the desires of revenge — still deen searches must be made in the diabolical arcana, furious zeal he dives into the bowels of the eartii j toils midst poisonous minerals and dead' sails-j sublime discovery of gunpowder bla' i upon I world — and finally the dreadful art r figliti proclamation seems to endow the deu) i of var ] ubiquity and omnipotence ! This, indeed, is grand!— this i^^ .^ed mariisl powers of mind, and bespeaks tha' .vine endowif of reason, wliich distinguishes from the aniq our inferiors. The nnenligl' .led brutes themselves with the native •" ct wiiitli Provm has assigned tiiem. — The an^ ' bull bulls will horns, as did his progenitors uefore him— tlie| the leopard, and the tiger seek only with their t and their fangs to gratify their sanguinary fury;! even the subtle serpent darts the same venoin,[ uses the same wiles, as did his sire before tlie I Man alone, blessed with the inventive mind, { from discovery to discovery — enlarges and niulli| his powers of destruction; arrogates the Iremen weapons of Deity itself, and tasks creation to a him in murdering his brother worm ! In proportion as the art of war has increasedinl provement, has the art of preserving peace advaf in equal ratio; and as we have discovered, intliis| of wonders and inventions, that proclamation i most formidable engine in war, so have we discol ed the no less ingenious mode of maintaining peacf perpetual negotiations. A treaty, or, to speak more correctly, a nep lion, therefore, according to the acceptation of eij lienced statesmen, learned in these matters, ifl HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 175 injury nmansij »se— still deeiK i wiutii i'mm ft an attempt to accommodate difTerences, to rtain rights, and to establish an equitable exchange lltind ofiices; but a contest of skill between two «ers, which shall overreach-and lake in the other. Jg a cunning endeavour to obtain by peaceful man- e, and the chicanery of cabinets, those advanta- itrhich a nation would otherwise have wrested by e of arms : in the same manner as a conscientious ^wayman reforms and becomes a quiet and praise- riby citizen, contenting himself with cheating I neighbour out of that property he would formerly ire seized with open violence. I In fact, the only time when two nations can be said W ill a state of perfect amity is when a negotiation |ii|ien, and a tre-ty pending. Then, when there are ]islipuiations entered into, no bonds to restrain the 11, no specific limits to awaken the captious jealousy krigbt implanted in our nature; when each party has > advantage to hope and expect from the other, I it is that the two nations are wonderfully gra- sand friendly to each other; their ministers pro- sing the highest mutual regard, exchanging liillets- Hi, making fine speeches, and indulging in all those kle diplomatic flirtations, coiiuelries, and fondlings, ^tdo so marvellously tickle the good humour of the ttive nations. Thus it may paradoxically be in, that there is never so good an understanding ^veen two nations as when there is a little misun- rstanding — and that so long as they are on no terms f are on the best terms in the world ! lido not by any means pretend to claim the merit jlliaving made the above discovery. It has in fact 'been secretly acted upon by certain enlightened nets, and is, together with divers other notable mes, privately copied out of the common-place i of an illustrious gentleman, who has been mem- ti of congress, and enjoyed the unlimited confidence jlheads of departments. To this principle may be ribed the wonderful ingenuity tliat has been shown Hate years' in protracting and interrupting ne- lations.— Hence the cunning measure of appointing ■ ambassador some political pettifogger skilled in jriays, sophisms, and misapprehensions, and dex- m in the art of baffling argument — or some blun- ring statesman, whose errors and misconstructions Hf be a plea for refusing to ratify his engagements. i bence too that most notable expedient, so popular ^tlioiir government, of sending out a brace of am- iadors; between whom, having each an individual i to consult, character to establish, and interest to note, you may as well look for unanimity and con- as between two lovers with one mistress, two i with one bone, or two naked rogues with one of breeches. T';is disagreement therefore is mlinually breeding delays and impediments, in niiequence of which the negotiation goes on swim- ^gly— inasmuch as there is no prospect of its ever ning to a close. Nothing is lost by tliese delays and Acles but time; and in a negotiation, according to ellieory I have exposed, all lime lost is in reality so much time gainetl:— with what delightful para- doxes does modern political economy abound ! Now all that I have here advanced is so notoriously true, that I almost blush to take up the time of my readers with treating of matters which must many a time have stared them in the face. But the proposi- tion to which I would most earnestly call their atten- tion is this, that though a negotiation be the most harmonizing of all national transactions, yet a treaty of peace is a great political evil, and one of the most fruitful sources of war. I have rarely seen an instance of any special contract between individuals that did not produce jealousies, bickerings, and often downright ruptures between them ; nor did I ever know of a treaty between two nations that did not occasion continual misunder- standings. How many worthy country neighbours have I known who, after living in peace and good fel- lowship for years, have been thrown into a state of distrust, cavilling, and animosity, by some ill-starred agreement about fences, runs of water, and stray cattle! And how many well meaning nations, who would otherwise have remained in the most amicable disposition towards each other, have been brought to swords' points about the infringement or misconstruc- tion of some treaty, which in an evil hour they had concluded, by way of makmg their amity more sure ! Treaties at best are but complied with so long as interest requires their fulfilment; consequently they are virtually binding on the weaker party only; or, in plain truth, they are not binding at all. No nation will wantonly go to war with another if it has nothing to gain thereby, and therefore needs no treaty to re- strain it from violence ; and if it have any thing to gain, I much question, from what I have witnessed of the righteous conduct of nations, whether any treaty could be made so strong that it could not thrust the sword through — nay, I would hold ten to one, the treaty itself would be the very source to which resort would be had to find a pretext for hostilities. Thus, therefore, I conclude— that though it is the best of all policies for a nation to keep up a constant negotiation witii its neighbours, yet it is the summit of folly for it ever to be beguiled into a treaty; for then comes on tlie non-fulfilment and infraction, then re- monstrance, then altercation, then retaliation, then reckimination, and finally open war. In a word, nego- tiation is like courtship, a time of sweet words, gallant speeches, soft looks, and endearing caresses — but the marriage ceremony is the signal for hostilities. CHAPTER IV. How PclcrSliiyvrsant was greatly Iwlictl by Ills adversaries llio MoBs-li'uuitcrs'— and liii cuiidiict tliereiiiiun. Iv my pains-taking reader be not somewhat per- plexed, in the course of the ratiocination of my last chapter, he will doubtless at one glance perceive, that 174 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 1 the great Peter, in concluding a treaty witli his eastern neighbours, was guilty of a lamentable error and he- terodoxy in polities. To this unlucky agreement may justly be ascribed a world of little infringements, al- tercations, negotiations, and bickerings, which after- wards took place between tiiat irr proachable poten- tate and the evil-disposed council of Amphictyons. All these did not a little disturb the constitutional se- renity of the good burghers of Manna-hata ; but in sooth they were so very pitiful in their nature and ef- fects, that a grave historian, who grudges the time spent in recording ai.y thing less than the fall of em- pires, and the revolution of worlds, would think them unworthy to be inscribed on his sacred page. The reader is therefore to take it for granteil, though I scorn to waste in the detail that time, which my furrowed brow and trembling hand inform me is in- valuable, that all the while the great Peter was occu- pied in those tremendous and bloody contests that I shall shortly reheai'se, there was a continued series of little, dirty, snivelling skirmishes, scourings, broils, and maraudings made on the eastern frontiers, by the moss-troopers of Connecticut. But like that mirror of chivalry, the sage and valorous Don Quixote, I leave these petty contests for some future Sancho Panza of an historian, while I reserve my prowess and my pen for achievements of higher dignity. Now did the great Peter conclude that his labours had come to a close in the east, and that he had no- thing to do but apply himself to the internal prospe- rity of his beloved Manhattoes. Though a man of great modesty he could not help boasting that he had at length shut the temple of Janus, and that, were all rulers like a certain person who should be nameless, it would never be opened again. But the exultation of the worthy governor was put to a speedy check ; for scarce was the treaty concluded, and hardly was the ink dried on the paper, before the crafty and dis- courteous council of the league sought a new pretence for realluming the flames of discord. It seems to be the nature of confederacies, repu- blics, and such like powers, that want the masculine character, to indulge exceedingly in certain feminine panics and suspicions. Like some good lady of deli- cate and sickly virtue, who is in constant dread of having her vestal purity contaminated or seduced, and who, if a man do but lake her by the hand, or look her in the face, is rea^^y to cry out, rape ! and ruin ! — so these squeamish governments are perpetually on the alarm for the virtue of the country : every manly measure is a violation of the constitution— every mo- narchy or other masculine government around them is laying snares for their seduction ; and they are for ever detecting infernal plots, by which they were to be l)etrayed, dishonoured, and '' brought upon the town." If any proof were wanting of the truth of these opi- nions, I would instance the conduct of a certain re- public of our day ; who, gutxl dame, has already with- stood so many plots and cons[ilracies against her vir- tue, and has so often come near being made "iJ better than she should be." I would notice her ( stant jealousies of poor old England, who, by herou account, has been incessantly trying to sap her | nour ; though, from my soul, I never could belieJ the honest old gentleman meant her any rudenes Whereas, on the contrary, I think I have several tiii caught her squeezing hands and indulging in cert amorous oglings with that sad fellow Bonaparte— vi] all the world knows to be a great despoiler of natioiij virtue ; to have ruined all tlie empires in bis neisj bourhood; and to have debauched every republic tlj came m his way — but so it is, these rakes seem alvj^ to gain singular favour with the ladies. But I crave pardon of my reader for thus wand ing, and will endeavour, in some measure, to m the foregoing remarks; for in the year ItiSI we; told that the great confederacy of the east accused U immaculate Peter — the soul of honour and heart j steel — that by divers gifts and promises he had secretly endeavouring to instigate the Narrohigan (or Narraganset), Mohaque, and Pequot Indians, suiprise and massacre the Yankee settlements. "Fori as the council slanderously observed, " the Indiai round about for divers hundred miles cercute, seeoj to have drunke deep of an intoxicating cupp, alt i from the Manhattoes against the English, whoe liaJ sought their good, both in bodily and spirituailref pects." History does not make mention how the greatcoui cil of the Amphictyons came by this precious plo whether it was honestly bought at a fair market pri or discovered by sheer good fortune — It is ceitj however, that they examined divers Indians, wlio^ swore to the fact, as sturdily as though they had t so many Christian troupers : and to be more sure] their veracity, the sage council previously niadeevei mother's son of them drunk, remembering an old a trite proverb, which it is not necessary fur me tor peat. Though descended from a family which siifTet^ much injury from the losel Yankees of those time! my great grandfather having had a yoke of oxen aJ his best pacer stolen, and having received a pair] black eyes and a bloody nose in one of these bordf wars; and my grandfather, when a very little t tending pigs, having been kidnapped and severel Hogged by a long-sided Connecticut school-niasler'j Yet I should have passed over all these wrongs w| forgiveness and oblivion — I could even have suffen them to have broken Evert Ducking's head ; to kl kicked the doughty Jacobus Van Curlet and his raf ged regiment out of doors ; to have carried every li| into captivity, and depopulated every hen-roost i the face of the earth with perfect inipiniily-bj this wanton attack upon one of the most gnllaiil i irreproachable heroes of modern times, is loo iniif even for me to digest ; and has overset, with a siiii puff, the patience of the historian, and the forbearam of the Dutchman. fflSTORY OF NEW-YORK. 173 reader, it was false! I swear to thee, it was e!— If thou hast any respect to my word — if the leviating character for veracity, which I have en- gtfoured to maintain througliout this work, has its eweiglit with thee, thou wilt not give thy faith to I tale of slander f for I pledge my honour and my ortai fame to thee, that the gallant Peter Stuy- lant was not only innocent of this foul conspiracy, : would have suffered his right arm or even his (iei) leg to consume with slow and everlasting s, rather than attempt to destroy his enemies in f other way than open, generous warfare — beshrew > caitiff scouts, that conspired to sully his honest > by such an imputation ! |peler Sluyvesant, though he perhaps had never I of a knight errant, yet had as true a heart of ^ralry as ever beat at the round table of King Ar- Tliere was a spirit of native gallantry, a noble i ^nerous hardihood diffused through his rugged ners, which altogether gave unquestionable tokens lin heroic mind. He was, in truth, a hero of chi- jlry struck off by the hand of nature at a single heat; d though she had taken no further care to polish reline her workmanship, he stood forth a mi- deof her skill. iBalnot to be figurative (a fault in historic writing ichi particularly eschew), the great Peter possess- , in an eminent degree, the seven renowned and ible virtues of knighthood; which, as he had never ■suited authors in the disciplining and cultivating [his mind, I verily believe must have been implant- )inhis heart by Dame Nature herself— where they nrislied among his hardy qualities, like so many |[eet wild flowers, shooting forth and thriving among om rucks. Such was the mind of Peter the adstrong, and if my admiration for it has, on this ision, transported my style beyond the sober gra- whicli becomes the laborious scribe of historic nts, I can only plead as an apology, that, though iKtlle gray-headed Dutchman, arrived almost at the (torn of the down-hill of life, I still retain some por- loftliat celestial fue, which sparkles in the eye of nth, when contemplating the virtues and achieve- iils of ancient worthies. Blessed, thrice and nine- bes blessed, be the good St Nicholas— that I have aped the influence of that chilling apathy, which Doften freezes the sympathies of age ; which, like a irlish spirit, sits at the portals of the heart, repuls- (every genial sentiment, and paralyzing every glow leothusiasm. I No sooner did this scoundrel imputation on his ho- ar reach the ear of Peter Stuyvesant, than he pro- ided in a manner which would have redounded to bcredit, even though he had studied for years in the bry of Don Quixote. He immediately dispatched jvaiiant trumpeter and squire, Anthony Van Cor- |ir, with orders to ride night and day, as herald to eAmpiiiclyonic council, reproaching them in terms jlnoble indignation, for giving car to the slanders of allien infidels against the character of a Christian, a gentleman, and a soldier— and declaring that, as to the treacherous and bloody plot alleged against him, whoever aflirmed it to be true lied in his teeth !— To prove which, he defied the president of the council and all of his compeers, or if they pleased, their puis- sant champion. Captain Alicxsander Partridg, that mighty man of Rhodes, to meet him in single combat; where he would trust the vindication of his innocence to the prowess of his arm. This challenge lieing delivered with due ceremony, Anthony Van Corlear sounded a trumpet of defiance before the whole council, ending with a most horrific and nasal twang, full in the face of Captain Partridg, who almost jumpetl out of his skin in an ecstasy of as- tonishment at the noise. This done, he mounted a tall Flanders mare, which he always rode, and trotted merrily towards the Manhattoes — passing through Hartford, and Pyquag, and Middletown, and all the other border towns — twanging his trumpet like a very devil, so that the sweet valleys and banks of the Con- necticut resounded with the warlike melody — and stopping occasionally to eat pumpkin pies, dance at country frolics, and bundle with the beauteous lasses of those parts— whom he rejoiced exceedingly with his soul-stirring instrument. But the grand council, being composed of consi- derate men, had no idea of running a tilting with such a fiery hero as the hardy Peter — on the contrary, they sent him an answer, couchetl in the meekest, and most provoking terms, in which they assured him thathis guilt wasproved to their perfect satisfaction, by the testimony of divers sober and respectable Indians, and concluding with this truly amiable paragraph — '' For youre confidant denialls of tl.o Barbarous plott charged will waigh little in balance agaiust such evi- dence, soe that we must still re(|uire and seeke due satisfaction and cecurilie ; so we rest. Sir, Youres in wayes of Righteousness, etc. " I am aware that the above transaction has been dif- ferently recorded by certain historians of the east, and elsewhere ; who seem to have inherited the bitter enmity of their ancestors to the brave Peter — and much good may their inheritance do them ! I'hese declare, that Peter Stuyvesant recpiested to have the charges against him inquired into by commissioners to be appointed for the purpose; and yet that when such commissioners were appointed, he refbsed to submit to their examination. In this artful account there is but the semblance of truth — He did, indeed, most gallantly offer, when that he found a deaf ear was turned to his challenge, to submit his conduct tu the rigorous inspection of a court of honour— but then he expected to find it an august tribunal, composed of courteous gentlemen, the governors and nobility of the confederate plantations, and of the province of New-Netherlands; where he .might be tried by his peers, in u manner worthy of his rank and dignity— Whereas, let me perish, if they did not send to the 476 fflSTORY OF NEW-YORK. Manhattoes two lean-sided hungry pettifoggers, mount- ed on Narraganset pacers^ with saddle-bags under their bottoms, and green satchels under their arms, as though they were about to beat the hoof from one county court to anotlier in search of a law-suit. The chivalric Peter, as might be expected, took no notice of these cunning varlets; who with professional industry fell to prying and sifting about, in quest of ear jiarte evidence; perplexing divers simple Indians and old women with their cross-questioning, until they contradicted and forswore themselves most hor- ribly. Thus having fuliilled their errand to their own satisfaction, they returned to the grand council with their satchels and saddle-bags stuffed full of villanous rumours, apocryphal stories, and outra- geous calumnies, — for all which the great Peter did not care a tobacco-stopper; but, I warrant me, had they attempted to play off the same trick upon Wil- liam the Testy, he would have treated them both to an aerial gambol on his patent gallows. The grand council of the east held a solemn meet- ing on the return of their envoys, and after ihcy had pondered a longtime on the situation of affairs, were upon the point of adjourning without being able to agree upon any thing. At this critical moment, a pale, bilious, meddlesome orator took the floor. He was a man who passed for an able politician, because he had made his way to a seat in council by cnlum- nialing all his opponents. He was, in fact, one of those worrying, though windy spirits, who evince their patriotism by blowing the bellowi> of faction, until the whole furnace of politics is red-hot with sparks and cinders : one of those disinterested zealots, who are ready at any time to set the house on fire, so they may boil their pots by the blaze. He saw at once that here was a fit opfiortunity for striking a blow that should secure his popularity among his con- stituents, who lived on the borders of Nieuw-Neder- landts, and were the greatest poachers in Christen- dom, excepting the Scotch border nobles. Like a second Peter the Hermit, therefore, he stood forth and preached up a crusade against Peter Stuyvesant, and his devoted city. He made a speech which lasted six hours, accord- ing to the ancient custom in these parts, in which he represented the Dutch as a race of impious heretics, who neither believed in witchcraft nor the sovereign virtuesof horse-shoes— who left their country for the lucre of gain, not like themselves, for the liberty of conscience — who, in short, were a race of mere can- nibals and anthropophagi, inasmuch as they never ate codfish on Saturdays, devoured swine's flesh without molasses, and held pumpkins in utter con- tempt. This speech had the desired effect, for the council, being awakened by the sergeant-at-arnis, rubbed their eyes, and declared that it was just and politic to declare instant war against these unchristian anli- pumpkinites. But it was necessary that the people at large should first be prepared for this measure, and for this purpose the arguments of the orator \rj preached from the pulpit for several Sundays sequent, and earnestly recommanded to the consii ration of every good Clu-istian, who professed I well as practised, the doctrine of meekness, cliari and the forgiveness of injuries. This is the first j hear of the " Drum Ecclesiastic " beating up ( political recruits in our country; and it proved] such signal efficacy, that it has since been into frequent service throughout our union. A ( ning politician is often found sculking under the elei robe, with an outside all religion, and an inside] rancour. Things spiritual and things temporal ) strangely jumbled together, like poisons and anlkl on an apothecary's shelf; and instead of a devout s mon, the simple church going folk have often a poliiiJ pamphlet thrust down their throats, labelled villi pious text from Scripture. CHAPTER V. How the New-Amstcn imers I)ocamc great in arms, andotj direful calastro|ilic o . mighty army — tngcllier willi Pej Stuyvesant's measures to tortify the city— and how lie nuj original founder of the Battery. But notwithstanding that the grand council, I have already shown, were amazingly discreet I their proceedings respecting the New-Neliieiiani| and conducted the whole with almost as niucli j lence and mystery as does the sage Britisli cabin one of its ill-starred secret erpeditions—yel did I ever-watchful Peter receive as full and accurate ii formation of every movement as does the court I France of all the notable enterprises I have menlioj ed. — He accordingly set himself to work, to reiki the machinations of his adversaries abortive. I know that many will ceusuro the precipitation] this stout-hearted old governor, in that he liun into the expenses of fortification, without ascerlaiJ ing whether they were necessary, by prudently wail ing until the enemy was at the door. But they sliouj recollect that Peter Stuyvesant had not the benefit | an insight into the modern arcana of politics, and wj strangely bigoted to certain obsolete maxiiiis uf tij old school; among which he firmly believed, llial, render a country respected abroad, it was necessaij to make it formidable at home — and that a natiof should place its reliance for peace and security moil upon its own strength than on the justice or good-wf of its neighbours. — He proceeded, therefure, wii diligence, to put the province and metropolis in| strong posture of defence. Among the few remnants of ingenious inventioij which remained from the days of William the Test* were those impregnable bulwarks of public safeti militia laws; by which the inhabitants were obligtj to turn out twice-a-year, with such military equin ments— as it pleased Gm] ; and were put under In command of very valiant tailors and man-millinen| per-snees, crowbari HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. Iff' I thongh on ordinary occasions the meekest, pip- learted little men in the world, were very de- ^ at parades and court-martials, when they had I bats on their heads and swords by their sides. ■ the instructions of these periodical warriors, IjiaHant train-bands made marvellous proRciency J mystery of gunpowder. They were taught to f\A the right, to wheel to the left, to snap off r flrelocks without winking, to turn a corner at any great uproar or irregularity, and to through sun and rain from one end of the I to the other without flinching — until in the I they l)ecanie so valorous that they fired off t cartridges, without so much as turning away r heads — could hear the largest field-piece dis- I without stopping their ears, or falling into i confusion— and would even go through all the igesand perils of a summer day's parade, without ; their ranks much thinned by desertion ! lue it is, the genius of this truly pacific people |i so little given to war, that during the intervals til occurred between field-tlays, they generally lived to forget all the military tuition they had bed; so that when they re-appeared on parade, Warcely knew the butt-end of the musket from Imuzzle, and invariably mistook the right shoulder llbe left — a mistake which, however, was soon ob- I by chalking their left arms. But whatever [btbe their bUmders and awkwardness, the saga- sKieft declared them to be of but little import- -since, as he judiciously observed, one cam- iwouldbeof more instruction to them than a M parades; for though two -thirds of them [kibe food for powder, yet such of the other third Inot run away would become most experienced le great Stuyvesant had no particular veneration |lbe ingenious experiments and institutions of his f(l predeceofior, and among other things held the 1 system in very considerable contempt, which |ias often heard to call in joke — for be was some- ifond of a joke — Governor Kieft's broken reed. I however, the present emergency was pressing, [fas obliged to avail himself of such means of de- e as were next at hand, and accordingly appoint- li general inspection and parade of train-bands. |ohl Mars and Bellona, and all ye other powei-s rboth great and small, what a turning out was e!-Ilere came men without officers, and oflicers ut men— long fowling-pieces and short blunder- -niuskets of all sorLs and sizes, some without loets, others without locks, others without stocks, fniany without lock, stock, or barrel— cartridge- is, shot-l)elts, powder-horns, swords, hatchets, [ker-snees, crowbars, and broomsticks, all min- I higgledy-piggledy— like one of our continental i at the breaking out of the revolution. ! sudden transformation of a pacific community [a band of warriors is doubtless what is meant, in I days, by " putting a nation in armour," and " fixing it in an attitude : " in which armour and atti- tude it makes as martial a figure, and is likely to ac- quit itself with as much prowess, as the renowned SanchoPanza, when suddenly equipped to defend his Island of Barataria. The sturdy Peter eyed this ragged regiment with some such rueful aspect as a man would eye the devil ; but knowing, like a wise man, that all he had to do was to make the iKst out of a bad bargain, he deter- mined to give his heroes a seasoning. Having, therefore, drilled them through the manual exercise over and over again, he ordered the fifes to strike np a quick march, and trudged his sturdy boots back- wards and forwards about the streets of New- Amster- dam, and the fields adjacent, until their short legs ached, and their fat sides sweated again. But this was not all; the martial spirit of the old governor caught fire from the sprightly music of the fife, and he resolved to try the mettle of his troops, and give them a taste of the hardships of iron war. To this end he encamped them, as the shades of evening fell, upon a hill formerly called Bunker's bill, at some di- stance from the town, with a full intention of initiating them into the discipline of camps, and of renewing the next day the toils and perils of the field. But so it came to pass, that in the night there fell a great and heavy rain, which descended in torrents upon the camp, and the mighty army strangely melted away before it ; so that when Gaffer Pho;bus came to shed his morning beams upon the place, saving Peter Stuy- vesant and his trumpeter Van Corlear, scarce one was to be found of all the multitude that had encamped there the night before. This awful dissolution of his army would have ap- palled a commander of less nerve than Peter Stuyve- sant; but he considered it as a matter of small importance, though he thenceforward regarded the militia system with ten times greater contempt than ever, and took care to provide himself with a good garrison of chosen men, whom he kept in pay, and of whom he boasted, that they at least possesscil the qua- lity, indispensable in soldiers, of being water-proof. The next care of the vigilant Stuyvesant was to strengthen and fortify New-Amsterdam. For this purpose he caused to be built a strong picket fence that reached across the island, from river to river, being intended to protect the city, not merely from the sudden invasions of foreign enemies, but likewise from the incursions of the neighbouring savages. ■ Some traditions, it is true, have ascribed the build- ing of this wall to a later period, but they are wholly incorrect, for a memorandum in the Stuyvesant ma- ■ In an antique view of Ncw-Amstcrtlain, taken soni(^ years after tliealiuvc |)crlo<], is a representation oftliis wall, wliieli sta>lclii>d along the course of WalWrcet, so called in comnu'inorallon of tills great bulwark. One gale, calle<l llio Lanil-Poorl, opcnet) n|)on Hroailway, liai-d by where at present stands the Triiiitsr Chureh ; and another, called the Water-Poort. stood alniut where the Tontine Colfee-honse is at present— opening upon Sinils Vley(', or, as it is commonly called. Smith Fly, then a marshy valley, wilh a creek or inlet extending up what we call Maiden-lane. 83 178 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. niucript, dated towards the middle of the governor's reign, mentions this wall particularly, as a very strong and carious piece of workmanship, and the admira- tion of all the savages in the neighbourhood. And it mentions, moreover, the alarming circumstance of a drove of stray cows breaking through the grand wall of a dark night; by which the whole community of New-Amsterdam was thrown into a terrible panic. In addition to this great wall, he cast up several outworks to Fort-Amsterdam, to protect the seaboard, at the pouit of the Island. These consisted of formi- dable mud batteries, solidly faced, after the manner of the Dutch ovens conmian in those days, with clano- shells. These frowning bulwarks, in process of time, came to be pleasantly overrun by a verdant carpet of grass and clover, and their high embankments overshadow- ed by wide-spreading sycamores, among whose fo- liage the little birds sported about, rejoicing the ear with their melodious notes. The old burghers would repair of an afternoon to smoke their pipes under the shade of their branches, contemplating the golden sun as he gradually sunk into the west, an emblem of that tranquil end toward which themselves were hasten- ing — while the young men and the damsels of the town would take many a moonlight stroll among these favourite haunts, watching the silver beams of chaste Cynthia tremble along the calm bosom of the bay, or light up the white sail of some gliding bark, and inter- changing the honest vows of constant affection. Such was the origin of that renowned walk the battery, which, though ostensibly devoted to the purposes of war, has ever been consecrated to the sweet delights of peace — The favourite walk of declining age — the healthful resort of the feeble invalide — the Sunday refreshment of the dusty tradesman — the scene of many a boyish gambol — the rendezvous of many a tender assignation— the comfort of the citizen — the ornament of New- York — and the pride of the lovely island of Manna-hata. CHAPTER VI. How the people ot the east country were suddenly afflicted with a diabolical evil— and their Judicious measures for the extirpation thereof. Hating thus provided for the temporary security of New- Amsterdam, and guarded it against any sud- den surprise, the gallant Peter took a hearty pinch of snuff, and snapping his fingers, set the great coun- cil of Amphictyons, and their champion, the doughty Alicxsander Partridg, at defiance. It is impossible to say, notwithstanding, what might have been the issue <4>f this affair, had not the council been all at once in- volved in sad perplexity, and as much dissension sown among its members as of yore was stirred up in the camp of the brawling warriors of Greece. The councit^the league, as I have shown in my last chapter, had already announced its hostile deter- minations, and already was the mighty colony of N^ Haven and the puissant town of Pyquag, othe called Weathersneld— famous for its onions ant) | witches— and the great trading-honse of Hartford,! all Iheother redoubtable border towns, in a prodigi(| turmoil, furbishing up their rusty fowling-pieces, s shouting aloud for war; by which they anticip easy conquests and gorgeous spoils from the little | Dutch villages. But this joyous brawling was s silenced by the conduct of the colony of Massachiis( Stnick with the gallant spirit of the brave old fa and convinced by the chivalric frankness and I warmth of his vindication, they refused to believet guilty of the infamous plot most wrongfully laid at| door. With a generosity for which I would them immortal honour, they declared, that node) mination of the grand council of the league sb bind the general court of Massachusetts to join in| offensive war, which should appear to suchj court to be unjust. ■ This refusal immediately involved the colonyl Massachusetts and the other combined coloniesinTl serious difliculties and disputes, and wnukl no( have produced a dissolution of the confederacy', that the council of Amphictyons, Hnding that I could not stand alone, if mutilated by the loss ol| important a meml)er as Massachusetts, were fain abandon for the present their hostile machinali| against the Manhattoes. Such is the marvellousen and the puissance of those confederacies, compi of a number of sturdy, self-willed, discordant [ loosely banded together by a puny general govej ment. As it was, however, the wariike lovi Connecticut had no cause to deplore this disappi ment of their martial ardour; for by my faith— llw the combined powers of the league might have 1 too potent in the end for the robustious warrioi the Manhattoes — yet in the interim would the li hearted Peter and his myrmidons have choked [ stomachful heroes of Pyquag with their own ( and have given the other little border (owns m scouring, that I warrant they would have liad| stomach to squat on the land or invade the hen-i of a New-Netheriander for a century to come. Indeed there was more than one cause to divert| attention of the good people of the east from i hostile purposes; for just about this time weretj horribly beleaguered and harassed by the inroi the prince of darkness, divers of whose liege sukj they detected lurking within their camp, all of wlj they incontinently roasted as so many spies andf gerous enemies. Not to speak in parables, we I informed tliat at this juncture the New-England [T vinces were exceedingly troubled by multitudej losel witches, who wrought strange devices to l and distress the multitude; and notwithstanding! merous judicious and bloody laws had been em against all "solem conversing or compacting' ■ Hoiard's Col. Stat. Pap. flISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 179 Uvil, by way ofconjuracion or the like," ' yet did L(|irk crime of witchcraft continue to increase to [ilarming degree, that would almost transcend , were not the fact too well authenticated to be i doubted for an instant. ffhat is particularly worthy of admiration is, that ^terrible art, which so long has baffled the painful thes and abstruse studies of philosophers, as- fts, alchyrnists, theurgisis, and other sages, I chiefly confined to the most ignorant, decrepit, I ugly old women in the community, who had xly more brains than tlie broomsticks they rode «n once an alarm Ls sounded, the public, who (dearly to be in a panic, are not long in want of s (0 support it — raise but the cry of yellow -fever, I immediately every head-ache, and indigestion, {joverflowing of the bile, is pronounced the terrible nic— In like manner in the present instance, gever was troubled with a cholic or lumbago was [ to be bewitched, and woe to any unlucky old lan that lived in his neighbourhood. Such a j abomination could not be suffered to remain j unnoticed, and it accordingly soon attracted Uery indignation of the sober and reflective part (ihe community— more especially of those, who, ne, had evinced so much active benevolence in conversion of quakers and anabaptists. The 1 council of the Amphiclyons publicly set their i against so deadly and dangerous a sin, and a e scrutiny took place after those nafarious witch- [who were easily detected by devil's pinches, kcats, broomsticks, and the circumstance of their J being able to weep three tears, and those out of ^lelt eye. t is incredible the number of offences that were [Cled, "for every one of which," says the reve- 1 Cotton Mather, in that excellent work, the Ilis- r of New-England— "we have such a suflicient nee, that no reasonable man in this whole coun- [ererdid question them; and it will be unreason- Hodoit in my other." ^ ideed, that authentic and judicious historian, I Josselyn, Gent, furnishes us with unquesliun- efacls on this subject. "There are none," ob- ilie, "that beg ui this country, but there be > too many— bottle-bellied witches and others, (produce many strange apparitions, if you will ieve report of a shallop at sea manned with women I of a ship and great red horse standing by the Hnast; the ship Iwing in a small cove to the east- i vanished of a sudden," etc. |[lie number of delinquents, however, and their pcai devices, were not more remarkable than their loiical obstinacy. Though exhorted in the most n, persuasive, and affectionate manner, to con- ithemselves guilty, and be burnt for the good of ipun, and the entertainment of the public, yet did • New^Plymouth record. > Mather's llUt. Ncw-Eng. B. 6. cli. 7. they most pertinacloasly persist bi asserting their in- nocence. Such incredible obstinacy was in itself deserving of immediate punishment, and was suffi- cient proof, if proof were necessary, that they were in league with the devil, who is perverseness itself. But their judges were just and merciful, and were determined to punish none that were not convicted on the best of testimony; not that they needed any evidence to satisfy their own minds, for, like true and experienced judges, their minds were perfectly made up, and they were thoroughly satisfied of the guilt of the prisoners before they proceeded to try them : but still something was necessary to convince the com- munity at large — to quiet those prying quidnuncs who should come after them — in short, the world must he satisfied. Oh the world— the world !— all the world knows the world of trouble the world is eternally occasioning ! — The worthy judges, there- fore, were driven to the necessity of sifting, detect- ing, and making evident as noon-day, matters which were at the commencement all clearly understood and >; firmly decided upon in their own pericraniums — so that it may truly be said, that the witches were burnt to gratify the populace of the day — but were tried for the satisfaction of the whole world that should come after them ! Finding therefore, that neither exhortation, sound reason, nor friendly entreaty, had any avail on these hardened offenders, they resorted to the more urgent arguments of the torture, and having thus absolutely wrung the truth from their stubborn lips — they con- demned them to undergo the roasting due unto the heinous crimes they had confessed. Some even car- ried their perverseness so far as to expire under the torture, protesting their innocence to the last ; but these were looked upon as thoroughly and absolutely possessed by the devil, and the pious by-standers only lamented that they had not lived a little longer, to have perished in the flames. In the city of Ephesus, we are told that the plague was expelled by stoning a ragged old beggar to death, whom ApoUonius pointed out as being the evil spirit that caused it, and who actually showed himself to be a demon, by changing into a shagged dog. In like manner, and by measures equally sagacious, a salutary check was given to this growing evil. The witches were all burnt, banished, or panic-struck, and in a little while there was not an ugly old woman to be found throughout New-England — which is doubtless one reason why all the young women there are so handsome. Those honest folk who had suftered from their incantations gradually recovered, excepting such as had been afflicted with twitches and aches, which, however, assumed the less alarming aspects of rheu- matisms, scialics, and luinbagos— and the good people of New-England, abandoning the study of the occult sciences, turned their attention to the more profitable hocus-pocus of trade, and soon became expert in the legerdemain art of turning a penny. Still, however, a tinge of the old leaven is discernible, even unto this i80 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. day, in their characters— vritches occasionally start up among them in difTerent disguises, as physicians, civilians, and divines. The people at large show a keenness, a cleverness, and a profundity of wisdom, that savours strongly of witchcraft — and it has been remarked, that whenever any stones fall from the moon, the greater part of them is sure to tumble into New-England ! CHAPTER Vn. Which records the rise and renown of a valiant comniander, show- ing that a man, like a bladder, may be pulfed up to greatness and importance by mere wind. Whe!« treating of these tempestuous times, the unknown writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript breaks out into an apostrophe in praise of the good St Ni- cholas ; to whose protecting care he entirely ascribes the dissensions that broke out in the council of the Amphictyons, and the direful witchcraft tli<it prevail- ed in the east country — whereby the hostile machi- nations against the Nederlanders were for a time frus- trated, and his favourite city of New- Amsterdam preserved from imminent peril and deadly warfare. Darkness and superstition hung lowering over the fair valleys of the east ; the pleasant banks of the Con- necticut no longer echoed with the sounds of rustic gaiety ; direful phantoms and portentous apparitions were seen in the air — gliding spectruins haunted every wild brook and dreary glen— strange voices, made by viewless forms, were heard in desert solitudes — and the border towns were so occupied in detecting and punishing the knowing old women that had produced these alarming appearances, that for a while the pro- vince of Nieuw-Nederlandts and its inhabitants were totally forgotten. The great Peter, therefore, finding that nothing was to be immediately apprehended from his eastern neighbours, turned himself about, with a praiseworthy vigilance that ever distinguished him, to put a stop to the insults of the Swedes. These freebooters, my attentive reader will recollect, had begun to l)e very troublesome towards the latter part of the reign of William the Testy, having set the proclamations of that doughty little governor at naught, and put the intrepid Jan Jansen Alpendam to a perfect nonplus ! Peter Stuyvesant, however, as has alreiidy been shown, was a governor of different habits and turn of mind— without more ado he immediately issued or- ders for raising a coips of troops to be stationed on the southern frontier, under the command of brigadier- general Jacobus Yon Poffenburgh. This illustrious warrior had risen to great importance during the reigu of Wilhelmus Kieft, and if histories speak true, was second in command to the hapless Van Curlet, when he and his ragged regiment were inhumanly kicked out of Fort Good Hope by the Yankees. In consequence of having been in such a '* memorable aftair, " and of having received more wounds on a certain honourable part that shall be nameless i any of his comrades, he was ever after considei a hero, who had " seen some service. " Ceii is, he enjoyed the unlimited confidence and frien of William the Testy, who would sit for hours g listen with wonder to his gunpowder narratJTnl surprising victories — which he had never gain and dreadful battles— from which he had run an It was tropically observed by honest old Socnj that heaven had infused into some men at their 1 a portion of intellectual gold ; into others of intellj tual silver ; while others were bounteously fumis) out with abundance of brass and iron :— now off last class was undoubtedly the great general Poffenburgh, and from the display be continn made thereof, I am inclined to think that Dame 1 ture, who will sometimes be partial, had blessed^ with enough of those valuable materials to havefij up a dozen ordinary braziers. But what is most l admired is, that he contrived to pass off all hisli and copper upon Wilhelmus Kieft, who was nogii judge of base coin, as pure and genuine gold. consequence was, that, upon the resignation of jJ busVan Curlet, who, after the loss of Fort Good HoJ retired like a veteran general, to live under the sli( of his laurels, this mighty " copper captain"^ promoted to his station. This he filled with gii importance, always styling himself" commander-l chief of the armies of the New-Netherlands ;"thoii[ to tell the truth, the armies, or rather army, cons ed of a handful of hen-stealing, Irattle-bniisingl gamuftins. Such was the character of the warrior appoiiilei Peter Stuyvesant to defend his southern frontier,] may it be uninteresting to my reader to have a glin of his person. He was not very tall, but notn standing a huge, full-bodied man, whose bulk] not so much arise from his being fat, as windy; 1 so completely inflated with his own importance, ll he resembled one of those bags of wind, which !^ in an incredible fit of generosity, gave to lliat wai ing warrior Ulysses. His dress comported with his character, forhel almost as much brass and copper without as nal| bad stored away within : his coat vms crossed r slashed, and carbonadoed with stripes of copper! and swathed round the body with a crimson sashl the size and texture of a fishing net — doubtless! keep his valiant heart from bursting through his r Mis head and whiskers were profusely powderj from the midst of which his full-blooded faceglo^ like a fiery furnace; and his magnanimous souls ed ready to bounce out at a pair of large glassy blif ing eyes, which projected like those of a lolisler. I swear to thee, worthy reader, if report belie j this warrior, I would give all the money in my |hj to have seen him accoutred cap-a-pie, in marlialaij —booted to the middle— sashed to the chin— collal to the ears— whiskered to the teeth- crowned ' an overshadowing cocked hat— and giixled witlj HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 181 belt ten Inches broad, from which trailed a II, of a length that I dare not mention. Thas kI, he strutted about, as bitter-looking a man Ifar as the far-famed More of More-IIall, when he I forth, armed at all points, to slay the Dragon jWantley. ' [[jotwiihstanding all the great endowments and «ndent qualities of this renowned general, I (confess he was not exactly the kind of man that e valiant Peter would have chosen to command his -but the truth is, that in those days the pro- ; did not abound, as at present, in great military icters ; who, like so many Cincinnatuses, people ^ little village— marshalling out cabbages instead lioldiers, and signalizing themselves in the corn-field, ladof the field of battle: — who have surrendered (toils of war for the more useful but inglorious arts Ipeace; and who so blend (he laurel with the olive, uyou may have a general for a landlord, a colo- j br a stage-driver, and your horse shod by a va- |Bt"captain of volunteers." The redoubtable Gene- iVon Poffenburgh, therefore, was appointed to the ^nd of the new-levied troops, chiefly because ; were no competitors for the station, and partly taose it would have been a breach of military eti- elte to have appointed a younger oflicer over his KJ-an injustice which the great Peter would have Iherdied than have conmiitted. |No sooner did this thrice-valiant copper captain re- ive inarching orders, than he conducted his army lanntedly to the southern frontier; through wild sand savage deserts ; over insurmountable moun- ts, across impassable floods, and through impene- ble forests; subduing a vast tract of uninhabited ntry, and encountering more perils, according to lioirn account, than did Xenophon in his far-famed at with his ten thousand Grecians. All this ac- npiished, he established on the South (or Delaware) kra redoubtable redoubt, named lM>iti (Lvsimir, jbononr of a favourite pair of In iuistone-culoured mk-breeches of the governor. As this fort will be Did to give rise to very important and interesting nls, it may be worth while to notice that it was lerwards called Nieuw-Amstel, and was the origi- Jgerm of the present flourishing town of New- TLE, an appellation erroneously substituted for No WIe, there neither being nor ever having been a tie, nor any thing of the kind, ui>on the premises. iThe Swedes did not suffer tamely this menacing pment of the Nederlanders; on the contrary, Jan iitz, at that time governor of New-Sweden, issued vtest against what he termed an encroachment > "Had you but seen liiin in (his dress Ilow fierce lie hmWd and how big, You would liavc tlioiiKlit liiiii for to be ' Some E^yiitian Poicupig. He frif^lited ail, cats, dogs and all, Each cow, each horse, and each hog ; For tear they did flee, for (hey (ooli him to be Some Dlraiige outtandish hp<lgc-hog." i . . J. Ballad of Drug, of n'anl.. upon his jarisdictlon.— But Yon PofTenburgh had be- come too well versed in the nature of proclamations and protests, while he served under William the Testy, to be in any-wise daunted by such paper war- fare. His fortress being finished, it would have done any man's heart good to behold uito what a magni- tude he immediately swelled. He would stride in and out a dozen times a day, surveying it in front and in rear, on this side and on that. Then would he dress himself in full regimentals, and strut backwards and forwards, for hours together, on the top of his little rampart — like a vain-glorious cockpigeon vapouring on the top of his coop. In a word, unless my read- ers have noticed, with curious eye, the petty com- mander of one of our little, snivelling, military posts, swelling with all the vanity of new regimentals, and the pomposity derived from commanding a handful of tatterdemalions, I despair of giving them any ade- quate idea of the prodigious dignity of General Yon Poffenburgh. It is recorded in the delectable romance of Pierce Forest, that a young knight being dubbed by king Alexander, did incontinently gallop into an adjoining forest, and belabour the trees with such might and main, that the whole court was convinced that he was the most potent and courageous gentleman on the face of the earth. In like manner, the great Yon Pof- fenburgh would ease off that valorous spleen, which, like wind, is so apt to grow unruly in the stomachs of new-made soldiers, impelling them to box-lobby brawls and broken-headed quarrels; for at such times, when he found his martial spirit waxing hot within him, he would pnidently sally forth into the fields, and lugging out liis trusty sabre, would lay about him most lustily ; decapitating cabbages by platoons; hew- ing down whole phalanxes of sunflowers, which he termed gigantic Swedes; and if peradventure he espied a colony of honest big-bellied pumpkins quietly basking themselves in the sun, "Ah, caitiff Yankees!" would he roar, "have I caught ye at last?" So saying, with one sweep of his sword he would cleave the unhappy vegetables fix>in their chins to their waistbands : by which warlike havoc his choler being in some sort allayed, be would return to his garrison with a full conviction tliat he was a very miracle of military prowess. The next ambition of General Yon Poffenburgh was to l)e thought a strict disciplinarian. Well know- ing that discipline is the soul of all military enterprise, he enforced it with the most rigorous precision ; oblig- ing every man to turn out his toes, and hold up his head on parade, and prescribing the breadth of their ruffles to all such as had any shirts to their backs. Having one day, in the course ofhis Bible researches (for the pious yEneas himself could not exceed him in outward religion), encountered the history of Absa- lon and his melancholy end, the general, in an evil hour, issued orders for cropping the hair of lioth offi- cers and men throughout the garrison. Now it came to pass, that among his officers was one Kildenncce- i! !! i»2 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. m I ter— a Blurdy veteran, who had cherished throngh the course of a long life a rugged mop of hair, not a little resembling the shag of a Newfoundland dog, terminating with an immoderate queue like the handle of a frying-pan, and queued so lightly to his head that his eyes and mouth generally stood ajar, and his eyebrows were drawn up to the top of his forehead. It may naturally be supftosed that the possessor of so goodly an appendage would resist with abhorrence an order condemning it to the shears. On hearing the general orders, he discharged a tempest of veteran, soldier-like oaths, and dunder and blixunis — swore he would break any man's head who attempted to roetldle with his tail — queued it stiffer than ever, and whisk- ed it about the garrison as fiercely as the tail of a cro- codile. The eel-skin queue of old Kildermeester became instantly an affair of the utmost importance. The commander-in-chief was to<» enlightened an ofiicer not to perceive that the discipline of the garrison, the subordination and good order of the armies of the Nieuw-Nederlandts, the consequent safety of the whole province, and ultimately the dignity and pro- sperity of their High Mightinesses the Lords Stales- General, but above all, the dignity of the great Ge- neral Yon PofTenburgh, all imperiously demanded the docking of that stubborn queue. He therefore determined that old Kildermeester should be publicly shorn of bis glories in presence of the whole garrison — the old man as resolutely stood on the defensive — whereupon the general, as became a great man, was highly exasperated, and the offender was arrested and tried by a court-martial for mutiny, desertion, and all the other list of offences noticed in the articles of war, ending with a "videlicet in wearing an eel- skin queue, three feet long, contrary to ortlers." Then came on arraignments, and trials, and plead- ings; and the whole country was in a ferment about this unfortunate queue. As it is well known that the commander of a distant f ron tier post has the power of acting pretty much after his own will, there is little doubt but that the veteran would have been hanged or shot at least, had he not luckily fallen ill of a fever, through mere chagrin and niortiiication — and desert- ed from all earthly command, with his beloved locks unviolated. His obstinacy remained unshaken to the very last moment, when he directed that he should be carried to his grave with his eel-skin queue slickuig out of a hole in his cofTm. This magnanimous affair obtained the general great credit as an excellent disciplinarian; but it is hinted that he was ever after subject to bad dreams, and fearful visitations in the night — when the grisly spec- trum of old Kildermeester would stand sentinel by his bed-side, erect as a pump, his enormous queue tiitrulting out like the handle. BOOK VI. GONTillllNO THB 8KC0ND PiBT OP THE 111091 OP Pni|| IIEADSTBOMO — iXD U18 GALLANT ACUIBVENEMTS Oj DELAWARK. 1 CHAPTER I. In which 18 exhibited a warlilie portrait ot the great Peter- how Gcucral Voa I'offenburgh dbtiDguished himself it j Casiniir. Hitherto, most venerable and courteous rea have I shown thee the administration of the valoi Stuyvesant, under the mild moonshine of peace, I rather the grim tranquillity of awful expeclatiun; 1 now the war-drum rumbles from afar, the trumpet brays its thrilling note, and the rude c of hostile arms speaks fearful prophecies of coni troubles. The gallant warrior starts from sc pose, from golden visions, and voluptuous «» where, m the dulcet, " piping time of peace," J sought sweet solace after all his toils. INo morel beauty's siren lap reclined, he weaves fair garlad for his lady's brows; no more entwines with tluvrj his shining swoitl, nor through the live-long \ai)m mer's day chants forth his lovesick soul in madrigi To manhood roused, he spurns the amorous Hi doffs from his brawny back the robe of peace, clothes his pampered limbs in panoply of steel, his dark brow, where late the myrtle waved, vth wanton roses breathed enervate love, he rears il beaming casque and nodding plume ; grasps tliebri°j shield, and shakes the ponderous lance; or iiioi with eager pride his fiery steetl, and burns fur (let of glorious chivali7 ! But soft, worthy reader ! I would not have yf imagine that any preux chevalier, thus hideously li girt with iron, existed in the city of New-ArasterdaJ — This is but a lofty and gigantic mode, in which ( heroic writers always talk of war, thereby to girel a noble and imposing aspect; equipping ourwarriq with bucklers helms, and lances, and such-like ( landisii and obsolete weapons, the like of which [ chaiAce t'vdy had never seen or heard of; in thes niani.'cr tiiat <: cunning statuary arrays a modem ^ neral or an adiMiral in the accoutrements of a i or an Alexander. The simple truth then of all I oratorical flourish is this — that the valiant Peter Stul vesant all of a sudden found it necessary to scour U trusty blade, which too long had rusted in its scahbaij and prepare himself to undergo those hardy toils | war, in which liLs mighty soul so much deligliled, Methinks I at this moment behold him in my in gination — or rather, I behold hLs goodly porin which still hangs up in the family mansiun of I Stuyvesanis — arrayed in all the terrorsof a true Diitj general. His regimental coat of German blue, { geously decorated with a goodly show of large 1 buttons, reaching from his waistband to bis chin : t voluminous skirls tiu'ned up at the corners, aud s rating gallantly behind, so as to display the seat c i descending in a r HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. i83 )tuous pair of brimstone-coloured trunk-breeches ] graceful style still prevalent among the warriors Iwrtlay, and which is in conformity to the custom Itfcient heroes, who scorned to defend themselves I Kir. His face rendered exceeding terrible and lilie by a pair of black mustachios; his hair strut- ;out on each side in stiffly pomatumed ear-locks, j descending in a rat-tail queue below his waist; ^inin^ stock of black leather supporting his chin, iaiiltle but flerce cocked hat, stuck with a gal- (awl liery air over his left eye. Such was the ilric port of Peter the Headstrong; and when he > a sudden halt planted himself firmly on his so- Ippporter, with his wooden leg inlaid with silver a tin advance, in order to strengthen his position, L right hand grasping a gold-headed cane, his left ;;upon the pummel of his sword, his head dress- Uiritedly to the right, with a most appalling and |.favoured frown upon his brow — he presented >etlier one of the most commanding, bilter-look- ||, and soldier-like figures that ever strutted upon Kass.— Proceed we now to inquire the cause of ■warlike preparation. I encroaching disposition of the Swedes on the ith or Delaware river has been duly recorded in t chronicles of the reign of William the Testy. ; encroachments having been endured with that fortitude which is the corner-stone of true rage, had been repeated, and wickedly aggra- lie Swedes, who were of that class of cunning lenders to Christianity that read the Bible upside nil whenever it interferes with their interest, in- I the golden maxim, and when their neighbour Ihem to smite him on the one cheek, they leraliy smote him on the other also, whether turn- |lo (hem or not. Their repeated aggressions had I among the numerous sources of vexation that ipired to keep the irritable sensibilities of Wilhel- sKleft in a constant fever ; and it was only owing llhe unfortunate circumstance, that he had always nndred things to do at once, that he did not lake 1 unrelenting vengeance as their offences merited. tthey had now a chieflain of a different character Ideal with; and they were soon guilty of a piece of Khery that threw his honest blood in a ferment, i precluded all further sufferance. iPiinlz, the governor of the province of New- ■eden, being either deceased or removed, for of |ii fact some uncertainty exists, was succeeded by iRisingh, a gigantic Swede; and who, had he not rather knock-kneed and splay-footed, might lie served for the model of a Samson or a Hercules. jtwas no less rapacious than mighty, and withal as Ay as he was rapacious; so that, in fact, there is rliule doubt, had he lived some four or Ave cen- s before, he would have been one of those wicked nts who took such a cruel pleasure in pocketing damsels, when gadding about the world, I locking them up in enchanted castles, without a toilet, a change of 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 instructeil to attack and slay outright any miscreant they might happen to lind above six feet high; which is doubtless one reason why the race of large men is nearly extinct, and the gene- rations of latter ages so exceeding small. No sooner did Governor RLsingh enter upon his oflice than he immediately cast his eyes upon the im- portant post of Fort Casimir, and formed the righteous resolution of taking it into his possession. The only thing that remained to consider was the mode of carrying his resolution into effect; and here I must do him the justice to say, that he exhibited a human- ity rarely to be met witli among leaders, and which I have never seen equalled in modern times, except- ing among the English, in their glorious 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 mer- ciful expedient of treachery. Under pretence therefore of paying a neighbourly visit to General Yon Poffenburgh, at his new post of Fort Casimir, he made requisite preparation, sailed in great state up the Delaware, displayed his Hag with the most ceremonious punctilio, and honoured the fortress with a royal salute previous to dropping an- chor. The unusual noise awakened a veteran Dutch sentinel, who was napping 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 pi|)e, which he borrowed from one of his comrades. The salute indeed would have been answered by the guns of the fort, had they not unfortunately been out of order, and the magazine deticient in ammunition — accidents to which forts have in all ages been liable, and which were the more excusaUe in the present instance, as Fort Casimir had only been erected about two years, and General Yon Poffenburgh, its mighty commander, had been fully occupied with matters of much greater import- ance. 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 homage paid unto his greatness. He then landed in great state, attended by a suite of thirty men — a prodigious and vain-glorious relinue for a petty governor of a petty settlement in those days of primitive simplicity ; and to the full as great an army as generally swells the pomp and marches in the rear of our frontier commanders at the pre- sent day. The number in fact might have awakened suspi- cion, had not the mind of the great Yon Poffenburgh been so completely engrossed with an all-pervading idea of himself, that he had not room to admit a -1 ; 184 inSTORY OF PrtlW-YORK. thought besides. In fact, he consitlered the concourse of Kisingh's followers as a compliment to himself— 80 apt are great men to stand between themselves and the sun, and completely eclipse the tnith by their own shadow. It may readily be imagined how much General Yon Poffenburgh was flattered by a visit from so august a personage : his only embarrassment was how he should receive him in such a manner as to appear to the greatest advantage, and make the most advanta- geous impression. The main-guard was ordered im- mediately to turn out, and the arms and regimentals (of which the garrison possessed 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 to- gether by loops made of a pair of red worsted garters. Another had an old cocked hat stuck on the Itack of his head, and decorated with a bunch of cocks' tails — a tliird had a pair of rusty gaiters hanging about his heels — while a fourth, who was short and duck-leg- ged, 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 similar style, excej)ting 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 command- er are more completely testified than in thus setting matters otTto the greatest advantage; and it is for this reason that our frontier posLs at the present day (that of Niagara for example) display their best suit of re- gimentals on the back of the sentinel who stands in sight of travellers. 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, General Yon Poffenburgh first took a sturdy draught of foaming ale, which, likv the magnanimous More of More-hall, ' was his invariable practice on all great occasions — which done, he put himself at their head, ordered the pine-planks, which served as a drawbridge, to be laid down, and issued forth from his castle, like a mighty giant, just refresh- ed with wine. But when the two heroes met, then began a scene of warlike parade and chivalric courtesy that beggars all description. Risingh, who, as I be- fore hinted, was a shrewd, cunning politician, and had grown gray much before his time, in consequence of his craftiness, saw at one glance tlie ruling passion of -As soon as he rose, To make him strong and mighty, lie ilranli, by llie tale, six pots of ale, And a quart of aqua vitx." Dragon of ij ant. the great Yon Poffenburgh, and humonred him in J his valorous fantasies. Their detachments were acconlingly drawn npl front of each other ; they carried arms and theyp sented arms ; they gave the standing salute txA l passing salute — They rolled their drums, they gJ rished their fifes, and they waved their colours] They faced to the left, and they faced to the r^ and they faced to the rightabout— They wheeled ( wanl, and they wheeled ackwanl, and they wha into echelon — They marched and they counternurt ed, by grand divisions, by single divisions, and | sub-divisions— by platoons, by sections, and by [ —in quick time, in slow time, and in no time at i for, having gone through all the evolutions oftJ great armies; including the eighteen mana>uvm| Dundas ; having exhausted all that they could i lect or imagine of military tactics, including sun strange and irregular evolutions, the like of vk were never seen before nor since, excepting an certain of our newly-raised militia, the two pi commanders and their respective troops came atleit to a dead halt, completely exhausted by the i war— Never did two valiant train-band captains,] two buskined theatric heroes, in the renowned ti gedies of Pizarro, Tom Thumb, or any other hen and fighting tragedy, marshal their gallows-lookiij duck-legged, heavy-heeledniyrmidons with iiioregl and self-admiration. These military compliments being finished, Gen(( Yon Poffenburgh escorted his illustrious visitor, vl great ceremony, into the fort ; attended him tlirog^ out the fortifications; showed him the horn-wori crown-works, half-moons, and various other oiitworii or rather the places where they ought to be erectej and where they might be erected if he pleased; plaiii demonstrating that it was a place of " great cup ty," and though at present but a little redoubt, that it evidently was a formidable fortress, in enibr; This survey over, he next had the whole garrison p under arms, exercised, and reviewed ; and coiielud^ by ordering the three Bridewell birds to be hauled m of the black -hole, brought up to the hnlbeids, ; soundly flogged, for the amusement of his visiig| and to convince him that he was a great disciplinarii The cunning Risingh, while he pretended lo | struck dumb outright with the puissance of the gn Yon Poffenburgh, took silent note of the incooipl tency of his garrison, of which he gave a hint lolj trusty followers, who tipped each other the wink, a laughed most obstreperously — in their sleeves. The inspection, review, and flogging being i eluded, the party adjourned to the table ; for am his other great qualities, the general was remariial addicted to huge carousals, and in one afternw campaign woidd leave more dead men on the I than he ever did in the whole course of his milil) career. Many bulletins of these bloodless victo do still remain on record; and the whole pronnl was once thrown in amaze by the return of one of N I a great dinner t ion tiible groaned mSTORY OF NEW-YORK. isa nonred liimloLaigns; wherein it was stated, that thouijh, like gin Bobadil, he had only twenty men lo back , yet in the short space of six niontlis he had con- aiid utterly annihilated sixty oxen, ninety , one hundred sheep, ten thousand cabbages, one aiKl bushels of potatoes, one hundred and fifty irkiiis of small beer, two thousand seven hundred ^Ibirty-five pi[)es, seventy-eight pounds of sugar- is, and forty bars of iron, besides sundry small L|j,game, poultry, and garden-stuff: — an achieve- t unparalleled since the days of Pantagruel and [all-devouring army, and which showed that it was r necessary to let belli-potent Von PofTenburgh ) garrison loose in an enemy's country, and in lie while (hey would breed a famine, and starve libe inhabitants. D sooner, therefore, had the general received in- m of the visit of Governor Risingh, than he or- I a great dinner to be prepared ; and privately Uit a detachment of his most experienced vete- L tu rob all the hen-roosts in the neighbourhood, ||ay the pigsties under contribution ; — a service to 1 they had been long inured, and which they irged with such zeal and promptitude, that the on table groaned under the weight of their (iL>h, with all my heart, my readers could see the ml Von Poffenburgh, as he presided at the head [banquet; it was a sight worth beholding: — the sat, in his greatest glory, surrounded by his iers, like that famous wine-bibber, Alexander, ; thirsty virtues he did most ably imitate— tell- letounding stories of his hair-breadth adventures |heroic exploits; at which, though all his auditoi's r them lo be incontinent lies and outrageous gas- «, yet did they cast up their eyes in admira- i,anil utter many interjections of astonishment. \m\A the general pronounce any thing that bore jmnolest semblance to a joke, but the stout Ri- 1 would strike his brawny fist up^n the table till jty glass rattled again, throw himself back in the |ir, utter gigantic peals of laughter, and swear illiorribly it was the best joke he ever heard in |Efe.— Thus all was rout and revelry and hideous al williin Fort Casimir, and so lustily did Yon burgh ply the bottle, that in less than four short s he made himself and his whole garrison, who dulously emulated the deeds of tlieir chieftain, ddrunk, with singing songs, quaiTmg bumpers, [drinking patriotic toasts, none of which but was ! as a Welsh pedigree or a plea in chancery. osooner did things come to this pass, than the f Risingh and his Swedes, who had cunningly |l themselves sober, rose on their entertainers, tied I neck and heels, and look formal possession of [fort, and all its dependencies, in the name of 1 Christina of Sweden : administering at the Mime an oath of allegiance to all the Dutch sol- 5 who could be made sober enough to swallow it. ingh then put the fortifications in ortler, appointed his discreet and vigilant friend Suen Scutx, a tall, wind-dried, water-drinking Swede, to the command, and departetl, bearing with him this truly amiable garrison and its puissant commander; wlio, w^hen brought to himself by a sound dmbbling, bore no little resemblance to a " deboshed lish," or bloated sea-monster, caught upon dry land. The transportation of the gairison was done to pre- vent the transmission of intelligence to New- Amster- dam ; for much as the cunning Risingh exulted in his stratagem, yet did he dread the vengeance of the sturdy Peter Stuyvesant; whose name spread as much terror in the neighbourhood as did whilom that of the unconquerable Scanderberg among his scurvy enemies the Turks. CHAPTER n. showing how profound aecreU are often brouglit to light ; with ttin proceeding!! of Peter the Headstrong when he heard of the niLsfortunes ofueneral Von Poffenburgli. Whoever first described common fame, or ru- mour, as belonging to (he sager sex, was a very ovfl for shrewdness. She has in truth certain feminine (lualities to an as(onishing degree ; particularly that Itenevolent anxiety to take care of the affairs of others, which keeps her continually hunting after secrets, and gadding al)out proclaiming them. Whatever is done openly and in the face of (he world, she takes but transient notice of; but whenever a (ransacdon is done in a corner, and at(emp(ed to be shrouded in mystery, then her goddess-ship is at her wits' end to lind it out, and takes a most mischievous and lady- like pleasure in publishing it to (he woild. It is this truly feminine propensity (hat induces her continually to be pi7ing into cabinets of princes, lis- tening at the key-holes of senate-chambers, and peer- ing through chinks and crannies, when our worthy congress are sitting with closed doors, deliberating Itetween a dozen excellent modes of ruining the na- tion. It is this which makes her so baneful (o all wary statesmen and intriguing commanders — such a stumbling-block lo private negotiations and secret ex- peditions; which she often betrays by means and in- struments which never would have been thought of by any but a female head. Thus it was in the case of the affair of Fort Casi- mir. No doubt the cunning Risingh imagined, that by securing the garrison he should for a long time prevent the history of its fate from reaching the ears of the gallant Stuyvesant; but his exploit was blown to the world when he least expected ; and by one of the last beings he would ever have suspected of en- listing as trumpeter to (he wide mou(hed deity. This was one Dirk Schuiler (or Skulker), a kind of hanger-on to the garrison, who seemed to belong to nobody, 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 2^ mi inSTORY OF NEW-YORK. and interlopers. Every garrison and country village has one or more scnpe-goats of this kind, whose life is a kind of enigma, whose existence is with- out motive, who comes from the Lord knows where, who lives the Lord knows how, and who seems created for no other earthly purpose hut to keep up the ancient and honourable order of idleness. — This vagrant philosopher was supposed to have some Indian blood in his veins, which was manifested by a certain Indian complexion and cast of counte- nance ; but more especially by his propensities and habits. He was a tali, lank fellow swift of foot, and long-winded. He was generally equipped in a half Indian dress, with belt, leggings, and moccasons. His hair hung in straight gallows locks about his ears, and udded not a lilllc 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 conve- nience. It is for similar reasons, and probably with equal truth, that the back-wood-men of Kentucky are styled half man, half horse, and half alligator, by the seuiers on the Mississippi, and held accordingly in great respect and abhorrence. The above character may have presented itself to the garrison as applicable to Dirk Schuiler, whom they familiarly dubbed Gallows Dirk. Certain it is, he acknowledged allegiance to no one— was an utter enemy to work, 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 whatever he could lay his hands on. Eveiy day or two he was sure to get a sound rib-roasting for some of his misdemeanours ; which, however, as it broke no bones, he made very light of, and scrupled not to repeat the offence when- ever another opportunity presented. Sometimes, in consequence of some flagrant villany, he would ab- scond from the garrison, and be absent for a month at a time ; skulking about the woods and swamps, with a long fowling-piece on his shoulder, lying in ambush for game — or squatting himself down on the edge of a pond catching fish for hours together, and hearing no little resemblance to that notable bird of the crane family, ycleped the Mudpoke. When he thought his crimes had been forgotten or forgiven, he would sneak back to the foi-t with a bundle of skins, or a load of poultry, which, perchance, he had stolen, and would exchange them for liquor, with which having well soaked his carcass, he would lie in the sun and enjoy all the luxurious indolence of that swinish philosopher Diogenes. He was the terror of all the farm-yards in the country, into which he made fearful inroads ; and sometimes he would make his sudden appearance in the garrison at day-break, with the whole neighbourhood at his heels ; like the scoundrel thief of a fox, detected in bis maraudings and hunted to his hole. Such was this Dirk Schuiler; and bom the total indifference he showed to the world and its concerns, and from his truly Indian stoicism and taciturnity, no one would ever have dreamtii he would have been the publisher of the treacherrl Risingh. When the carousal was going on, which provedl fatal to the brave Yon Poffenburgh and his wald garrison. Dirk skulked about from room to ro( being a kind of privileged vagrant, or useless houi whom nobody noticed. But though a fellow oflj words, yet, like your taciturn people, his eyes i ears were always open, and in the course of his r ings he overheard the whole plot of the Sv, Dirk immediately settled in his own mind how | should turn the matter to his own advantage, played the perfect jack-of-both-sides— that is to s he made a prize of every thing that came in liLs real robbed both parlies, stuck the copper-bound hat of the puissant Von Poffenburgh on his |J whipped a huge pair of Risingh's jack -boots under! arms, and took to his heels, just before the calaslrol and confusion at the garrison. rinding himself completely dislodged from I haunt in this quarter, he directed his flight tovi his native place, New-Amsterdam, from wliencel had formerly been obliged to abscond precipilaiT in consequence of misfortune in business— tlial iJ say, having been delected in the act of sheep-steal] After wandering many days in the woods, tol through swamps, fording brooks, swimming vai rivers, and encountering a world of haixlships I would have killed any other being but an India back-wood-man, or the devil, he at length arriJ half famished, and lank as a starved weasel, at ( munipaw, where he stole a canoe, and paddled il to New-Amsterdam. Immediately on landin^l repaired to Governor Stuyvesant, and in more w| than he had ever spoken before in tiie whole ( of his life, gave an account of the disastrous afTairl On receiving these direful tidings, the valiant F started from his seat — dashed the pipe he was snj ing against the back of the chimney— thrust a | gious quid of tobacco into his left cheek— pulle( his galligaskins, and strode up and downtliet humming, as was customary with him when inaj sion, a hideous north-west ditty. Rut, as I haveli shown, he was not a man to vent his spleen in| vapouring. His first measure, after the paroxys wrath had subsided, was to stump up stairs toah wooden chest, which served as his armoury, I whence he drew forth that identical suit ofregini als described in the preceding chapter. In these j lentous habiliments he arrayed himself, like Ad in the armour of Vulcan, maintaining all the whUj appalling silence, knitting his brows, and drawiii{ breath through his clinched teeth. Being liaj equipped, he strode down into the parlour and jei down his trusty sword from over the fin -place, wl it was usually suspended ; but before he girded J his thigh, he drew it from its scabbard, and asl coursed along the rusty blade, a grim smile stolei his iron visage— It was the first smile that had r HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 187 ^countenance Ibr Ave long weeks; but every one (beheld it prophesied that there would soon be I work in the province ! Ilhus armed at all points, with grisly war depicted leacb feature, his very cocked hat assuming an air lincoiiirnon defiance, lie instantly put himself upon lalert, and dispatched Anthony Van Corlear hither Itliither, tliis way and that way, through all the dy streets and crooked lanes of the city, sunimon- Uy sound of trumpet his trusty peers to a!C»inl;;e liistant council. — This done, by way of expediting Iters, according to the custom of people in a hurry, I kept in continual bustle, shifliiig from chair to ir, popping his head out of every window, and ping up and down stairs with his wooden leg in b brisk and incessant motion, that, as we are in- by an authentic historian of the times, the jiiual clatter Imre no small resemblance to the ;ofa cooper hooping a flour-barrel. |A summons so peremptory, and from a man of the jiernur's mettle, was not to be trilled with : the s forthwith repaired to the council-chamber, seat- [lliemselves with the utmost tranquillity, and light- \tbeir long pipes, gazed with unruffled composure Ibis excellency and his regimentals; being, as all «llors should be, not easily flustered, nor taken Iwrprise. The governor, looking around for a mo- ot with a lofty and soldierlike air, and resting one Ion the ponmiel of his sword, and flinging the r Torlh in a free and spirited manner, addressed I in a short but soul-stirring harangue, ^im extremely sorry that I have not the advan- sofLivy,Thucydides, Plutarch, and others of my essors, who were furnished, as I am told, with tspeeches of all their heroes, taken down in sliort iby the most accurate stenographers of the time; iereby they were enabled wonderfully to enrich r histories, and delight their readers with sublime lins of eloquence. Not having such importimt DJiaries, I cainiot possibly pronounce what was the r of Governor Stnyvesant's speech. I am bold, tever, to say, from the tenor of his character, that not wrap his rugged subject in silks and er- s, and other sickly trickeries of phrase ; but spoke I like a man of nerve and vigour, who scorned to |inl( in words from those dangers which he stood idy to encounter in very deed. This much is cer- y lliat he concluded by aimouncing his determi- ion to lead on his troops in person, and rout these lartl-inonger Swedes from their usurped quarters iForl Casimir. To this hardy resolution, such of pcouncil as were awake gave their usual signal of Kurrence ; and as to the rest, who had fallen asleep «ltlie middle of the harangue (their "usual custom jtlie afternoon "), they made not the leastobjcction. |Aiid now was seen in the fair city of New-Ants- III a prodigious bustle and preparation for iron pr. Ilecruiting parties marched hither and thither, ; lustily u|M)n all the scrubs, the rimagates, and lenlenialions of the Manhaltues and its vicinity. who had any ambition of six-pence a day, and im- mortal fame into the bargain, to enlist in the cause of glory : — for I would have you note that your warlike heroes who trudge in the rear of conquerors are ge- nerally of that illustrious class of gentlemen, who are equal candidates for the army or the bridewell — the halberds or the whipping-post— for whom Dame For- tune has east an even die, whether they shall make their exit by the sword or the halter— and whose deaths shall, at all events, be a lofly example to their countrymer But notwithstanding all this martial rout and ip^ i- tation, the ranks of honour were but scantily sup- plied ; so averse were the peaceful burghers of New- Amsterdam from enlisting in foreign broils, or stir- ring beyond that home, which rounded all their earthly ideas. Upon beholding this, the great Peter, whose noble heart was all on lire with war and sweet revenge, determined to wait no lunger for the tardy assistance of these oily citizens, but to muster up his merry men of the Hudson, who, brought up among woods, and wilds, and savage beasts, like our yeomen of Kentucky, delighted in nothing so much as desperate adventures and perilous expeditions through the wilderness. Thus resolving, he ordered his trusty squire Anthony Van Corlear to have his state galley pivpared and duly victualled ; which being per- formed, he attended public service at the great church of St Nicholas, like a true and pious governor ; and then leaving peremptory orders with his council to have the chivalry of the Manhattoes marshalleil out and appointed against his return, departed upon hii recruiting voyage, up the waters of the Hudson. CHAPTER in. Containing Peter Stuyvesant's voyafic u "le Hudson, and Mie wonders and duliglits of lliat reL')wncd river. Now did the soft breezes of the south steal sweetly over the face of nature, tempering the panting heats of summer into genial and piolilic warmth; when that miracle of hardihood and chivalric virtue, the dauntless Peter Stuyvesant, spread his canvass to the wind, and departed from the fair island of Mainia- hata. The galley in which he embarked was sump- tuously adorned with pendants and streamers of gor- geous dyes, which fluttered gaily in the wind, or drooped their ends into the bosom of the stream. The bow and poop of this majestic vessel were gal- lantly bedight, after the rarest Dutch fiishion, with ligures of little pursy Cupiils with |)eri\vigs on their heads, and hearing in their hands garlands of flowers, the like of which are not to l)« found in any book of botany; l)eing the matchless flowei-s which flourished in the golden age, and exist no longer, unless it be in the imaginations of ingenious carvers of wood and discolourers of canvass. Thus rarely decorated, in style befllting the puis- 'I Ai I'': 188 mSTORY OF NEW-YORK. -1 il satnt potentate of the Manliattoes, did the galley of Peter Stuyvesant launch foith upon the bosom of the loitlly Hudson, which, as it roiled its broad waves to the ocean, seemed to pause for a while and swell with pride, as if conscious of the illustrious burthen it sustained. But trust me, gentlefolk, far other was the scene presented to the contemplation of the crew from that which may be witnessed at this degenerate day. Wildness and savage majesty reigned on the borders of this mighty river— the hand of cultivation had not as yet laid low the dark forest, and tamed the features of the landscape — nor had the frequent sail of com- merce broken in upon the profound and awful soli- tude of ages. Here and there might be seen a rude wigwam percheil among the cliffs of the mountains, with its curling column of smoke mounting in the transparent atmosphere — but so lofUly situated that the whoopings of the savage children, gamboling on the margin of the dizzy heights, fell almost as faintly on the ear as do the notes of the lark, when lost in the azure vault of heaven. Now and then, from the beetling brow of some precipice, the wild deer would look timidly down upon the splendid pageant as it passed below; and then, tossing liis antlers in the air, would hound away into the thickeU of the forest. Through such scenes did the stalely vessel of Peter Stuyvesant pass. Now did they skirt the bases of the rocky heights of Jersey, which spring up like ever- lasting walls, reaching from the waves unto the hea- vens, and were fashioned, if tradition may he believ- ed, in times long past, by the mighty spirit Manetho, to protect his favourite abodes from the unhallowed eyes of mortals. Now did they career it gaily across the vast expanse of Tappaan Bay, whose wide extend- ed shores present a variety of delectable scenery — here the bold promontoi-y, crowned with en^.bowering trees advancing into the bay — there the long wood- land slope, sweeping up from the shore in rich luxuri- ance, and terminating in the upland precipice- while at a distance a long waving line of rocky heights threw their gigantic shades across the water. Now would they pass where some modest little interval, opening among these stupendous scenes, yet retreat- ing as it were for protection into the embraces of the neighbouring mountains, displayed a rural paradise, fraught with sweet and pastoral beauties ; the velvet- tufted lawn— the bushy copse— the tinkling rivulet, stealing through the fresh and vivid verdure- on whose banks was situated some little Indian village, or peradventure, the rude cabin of sonre solitary hunter. The dilTerent periods of (he revolving day seemed each, with cunning magic, to diffuse a different charm over the scene. Now would the jovial sun break gloriously from the east, blazing from the sumniils of the hills, and sparkling the landscape with a thousand dewy gems; while along the borders of the river were seen heavy masses of mist, which, like midnight caitiffs, disturbed at his approach, made a sluggish retreat, rolling in sullen reluctance up the mouniiii^ At such times all was brightness, and life, and gaje — the atmosphere was of an indescribable puren and transparency — the birds broke forth in wanii madrigals, and the freshening breezes wafted vessel merrily on her course. But when the i sunk amid a flood of glory in the west, mantling i heavens and the earth with a thousand gorgeous drl —then all was calm, and silent, and magniljceif The late swelling sail hung lifelessly against the i — the seaman, with folded arms, leaned against i shrouds, lost in that involuntary musing whicli i sober grandeur of nature commands in the rudest] her children. The vast bosom of the Hudson \ like an unruffled miiTor, reflecting the golden spiel dour of the heavens; excepting that now and tlien| bark canoe would steal across its surface, lllled painted savages, whose gay feathers glared brighlj as perchance a lingering ray of the setting sungleai ed upon them from the western mountains. But when the hour of twilight spread its niji mists around, then did the face of nature assunid thousand fugitive charms, wliich to the worthy hea that seeks enjoyment in the glorious works of | Maker are inexpressibly captivating. The did)ious light that prevailed just served to tinge wJ illusive colours the softened features of the scenej The deceived but delighted eye sought vainly tod cern in the broad masses of shade, the separating lij between the land and water; or to distinguish! failing objects that seemed sinking into chaos. M did the busy fancy supply the feebleness of visiJ producing with industrious craft a fairy creation | lier own. Under her plastic wand the barren m frowned upon the watery waste, in the senibiancel lofty towers, and high embattled castles— trees assoj ed the direful forms of mighty giants, and tlieio:( cessible summits of the mountains seemed with a thousand shadowy beings. Now broke forth from the shores the notes of j innumerable variety of insects, which filled tiie with a strange but not inharmonious concert— wh| ever and anon was heard the melancholy plaint the Whip-poor-will, who, perched on some loiic In wearied the ear of night with his incessant inoi ings. The mind, soothed into a hallowed melduciiol listened with pensive stillness to catch and distinguil each sound that vaguely echoed from the sliore-nij and then startled perchance by the whoop of s«J straggling savage or by the dreary howl of a vo] stealing forth upon his nightly prowlings. Thus happilydid they pursue theircour.se, unlilllil entered upon those awful deiiles denominated t^ iiiuiiLANns, where it would seem that the gigani Titans had erst waged their impious war willihcarei piling up clilTs on cliffs, and hurling vast masses of ro^ in wild confusion. But in sooth very dirferent is!) history of these cloud-capt mountains.— These in a cicntdays, before the llud.sun poured its waters fro the lakcS; formed ono vast prison, within wiiose ro HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. I«) i the omnipotent Manetho conflned the rebel- gspirits who repined at liis control. Here, bound lidainantine chains, or jammed in rifled pines, or I by ponderous roclcs, they groaned for many [age.— At fenglh tlie conquering Hudson, in its towards the ocean, burst open their prison- le, rolling its tide triumphantly through the slu- lous ruins. Istili, however, do many of them lurk about tlieir labodes ; and these it is, according to venerable le- , that cause the echoes which resound through- llbese awful solitudes; which are nothing but their J clamours when any noise disturbs the profound- i of their repose. — For when the elements are laied by tempest, when the winds are up and the luderiolls, then horrible is the yelling and howling llliese troubled spirits, making the mountains to kIIow with their hideous uproar; for at such times 8 said that they think the great Manetho is return- ronceniore to plunge them in gloomy caverns, and Kv their intolerable captivity. IHulall these fair and glorious scenes were lost upon jt^llant Stuyvesant ; naught occupied his mind but Nghlsof iron war, and proud anticipations of hardy nk of arms. Neither did his honest crew trouble |iir heads with any romantic speculations of the kind. t pilot at the helm quietly smoked his pipe, tliink- jjof nothing either past, present, or to come — those |liis comrades who were not industriously snoring ier the hatches were listening with open mouths lAnliiony Van Corlear ; who, seated on the wind- It, vras relating to them the marvellous history of e myriads of Hre-flies, that sparkled like gems and gies upon the dusky robe of night. These, ac- iling to tradition, were originally a race of pestilent pitemous beldames, who peopled these parts long s the memory of man; being of that abominated templiatically called brimstones: and who for their kumerable sins against the children of men,, and to nislian awful warning to the beauteous sex, were nied to infest the earth in the shape of these threat- ; and terrible little bugs; enduring the internal luients of that fire, which they formerly carried in r hearts and breathed forth in their words; but ' are sentenced to bear about for ever — in their And now am I going to tell a fact, which I doubt liny readers will hesitate to believe; but if they \ Ihey are welcome not to believe a word in this Weliistory— for nothing which it contains is more It must be known then that the nose of An- loy tiie trumpeter was of a very lusty size, strul- \ Iwldly from his countenance like a mountain of »nda; being sumptuously bedecked with rubies 1 other precious stones — the true regalia of a king I fellows, which jolly Uacchus grants to all who eitheartily at the ilagon. Now thus it happened, I bright and early in the morning, the gtiod An- ny, having washeil his burly visage, was leaning r the quarter railing of the galley, contemplating it in the glassy wave below. — Jost at this moment the illustrious sun, breaking in all liis splendour from be- hind a high bluff of the highlands, did dart one of his most potent beams full upon the refulgent nose of the sounder of brass— the reflection of which shot straight- way down, hissing hot, into the water, and killed a mighty sturgeon that was sporting beside the vessel ! This huge monster being with iniinile labour hoisted on board, furnished a luxurious repast to all the crew, being accounted of excellent flavour, excepting alx)ut the wound, where it smacked a little of brimstone — and this, on my veracity, was the first time that ever sturgeon was eaten in these parts by Clu-istian people. • When this astonishing miracle came to be made known to Peter Stuyvesant, and that he tasted of the unknown fish, he, as may well be supposed, marvel- led exceedingly ; and as a monument thereof, he gave the name of Anthony's Nose to a stout promontory in the neighbourhood — and it has continued to be called Anthony's Nose ever since that time. But hold : whither am I wandering ? By the mass, if I attempt to accompany the good Peter Stuyvesant on this voyage, I shall never make an end; tor never was there a voyage so fraught with marvellous inci- dents, nor a river so abounding with transcendent beauties, worthy of being severally recorded. Even now I have it on the point of my pen to relate how his crew were most horribly frightened, on going on shore above the highlands, by a gang of merry rois- tering devils, frisking and curvetting on a flat rock, which projected into the river— and which is called the Duyvel's Dans-Kamer to this very day— But no ! Diedrich Knickerbocker— it becomes thee not to idle thus in thy historic wayfaring. Recollect that while dwelling with the fond garruli- ty of age over these fairy scenes, endeared to thee by the recollections of thy youth, and the charms of a thousand legendary tales which beguiled the simple ear of thy childhood; recollect that thou art trifling with those fleeting moments which should be devoted to loftier themes.— Is not Time— relentless Time! shaking, with palsied hand, his almost exhausted hour- glass before thee?— hasten then to pursue thy weary task, lest the last sands be run ere thou hast iiiiished thy history of the Manhattoes. Let us then commit the dauntless Peter, his bnive galley, and his loyal crew, to the protection of liie blessed St Nicholas; who, I have no iloubt, will pro- sper him in his voyage, while we await his return at the great city of New-Amsterdam. " Tlio loameil Hans MegaiHileiiais, ti-patina; of the rouiili-y alwut Albany, lii a letter wlilcli was wiilleii some time after Uie setUo- ment theieof, says, " There Is in tin,' river fiieat plenty of slurKeon, which wc CinUtians do not make use of, bul the Indians eat Uiem srocdillc." i90 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. I ''- CHAPTER IV. , . , i ■i % Describing the powerful army that assembled at the city of Ne\r- • Amsterdam— logctlier with the interview between Peter the 1 Ueadstronft and General Von PutTvnbursh, and Peter's senti- ments touching unfortunate great men. While lliiis the enterpiising Peter was coasting, I with flowing sail, up the shores of the lordly Hudson, ij and arousing all the phlegmatic little Dutch sellle- I inenls upon its horders, a great and puissant concouise I of warriors was assembling at the city of New-Ams- I terdam. And here that invaluable fragment of anli- % (juity, the Stuyvesanl manuscript, is more than coin- I inonly particular; by which means I am enabled to i record the illustrious host that encamped itself in the ' J p-i'-'ic square in front of the fort, at present denomi- nated the Bowling Green. In the centre, then, was pitched the tent of the men of battle of the Manhattoes, who being the in- mates of the metropolis, composed the life-guards of the governor. These were commanded by the valiant Sloffel Brinkerhoof, who whilom had acquired such immortal fame at Oyster Bay,— they displayed as a standard a beaver rampant on a field of orange; being the arms of the province, and denoting the persever- ing industry and the amphibious origin of the Neder- landers.' On their right hand might be seen the vassals of that renowned Mynher, Michael Paw,* who lorded it over the fair regions of ancient Pavonia, and the lands away south, even unto the Navesink mountains,^ and was moreover patroon of Gibbet-Island. His standard was borne by his trusty s(|uii-e, Cornelius Van Vorst; consisting of a huge oyster recumbent upon a sea-green field ; being the armorial bearings ofhis 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 hatbands. These were the men who vegetated in the mud along the shores of Pavonia ; being of the race of genuine copperheads, and were fableil to have sprung from oysters. At a little distance Avas encamped the tribe of I warriors who came from the neighboiu'hood 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 gabardines, of that curious co- ' This was lilccwise the great soal of tlic New-Metherlands, as may still he seen in ancient records. ' Besides what is related in the Stuyvesanl MS. I have foimd mention made uf (his illiistriuuii patriKiu in aniillier manuscript, which says : " I)e ileer (or the situirc) Michael Puw, a Dutch suli- Ject, alwut lOth Aug, 1030, by deed iiurchnscd Slaten-Island. N. B. The same Michael Paw had what the Dutch call a culoiii(> nt Pavonia, on the Jei-sey shore, opposite New-York, and his oveitieer in 1630 was named Corns. Van Vorst— a person of thn same name in <7C9, owned Pawles Hook, and a large farm at ' Pavonia, and is a lineal descendant from V.in Vorsl." < > 80 calltMl from the Navesink tribe of Indians that inhabited these parts— at present they am erroneously denominated the Vivcrstnk, or Neversuuk monnlalns. loured cloth called thunder and lightning— and 1 as a standard three Devil's darning needles, volaj in a flame-coloured field. Hard by was the tent of the men of battle fromt marshy Iwrders of the Waale-Boght ' and the counti thereabouts — these were of a sour aspect, by rp* that they lived on crabs, which abound in these pan They were the first institutors of that honourable onJ of knighthood, called Fly market shirks, and if tj dition speak true, did likewise introduce the far-ram step in (lancing, called " double trouble." They wej commanded by the fearless Jacobus Vana Van»b and had, moreover, a jolly band of Breuckeleu' fet men, who performed a brave concerto on cooj shells. But I refrain from pursuing this minute de; tion, which goes on to describe the warriors of Bio] men dael, and We<^-hawk, and Hoboken, and siui other places, well known in history and song- now do the notes of martial music alarm the of New-Amsterdam, sounding afar from beyond (I walls of the city. But this alarm was in a little vli relieved, for lo, from the niidstof a vast cloud of duj they recognised the brimstone-coloured breeches j splendid silver leg of Peter Stuyvesanl, glaring in i| sunbeams; and beheld him approaching at the I of a formidable army, which he had mustered ala the banks of the Hudson. And here the excellentlj anonymous writer of the Stuyvesanl manuscript breaj out into a brave and glorious description of the fort as they defiled through the principal gate of Ihe cil| that stood by the head of Wall-street. First of all came the Van Bimmiels, who inha| the pleasant borders of the Bronx : these were shi fat men, wearing exceeding large trunk -breecb^ and were renowned for feats of the trencher-lli were the first inventors of suppawn or mush aiidn — Close in their rear marched the Van YIoteii$,| Kaats-kill, horrible qnalTers of new cider, and an braggarts in their liquor. — After them came the \1 Pelts, of Groodt Esopus, dexterous horsemen, im ed upon goodly switch-tailed steeds of the £$o{ breed— these were mighty hunters of minks i musk rats, whence came the word Peltry.— Tlmi Van Nests, of Kinderhoeck, valiant robbers of bitj nests, as their name denotes ; to these, if report t be believed, are we indebted for the iiivenlion offi jacks, or buck-wheat cakes. — Then the Van Hid bottoms, of Wapping's creek; these came armed n| ferules and birchen rods, being a race of schuohnasKT who first discovered the marvellous sympathy be l»i Ihe seat of honour and Ihe seat of inlelleet— and ll| the shortest way lo get knowledge into the lieadi to hammer it into the bottom. — Then the Van On of Anthony's Nose, who carried their liquor in I round little potlles, by reason they could nut buu!^ out of their canteens, having such rare long no • since corrupted Into the lyallabout; the bay wlim| Navy- Yard is situated, • Now »|(clt Brooklyn, HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. i9i tut; Iho bay where I Kn the Gardeniers, of Hudson and thereabouts, Ijngnished by many triumphant feats, such as rob- ; water-melon patches, smoking rabbits outof their s, and the Hke ; and by being great lovers of roast- b pigs' tails; these were the ancestors of the renown- Icongress-man of that name.— Then the Van Hoe- is, of Sing-Sing, great choristers and players upon Kjew's harp; these marched two and two, singing I great song of St Nicholas.— Then the Couenho- , of Sleepy Hollow; these gave birth to a jolly e of publicans, who first discovered the magic arti- (of cunjuring a quart of wine into a pint bottle. — ken the Van Kortlandts, who lived on the wild banks lllie Croton, and were great killers of wild ducks, Lg much spoken of for their skill in shooting with lelong bow. — Then the Van Bunschotens, of Nyack dKakiat, who were the first that did ever kick with (left foot; they were gallant bush-whackers and Biers of racoons by moonlight. — Then the Van Irmkles, of Haerlem, potent suckers of eggs, and noted r running of horses, and running up of scores at Jftms; they were the first that ever winked with heyesatonce. — Lastly came the Kmckerbockebs, like great town of Scaghlikoke, where Uie folk lay nes upon the houses in windy weather, lest they I be blown away. These derive their name, as Lesay, from Knicker, to shake, and lieker, a goblet, aling thereby that they were sturdy toss-pots of «; but, in truth, it was derived from Knicker, to , and iioefccn, books; plainly meaning that they ; great nodders or dozers over books — from them ddescend the writer of this history. I Such was the legion of sti.rdy bush-beaters that ired in at the grand gate of New-Amsterdam ; the |gmant manuscript indeed speaks of many more, 'names I omit to mention, seeing that it behoves tic hasten to matters of greater moment. Nothing Mid surpass the joy and martial pride of the lion- Brted Peter as he reviewed tliis mighty host of war- fs, and he determined no longer to defer the |ililication of his much-wished-for revenge, upon e scoundrel Swedes at Fort Casimir. I But before I hasten to record those unmatchable His, which will be found in the ser{uel of this hful history, let mo pause to notice the fate of Ja- ms Von Poffenburgh, the discomfited commander- rthief of the armies of the New-Netherlands. Such llhe inherent uncharitableness of human nature, ]il scarcely did the news become public of his de- irable discomfiture at Fort Casimir, than a thou- i scurvy rumours were set afloat in New-Amster- ^, wherein it was insinuated, that he had in reality feacherous understanding with the Swedish com- |inder; that he had long been in the practice of pri- lely communicating with the Sweiies ; together with krs hints about "secret service money."— To all jhich deadly charges I do not give a jot more credit I I think they deserve. |Certain it is, that the general vindicated his cha- tter 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 return- ing to New-Amsterdam, 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, colbrand-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 quar- rels, were ready to fight all his battles, and scowled at every man that turned up his nose at the general, as though they would devour him alive. Their con- versation was interspersed with oaths like minute- guns, and every bombastic rodomontado was round- ed off by a thundering execration, like a patriotic toast honoured with a discharge of artillery. All these valorous vapourings had a considerable effect in convincing certain profound sages, who l)e- gan to think the general a hero of unmatehable lofti- ness and magnanimity of soul ; particularly as he was continually protesting on the honour of a soldier— a marvellously high-sounding asseveration. Nay, one of the members of the council went so far as to pro- pose they should immortalize him by an imperishable statue of plaster of Paris. But the vigilant Peter the Headstrong was no thus to be deceived. Sending privately for the command- er-in-chief of all the armies, and having heard all his story, garnished with the customary pious oaths, pro- testations, 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 des- pised. 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, doubtless for some wise pur- pose, sees fit at present to withhold all proofs of your innocence, far be it from me to counteract its sove- reign will. Beside, I cannot consent to venture my armies with a commander whom they despise, nor to trust the welfare of my people to a champion whom they distrust. Retire tlierefore, my friend, from the irksome toils and cares of public life, with this com- forting reflection— that if guilty, you are but enjoying your just reward— and if innocent, you are not the first great and gootl man who has most wrongfully been slandered and maltreated in this wicked world —doubtless to be better treated in a better world, where there shall be neither error, calumny, nor per- secution.— In the mean lime let me never see your face again, for I have a horrible antipathy to the coun- tenances of unfortunate great men like yourself." am HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. , CHAPTER V. In which the Author discourses very ingenuously of himself— After which is to be found much interesting history about Peter the Ueadstrong and his foUowcrs. As my readers and myself are about entering on as many perils as ever a confederacy of meddlesome knights-errant wilfully ran their heads into, it is meet that, like those hardy adventurers, we should join hands, bury all differences, and swear to stand by one another, in weal or woe, to the end of the enter- prise. My readers must doubtless perceive how com- pletely I have altered my tone and deportment since we first set out together. I warrant they then thought me a crabbed, cynical, impertinent little son of a Dutchman; for I scarcely ever gave them a civil word, nor so much as touched my beaver, when I had oc- casion to address them. But as we jogged along to- gether in the high road of my history, I gradually began to relax, to grow more courteous, and occa- sionally to enter into familiar discourse, until at length I came to conceive a most social, companionable kind of regard for them. This is just my way— I am al- ways a little cold and reservetl at first, particularly to people whom I neither know nor care for, and am only to be completely won by long intimacy. Besides, why should I have been sociable to the crowd of how-d'ye-do acquaintances that flocked round me at my first appearance ! Many were merely at- tracted by a new face; and having stared me full in the title-page, walked off without saying a word ; while others lingered yawningly through the preface, and, having gratified their shoit-lived curiosity, soon dropped off one by one. But, more especially to try their mettle, I had recourse to an expedient, similar to one which we are told was used by that peerless flower of chivalry. King Arthur ; who, before he ad- mitted any knight to his intimacy, first required that he should show himself superior to danger or hard- ships, by encountering unheard-of mishaps, slaying some dozen giants, vanquis'.iing wicked enchanters, not to say a word of dwarfs, hippogriffs, and liery dragons. On a similar principle did I cunningly lead my readers, at the first sally, into two or three knotty <;hapters, where they were most wofully belaboured and buffeted, by a host of pagan philosophers and in- fidel writers. Though naturally a very grave man, yet could I scarce refrain from smiling outright at seeing the utter confusion and dismay of my valiant cavaliers. Some dropped down dead (asleep) on the field ; others threw down my book in the middle of the first chapter, look to their heels, and never ceas- ed scampering until they had fairly run it out of sight; when they stopped to take breath, to tell their friends what troubles they had undergone, and to warn all others from venturing on so thankless an expedition. Every page thinned my ranks more and more ; and of the vast multitude that first set out, but a compa- ratively few made shift to survive, in exceedingly let- tered condition, through the five introductory chapters. Wliat, then! would you have had me take i sunshine, faint-hearted recreants to my bosom at o first acquaintance ? No — no; I reserved my friend for those whodeserved it, for those who undauntn bore me company, in despite of difficulties, dangei and fatigues. And now, as to those who adhere | me at present, I take them affectionately by ihel — Worthy and thrice-beloved readers! brave well-tried comrades ! who have faithfully followed^ footsteps through all my wanderings — I salute yi from my heart— I pledge myself to stand by youf the last ; and to conduct you (so Heaven speed i trusty weapon which I now hold between iny lingeij triumphantly to the end of this our stupendous i dertaking. But, hark ! while we are thus talking, the cit)- 1 New-Amsterdam is in a bustle. The host of warrb encamped in the Bowling-Green are striking ||J tents ; the brazen trumpet of Anthony Van Corl^ makes the welkin to resound with portentous clangi — the drums beat— the standards of the Manliatlo of Ilell-gate, and of Michael Paw, wave proudly] the air. And now behold where the mariners i busily employed, hoisting the sails of yon topi schooner, ami those clump-built sloops, which are | waft the army of the Nederlanders to gather inui tal honours on the Delaware ! The entire population of the city, man, worn and child, turned out to behold the chivalry of JNeJ Amsterdam, as it paraded the streets previous to eJ barkation. Many a handkerchief was waveduutl the windows; many a fair nose was blown in meJ dious sorrow on the mournful occasion. The griefl the fair dames and beauteous damsels of Gran could not have been more vociferous on the ment of the gallant tribe of Abencerrages, than ' that of the kind-hearted fair ones of New-Anisten on the departure of their intrepid warriors. Evej lovesick maiden fondly crammed the pockets ufii hero with gingerbread and dough-nuts— manyl copper ring was exchanged, and crooked six-penj broken, in pledge of eternal constancy— and liiej remain extant to this day some love-verses written j that occasion, sufficiently crabbed and incoin[irelie( sible to confound the whole universe. But it was a moving sight to see the buxom lass how they iumg about the dotighty Anthony YanCij lear — for he was a jolly, rosy-faced, lusty baelifl(j fond of his joke, and withal a desperate rogue amoi the women. Fain would they ha\e kep* liinil comfort them while the army was a^'-.i) ; I'^.besid what I have said of him, it is no more man juslice| add, that he was a kind-hearted soul, noted tor t benevolent attentions in comforting disconsolate viij during the absence of their Imsbands — and this i him to be very much regarde<l by the honest burgW of the city. But nothing could keep the valiant A| thony from following the heels of the old gcvern whom he loved as he did his very soul— so enibraci^ all llie young vroaws, and giving evei7 one of tb t was sailing in a ( HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 195 I had good teeth and rosy lips a dozen hearty ij,he departed loaded with their kind wishes. ' was the departure of the gallant Peter among lleast causes of public distress. Though the old ' was by no means indulgent to the follies and vardness of his subjects, yet somehow or other he I become strangely |>opular among the people. eis something so captivating in personal bravery, I with the common mass of mankind, it takes the Ijofniost other merits. The simple folk of New- lerdam looked upon Peter Stuyvesant as a pro- It of valour. His wooden leg, that trophy of his ial encounters, was regarded with reverence and alion. Every old burgher had a budget of mi- lous stories to tell about the exploits of Ilard- Uig Piet, wherewith he regaled his children of a I vinter night; and on which he dwelt with as idelight and exaggeration, as do our honest Irj- yeomen on the hardy adventures of old Gene- Ipntnam (or, as he is familiarly termed. Old Put) |jDg our glorious revolution — Not an individual but f believed the old governor was a match for Bel- Hiimself ; and there was even a story told, with (mystery, and under the rose, of his having shot levil with a silver bullet one dark stormy night, t was sailing in a canoe through Hell-gate— But Ido not record as being an absolute fact. Perish Iman who would let fall a drop to discolour the leslream of history ! ttain it is, not an old woman in New-Amsterdam leonsidered Peter Stuyvesant as a tower of strength, I rested satisfied that the public welfare was se- i,solongashe was in the city. It is not sur- in^, then, that they looked upon his departure as B affliction. With heavy hearts they draggled e heels of his troop, as they marched down to the I side to embark. The governor from the stern s schooner gave a short but truly patriarchal ad- 8to [lis citizens, wherein he recommended them uport like loyal and peaceable subjects — to go to ich regularly on Sundays, and to mind their bu- 8 all the week besides — That the women should luliful and affectionate to their husbands — looking r nobody's concerns but their own : eschewing sipings, and morning gaddings— and carrying I tongues and long petticoats. That the men )M abstain from intermeddling in public concerns, isting the cares of government to the officers ap- I to support them- -staying at home, like good )m, making money for themselves, and getting jdren for the benefit of their country. That the tomaslers should look well to the public interest (oppressinf, the poor nor indulging the rich— I tasking the r security to devise new laws, but nully enforcing those which were already made piher bending their attention to prevent evil than jonish it ; ever recollecting that civil magistrates Iconsider themselves more asguardians of public ilslhan rat-catchers employed to entrap public de- Finally, he exhorted them, one and all, high and low, rich and poor, to conduct themselves as well as they could, assuring them that if they faith- fully and conscientiously complied with this golden rule, there was no danger but that they would all conduct themselves well enough — This done, he gave them a paternal benediction; the sturdy Anthony sounded a most loving farewell with bis trumpet, the jolly crews put up a shout of triumph, and the invin- cible armada swept off proudly down the bay. The good people of New-Amsterdam crowded down to the battery — that blest resort, from whence so many a tender prayer has been wafted, so many a fair hand waved, so many a tearful look been cast by love-sick damsel, after the lessening bark, bearing her adventurous swain to distant climes ! — Here the populace watched with straining eyes the gallant squadron, as it slowly floated down the bay, and when the intervening land at the Narrows simt it from their sight, gradually dispersed with silent tongues and downcast countenances. A heavy gloom hung over the late bustling city — the honest burghers smoked their pipes in profound thoughtfulness, casting many a wistful look to the weathercock on the church of St Nicholas; and all the old women, having no longer the presence of Pe- ter Stuyvesant to hearten them, gathered their chil- dren home, and barricadoed the doors and windows every evening at sundown. In the mean while the armada of the sturdy Peter proceeded prosperously on its voyage, and after en- countering about as many storms, and water-spouts, and whales, and other horrors and phenomena, as generally befall adventurous landsmen in perilous voyages of the kind; and after undergoing a severe scouring from that deplorable and unpitied malady called sea-sickness, the whole squadron arrived safely in the Delaware. Without so much as dropping anchor and giving his wearied ships time to breathe, after labouring so long in the ocean, the intrepid Peter pursued his course up the Delaware, and made a sudden appear- ance before Fort Casimir. Having summoned the astonished garrison by a terrific blast from the trum- pet of the long-winded Van Corlear, he demanded, in d tone of thunder, an instant surrender of the fort. To this demand, Suen Scutz, the wind-dried com- mandant, replied in a shrill whiflling voice, which, by reason of his extreme spareness, sounded like the wind whistling through a broken bellows—" that he had no very strong reason for refusing, except that the demand was particularly disagreeable, as he had been ordered to maintain bis post to the last extre- mity." He requested time, therefore, to consult with Governor Risingh, and proposed a truce for that pur- pose. The choleric Peter, indignant at having his rightful fort so treacherously taken from him, and thus perti- naciously withheld, refused the proposed armistice, and swore by the pipe of St Nicholas, which, like the sacred Are, was never extinguished, that unless the 2.'i .J& 194 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. fort were surrendered in ten minntes, he wonld in- continently storm (he works, malce all the garrison run the gauntlet, and split their scoundrel of a com- mander like a pickled shad. To give this menace the greater effect, he drew forth his trusty sword, and shook it at them with such a fierce and vigorous motion, that doubtless, if it had not been exceeding rusty, it would have lightened terror into the eyes and hearts of the enemy. He then ordered his men to bring a broadside to bear upon the fort, consisting of two swivels, three muskets, a long duck fowling- piece, and two brace of horse-pistols. In the mean time the sturdy Van Corlear mar- shalled all his forces, and commenced his warlike ope- rations. Distending his cheeks like a very Boreas, he kept up a most horrific twanging of his trumpet — the lusty choristers of Sing-Sing broke forth into a hideous song of battle — the warriors of Breuckelen and the Wallabout blew a potent and astounding blast on their conch shells, altogether forming as outrageous a concerto as though live thousand French fiddlers were displaying their skill in a modern over- ture. Whether the formidable front of war thus sudden- ly presented smote the garrison with sore dismay — or whether the concluding terms of the sunnnous, which mentioned that he should surrender " at dis- cretion," were mistaken by Suen Scutz, who, though a Swede, was a very considerate, easy-tempered man — as a compliment to his discretion, I will not take upon me to say ; certain it is he found it impossible to resist so courteous a demand. Accordingly, in the very nick of time, just as the cabin-boy had gone after a coal of fire, to discharge the swivel, a cha- made was beat on the rampart by the only drum in the garrison, to the no small satisfaction of both par- ties; who, notwithstanding' their great stomach for fighting, had full as good an inclination to eat a quiet dinner as to exchange black eyes and bloody noses. Thus did this impregnable fortress once more re- lurn to the domination of their High Mightinesses; Scutz and his garrison of twenty men were allowed to march out with the honours of war, and the vic- torious Peter, who was as generous as brave, per- mitted them to keep possession of all their arms and ammunition— the same on insfjection being found to- tally unlit for service, having long rusted in the ma- gazine of the fortress, even before it was wrested by the Swedes from the windy Von Poffenburgh. But I must not omit to mention, that the governor was so well pleased with the service of his faithful squire Van Corlear, in the reduction of this great fortress, that he made him on the spot lord of a goodly do- main in the vicinity of New-Amsterdam — which goes by the name of Corlear's Hook unto tliis very day. The unexampled liberality of the valiant Stuyvesant towards the Swedes, occasioned great surprise in the city of New-Amsterdam— nay, certain of those factious individuals, who had been enlightened by the politica/ meetings that prevailed during the days of waj the Testy, but who had not dared to indulge i meddlesome habits under the eye of their pro niler, now, emboldened by his absence, dared i to give vent to their censures in the street. Mun were lieai-d in the very council-chamber of Ne\v-A| terdam ; and there is no knowing whether (jiey t not have broken out into downright speeches and| vectives, had not Peter Stuyvesant privately sent I his walking staff, to be laid as a mace on the i the council-chamber, in the midst of his counsellj who, like wise men, took the hint, and for ever^ held their peace. CHAPTER VI. Showing the great advantage that the author has over tiisn in time ot lialtle — together with divers portentous moTei which betolien tliat something terrible is altout to liajipd). I Like as a mighty alderman, when at a corpon feast the first spoonful of turtle soup salutes iiij late, feels his impatient appetite but tenfold iinicka and redoubles his vigorous attacks upon tlie inn while his voracious eyes, projecting from his I roll greedily round, devouring every thing at I so did the mettlesome Peter Stuyvesant fee! tliatl lerable hunger for martial glory, which raged w| his vei7 bowels, inflamed by the capture of Fortl simir, and nothing could allay it but the conqoeT all New-Sweden. No sooner therefore had hes ed his conquest, than he stumped resolutely on, II ed with success, to gather fresh laurels at FortC tina. ' This was the grand Swedish post, establishcdj small river (or, as it is improperly termed, m the same name ; and here that crafty governor| Risingh lay grimly drawn up, like a gray-b spider in the citadel of his web. But before we hurry into the direful scenes | must attend the meeting of two such potent cliiefli it is advisable that we pause for a moment, andj a kind of warlike council. Battle should not be r ed into precipitately by the historian and his reaJ any more than by the general and his soldiers. great commanders of anli({uity nevct engajedl enemy without previously preparing the minds of| followers by animating harangues; spiriting tlH to heroic feelings, assuring them of liic protedid the goils, and inspiring them with a confidence ill prowess of their leaders. So the historian sh[ awaken the attention and enlist the passions ( readers; and having set them all on (ire withliifj portancc of his subject, he should put himself at | iiead, flourish his pen, and lead them on to llietlj est of the fight. An illustrious example of this rule may be i ' This is at present a flourishing town, called Cliristii Christccn, about thirty-seven niiles trom Philadelphia, c post-road to Baltimore. HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. Idf> I mirror of historians tlie immortal Thucydides. arrived at the brealiing out of the Pelopon- var, one of his commentators observes that (sounds tlie charge in all the disposition and spirit lonier. He cataiogiit's the allies on hoth sides, livakens our expectations, and fast engages our \lion. All mankind are concerned in the iniport- liioiiit now going to he decidwi. Emieavours are eto disclose futurity. Heaven itself is interested tdispute. The earth tott«rs, and nature seems lour with the great event. This is his solemn ; manner of setting out. Thus he magnifies a [between two, as Rnpin styles them, petty states; us artfully he supports a little subject by treat- It in a great and noble method." lilike manner, having conducted my readers into Ivery teeth of peril — having followed the advenlu- I Peter and his hand into foreign regions — sur- tledby foes, and stunned by the horrid din of arms kiliiti important moment, wliile darkness and doubt I o'er each coming chapter, I hold it meet to ha- ! them, and prepare them for the events that |lo follow. I here I would premise one great advantage ii,as the historian, I possess over my reader; and litis, that though I cannot save the life of my fa- lile hero, nor absolutely contradict the event of Jjllie (both which liberties, though often taken by |French writers of the present reign, I hold to be lly unworthy of a scrupulous historian) , yet I Idow and then make him bestow on his enemy dy back stroke sufficient to fell a giant; though, nest truth, he may never have done any thing ekind — or I can drive his antiigonist clear round |[Ound the field, as did Homer make that fine F Hector scamper like a poltroon round the walls ifly; for which, if ever they have encountered one rin the Elysian fields, I'll warrant the prince Klslias had to make the most humble apology. |iin aware that many conscientious readers will ady to cry out " foul play ! " whenever I render t assistance to my hero — but I consider it one of t privileges exercised by historians of all ages — |oiie which has never been disputed. In fact, an I is, as it were, bound in honour to stand by iero— the fame of the latter is entrusted to his k, and it is his duty to do the best by it he can. rwas there a general, an admiral, or any other lander, who, in giving an account of any battle 1 fought, did not sorely belabour the enemy; [IhaYe no doubt that, had my heroes written the f of their own achievements, they would have kmuch harder blows than any that I shall re- Standing forth, therefore, as the guardian of tfame, it behoves me to do them the same justice h'ould have done themselves; and if I happen to jiilUe hard upon the Swedes, I give free leave to J of their descendants, who may write a history of jStale of Delaware, to take fair retaliation, and ur Peter Stuyvesant as bard a? they please. Therefore stand by for broken heads and bioodj noses !— My pen hath long itched for a battle— siege after siege liave I carried on without blows or blood- shed; but now I have at length got a chance, and I vow to Heaven and St Nicholas, that, let the chroni- (;le8 of the times say what they please, neither Sallust, Livy, Tacitus, Polybius, nor any other historian, did ever recoitl a fiercer fight than that in which my va- liant chieftains are now about to engage. And you, oh most excellent readers, whom, for your faithful adherence, I could cherish in the warm- est corner of my heart — be not uneasy — trust the fate of our favourite Stuyvesant to me— for by the rood, come what may, I'll stick by Hardkopping Piet to the last. I'll make liim drive alraut these losels vile, as did the renowned Launcelol of the Lake a herd of recreant Cornish knights— and if he does fall, let me never draw my pen to fight another battle, in behalf of a brave man, if I don't make these lubberly Swedes pay for it. No sooner had Peter Stuyvesant arrived before Fort Christina than he proceeded without delay to mtrench himself, and immediately on running his first parallel, dispatched Anthony Van Corlear to summon the fort- ress to surrender. Van Corlear was received with all due formality, hoodwinked at the [lortal, and con- ducted through a pestiferous smell of salt fish and onions to the citadel, a substantial hut built of pine logs. His eyes were here uncovered, and he found himself in the august presence of Governor Risingh. This chieftain, as I have before noted, was a very giantly man; and was clad in a coarse blue coat, strapped round the waist with a leathern belt, which caused the enormous skirts and pockets to setoff with a very war- like sweep. His ponderous legs were cased in a pair of foxy-coloured jack boots, and he was straddling in the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, before a bit of broken looking-glass, shaving himself with a villan- ously dull razor. This afllicthig operation caused him to make a series of horrible grimaces, that height- ened exceedingly the grisly terrors of his visage. On Anthony Van Corlear's being announced, the grim commander paused for a moment, in the midst of one of his most hard-favoured contortions, and after eye- ing him askance over the shoulder, with a kind of snarling grin on his countenance, resumed his labours at the glass. This iron harvest being reaped, he turned once more to the trumpeter, and demanded the purport of his errand. Anthony Van Corlear delivered in a few words, being a kind of short-hand speaker, a long message from his excellency, recounting the whole history of the province, with a recapitulation of griev- ances, and enumeration of claims, and concluding with a peremptory demand of instant surrender; which done, he turned aside, took his nose between his thumb and finger, and blew a tremendous blast, not unlike the flourish of a trumpet of defiance — which it had doubtless learned from a long and inti- mate neiglibourhood with that melodious instrument. % i9a HISTORY OF JNEW-YORK. |3 Governor llisingh heard him ttirough, trumpet and all, but with inflnite impatience; leaning at times, as was his usual custom, on the pommel of his sword, and at limes twirling a huge steel watch- chain, or snapping his fingers. Van Corlear having finished, he hluntly replied, that Peter Stuyvesant and his summons might go to the d 1, whither he hop- ed to send him and his crew of ragamuffins before supper -time. Then unsheathing his brass-hilted sword, and throwing away the scabbard — "'Fore gad," quod he, "but I will not sheathe thee again until I make a scabbard of the smoke-dried leathern hide of this nmagate Dutchman." Then having flung a fierce defiance in the teeth of his adversary, by the lips of his messenger, the latter was reconduct- ed to the portal, with all the ceremonious civility due to the trumpeter, squire, and ambassador of so great a commander; and l}eing again unblinded, was cour- teously dismissed with a tweak of the nose, to assist him in recollecting his message. No sooner did the gallant Peter receive this inso- lent reply than he let fly a tremendous volley of red- hot execrations, that would infallibly have battered down the fortifications, and blown up the powder magazine, about the ears of the fiery Swede, had not the ramparts been remarkably strong, and the maga- zine bomb-proof. Perceiving that the works with- stood this terrific blast, and that it was utterly im- possible (as it really was in those unphilosophic days) to carry on a war with words, he ordered his merry men all to prepare for an immediate assault. But here a strange murmur broke out among his troops, beginning with the tribe of the Van Bummels, those valiant trencher-men of the Bronx, and spreading from man to man, accompanied with certain mutinous looks and discontented murmurs. For once in his life, and only for once, did the great Peter turn pale, for he verily thought his warriors were going to falter in this hour of perilous trial, and thus to tarnish for ever the fame of the province of New-Netherlands, But soon did he discover, to his great joy, that in this suspicion he deeply wronged this most undaunt- ed army; for the cause of this agitation and uneasiness simply was, that the hour of dinner was at hand, and it would have almost broken the hearts of these regular Dutch warriors to have broken in upon the invariable routine of their habits. Beside, it was an established rule among our ancestors always to fight upon a full stomach; and to this may be doubtless attributed the circumstance that they came to be so renowned in arms. And now are the hearty men of the Manhattoes, and their no less hearty comrades, all lustily engaged under the trees, buffeting stoutly with the contents of their wallets, and taking such affectionate embraces of their canteens and pottles, as though they verily believed they were to be the last. And as I foresee we shall have hot work in a page or two, I advise my readers to do the same, for which purpose I will bring this chapter to a close; giving them my word of honour, that no advantage shall be taken of] armistice to surprise, or in any wise molest, the! Nederlanders, while at their vigorous repast. CHAPTER Vn. Containing the moat horrible battle ever recorded In poein prose; with tlic adniii-able exploits of Peter the Hcailsiru " Now had the Dutchmen snatched a huge rep and finding themselves wonderfully encouraged | animated thereby, prepared to take the field. Eji tation, says the writer of the Stuyvesant mamis —Expectation now stood on stilts. The world foj to turn round, or rather stood still, that it might] ness the affray; like a round-bellied alderman, wal ing the combat of two chivalric flies upon liisjetf The eyes of all mankind, as usual in such cases, turned upon Fort Christina. The sun, like a I man in a crowd at a puppet-show, scampered ; the heavens, popping his head here and there, j endeavouring to get a peep between the iinrjan clouds, that obtruded themselves in his way. historians filled their inkhorns — the poets went? out their dinners, either that they mifiht buy [ and goose-quills, or because they could not get | thing to eat — Antiquity scowled sulkily out m grave, to see itself outdone — while even Posts stood mute, gazing in gaping ecstasy of retros|) on the eventful field. The immortal deities, who whilom had seen | vice at the "affair" of Troy— now mounledl feather-bed olouds, urd sailed over the plainJ mingled among tlie combatants in different disgii] all itching to have a finger in the pie. Jr tersei his thunderbolt to a noted coppersmith, tu \id furbished up for the direful occasion. Venus sJ by her chastity she would patronize the Swedes,! in semblance of a blear-eyed trull paraded the baj ments of Fort Christina, accompanied by Diana, [ sergeant's widow, of cracked reputation— The nj bully. Mars, stuck two horse-pistols into his 1 shouldered a rusty firelock, and gallantly swagg( at their elbow, as a drunken corporal— while Ad trudged in their rear, as a bandy-legged lifer, pla| most villanously out of tune. On the other side, the ox-eyed Juno, who I gained a pair of black eyes over night, in onJ her curtain lectures with old Jupiter, displayedj haughty beauties on a baggage-waggon— Minen a brawny gin-sutller, tucked up her skirts, brandiij her lists, and swore most heroically, in exci bad Dutch (having but lately studied the languaj by way of keeping up the spirits of the soldiei^; \ Vulcan halted as a club-footed blacksmith, promote<l to be a captain of militia. All wass horror, or hustling preparation : war reared liishd front, gnashed loud his iron fangs, and shook | direful crest of bristling bayonets. And now the mighty chieftains marshalled oultl "BrimtUlol HISTORY OF IVEW-YORK. 197 Here stood stout Risingh, flrni as a thousand -incrusted with stockades, and intrenched to (cbin in mud batteries. Ilis valiant soldiery lined t breast-work in grim array, each having his mus- fiercely greased, and his hair pumatnmed ick, and queued so stiHly, that he grinned above the giparls like a grisly death's head. I There came on the intrepid Peter — his brows knit, (leetli set, his flsls clinched, almost breathing Torth ^uines of smoke, so fierce was the fire that raged litbin his bosom. Ilis failhful squire Van Gurlear idged valiantly at his heels, with his trumpet gor- isly bedecked with red and yellow ribands, the giembrances of his fair mistresses at the Man- Itloes. Then came waddling on the sturdy chivalry fihe Hudson. There were the Van Wycks, and (Van Dycks, and the Ten Eycks— the Van Nesses, e Van Tassels, the Van Grolls; the Van Hoesens, (Van Giesons, and the Van Blarcoms— tlie Van Ifarls, the Van Winkles, the Van Dams; the Van tils, the Van Rippers, and the Van Brunts. There J the Van Homes, the Van Hooks, the Van Bun- lotens; the Van Gelders, the Van Arsdales, and Van Bummels; the Vander Bells, the Vander »fs, the Vander Voorts, the Vander Lyns, the inder Pools, and the Vander Spiegels— there came ellofrmans, the Hooghlands, the Hoppers, the Glop- rs, the Ryckmans, the Dyckmans, the Hogebooms, eRflsebooms, the Oothouts, the Quackenbosses, the lerbacks, the Garrebranlzs, the Bensons, the Brou- [s, the Waldrons, the Ondeidonks, the Varra Van- is, the Schernjorhorns, the Stoutenburgs, the Brin- Ihe Bontecous, the Knickerbockers, the ickslrassers, the Ten Breecheses and the Tough lecheses, with a host more of worthies, whose mes are too crabbed to be written, or if they could britten, it would be impossible for man to utter — llfortifled with a mighty dinner, and to use the words |la great Dutch poet, ' ' Brimlhl of wrath and cabl)age ! " I For an instant the mighty Peter paused in the 1st of his career, and mounting on a stump, ad- d his troops in eloquent Low Dutch, exiiorting kem to fight like duyvels, and assuring them that if liey conqueretl, they should gel plenty of booty— if key fell, they should be allowed the satisfaction, ie dying, of reflecting that it was in the service of keir country — and after they were dead, of seeing keir names inscribed in the temple of renown, and tided down, in company with all the other great Kn of the year, for the admiration of posterity. — ally, he swore to them, on the word of a governor ud they knew him too well to doubt it for a mo- ot), that if he caught any mother's son of them *ing pale, or playing craven, he w^ould curry his Uetlll he made him run out of it like a snake in |ring time.— Then lugging out his trusty sabre, he RDdished it three times over his liead, ordered Van irlear to sound a charge, and shouting the words "St Nicholas and the Manhattoes!" conrageonsly dashed forwards. His warlike followers, who had employed the interval in lighting their pipes, instantly stuck them in their mouths, gave a furious puff, and charged gallantly, under cover of the smoke. The Swedish garrison, ordered by the cunning Ri- singh not to fire until they could distinguish the whites of their assailants' eyes, stootl in horrid silence on the covert-way, until the eager Dutchmen had as- cended the glacis. Then did they pour into them such a tremendous volley, that the very hills quaked around, and were terrified even unto an incontinence of water, insomuch that certain springs burst forth from their sides, which continue to run unto the pre- sent day. Not a Dutchman but would have bitten the dust beneath that dreadful lire, had not the pro- tecting Minerva kindly taken care that the Swedes should, one and all, observe their usual custom of shutting their eyes and turning away their heads at the moment of discharge. The Swedes followed up their fire by leaping the counterscarp, and falling tooth and nail upon the foe with furious outcries. And now might be seen pro- digies of valour, of which neither history nor song have ever recorded a parallel. Here was beheld the sturdy Stoffel Brinkerhoff brandishing his lusty quar- ter-staff, like the terrible giant Blanderon his oak tree (for he scorned to carry any other weapon), and drumming a horrific tune upon the heads of whole squadrons of Swedes. There were the crafty Van Kortlandts, posted at a distance, like the Locrian ar- chers of yore, and plying it most potently with the long-bow, for which they were so justly renowned. At another place were collected on a rising knoll the valiant men of Sing-Sing, who assisted marvellously in the fight, by chanting forth the great song of St Nicholas; but as to the Gardeniers of Hudson, they were absent from the battle, having been sent out on a marauding party, to lay waste the neighbouring water-melon patches. In a different part of the field might be seen the Van Grolls of Anthony's Nose; but they were horribly perplexed in a defile between two little hills, by reason of the length of their noses. There were the Van Bunschotens of Nyack and Ka- kiat, so renowned for kicking with their left foot; but their skill availed them little at present, being short of wind in consequence of the hearty dinner they had eaten, and they would irretrievably have been put to rout had they not been reinforced by a gallant corps of vbltigeurs, composed of the Hoppers, wlw advan- ced to their assistance nimbly on one foot. Nor must I omit to mention the incomparable achievements of Anthony Van Corlear, who, for a good quarter of an hour, waged stubborn fight with a little pursy Swe- dish drummer, whose hide he drummed most ma- gnificently; and had he not come into the battle with no other weapon but his trumpet, would infallibly have put him to an untunely end. But now the combat thickened.— On came the mighty Jacobus Varra Vanger and the fighting men 198 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 1 'i M of the Wallabout; after them thuiulered the Van Pelts of Esbpus, togetlier with the Van Rippers and the Van Brunts, bearing down all liefore tlieni— then the Suy Danis, and the Van Danis, pressing forward with many a blustering oatii, at the head of the war- riors of llcll-gate, clad in their thunder and lighl- mng gabardines ; and lastly, the slantlnrd-licarers and body-guards of Peter Stuyvesant, bearhig the great beaver of the Manhatloes. And now commenced the horrid din, the desperate struggle, the maddening ferocity, the frantic des|>era- tion, the confusion and self-ahandoiunenl of war. Dutchman and Swede cununingled, tugged, panted, and biowed. The iieavens were darkened willi a tempest of missives, liang ! went the guns — wiiack ! went the broad-swords — thinnp I went die cudgels— crasli ! went the nuiskel-stocks — blows — kicks — cuffs — scratches — black eyes and bloody noses swelling the horrors «if the scene ! Thick-thwack, cut and hack, helter-skelter, higgledy-piggledy, luuly-burly, head over heels, rough and tumble ! — Dunder and blixuni ! swore the Dutchmen — s|ililter and splutter ! cried the Swedes — Sturm the works! sliouled Ilard- kopping Peter — fire the mine ! roared stout llisingh — Tanta-ra-ra-ra ! twanged the trumpet of Anthony Van Corlear— until all voice and sound became unin- telligible — grunts of pain, yells of fury, and shouts of triumph mingling in one hhleous clamour. The earth shook as if struck with a paralytic stroke — Trees shrunk aghast, and withered at the sight — Rocks burrowed in the ground like rabbits, — and even Christina Creek turned from its course, and ran up a mountain in breathless terror ! Long hung the conquest duubtful, for though a heavy shower of rain, sent by the " cloud-compelling Jove," in some measure cooled their ardour, as doth a bucket of water thrown on a group of lighting mas- tiffs, yet did they but pause for a moment, to return with tenfold fury to the charge, belabouring each other with black and bloody bruises. Just at this juncture was seen a vast and dense column of smoke, slowly rolling towards the scene of battle, which for a while made even the furious combatants to stay their arms in mute astonishment — but the wind for a moment dispersing the murky cloud, from the midst thereof emerged the flaunting banner of the immortal Micliael Paw. This noble chieftain came fearlessly on, leading a solid phalanx of oyster-fed Pavonians, who had remained behind, partly as a corps de r6- serve, and partly to digest the enormous dinner they hadealen. 'J'hese sturdy yeomen, nothing daunted, did truilge manfully forward, smoking their pipes with outrageous vigour, so as to raise the awful cloud that has been mentioned; but inarching exceedingly slow, being short of leg, and of great rotundity in the belt. And now the protecting deities of the army of New- Amsterdam having unthinkingly left the field and stept into a neighlmuring tavern to refresh themselves with a pot of beer, a direful catastrophe had well nigh clianced to befall tlie Nederlanders. Scarcely liad the myrmidons of the puissant Paw attained the from J battle, before the Swedes, instructed by the eiiiiuij Risingh, levelled a shower of blows full at their t bacco-pi|»es. Astounded at this unexpecte«l asvnill and totally discondited at seeing their pipes limkeJ the valiant f^utchnien fell in vast confusiDii— {i||>;i| they begin to lly — like a frightene<l drove of luiwirid elephants they throw their own army in an npriu bearing <lown a whole legion of little lloppi-rsHl sacred Imnner on which is blazoned the gigaiiiieovj ter of Conununi|Kiw is tranipleil in the din. j|[ Swedes pluck up new spirits, and pressing on i rear, a|iply their feel a piirte poste with a vi;;()iir i|t prodigiously accelerates their motions — nor dolii i|| renowned I'aw himself fail to receive divers grievB and dishonourable visitations of shoe-leather. Hut what, oh muse ! was the rage of the gallj Peter, when from afar he saw his army yield? \Vi| a voice of thunder did he roar after his recreoiit wai riors. 'J'he men of the I^lanluittoes plucked upnJ courage when they heard their leader — or rather iIk[ dreaded his fierce displeasure, of which they slmHlij more awe than of all the Swedes in Christeiiduni- Bnt the daring Peter, not waiting for their aid, plunj ed, sword in hand, into the thickest of the fu<,-. Tit did he display some such incredible achievemeiils^ have never been known since the miraculous clays( the giants. Wherever he went the enemy sliniol before him. — With lierce impetuosity he pushed fo^ ward, driving the Swedes, like dogs, into their m ditch ; but as he fearlessly advance<l, the foe lliruii^ in his rear, and hung upon his flank with Itarr ril. At one tune a crafty Swede, advancing wai on one side, drove his dastard sword full at the lierol heart; but the protecting power that watches over tlf safety of all great and good men, turned ^side tlielia tile blade, and directed it to a side-pocket, where r posed an enormous iron tobacco-l)ox, endowed, lid the shield of Achilles, with supernatural powers-ij doubt in conse(|uence of its being piously decoralej with a portrait of the blessed St Mcliolas. ThuMti the dreadful blow repelled, but not without occasio ing to the great Peter a fearful loss of wind. Like as a furious bear, when gored by curs, tun fiercely round, gnashes his teeth, and springs up the foe, so did our hero turn upon the tieaciien Swede. The miserable varlet sought in tli;;lit I safety — but the active Peter, sei/irig him by an in measurable queue that dangled from his head— "Ahj whoreson caterpillar!" roared he, " here is wli shall make dog's meat of thee!" So saying, whirled his trusty sword, and made a blow tin would have decapitated him, but that the pitying ste^ struck short, and shaved the queue for ever from 1 crown. At this very moment a cunning arciucbiisier perched on tlie summit of a neighbouring inoun levelled his deadly instrument, and would have s the gallant Stuy vesant a wailing ghost to haunl I Stygian shore — had not the watchful Minerva, win had just stopped to tie up her garter, seen the { HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 19!) ailvaiK^iii^' wa d full ul the lieroj I uT lier favoHrite chief, and iV etched old Doreas ihb litfilows, who in the ve. . lick of time, just [ibe ni<t(ch descendetl to the pan, gave surh ;> 'iiicky Bl, as blew all (he |»rimin^ from the loiich-hole ! iTIius wflfyod the horritl fiplil— when llie stout Hiiulii surveying the lialllr from llie top of a little villi, |)ei°ceiveil his faithful tr(M)ps l)aii;;e«l, Iteaten, I kicked by the inviiieihie Peter. Lan;;tiii);e oan- l(if«cribe the clioler with which he wns seized at (si^lit — be only stopped for a moment to disbiirthen ^Klfof live thousand anathemas; and then draw- rliis falchion straddled down to the Held of comlMt, lilli some such thundering strides as Jupiter is said filesiwl to have taken when he strode down the «res, to hurl his thunderbolts at the Titans. |(io sooner did these two rival heroes come face to >llian they each made a prwli^ious start, such as Isaiie by your most experienced sla^e champions. [did they re!,Mrd each other for a moment with aspect, like two furious ram cats on the vety int of a clapper-clawing. Then did they throw jiselves into one attitude, then into another, strik- (llieir swords on the ground, iiist on the right side, Jim the left— at last at it they went Avith incredible city. W Olds cannot tell the prodigies of strength I valour displayed on this direful encounter — an jiinter compared to which the far-famed battles JAjax with Hector, of Apneas with Tiirnus, Orlando I llwlomoiit, Guy of Warwick with Colbraiul the , or of that renowned Welsh Knight, Sir Owen [llie Mountains, with the giant Guylon, were all glle sports and holiday recreations. At length the liiint Peter, watching his opiwrtunily, aimed a blow, I the full intention of cleaving his adversary to the fcliine; but Risingh, nimbly raising his sword, dwl it off so narrowly, that glancing on one side, jshaved away a huge canteen that he always carried ung on one side ; tlience pursuing its trenchant arse, it severed off a «leep coal iK)cket, stored with tead ^nd cheese— all which dainties rolling among [armies, occasioned a fearful scrambling between I Swedes and Dutchmen, and made the general illle lo wax ten times more furious than ever. [Enraged to see his military stores thus wofully laid Ble, the stout Risingh, collecting all his forces, id a mighty blow full at the liero's crest. In vain ihis fierce little cocked hat oppose its course; the ng steel clove through the stubborn ram beaver, 1 would infallibly have cracked his crown, but that ! skull was of such adamantine hardness, that the I weapon shivered into pieces, shedding a thou- I sparks, like beams of glory, round his grisly vi- had he not lieen received into a cushion softer than velvet, which Providence, or Minerva, or St Nicholas, or some kimlly cow hail benevolently prepared for his reception. The furious Risingh, in despite of that noble maxim, cherished by all true knights, that '■'■ fair play is a jewel," hastened to take advantage of the hero's fall; but just as he was stooping to give the fatal blow, the ever vigilant Peter liestowed him a sturdy thwack over the sconce with his wootlcn leg, that set some dozen chimes of bells ringing triple lH)b-maj«)rs in his cerebellum. The bewildered Swede staggt-red with the blow, ami in the nu'an time the wary Peter espy- ing a |M)cket pistol lying hard by (which had dropped from the wallet of his faithful s(iuire and trum|>eter Van Corlear during his furious encounter with the drummer) discharged it full at the head of the reeling Risingh — Let not my reader mistake — it was not a nuirderous weapon loaded witlj powder and ball, but a little sturdy stone pottle, chargeil to the muzzle with a double dram of tme Dutch courage, which the knowing Van Corlear always carried alMut him by way of replenishing his valour. The hideous missive sung through the air, and true to its course, as was the fragment of a rock discharged at Hector by bully Ajax, encountered the head of the gigantic Swede with matchless violence. This heaven-directed blow decided the battle. The ponderous pericranium of General Jan Risingh sunk upon his breast; his knees tottered under him; a death-like torpor seized upon his frame, and be tum- bled lo the earth with such tremendous violence, that old Pluto started with affright, lest he should have broken through the roof of his infernal palace. His fall was the signal of defeat and viclory— The Swedes gave way— the Dutch pressed forward ; the former took lo their heels, the latter hotly pureued. — Some enteretl with them, pell-mell, through the sally-port — others ilormetl the bastion, and others scrambled over the curtain. Thus in a li.tlc while the fortress of Fort Christina, which, like another Troy, had stood a siege of full ten hours, w.is carried by assault, without the loss of a single man on either side. ' Viclory, in the likeness of a gigantic ox-fly, sal perched upon the cocked hat of the gallant Sluy- vesant, and it was declared, by all the writers whom he hired lo write the history of his expedition, that on this memorable day he gained a suflicient (piantity of glory to immortalize a dozen of the greatest heroes in Christendom! |Slanned with Ihe blow, the valiant Peter reeled, Tied up his eyes, and beheld fifty thousand suns, Bides moons and stars, dancing about the firma- nt-at length, missing his footing, by reason of his deii leg, down he came on his seat of honour, ilh a crash that shook the surrounding hills, and nid infallibly have wrecked his anatomical system, CHAPTER Vffl. In wliicli llie author and ttie reader, wliilc reposing after tlie battle, fall into a very grave discourse— after wliicti is recorded llic conduct of Peter Stuyvesant after his victory. Thanks to St Nicholas, we have safely flnislied this tremendous battle : let us sit down, my worthy reader, and cool ourselves, for I am in a prodigious 200 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. sweat and ggitalion— Truly tliis fighting of battles is hot work ! and if your great commanders did but know what trouble they give their historians, they would not have the conscience to achieve so many horrible victories. But methinks I hear my reader complain, that throughout this boasted battle there is not the least slaughter, nor a single individual maimed, if we except the unhappy Swede, who was shorn of his queue by the trenchant blade of Peter Stuyvesant; all which, he observes, is a great outrage on probability, and highly injurious to the interest of the narration. This is certainly an objection of no little moment, but it arises entirely from the obscurity that enve- lopes the remote periods of time about which I have undertaken to write. Thus, though doubtless, from the importance of the object, and the prowess of the parties concerned, there must have been terrible car- nage, and prodigies of valour displayed before the walls of Christina; yet, notwithstanding that I have consulted every history, manuscript and tradition, touching this memorable though long-forgotten l)altle, I cannot find mention made of a single man killed or wounded in llie whole affair. This is, without doubt, owing to the extreme mo- desty of our forefathers, who, like their descendants, were never prone to vaunt of their achievements ; but it is a virtue that places their historian in a most em- barrassing predicament; for, having promised my readers a hideous and unparalleled battle, and having worked them up into a warlike and blood-thirsty state of mind ; to put them off without any havoc and slaughter would have been as bitter a disap[)ointment as to summon a multitude of good people to attend an execution, and then cruelly balk them by a re- prieve. Had the fates only allowed me some half a score dead men, I had been content; for I would have made them such heroes as abounded in the olden time, but whose race is now unfortunately extinct; any one of whom, if we may believe those authentic writers, the poets, could drive great armies like sheep before him, and conquer and desolate whole cities by his single arm. But seeing that I had not a single life at my dis- posal, alt that was left me was to make the most I could of my battle, by means of kicks, and cuffs, and bruises, and such like ignoble wounds. And here I cannot but compare my dilemma, in some sort, to that of the divine Milton, who, having arrayed with sublime preparation his immortal hosts against each other, is sadly put to it tiv)w to manage them, and how he shall make the end of his battle answer to the beginning; inasmuch as, being mere spirits, he can- not deal a mortal blow, ncr even give a flesh wound to any of his combatants. For my part, the greatest difficulty I found was, when I had once put my war- riors in a passion, and let them loose into the midst of the enemy, to keep them from doing mischief. Many a time had I to restrain the sturdy Peter from cleaving a gigantic Swede to the very waistband, ( spitting half a dozen little fellows on his sword, lii so many sparrows. And when I had set some hiu dred of missives flying in the air, I did not dare i suffer one of them to reach the ground, lest it shoiil have put an end to some unlucky Dutchman. The reader cannot conceive how mortifying it igj a writer thus in a manner to have his hands tied, aij how many templing opportunities I had to wink j where I might have made as fine a death-blow as a recorded in history or song. From my own experience I begin to doubt most j tently of the authenticity of many of Homer's storiej I verily believe, that when he had once launcli^ one of his favourite heroes among a crowd of ( enemy, he cut down many an honest fellow, withoi any authority for so doing, excepting that he pre! ed a fair mark — and that often a poor devil was s to grim Pluto's domains, merely because he liad| name that would give a sounding turn to a perio But I disclaim all such unprinnpled liberties— let n but have truth and the law on my side, and no i would fight harder than myself— but since the variix records I consulted did not warrant it, I had toomu conscience to kill a single soldier. — By St Nicliol^ but it would have been a pretty piece of business! enemies, the critics, who I foresee will be read enough to lay any crime they can discover at i door, might liave charged me with murder outrigl — and I should have esteemed myself lucky toesca|| with no harsher verdict than manslaughter ! And now, gentle reader, that we are tranquill sitting down here, smoking our pipes, permit me | indulge in a melancholy reflection which at this i ment passes across my mind. — How vain, how h ing, how uncertain are all those gaudy bubbles afli which we are panting and (oiling in this world of fi| delusions ! The wealth which (he miser has amass with so many weary days, so many sleepless iiijhij a spendthrift heir may squander away in joyless pr( digality — The noblest monuments which pride ever reared to perpetuate a name, the hand of lid will shortly tumble into ruins— and even the briglilej laurels, gained by feats of arms, may wither, aiullj for ever blighted by the chilling neglect of mankini — "How many illustrious heroes," says the Boetius, "who were once the pride and glory of I age, hath the silence of historians buried in etert oblivion ! " And this it was that induced the Spi tans, when they went to battle, solemnly to sacri to the Muses, supplicating that their acliievemeii| might be worthily recorded. Had not Homer tun his lofty lyre, observes the elegant Cicero, the valoi of Achilles had remained unsung. And such toj after all the toils and perils he had braved, aflerij the gallant actions he had achieved, such too nearly been the fate of the chivalric Peter Sluyvesaii] but that I fortunately stepped in and engraved I name on the indelible tablet of history, just as tbeo tiff Time was silently brnshing it away for ever ! HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 201 emore I reflect, the more am I astonished at tiie rtant character of the historian. He is the so- I censor, to decide upon the renown or infamy i fellow-men. He is the patron of kings and gicrors, on whom it depends wliellier they shall jin after-ages, or be forgotten as were tlieir ances- lliefore tliem. The tyrant may oppress while the It of ills tyranny exists, but the historian possesses ior might, for his [tower extends even beyond The sliades of departed and long-forgot- Iberoes anxiously bend down from alwve, while Iriles, watching each movement of his pen, whe- lk shall pass by their names with neglect, or in- eiliem on the deathless pages of renown. Even Idrop of ink that hangs trembling on his pen, Uiemay either dash upon the floor, or waste in Ijcrawlings— that very drop, which to him is not nil the twentieth part of a farthing, may be of in- ilable value to some departed worthy — may ele- |balf a score, in one moment, to immortality, who i have given worlds, had they possessed them, ure the glorious meed. tnot my readers imagine, however, that I 'am ^ng in vain-glorious boastings, or am anxious izoD forth the importance of my tribe. On the y, I shrink when I reflect on the awfid res- ility we historians assume — I shudder to think |l direful commotions and calamities we occasion e world— I swear to thee, honest reader, as I am u, I weep at the very idea! Why, let me ask, |uniaiiy illustrious men daily tearing themselves ffrom the embraces of their families — slighting jsmiies of beauty — despising the allurements of me, and exposing themselves to the miseries of |?-W'hy are kings desolating empires, and depo- Dgwhole countries? In short, what induces all I mrn, of all ages and countries, to commit so ^f victories and misdeeds, and inflict so many mi- I upon mankind and upon themselves, but the eliope that some historian will kindly take them Inotice, and admit them into a corner of his vo- ]e? For, in short, the mighty object of all their , their hanlships, and privations, is nothing but mtal fame— and what is immortal fame? J,lialfa page of dirty paper! alas! alas! how ilialiiig the idea — that the renown of so great a las Peter Sluyvesant should depend upon tlie pen Villle a man as Diedricli Knickerlwcker ! i now, having refreshed ourselves after the fa- sand perils of the field, it behoves us to return [iinore to the scene of conflict, and inquire what ! the results of this renowned conquest. Tlie i of Christina being the fair metropolis, and in |>nner the key to New-Sweden, its capture was dily followed by the entire subjugation of the nee. This was not a little promoted by the gal- |«nd courteous deportment of the chivalric Peter. ^h a man terrible in battle, yet in the hour of fy was he endued with a spirit generous, mer- fi and humane. He vaunted not over his ene- mies, nor did he make defeat more galling by un- manly insults; for like that mirror of knightly virtue, the renowned paladin Orlando, he was more anxious to do great actions than to talk of them after they were done. He put no man to death; ordered no houses to be burnt down ; permitted no ravages to be perpetrated on the property of the vanquished ; and even gave one of his bravest officers a severe admo- nishment with his walking-staff, for having been de- tected in the act of sacking a hen-roost. He moreover issued a proclamation, inviting the in- habitants to submit to the authority of their High aiightinesses; but declaring, with unexampled cle- mency, that whoever refuse<l should be lodged at the public expense, in a goodly castle provided for the purpose, and have an armed retinue to wait on them in tite bargain. In consequence of these beneficient terms, alwut thirty Swedes stepped manfully forward and took the oath of allegiance ; in reward for which they were graciously permitted to remain on the banks of the Delaware, where their descendants reside at this very day. I am told, however, by divers ob- servant travellers, that they have never been able to get over the chap-fallen looks of their ancestors ; but that they still do strangely transmit from father to son manifest marks of the sound drultbing given them by the sturdy Amsterdammers. The whole country of New-Sweden, having thus yielded to the arms of the Iriumphani Peter, was re- duced to a 0' 'ony called South-river, and placed un- der the superintendence of a lieutenant-governor, sub- ject to the control of the supreme government at New- Amsterdam. This great dignitary wascalled Mynheer William Beekman, or rather Beck-man, who derived his surname, as did Ovidius Naso of yore, from the lordly dimensions of his nose, which projected from the centre of his countenance, like the beak of a par- rot. He was the great progenitor of the tribe of the Ikekmans, one of the most ancient and honourable families of the province ; the members of which do gratefully commemorate the origin of their dignity, not as your noble families in England would do, by having a glowing proboscis emblazoned in their escutcheon, but by one and all wearing a right goo<l- ly nose, stuck in the very middle of their faces. Thus was this perilous enterprise gloriously ter- minated, with the loss of only two men,— Wolfert Van Home, a tall spare man, who was knocked over- board by the boom of a sloop in a flaw of wind; and fat Brom Van Buinmel, who was suddenly carried off by an indigestion; both, however, were immor- talized, as having bravely fallen in the service of their country. True it is, Peter Stuyvesant had one of his limbs terribly fractured in the act of storming the fort- ress; but as it was fortunately his wooilen leg, the wound was promptly and effectually healed. And now nothing remains to this branch of my history tut to mention that this immaculate hero, and his victorious army, returned joyously to the Man- hattoes, where they made a solemn and triumphant 26 2()2 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. entry, bearing with them the conquered Bisingli, and the remnant of liis battered crew, who had re- fused allegiance ; for it appears that the gigantic Swede had only fal'en into a swoon, at the end of the battle, from whence he was speedily restored by a whole- some tweak of the nose. These captive heroes were Imlged, according to iht promise of the governor, at the public expense, in a fair and spacious castle ; being the prison of state, of which Stoffel Brinkerhoff, the immortal conqueror of Oyster Bay, was appointed governor; and which has ever since remained in the possession of his descend- ants. ■ It was a pleasant and goodly sight to witness the joy of the people of New-Amsterdam, at beholding their warriors once more return from this war in tiie wilderness. The old women thronged round An- thony Van Corlear, who gave the whole history of the campaign with matchless accuracy ; saving that he took the credit of fighting the whole battle him- self, and especially of vanquishing the stout Risingh; which he considered himself as clearly entitled to, seeing that it was effected by his own stone pottle. The schoolmasters throughout the town gave holi- day to their little urchins, — who followed in droves after the drums, with paper caps on their heads, and sticks in their breeches, thus taking the first lesson in the art of war. As to the sturdy rabMe, they throng- ed at the heels of Peter Stuyvesant wherever he went, waving their greasy hats in the air, and shouting " Hardkopping Piet for ever ! " It was indeed a day of roaring rout and jubilee. A huge dinner was prepared at the Stadthouse in ho- nour of the conquerors, where were assembled in one glorious constellation the great and the little lumi- naries of New-Amsterdam. There were the lordly Sellout and his ol)sequious deputy — the burgomasters with their officious schepens at their elbows — the subaltern officers at the elbows of the schepens, and so on down to the lowest hanger-on of police; every tag having his rag at his side, to finish his pipe, drink off his heel-taps, and laugh at his flights of immortal dulness. In short — for a city feast is a city feast all the world over, and has been a city feast ever since the creation — the dinner went off much the same as do our great corporation junketings and fourth of July banquets. Loads of fish, llesh, and fowl were de- voured, oceans of liquor drunk, thousands of pipes smoked, and many a dull joke honoured with nuich obstreperous fat-sided laughter. I must not omit to mention, that to this far-famed victory Peter Stuyvesant was indebted for another of his many titles — for so hugely delighted were the honest burghers with his achievements, that they unanimously honoured him with the name of Pieler rtf. Oroodt, that is to say, Peter the Great; or, as it was translated by the people of New-Amsterdam, ' This castlf. (houKh vrry much altered and modernized, Is Ktill in brini;, and alands at Ihe comer of Pearl'«lreel, racing Coenlie'N slip. Piet depig—an appellation which he maintained e unto the day of his death. BOOK VII. C0NTAiIS'l>« THB TBIBD PAHT OF THK nVIGN OV Fn«) HKADSTBOIVC— niS TBOUUI.ES WITH THB KHITISH lyATKuJ THE DECMNB AND VALL OP THK DUTCH DVNASTV. CHAPTER I. How Peter Stuyvesant relieved the sovereign people I burthen of taking care of the nation— with sundry partict his conduct in time of peace. TIII3 history of the reign of Peter Stuyvesant 1 nishes a melancholy picture of the cares and vexal| inseparable from government; and may seneasi lemn warning to all who are ambitious of attaiJ the seat of power. Though crowned with viciJ enriched by conquest, and returning in triurapl his metropolis, his exultation was checked bybehf ing the sad abuses that had taken place duringl short interval of his absence. The populace, unfortunately for their own c had taken a deep draught of the intoxicating ( power during the reign of William the Testy;] though upon the accession of Peter Stuyvesant, i felt, with a certain instinctive perception, whiclin as well as cattle possess, that the reins of govemiJ had passed into stronger hands ; yet could theyj help fretting, and chafing, and champing uponl bit, in restive silence. It seems, by some strange and inscrutable fatj to be the destiny of most countries, (and nioree cially of your enlightened republics,) always toll verned by the most incompetent man in the natf so that you will scarcely find an individual tlira out the whole community who cannot point oulii merable errors in administration, and convince yo| Ihe end, that had he been at the head of affaire, i ters would have gone on a thousand times morej sperously. Strange! that government, which s to be so generally understood, should invariably li erroneously administered— strange, that the talei legislation, so prodigally bestowed, should bei to the only man in the nation to whose station iti quisite ! Thus it was in the present instance; nota i all the herd of i>seudo-politicians in New-Amstei hut was an oracle on topics of state, and could | directed public affairs incomparably better than P Stuyvesant. But so severe was the old goverm his disposition, that he would never suffer one« multitude of ablv, oounscllors by whom he was] rounded to intrude his advice, and save the conj from destruction. Scarcely, ther« lore, had he departed on his ei] tioii against the Swedes, than the old factions of 1 linm Kieft's rdgn began to thrust their heads al HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 905 ler, aiul lo gather lugether in political meetings, to "the state of the nation." At these asseni- sthe busy burgomasters and llieir officious sche- s made a very considerable figure. Tliese worthy milaries were no longer the fat, well-fed, tranquil [gliiiirates who presided in the peaceful days of juter Van Twiller. On the contrary, being elecl- |tir the people, they formed, in a manner, a sturdy vark between tlie mob and the administration. kr vere great candidates for popularity, and stre- s advocates for the rights of the rabble ; resem- £, in disinterested zeal, the wide-moulhed tribunes icient Home, or those virtuous patriots of modern Lempliatically denominated " the friends of the kle." lunderthe tuition of these profound politicians, it is dishing how suddenly enlightened the swinish ^litude became in matters above their comprehen- Cobblers, tinkers, and tailors, all at once felt lelves inspired, like those religious idiots in the sof monkish illumination; and without any pre- s study or experience, became instantly capable ctiiig all the movements of government. Nor 1 1 neglect to mention a > 'mber of superannuat- [vrong-headed old burghers, who had come over nboys in the crew of the Goede Vrouw, and were i up as infallible oracles by the enlightened mob. Lsuppose that a man who had helped to discover a utiy did not know how it ought to be governed (preposterous in the extreme; it would have been ned as much a heresy as at the present day to (slion the political talents and universal infallibility tiirold " heroes of '70"— and to doubt that he who drought for a government, however stupid he mijriit lurally be, was not competent to fill any station un- til. IBuI as Peter Stuy vesant had a singular inclination Ifovern his province without the assistance of his :cts, he felt highly incensed, on his return, to dllie factious appearance they had assumed during I absence. His first measure, therefore, was to lore perfect order, by prostrating the dignity of J sovereign people. |He accordingly watched his opportunity, and one ning when the mob were gathered together, lis- ^iig to a patriotic speech from an inspired cobbler, e intrepid Peter all at once appeared among them, I a countenance sufficient to petrify a millstone. e wiiule meeting was thrown into consternation — I orator seemed to have received a paralytic strcAC \ht very middle of a sublime sentence, and stood i8t with o()en mouth and trembling knees ; while ! words horror ! tyranny I liberty ! rights ! taxes ! mh! destruction! and a deluge of other patriotic irises, came roaring from his throat before he had fffcr to close his lips. The slu'ewd Peter took no e of the skulking throng around him, but advanc- ! to the brawling bully-ruffian, and drawing out a ! silver watch, which might have served in times [yore as a town-clock, and which is still retained hy his descendants as a family curiosity, re<]uested the orator to mend it, and set it going. The orator hum- bly confessed it was utterly out of his power, as he was unacquainted with the nature of its constrnction. "Nay, but," said Peter, " try your ingenuity, man : you see all the springs ami 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 different— that he was a poor cobbler, 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 con- fusion " Why, Iiarkee, master of mine," cried Peter, turning suddenly upon him, with a counte- nance that almost petrified the patcher of shoes into a perfect lapslone— " dost thou pretend to meddle wMh the movements of government — to regulate, and cor- rect, and patch and cobble a complicated machine, the principles of which are above thy comprehension, and its simplest operations too subtle for thy under- standing, when thou canst not correct a trilling error in a common piece of mechanism, the whole mystery of which is open to thy inspection? — Ilcnce with thee to the leather and stone, which are emblems of thy head; cobble thy shoes, and confme thyself to the vo- cation for which Heaven has fitted thee — But," ele- vating his voice until it made the welkin ring, " if ever I catch thee, or any of thy tribe, meddling again with affairs of government, by St Nicholas, but I'll have every mother's bastard of ye flay'd alive, and your hides stretched for drum-heads, that ye may thenceforth make a noise to some purpose ! " This threat, and (he tremendous voice in which it was uttered, caused the whole multitude to quake with fear. The hair of the orator arose 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 ef- fect 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 entertain- ing highly aristocratic sentiments, and of leaning too much in favour of the patricians. Indeed there ap- peared to be some ground for such an accusation, as he always carried himself with a very lofty, soldier- like port, and was somewhat particular in his dress; appearing, when not in uniform, in simple, but rich apparel; and was especially noted for 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 (here was something about him that repelled rude familiarity, while it encouraged frank and even social Intercourse. He likewise observed some appearance of court ce- remony and etiquette. He received the common class n;!i SM HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. of visitors on the stoop' before his door, according to the custoAi of our Dutch ancestors. But when visi- tors were formally received in his parlour, it was ex- pected they would appear in clean linen , by no means barefooted, and always 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 wag- gon with (laming red wheels. These symptoms of state and ceremony occasioned considerable discontent among the vulgar. They had been accustomed to lind easy access to their former governors, and in particular had lived on terms of ex- treme familiarity with William the Testy. They were therefore very impatient of these dignified pre- cautions, which discouraged intrusion. But Peter Stuyvesanl had his own way of thinking in these mat- ters, and was a stanch upholder of the dignity of of- fice. He always maintained that government to be the least popular which is most open to popular access and control ; and liiat the very brawlers against court ce- remony, and the reserve of men in power, would soon despise rulers among whom they found even them- selves to be of consequence. Such, at least, had been the case with the administration of William the Testy ; who, bent on making himself popular, had listened to every man's advice; suffered every body to have ad- mittance to his person at all hours; and, in a word, treated every one as iiis thorough equal. By this means every scrub politician and public busy-body was enabled to measure wits with him, and to find out the true dimensions, not only of his person, but of his mind. — And what great man can stand such scrutiny ? — It is the mystery that envelopes great men, that gives 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 super- stitious reverence for office, which leads us to exag- gerate 'he merits and abilities of men in 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 im- portance that a country should he 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 proiluce 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 guns access to cabinets soon finds out by what foolish .less the world is govern- ed. He discovers that there k < quackery in legislation, as well as in everything else; 'hat many a measure, v'hicli is supposed by the millioi; to he the result of great wisdom and deep deliberation, is the effect of mere chance, or perhaps of hare-brained experiment — That rulers have their whims and errors as well as other men, and after all are not so wonderfully superior ■ I'riipcrly spelled sloeb : the iwrcli commonly built in front of I)ntt;Ii houirs. with benches on each side. to their fellow-creatures as he at first imagined; ; he finds that even his own opinions have had s weight with them. Thus awe subsides into confidei confidence inspires familiarity, and familiarity i duces contempt. Peter Sluyvesant, on the conti by conducting himself with dignity and loftiness,, looked up to with great reverence. As he nerer« his reasons for any thing he did, the public ajw gave him credit for very profound ones — Every r ment, however intrinsically unimportant, was a i ler of speculation ; and his very red stocking excj some respect, as being different from the stock| of other men. To these times may we refer the rise of fa pride and aristocratic distinctions; ' and indeed I o not but look back with reverence to the early p|J ing of those mighty Dutch families which haveiaj such vigorous root, and branched out so luxutim in our state. The blood which has flowed down! contaminated through a succession of steady, virli{ generations, since the times of the patriarchs of C munipaw, must certainly be pure and worthy. if so, then are the Van Rensellaers, the Van Zan the Van Homes, the Rutgers, the Bensons, tlieE kerhoffs, the Schermerhornes, and all the true i cendants of the ancient Pavonians, the only legitiio nobility and real lords of the soil. I have been led to mention thus particularly I well authenticated claims of our genuine Diilclij milies, because I have noticed with great sorrow) vexation, that they have been somewhat aside in latter days by foreign intruders. It is r astonishing to behold how many great families li sprung up of late years, who pride themselves eia ively on the score of ancestry.' Thus he who ( look up to his father without humiliation assuinesi a little importance — he who can safely talk of| grandfather is still more vain-glorious — but he \ can look back to his great grandfather without bin ing, is absolutely intolerable in his pretensionsl family.— Bless us ! what a piece of work is bef between these mushrooms of an hour and mushrooms of a day ! But from what I have recounted in the former p of this chapter, I would not have my reader inia^ that the great Peter was a tyrannical governor, i his subjects with a rod of iron — on the contrary, whi the dignity of authority was not implicated, lieab ed with generosity and condescension. In ract,^ really believed, though I fear my more enliglilei republican readers will consider it a proof of his i^ ranee and illiberality, that in preventing the cupl social life fron) being dashed with the intoxicalingj gredient of politics, he promoted thetranqnillitya happiness of the people— and that by detaching I ■ In ii work pnblislied many years after the time here (reileii| ( in 1701 , by C. W. A. M. ) it is mentioned that Freilericlt Ptiitf wns counted tlic richest Mynheer in Mew-Yori(, ami wat^ hav(! whole hogsheads of Indian money or wampum-.itAi ■I son and daughter, who, according to the Dutch cuatoin, ilioj divide it equally. HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 205 ) fromsubjects which they could not understand, Iffliich only tended to intlame their passions, he Med them to attend more faithfully and industrious- ^10 their proper callings ; becoming more useful ci- \s, and more attentive to their families and for- [So far from having any unreasonable austerity, he jjfflited to see the poor and (he labouring man re- , and for this purpose was a great promoter of ho- jirsand public amusements. Under his reign was I introduced the custom of cracking eggs at Paas ^Easter. New-year's day was also observed with jravagant festivity — and ushered in by the ringing lells and firing of guns. Every house was a temple I lie jolly god — Oceans of cherry-brandy, trueHol- ids, and mulled cider were set afloat on the occa- n; and not a poor man in town but made it a point Ut drunk, out of a principle of pure economy — ^r, in liquor enough to serve him for half a year herwards, I It would have done one's heart good also to have ilhc valiant Peter, seated among the old burghers Jiheir wives of a Saturday atternoon, under the lit trees that spread their shade over the Batterj', Inlching (he young men and women as they danced pilie green. Here he would smoke his pipe, crack sjoke, and forget the rugged toils of war in the |ieet oblivious festivities of peace. He would occa- mally give a nod of approbation to those of the nngmen who shuffled and kicked most vigorously, Inow and then give a hearty smack, in all honesty il, to the buxom lass that held out longest, and 1 down all her competitors ; which he considered linfallible proofs of her being the best dancer. Once, [is true, the harmony of the meeting was rather in- uptetl. A young vrouw, of great figure in the |nworkl, and who, having lately come from Hol- , of course led the fashions in the city, made her learance in not more than half a dozen petticoats, 1 these too of most alarming shortness. An uni- lal wiiisper ran through the asseniMy ; the old la- s all felt shocked in the extreme ; the young ladies il,and felt excessively for the "poor thing," i even the governor himself was observed to be a lie troubled in mind. To complete the astonish- ntoftlie good folks, she undertook, in the course |fa jig, to describe some astonishing figures in alge- 1, which she had learned from a dancing-master at (lotteiiian).— Whether she was too animated in flour- ting her feet, or whether some vagabond ze[ihyr 1 the liberty of obtruding his services, certain it is, lit in the course of a grand evolution, which would I have disgraced a modern ball-room, she made a Kt unexpected display — whereat the whole assem- jiywas thrown into great admiration, several grave nntry members were not a little moved, and the I Peter himself, who was a man of unparalleled dMiy, felt himself grievously scandalized. I The shortness of the female dresses, which had nlinued in fashion ever since the days of William Kieft, had long offended his eye; and though ex- tremely averse to meddling with the petticoats of the ladies, yet he immediately recommended (hat 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 for- bade, under pain of his high displeasure, any young lady .henceforth to attempt what was termed "exhi- biting the graces." These were (ne only res(rictions he ever imposed upon (he sex, and (hese were considered by them as tyrannical oppressions, and resisted with (hat becom- ing spirit always manifested by the gentle sex when- ever their privileges are invaded. — In fact, Peter Stuyvesant plainly perceived, that if he attempted to push the matter any further, (here was danger of their leaving off petticoats al(oge(her; so like a wise man, experienced in the ways of women, he held his peace, and suffered them ever after to wear their pet- ticoats and cut their capers as high as they pleased. CHAPTER n. How Peter Stiiyvcsant was mucli molrsted by (tie moss-troopers of tlie East, and tlic Giants of Merrylantl— and liow a dark and IioitUI conspiracy was carried on in (lie Britisli Cabinet against tlic prosperity odiic Slauhaltocs. We are now approaching towards the crisis of our work, and if I be not mistaken in my forebodings, we shall have a world of business to dispatch in the ensu- ing chapters. It is with some communities as it is with certain meddlesome individuals, they have a wonderful faci- lity at getting into scrapes ; and I have always remark- ed that those are most liable (o get in who have the least talent at getting out again. This is, doubtless, owing (0 the excessive valour of (hose states; for I have likewise noticed ihat this rampant and ungovern- able quality is always most unridy where most con- fined ; which accounts for its vapouring so amazingly in li(tle states, little men, and more especially in ugly litde women. Thus, when one reflects that the province of the Manhattoes, though of prodigious impor(ance in (he eyes of its inhabi(ants and its historian, was really of no very great consequence in the eyes of the rest of the world ; that it had but lidle wealth or other s|)oils to reward the trouble of assailing it ; and that it had nothing to expect from running wantonly into war, save an exceeding gootl beating— On pondering these things, I say, one would utterly despair of finding in its history ei(her battles or bloodshed, or any other of those calamities which give importance to a nation, and entertainment to (he reader. But, on the con- trary, we find, so valiant is this province, that it has already drawn u|)oni(self o host of enemies; has had as many buffetings as would gratify the ambition of the most warlike nation ; and is, in sober sadness, a aoG HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. very forlorn, distressed, and wol)egone little province ! — all which was, no doubt, kindly ordered by Provi- dence, to give interest and sublimity to this pathetic history. But I forbear to enter into a detail of the pitiful maraudings and harassments, that for a long while after the victory on the Delaware continued to insult the dignity and disturb the repose of the Neder- landers. Sufiice it in brevity to say, that the impla- cable hostility of the people of the east , which had so miraculously been prevented from breaking out, as my readers must remember, by the sudden prevalence of witchcraft, and the dissensions in the council of Amphictyons, now again displayed itself in a thou- sand grievous and bitter scourings upon the borders. Scarcely a month passed without the Dutch settle- ments on the frontiers being alarmed by the sudden appearance of an invading army from Connecti- cut. This would advance resolutely through the country, like a caravan of the deserts, the women and children mounted in carts loaded with pots and kettles, as though they meant to boil the honest Dutchmen alive, and devour them like so many lob- sters. At the tail of these carts would stalk a crew of long-limbed, lank-sided varlets, with axes on their shoulders and packs on their backs, resolutely bent upon improving the country in despite of its pro- prietors. These settling themselves down would in a short time completely dislodge the unfortunate Nederlanders ; elbowing them out of those rich bottoms and fertile valleys, in which our Dutch yeomanry are so famous for nestling themselves — For it is notorious, that, wherever these shrewd men of the east get a footing, the honest Dutchmen do gradually disappear, retiring slowly, like (he Indians before the whites; being totally discomfited by the talking, chaffering, swapping, bargainuig disposition of their new neighbours. All these audacious infringements on the territories of their High Mightinesses were accompanied, as has before been hinted, by a world of rascally brawls, rib-roastings, and bundlings, which would doubtless have incensed the valiant Peter to wreak immediate chastisement, had he not at the very same time been perplexed by distressing accounts from Mynheer Beck- man, who commanded the territories at South-river. The restless Swedes, who had so graciously been suffered to remain about the Delaware, began al- ready to show signs of mutiny and disalTeclion. What was worse, a peremptory claim was laid to the whole territory, as tlie rightful properly of Lord Bal- timore, by one Fendal. This latter was a chieftain who ruled over the colony of Maryland, or, as it was anciently called, Merryland; so termed because that Uie inhabitants, not having the fear of the Lord before their eyes, were notoriously prone to get fuddled and make merry with mint julep and apple toddy. So hostile was this bully Fendal, that he threatened, unless his claim were instantly complied with, to march incontinently at the head of a potent force of the roaring Iwys of Merryland, togelher « j a great and mighty train of giants, who infested i banks of the Susquehanna '—and to lay waste a] depopulate the whole country of South-river. By this it is manifest, that this boasted colony |J all great acquisitions of territory , soon became a jjreaj evil to the conqueror than the loss of it was to thee (|uered ; and caused greater uneasiness and trouble til all the territoryof the New-Netherlands besides. TM Providence wisely orders that one evil shall balaj another : the conqueror who wrests the propertyofl neighbour, who wrongs a nation and desolates a coJ try, though he may acquire increase of empire, ai immortal fame, yet ensures his own inevitable punij ment. He takes to himself a cause of endless anslj — he incoiporates with his late sound domain a I part — a rotten disaffected member; whi^i is anij haustless source of internal treason and disunion, j external altercation and hostility. — Happy is tbati tion, which compact, united, loyal in all its pails, a concentrated in its strength, seeks no idle acquisiiil of unprofitable and ungovernable territory— wjiiij content to be prosperous and happy, has no anibitl to be great. It is like a man well organized inf system, sound in health, and full of vigour ; uoi cumbered by useless trappings, and fixed in an i shaken attitude. But the nation insatiable of terriloi whose domains are scattered, feebly united, and wh ly organized, is like a senseless miser sprawlingair golden stores, open to every attack, and unable tod fend the riches he vainly endeavours to oversliadol At the time of receiving the alarming dispalcll from South-river, the great Peter was busily emploj ed in quelling certain Indian troubles that had brokl out about Esopus, and was moreover meditating lio| to relieve his eastern borders on the Conneclici He sent word, however, to Mynheer Beckmanlol of good heart, to maintain incessant >igilance, andj let him know if matters wore a more threatening a pearance ; in which case he would incontinently i pair with his warriors of the Hudson, to spoO I merriment of these Merry-landers; for he covelj exceedingly to have a bout, hand to hand, with son half a score of these giants — having never encoiinterj a giant in his whole hfe, unless we may so < stout Kisingh, and he was but a little one. Nothing further, however, occurred to moleslll tranquillity of Mynheer Beckman and his coionj Fendal and his myrmidons remained at home, can ■ We find very curious and woiidcrlul accounts of tlicsc slra people, ( wlio were doulrtlcss tlie anccstoi-s of llie present Mi^ landers,) made by Master Harlot. In his interesting tiistory. Sus<]ucsalianocl48 "—observes he— " are a giantly people, slra in pro|K)rtion, behaviour, and attire— llieir voice wjiiiuliiigfi tlicui as if out a cave. Their tobaceo-piiws were tlirceH|uarten| a yard Iouk, carved at the great end with a bint, beaic, orotlT device, suflieient to beat out the braincs of a horse, (and liuw iiu^ asses braincs arc Iwatcn out, or rattier men's braincs siiiokcilo and asses braines haled in, by our lesser pipes at tionic.) Thee; of one of their IcgRcs measured three-quarters of a yard about, ( rest of his limbs proportionable." Master Harlot's Journ. riirdi, fiLj HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 207 Jourii. I'lirdi. Hi KJlsoundfy upon hoe-tiakes, bacon, and mint jnlep, Ininning horses, and fighting cocks; for which were greatly renowned. At Iiearing of this ler Stuyvesant was very well pleased, for nolwith- (lin<; his inclination to measure weapons with monstrous men of the Susquehanna, yet he j already as much employment nearer home as he I turn his hands to. Little did he think, worthy ,tliat this southern calm was but the deceitful elude to a most terrible and fatal storm, thenbrew- , which was soon to burst forth and overwhelm (Unsuspecting city of New- Amsterdam! I^ow so it was, that while this excellent governor skiving his little senate laws, and not only giving n, but enforcing them too — while he was inces- iilly]travelling the rounds of his beloved province rting from place to place to redress grievances, 1 while busy at one corner of his dominions, all the jgelting in an uproar — At this very time, I say, a iand direful plot was hatching against him in |il nursery of monstrous projects, the British cabi- The news of his achievements on the Delaware, tording to a sage old historian of INew-Amsterdam, I occasioned not a little talk and marvel in the lorte of Europe. And the Same profound writer mres us that the cabinet of England began to en- laln great jealousy and uneasiness at the increasing liver of the Manhattoes, and the valour of its sturdy oianry. I Agents, the same historian observes, were sent by eAmphictyonic council of the east, to entreat the glance of the British cabinet in subjugating this hty province. Lord Sterling also asserted his ihl to Long-Island, and, at the same time. Lord ytimore, whose agent, as has before been mention- |ii,had so alarmed Mynheer Beckman, laid his claim bre the cabinet to the lands of South-river, which ! complained were unjustly and forcibly detained I him by these daring usurpers of the Nieuw-Ne- trlandts. I Thus did the unlucky empire of the Manhattoes nd in imminent danger of experiencing the fate of uland, and being torn limb from limb to be shared ong its savage neighbours. But while these rapa- ioiis powers were whetting their fangs, and waiting r Ihe signal to fall tooth and nail upon this delicious |klle fat Dutch empire, the lordly lion, who sat as npire, all at once settled the claims of all parties, by lying his own paw upon the spoil ; for we are told lat his Majesty, Charles the Second, not to l)e per- Uexed by adjusting these several pretensions, made [ipresentof a large tract of North-America, includ- [Ihe province of New-Netherlands, to his brother, le Duke of York — a donation truly royal, since none Hit great nionarchs have a right to give away what les not belong to them. Tiiat this munificent gift might not be merely no- il, his Majesty, on the 42th of March, 4«64, or- kred that an armament should be forthwith pre- ured to invade the city of New- Amsterdam by land and water, and put his brother in complete possession of the premises. Thus critically are situated the affairs of the New- Netherlanders. The honest burghers, so far from thinking of the jeopardy in which their interests are placed, are soberly smoking their pipes, and thinking of nothing at all— the privy councillors of Ihe pro- vince are at this moment snoring in full quorum; while the active Peter, who takes all the labour of thinking and acting upon himself, is busily devising some methoil of bringing the grand council of Am- phictyons to terms. In the mean while an angry cloud is darkly scowling on the horizon — soon 'will it rattle about the ears of these dozing Nederlanders, and put the mettle of their stout-hearted governor completely to the trial. But come what may, I here pledge my veracity that in all warlike conllicts and subtle perplexities, he shall still acquit himself with the gallant bearing and spotless honour of a noble-minded, obstinate old ca- valier — Forward then to the charge! — Shine out, propitious stars, on the renowned city of the Man- hattoes; and may the blessing of St Nicholas go with thee — honest Peter Stuyvesant. CHAPTER ra. of Peter Stuyvesant's expedition into Ihe East Country, shnwlnf; that, though an old bird, he did not understand trap. Great nations resemble great men in this particu- lar, that their greatness is seldom known until they get in trouble ; adversity, therefore, has been wisely denominated the ordeal of true greatness, which, like gold, can never receive its real estimation until it has passeil through the furnace. In proportion, there- fore, as a nation, a community, or an individual (possessing the inherent quality of greatness) is in- volved in perils and misfortunes, in proportion does it rise in grandeur — and even when sinking under ca- lamity, makes, like a house on fire, a more glorious display than ever it did hi the fairest period of its pro- sperity. The vast empire of China, though teeming with population and imbibing and concentrating the wealth of nations, has vegetated through a succes- sion of drowsy ages; and were it not for its internal revolution, and tlie subversion of its ancient govern- ment by the Tartars, might have presented nothing but an uninteresting detail of dull, monotonous pro- sperity. Pompeii and Ilerculaneum might have pass- ed into oblivion, with a herd of their contemporaries, if they had not been fortunately overwhelmeil by a volcano. The renowned city of Troy has acquired celebrity only from its ten years' distress, and final conflagration— Paris rises in importance by the plots and massacres which liave ended in the exaltation of the illustrious Napoleon— and even the mighty London itself has skulked through the records of time, cele- bratal for nothing of moment excepting the plague, Mii 208 mSTORY OF NEW-YORK. the great fire, and Guy Fanx's gunpowder plot! Thus cities and empires seem to creep along, enlarg- ing in silent obscurity, 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, how so smsil a state has been able, in so short a time, to en- tangle itself in so many difficulties. Ever since the province was first taken by the nose, at the Fort of Good Hope, in the tranquil days of Wouter Van Twiller, has it been gradually increasing in historic importance; and never could it have had a more ap- propriate chieftain to conduct it to the pinnacle of grandeur than Peter Stuyvesant. In the fiery heart of this iron-headed old warrior sat enthroned all those five kinds of courage describ- ed by Aristotle; 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 <he l)etter part of valour called discretion, a cold-blooded virtue, which could not exist in the tropical climate of his mighty soul. Hence it was that he was conti- nually hurrying into those unheard-of enterprises which give an air of chivalric romance to all his his- tory; and hence it was that he now conceived a pro- ject worthy of the hero of La Mancha himself. This was no other than to repair in person to the great council of the Amphictyons, bearing the sword in one hand and the olive-branch in the other— to require immediate 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 his gauntlet and appeal to arms for satisfaction. On declaring this resolution in his privy-council, the >f nerable members were seized with vast asto- nishment; for once in their lives they venturetl to remonstrate, setting forth the rashness of exposing his sacred person, in the midst of a strange and bar- barous people, with sundry other weighty remon- strances — all which had about as much influence upon the determination of the headstrong Peter as though you were to endeavour to turn a rusty wea- thercock with a broken-winded bellows. Summoning therefore to his presence his trusty follower, Anthony Van Corlear, he commanded him to hold himself in readiness to accompany him the following morning on this his hazardous enterprise. Now Anthony the trumpeter was by this time a little stricken in years, yet by dint of keeping up a good heart, and having never known care or sorrow, (hav- ing never been married,) he was slill a hearty, 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 i Fort Casimir. Be this as it may, there was nothing that delighted Anthony than this command of the i Peler, for he could have followed the stout-hearted o governor to the world's end, with love and loyaltyJ and he moreover still remembered the frolicking, a dancing, and bundling, and other disports of the en country, and entertained dainty recollection of nuir rous kind and buxum lasses, whom he longed excei ingly again to encounter. Tlius then did this mirror of hardihood set fort with no other attendant but his trumpeter, upon ( of the most perilous enterprises ever recorded in tl^ annals of knight-errantry.— For a single warrior t venture openly among a whole nation of foes— bui] above all, for a plain downright Dutchman to \\w of negotiating with the whole council of New-Eu land ! — never was there known a more desperal undertaking ! — Ever since I have entered upon i chronicles of this peerless but hitherto uncelebrate chieftain, has he kept me in a state of incessant aclioi and anxiety with the toils and dangers he is constanti encountering — Oh ! for a chapter of the tranquil reid of Wouter Van Twiller, that I might repose on it j on a feather-bed ! Is it not enough, Peler Stuyvesant, that I haij once already rescued thee from the machinations « these terrible Amphictyons, by bringing the powa of witchcraft to thine aid? — Is it not enough, IJiatl have followed thee undaunted, like a guardian s|)irill into the midst of the horrid battle of Fort Ghristinal — That I have been put incessantly to my trumps I keep thee safe and sound— now warding off with nij single pen the shower of dastard blows that fell up thy rear — now narrowly shielding thee from a deadl ly thrust, by a mere tobacco-box — now casing thl dauntless skull with adamant, when even thy stubbotf ram beaver failed to resist the sword of the stoi Risingh — and now, not merely bringing thee off alivtl but triumphant, from the clutches of the giganlij Swede, by the desperate means of a paltry stoi pottle? — Is not all this enough, but must thou slill t plunging into new difiiculties, and hazarding in he; long enterprises, thyself, thy trumpeter, and thy iiis] torian ? And now the ruddy-faced Aurora, like a bnxoi chambermaid, draws aside the sable curtains of tin night, and out bounces from his bed the jolly redf haired Phirbus, startled at being caught so late in tit embraces of Dame Thetis. W ith many a stable oallj he harnesses his brazen-footed steeds, and whips, an lashes, and splashes up the firmament, like a loiterini coachman, half an hour behind his lime. And noyi| behold that imp of fame and prowess the headstronj Peter, bestriding a rawboned, switch-tailed cliarger| gallantly arrayed in full regimentals, and bracing ( his thigh that trusty brass-hilled sword, which hai wrought such fearful deeds on the banks of the I laware. , with his faithful m in the clear coi HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 209 Igehold hard after him his doughty trumpeter, Van r, mounted on a broken-winded, wall-eyed, )mare ; his stone pottle, which had laid low the tty Risingh, slung under his arm ; and his trum- (displayed vauntingly in his right hand, decorated I a gorgeous banner, on which is emblazoned the tat beaver of the Manhattoes. See them proudly og out of the city gate, like an iron-clad hero of , with his faithful squire at his heels; the popu- e following them with their eyes, and shouting loy a paiting wish and hearty cheering — Farewell, Ikopping Piet! Farewell, honest Anthony! — ant be your wayfaring — prosperous your return ! e stoutest hero that ever drew a sword, and the hiest trumpeter that ever trod shoe-leather. [Legends are lamentably silent about the events that II our adventurers in this their adventurous travel, ^ing the Stuy vesant Manuscript, which gives the iance of a pleasant little heroic poem, written on leoccasion by Dominie ^gidius Luyck,' who ap- s to have been the poet-laureat of New-Amster- This inestimable manuscript assures us, that s a rare spectacle to behold the great Peter and kloyal follower hailing the morning sun, and re- jiinginlhe clear countenance of nature, as they it through the pastoral scenes of Bloemcn d;' which, in those days, was a sweet and rural ), beautified with many a bright wild flower, bed by many a pure streamlet, and enlivened eand there by a delectable little Dutch cottage, Jdtered under some sloping hill, and almost buried leoibowering trees. |Sow did they enter upon the confines of Connec- il, where they encountered many grievous difti- i and perils. At one place they were assailed |) troop of country squires and militia colonels, I, mounted on goodly steeds, hung upon their rear [several miles, harassing them exceedingly with and questions, more especially the worthy sr, whose silver-chased leg excited not a little wl. At another place, hard by the renowned |rn of Stamford, they were set upon by a great and |hty legion of church deacons, who imperiously nded of them five shillings, for travelling on day, and threatened to carry them captive to a hbouring church, whose steeple peered above [trees; but these the valiant Peter put to rout with idifliculty, insomuch that they bestrode their s and galloped off in horrible confusion, leaving r cocked hats behind in the hurry of their flight. jlnotso easily did he escape from the hands of a flyman of Pyquag; who, with undaunted perse- ince, and repealed onsets, fairly bargained him [ of his goodly switch-tailed charger, leaving in ethereof a villanous, foimdered INaraganset pacer. |Thl8Lnycli wa« moreover rector of the Latin School in r-Nc(lcrtandl8, I665.. There are two pieces addressed to llliiiLuycli in D. Sclyn's MSS. of poesies, upon his marriage ^Mitli isendoom. Old MS. I Now called Blooming Dale, about four miles from New- York. But, mangre all these hardships, they pursued their journey cheerily along the course of tlie soft-flowing Connecticut, whose gentle waves, says the song, roll through many a fertile vale and sunny plain ; now reflecting the lofty spires of the bustling city, and now the rural beauties of the humble hamlet; now echoing with the busy hum of commerce, and now with the cheerful song of the peasant. At every town would Peter Stuy vesant, who was noted for warlike punctilio, order the sturdy Anthony to sound a courteous salutation ; though the manu- script observes, that the inhabitants were thrown into great dismay when they heard of his approach. For the fame of his incomparable achievements on the De- laware had spread throughout the east country, and they dreaded lest he had come to take vengeance on their manifold transgressions. But the good Peter rode through these towns with a smiling aspect ; waving his hand with inexpressible majesty and condescension; for he verily believed that the old clothes which these ingenious people had thrust into their broken windows, and the festoons of dried apples and peaches which ornamented the fronts of their houses, were so many decorations in honour of his approach; as it was the custom in the days of chivalry to compliment renowned heroes by sump- tuous displays of tapestry and gorgeous furniture. Tlie women crowded to the doors to gaze upon him as he passed, so much does prowess in arms delight the gentle sex. The little children, too, ran after him in troops, staring with wonder at his regiment- als, his brimstone breeches, and the silver garniture of his wooden leg. Nor must I omit to mention the joy which many strapping wenches betrayed at be- holding the jovial Van Corlear, who had whilom de- lighted them so much with his trumpet, when he bore the great Peter's challenge to the Amphiclyons. The kind-hearted Anthony alighted from his calico mare, and kissed them all with infinite loving-kindness — and was right pleased to see a crew of little trum- peters crowding round him for his blessing; each of whom he patted on the head, bade him be a good boy, and gave him a penny to buy molasses candy. The Stuyvesant Manuscript makes but little fur- ther mention of the governor's adventures upon this expedition, excepting that he was received with ex- travagant courtesy and respect by the great council of the Amphictyons, who almost talked him to death with complimentary and congratulatory harangues. I will not detain my readers by dwelling on his ne- gotiations with the grand council. Suffice it to men- lion, it was like all other negotiations— a great deal was said, and very little done ; one conversation led »o another ; one conference begat misunderstandings which it took a dozen conferences to explain; al the enu of whicii the parties found themselves just where they were at first; excepting that they had entangled themselves in a host of' questions of etiquette, and conceived a cordial distrust of each other, that ren- 27 210 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. dered their future negotiations ten times more difli- cult than ever.' In the midst of all these perplexities, which be- wildered the brain and incensed the ire of the sturdy Peter, who was perhaps of all men in the world least fitted for diplomatic wiles, he privately received in- timation of the dark conspiracy which had been ma- tured in the cabinet of England. To this was added the astounding intelligence that a hostile s(]uadrun had already sailed from England, destined to reduce the province of New-Netherlands, and that the grand council of Amphictyons had engaged to co-operate, by sending a great army to invade New-Amsterddn by land. Unfortunate Peter! did I not enter with sad fore- bodings upon this ill-starred expedition? Did I not tremble when I saw thee, with no other counsellor but thine own head, with no other armour but an honest tongue, a spotless conscience, and a rusty sword ; with no other protector but St Nicholas, and no other attendant but a trumpeter— did I not tremble when I beheld thee thus sally forth to contend with all the knowing powers of New-England ? Oh, how did the sturdy old warrior rage and roar, when he found himself thus entrapped, like a lion in the hunter's toil ! Now did he determine to draw his trusty sword, and manfully to fight his way through all the countries of the east. Now did he resolve to break in upon the council of the Amphictyons, and put every mother's son of them to death. At length, as usual, when the foam and froth of passion had Imil- ed over, prudence which lay at the bottom came up- permost; and he determined to resort to less violent but more wary expedients. Concealir>; frc-ai the council his knowledge of their machinations, he privately dispatched a trusty mes- senger, with missives, to bis counsellors at New-Ams- terdam, apprising them of the impending danger, and commanding them immediately to put the city in a posture of defence ; while, in the mean time, he would endeavour to elude his enemies, and come to their as- sistance. This done, he felt himself marvellously re- lieved, rose slowly, shook himself like a rhinoceros, and issued forth from his den, in much the same man- ner as Giant Despair is described to have issued from Doubling Castle, in the chivalric history of the Pil- grim's Progress. And now much does it grieve me that I must leave the gallant Peter in this imminent jeopardy : but it behoves us to hurry back and see what is going on at New-Amsterdam, for greatly do I fear that city is al- ready in a turmoil. Such was ever the fate of Peter Stuyvesant; while doing one thing with heart and soul, he was too apt to leave every thing else at sixes and sevens. While, like a potentate of yore, he was absent attending to those things in person which in modern days are trusted to generals and ambassadors, ' For certain of the particulars ot this ancient negotiation see Haz. Col. Stat. Pap. It fs singular that Smith is entirely silent with respect to this memorable expedition of Peter stnyresant. bis little territory at home was sure to get in an np — All which was owing to that uncommon stren^ of intellect, which induced him to trust to nobody [ himself, and which had acquired him the renovm appellation of Peter the Headstrong. CHAPTER IV. How the people of New-Amsterdam were thrown into a |, |)anic, by the news of a threatened invasion, and tlie luaonn which they fortified tliemselvcs. There is no sight more truly interesting to a pjj losopher than to contemplate a community, wliJ every individual has a voice in public affairs; vhj every individual thinks himself the Atlas of the nalig and where every individual thinks it his duty tot himself for the good of his country— I say, there nothing more interesting (o a philosopher (lian loJ such a community in a sudden bustle of war. SiJ clamour of tongues — such bawling of patriotism- running hither and thither- every Iwdy in a liun every body up to the ears in trouble — every bodyj the way, and every body interrupting his imliislriij neighbour who is busily employed in doing i thing ! It is like witnessing a great fire, where ev^ man is at work like a hero— some dragging ah empty engines— others scampering with full buck^ and spilling the contents into their neighbour's ii — and others ringing the church hells all nielli, I way of putting out the lire. Little liremen-i sturdy little knights storming a breach, clambeij up and down scaling-ladders, and bawling liin tin trumpets, by way of directing the attack.-ilj one busy fellow, in his great zeal to save the pro|K of the unfortunate, catches up an anonymous ciian] utensil, and gallants it off with an air of as much si im])ortance as if he had rescued a pot of mm another throws looking-glasses and china out of | window, to save them from the flames— wiiilst I who can do nothing else to assist in the great calani run up and down the streets with open throats, iiij ing up an incessant cry of Fire.' Fire! Fire! "When the news arrived at Sinope," says tlieg and profound Lucian— though I own the story isj ther trite, ** that Philip was about to attack tli6iii,| inhabitants were thrown into violent alarm, ran to furbish up their arms; others rolled stonej build up the walls— every body, in short, wasj ployed, and every body was in the way of liisiiei hour. Diogeiics alone was the only man who ( find nothing to do— whereupon, determining i be idle when the welfare of his country was als he tucked up his robe, and fell to rolling his tuh| might and main up and down the Gymnasium." J like manner did every mother's son in the palrt community of New-Amsterdam, on receiving the ij sives of Peter Stuyvesant, busy himself most migl in putting things in confusion, and assisting thej neral uproar. " Every man"— saith the Stuyvt^ HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. iif (iDSCript— " flew to arms!"— by which is meant, inot one of our honest Dutch citizens would ven- etocluirch or to market without an old-fashioned tofa sword danglini; at his side, and a long Dutch jrliniJ-piece on his shoulder — nor would he go out of |iii<!lit without a lantern; nor turn a corner without ipeeping cautiously round, lest he should come dwarps upon a British army— And we are informed htStoffel Brinkerhoff, who was considered by the tvunien almost as brave a man as the governor leir, actually had two one-pound swivels mount- \\a bis entry, one pointing out at the front door, and (Other at the back. IBuI the most strenuous measure resorted to on this Hil occasion, and one which has since been found Ivoiiderful efiicacy, was to assemble popular meet- These brawling convocations , I have already [iwn, were extremely offensive to Peter Stuyvesant; I as tliis was a moment of unusual agitation, and [llie old governor was not present to repress them, broke out with intolerable violence. Hither, [efore, the orators and politicians repaired; and ; seemed to be a competition among them who wki bawl loudest, and exceed the others in hyper- ;al bursts of patriotism, and in resolutions to old and defend the government. In these sage I all-powerful meetings it was determined nem. [[.tiiat they were the most enlightened, the most ;nifle<l, the most formidable, and the most ancient luinily upon the face of the earth. Finding that (resolution was so universally and readily carried, ler was immediately proposed — whether it were ll possible and politic to exterminate Great Britain? nwiiich sixty-nine members spoke most eloquently eafllrmative, and only one arose to suggest some -who, as a punishment for his treasonable umplion, was immediately seized by the mob, llarred and feathered — which punishment being liifaleiit to the Tarpeian Rock, he was afterwards idered as an outcast from society, and his opinion lot for nolliing. The question, therefore, being limously carried in the affirmative, it was recom- iled to the grand council to pass it into a law ; icli was accordingly done. By this measure the I of the people at large Avere wonderfully en- gaged, and they waxed exceedingly choleric and ous. Indeed, the first paroxysm of alarm having |»nie measure subsided — the old women having I all the money they could lay their hands on, I their husbands daily getting fuddled with what I left— the community began even to stand on I offensive. Songs were manufactured in Low Icli and sung about the streets, wherein the Eng- were most wofully beaten, and shown no rter; and popular addresses were made, wherein l^as proved to a certainty that the fate of Old Eng- I depended upon the will of the New-Amster- ners. poally, to strike a violent blow at the very vitals Kreat Britain, a multitude of the wiser inhabitants assembled, and having purchased all the British ma- nufactures they could find, they made thereof a huge bonfire; and, in the patriotic glow of the moment, every man present, who had a hat or breeches of English workmanship, pulled it off, and threw it into the flames — to the irreparable detriment, loss, and ruin, of the English manufacturers. In commemora- tion of this great exploit, they erected a pole on the spot, with a devise on the top intended to represent the province of Nieuw-Nederlandts destroying Great Britain, under the similitude of an Eagle picking the little Island of Old England out of the globe; but either through the unskilfulness of the sculptor, or his ill-timed waggery, it bore a striking resemblance to a goose, vauily striving to get hold of a dumpling. ' CHAPTER V. Showing how the Grand Council of the New-Netherlands came to l)c miraculously gifted witli long tongues.— Together with a great triumph of Economy. It will need but very little penetration in any one acquainted with the character and habits of that most potent and blustering monarch, the sovereign people, — to discover, that, notwithstanding all the bustle and talk of war that stunned him in the last chapter, the renowned city of New-Amsterdam is, in sad reality, not a whit better prepared for defence than before. Now, though the people, having gotten over the first alarm, and finding no enemy immediately at hand, had, with that valour of tongue for which your illustrious rabble is so famous, run into the opposite extreme, and by dint of gallant vapouring and rodo- niontado had actually talked themselves into the opi- nion that they were the bravest and most powerful people under the sun, yet were the privy councillors of Peter Stuyvesant somewhat dubious on that point. They dreaded moreover lest that stern hero sliould return, and find, that, instead of ol)eying his peremp- tory orders, they had wasted their time in listening to the hectorings of the mob, than which, they well knew, there was nothing he held in more exalted contempt. To make up, therefore, as si)eedily as possible for lost time, a grand divan of the councillors and burgo- masters was convened, to talk over the critical state of the province, and devise measures for its safety. Two things were unanimously agreed upon in this venerable assembly :— first, that the city required to be put in a state of defence; and secondly, that as the danger was imminent, there should be no time lost —which points being settled, they immediately fell to naking long speeches and belabouring one another in endless and intemperate disputes. For about this time was this unhappy city first visited by that talking endemic, so prevalent in this country, and which so ' This is levelled at the absurd proceedings of the rabble at Baltimore, during a time of popular exasperation against England. —Many of the mob were Irish.— £<{<(. 212 mSTORY OF NEW-YORK. invariably evinces itself, wherever a number of wise men assemble together; breaking out in long, windy speeches, caused, as physicians suppose, by the foul air which is ever generated in a croAvd. Now it was, moreover, that they first introduced the ingenious method of measuring the merits of an harangue by the hour-glass; he being considered the ablest orator who spoke longest on a question. For which excel- lent invention, it is recorded, we are indebted to the same profound Dutch critic who judged of books by their size. This sudden passion for endless harangues, so little consonant with the customary gravity and taciturnity of our sage forefathers, was supposed by certain phi- losophers to have been imbibed, together with divers other barbarous propensities, from their savage neigh- bours; who where peculiarly noted for long talks and council fires, and never undertook any affair of the least importance, without previous debates and ha- rangues among their chiefs and old men. But the real cause was, that the people, in electing their re- presentatives to the grand council, were particular in choosing them for their talents at talking, without inquiring whether they possessed the more rare, diOi- cult, and oft-times important talent of holding their tongues. The consequence was, that this deliberative body was composed of the most loquacious men in the community. As they considered themselves placed there to talk, every man concluded that his duty to his constituents, and, what is more, his popu- larity with them, required that he should harangue on every subject, whether he understood it or not. There was an ancient mode of burying a chieftain, by every soldier throwing his shield full of earth on the corpse, until a mighty mound was formed; so whenever a question was brought forward in this assembly, every member pressing forward to throw on his quantum of wisdom, the subject was quickly buried under a huge mass of words. We are told, that when disciples were admitted into the school of Pythagoras, they were for two years enjoined silence, and were neither permitted to ask questions nor make remarks. After they had thus acquired the inestimable art of holding their tongues, they were gradually permitted to make inquiries, and finally to communicate their own opinions. What a pity is it, that, while superstitiously hoard- ing up the rubbish and rags of antiquity, we should suffer these precious gems to lie unnoticed ! What a beneficial effect would this wise regulation of Pytha- goras have, if introduced in legislative bodies — and how wonderfully would it have tended to expedite business in the grand council of the Manhattoes ! Thus, however, did Dame Wisdom (whom the wags of antiquity have humorously personified as a woman) seem to take mischievous pleasure in jilting the venerable councillors of New-Amsterdam. The old factions of Long Pipes and Short Pipes, which had been almost strangled by the Herculean grasp of Peter Sluyvesant, now sprung up with tenfold violence. Not that the original cause of difference still exfa — but, it has ever been the fate of parly names ij party rancour to remain long after the principles lit gave rise to them have been forgotten. To comn the public confusion and bewilderment, the fatal woi Economy, which one would have thought was (!« and buried with William the Testy, was once i set afloat, like the apple of discord, in the gnJ council of Nieuw-Nederlandts— according to whjj sound principle of policy, it was deemed more ein dient to throw away twenty thousand guilders nn an inefficacious plan of defence than to expend thii^ thousand on a good and substantial one— the vince thus makmg a clear saving of ten thou guilders. But when they came to discass the mode of deret then began a war of words that baffles all descripti The members being, as I observed, enlisted in ( posite parties, were enabled to proceed with an system and regularity in the discussion of the qutj tions before them. Whatever was proposed by a 1 Pipe was opposed by the whole tribe of Short Pip who, like true politicians, considered it their ijij duty to effect the downfal of the Long Pipes-ll second, to elevate themselves — and their iliird,! consult the welfare of the country. This at leasli the creed of the most upright among the part for as to the great mass, they left the third con ration out of the question altogether. In this great collision of hard heads, it is asloni^ ing the number of projects for defence that vej struck out, not one of which had ever been heard) before, nor has been heard of since, unless it lie { very modern ilays ; projects that threw the windi system of the ingenious Kieft completely in the t gr->und. Still, however, nothing could be dei on ; for so soon as a formidable array of air-cast were reared by one parly, they were demolisliedlj the other. The simple iwpulace stood gazinn anxious expectation of the mighty egg that wastolj hatched with all this cackling, but they gazed in vai for it appeared that the grand council was delen ed to protect the province as did the noble and gigai Pantagruel his army— -by covering it with his tongi Indeed there was a portion of the members cons ing of fat, self-important old burghers, who smob their pipes and said nothing, excepting to negal every plan of defence that was offered. These ^ of that class of wealthy old citizens, who, lui\ii amassed a fortune, button up their pockets, shut tin mouths, look rich, and are good for nothing all I rest of their lives : like some phlegmatic oyster, niiicl having swallowed a pearl, closes its shell, settles don in the mud, and parts with its life sooner than i| treasure. Every plan of defence seemed to tin worthy old gentlemen pregnant with ruin. An an ed force was a legion of locusts, preying upon tlie|i lie properly— to fit out a naval armament was! throw their money into the sea — to build fortiflciitiii^ was to bury it in the dirt. In short, they seM\ HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 215 , sovereign maxim, so long as their poclceU were ^DO matter how much tiiey were drubbed. — A Heft no scar — a brolcen head cured itself— but an ■IV purse was of all maladies tiie slowest to lieal, lone in wliicii nature did notliing for the pa- did this venerable assembly of sages lavish f that time which the urgency of affairs rendered giuable, in empty brawls and long-winded speeches, ul ever agreeing, except on the point with which (Started, namely, that there was no time to be l,and delay was ruinous. At length St ISicholas, ; compassion on their distracted situation, and jous to preserve them from anarchy, so ordered, iiinthe midst of one of their most noisy debates on liiubject offorlilication and defence, when they had rlr fallen to loggerheads in consequence of not ^able to convince each other, the question was l|)ily settled by a messenger, who bounced into the er and informed them, that the hostile fleet liirrived, and was actually advancing up the bay ! Iius was all further necessity of cither fortifying IdLfuting completely obviated, and thus was the 1 council saved a world of words, and the pro- ea world of expense — a most absolute and glo- s triumph of economy ! CHAPTER VI. Iihicli the trouble!) of New-Ainstcrdam appear to thicken— loKing tlie bravery, in time of peril, of a people who defend lelves by resolution. Like as an assemblage of politic cats, engaged in ous gibberings, and caterwaulings, eyeing one erwith hideous grimaces, spitting in each other's s, and on the point of breaking forth into a leral clapper-clawing, are suddenly put to scamper- I rout and confusion by the appearance of a house- ;so was the no less vociferous council of New- slerdam amazed, astounded, and totally dispersed, jthe sudden arrival of the enemy. Every member t the best of his way home, waddling along as las his short legs could fag under their heavy hben, and wheezing as he went with corpulency Men'or. When he arrived at his castle, he bar- nloed Ihe street-door, and buried himself in the er-celiar, without daring to peep out, lest he should lehis head carried off by a cannon-ball. fhe sovereign people all crowded into the mar- place, herding together with the instinct of sheep, ) seek for safety in each other's company, when [shepherd and his dog are absent, and the wolf is ffling round the fold. Far from finding relief, Nver, they only increased each other's terrors. Bi man looked ruefully in his neighbour's face arch of encouragement, but only found in its one lineaments a condrmation of his own dis- Not a word now was to be heard of conquer- iGreat Britain, not a wlii^er about the sovereign virtues of economy — wliile the old women heightened Ihe general gloom by clamorously bewailing their fate, and calling fur protection on St Nicholas and Peter Stuyvesant. Oh, how did they bewail Ihe absence of the lion- hearted Peter! — and how did they long for the com- forting presence of Anthony Van Corlear ! Indeed a gloomy uncertainty hung over the fate of these ad> venturous heroes. Day afterday had elapsed since the alarming message from the governor, without bring- ing any further tidings of his safety. Many a fearful conjecture was hazarded as to what had Ijefallen him and his loyal squire. Had they not been devoured alive by the cannibals of Marblehead and Cape Cod ? — Had they not been put to the question by the great council of Amphictyons? — Had they not been smo- thered in onions by the terrible men of Pyqnag ? — In the midst of this consternation and perplexity, when horror, like a mighty night-mare, sat brooding upon the little, fat, plethoric city of New-Amsterdam, the ears of the multitude were suddenly startled by a strange and distant sound — it approached — it grew louder and louder— and now it resounded at the city gate. The public could not be mistaken in the well- known sound — A shout of joy burst from their lips, as the gallant Peter, covered with dust, and followed by his faithful trumpeter, came galloping into the market-place. The first transports of the populace having subsid- ed, they gathered round the honest Anthony, as he dismounted from his horse, overwhelming him with greetings and congratulations. In breathless accents he related to them the marvellous adventures through which the old governor and himself had gone, in mak- ing their escape from the clutches of the terrible Am- phictyons. But though the Stuyvesant Manuscript, with its customary minuteness where any thing touch- ing the great Peter is concerned, is very particular as to the incidents of this masterly retreat, yet the stale of the public affairs will not allow me to indulge in a full recital thereof. Let it suffice to say, that, while Peter Stuyvesant was anxiously revolving in his mind how he could make good his escape with honour and dignity, certain of the ships sent out for the con- quest of the Manhattoes toucheil at the eastern ports to obtain needful supplies, and to call on the grand council of the league for its promised co-operation. Upon hearing of this, the vigilant Peter, perceiving that a moment's delay were fatal, made a secret and precipitate decampment; though much did it grieve ids lofty soul to be obliged to turn his back even upon a nation of foes. Many hair-breadth 'scapes and di- vers perilous mishaps did they sustain, as they scour- ed, without sound of trumpet, through the fair regions of the east. Already was the country in an uproar with hostile preparation, and they were oblig- ed to take a large circuit in their ilight, lurking along through the woody mountains of the Devil's backbone; from whence the valiant Peter sallied forth one day like a lion, and put to rout a whole legion of squat- 214 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. I m 11 ? !■• lets, consisling of three generations of a prolific fa- mily, wlio were already on their way to take posses- sion of some corner of the New-Netherlands. Nay, the faithful Anthony had great difliciilty, at sundry times, to prevent him, in the excess of his wrath, from descending down from the mountains, and fall- ing, sword in hand, upon certain of the border-towns, who were marshalling forth their draggle-tailed mi- litia. The first movement of the govf rnor, on reaching his dwelling, was to mount the roof, from whence he contemplated with rueful aspect the hostile squadron. This had already come to anchor in the bay, and consisted of two stout frigates, having on board, as John Josselyn, gent, informs us, "(hree hundred valiant red-coats." Having taken this survey, he sat himself down and wrote an epistle to the commander, demanding the reason of his anchoring in the harbour without obtaining previous permission so to do. This letter was couched in the most dignified and cour- teous terms, though I have it from undoubted au- thority that his teeth were clinched, and he had a bitter sardonic grin upon his visage all the while he wrote. Having dispatched his letter, the grim Peter stumped to and fro about the town with a most war- betokening countenance, liis hands thrust into his breeches pockets, and whistling a Low Dutch Psalm- tune, which bore no small resemblance to the music of a north-east wind, when a storm is brewing. — The very dogs as they eyed him skulked away in dis- may; while all the old and ugly women of New- Amsterdam ran howling at his heels, in)ploring him to save them from murder, robbery, and pitiless ra- vishment ! The reply of Colonel Nichols, who commanded the invaders, was couched in terms of equal courtesy with the letter of the governor; declaring the right and title of his British Majesty to the province, where he aflirmed the Dutch to be mere interlopers ; and de- manding that the town, forts, etc. should be fortli- Avith rendered into his Majesty's obedience and pro- tection; promising, at the same time, life, liberty, estate, and free trade, to every Dutch denizen who should readily submit to his Majesty's government. Peter Sluyvesant read over this friendly epistle with some such harmony of aspect as we may suppose a crusty farmer, who has long been fattening upon his neighbour's soil, reads the loving letter of John Stiles, that warns him of an action of ejectment. The old governor, however, was not to be taken by surprise; but, thrusting the summons into his breeches pocket, stalked three times across the room, look a pinch of snuff with great vehemence, and then, loftily waving his hand, promised to send an answer the next morn- ing. In the mean time he called a general council of war of his privy councillors and burgomasters, not for the purpose of asking their advice, for that, as has been already shown, he valued not a rush, but to make known unto them his sovereign determination, and require their prompt adherence. Before he convened liis council, however, he rej ed upon three important points : first, never to | np the city without a little hard fighting; for hedei ed it highly derogatory to the dignity of so renon a city to suffer itself to be captured and strip without receiving a few kicks into the biirgain- coniUij, that the majority of his grand council \ composed of arrant poltroons, utterly destitute oFU bottom— and, thirdhj, — that he would not ihereH suffer them to see the summons of Colonel l\ic|j lest the easy terms it held out might induce theni| clamour for a surrender. His orders being duly promulgated, it was a pitn sight to behold the late valiant burgomasters, had demolished 'he whole British empire in tiieirj rangues, peeping ruefully out of their hiding-plai and then crawling cautiously forth, dodging tiin narrow lanes and alleys — starting at every Iitlle( that barked, as though it had been a discliargeofl tillery — mistaking lamp-posts for British grenadie and, in the excess of their panic, metauioiphoj pumps into formidable soldiers, levelling blun busses at their bosoms ! Having, however, indei of numerous perils and difficulties of the kind, arri'l safe, without the loss of a single man, at the halll assembly, they look their seats, and awaited in fq fid silence the arrival of the governor. ] moments the wooden leg of the intrepid Peter i heard in regular and slout-hearied thumps upon! staircase. He entered the chamber, arrayed in ( suit of regimentals, and carrying his trusty told not girded on his thigh, but tucked under his ar| As the governor never equipped himself in this | tentous manner unless something of martial mt| were working within his pericranium, his coun regarded him ruetully, as if they saw lire and swij in his iron countenance, and forgot to light tl^eirp in breathless suspense. The great Peter was as eloquent as he was valJ ous. Indeed, these two rare (pialilies seemed to| hand in haiul in his composition ; and, unlike i great statesmen, whose victories are only conGnedl the bloodless field of argument, he was ever readrj enforce hL hardy words by no less hardy deeds. speeches were generally marked by a siinplicilr i pruaching to bluntuess, and by truly categorical dej sion. Addressing the grand council, he tuud briefly u\m\ the perils and hardships he had sustaj ed, in escaping from his crafty foes, lienexlrepn ed the council, for wasting in idle debate and | feuds that time which should have been devutedl their country. He was particularly indignaiitj those brawlers, who, conscious of individual securl had disgraced the councils of the province byim tent hectorings and scurrilous invectives again! noble and a powerful enemy — those cowardly i who were incessant in their barkings and ycl|iiii|'i| the lion, while distant or asleep, but, the niuinenl| approached, were the first to skulk away. Hen called on those who had been so valiant in HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. m Dts against Great Britain to stand forth and sup- jtlbeir vaunlings by their actions— for it was deeds, [tords, that bes|M)ke tlie spirit of a nation. He ded to recall the ^'olden days of former prosper- [ which were only to be gained by manfully with- iding their enemies; for the peace, he observed, ich is efTecteil l)y force of arms, is always more (and durable than that whici) is patched up by lorary accommodations. lie endeavoured, more- ,to arouse their martial fire, by reminding them ; time when, before the frowning walls of Fort slina, he had led them on to victory. He strove to awaken their confidence, by assuring I of (he protection of St Nicholas, wlio had hi- grto maintained them in safety, amid all the savages J wilderness, the witches and squatters of the [md (he giants of Merry-land. Finally, he in- I them of the insolent summons he had received mrrender, but concluded by swearing to defend Iprovince as long as Heaven was on his side, and ||i»l a wooden leg to stand u|ion. Which noble Itnce he emphasized by a tremendous thwack with Ibroad side of his sword upon the table that totally Iririlied his auditors. [ privy councillors, who had long been accus- i to the governor's way, and in fact had been Lglit into as perfect discipline as were ever the iers of the great Frederick, saw that there was no I in saying a word — so lighted their pipes, and ltd away in silence, like fat and discreet coun- But the burgomasters, being less under the ■nor's control, considering themselves as repre- lalires of the sovereign people, and being more- I inflated with considerable importance and self- iciency, which they had acquired at those notable ols of wisdom and morality, the popular meetings, (notso easily satisfied. Mustering up fresh spi- Iwlien they found there was some chance of escap- |(rom (heir present jeopardy without the disagree- hllernadve of lighting, they requested a copy of hnmmons (o surrender, (hat (hey might show it } general meeting of the peojde. ) insolent and mutinous a request would have nrnoiigh to have roused the gorge of (he tranquil nTwilier himself— what then must have been its Jxtupon the great Stuyvesant, who was not only a pman, a governor, and a valiant wooden-legged jlier to boot, but withal a man of the most sto- 1 and gunpowder disposition ? He burst forth la blaze of noble indignation,- swore not a mo- t's son of them should see a syllable of it— that ' deserved, every one of them, to be hanged, |vn, and quartered, for traitorously daring to dion (he infallibility of government— that as to r advice or concurrence, he did not care a whiff of ) for either— that be had long been liarassed I thwarted by their cowardly counsels; but that f might thenceforth go home, and go to l)ed like J women; for he was determined to defend the co- i himself, witlioiit the assistance of them or their adherents! So saying, he tucked his sword under his arm, cocked his hat upon his head, and girding up his loins, stumped indignantly out of the council-chamber —every body making room for him as he passed. No sooner had he gone than the busy burgomasters called a public meeting in front of the Stadt-house, where they appointed as chairman one Dofue Iloer- back, a mighty gingerbread-baker in the land, and formerly of the cabinet of William the Testy. He was looked up to with great reverence by the popu- lace, who considered him a man of dark knowledge, seeing he was (he first that imprinted new-year cakes with the mysterious hieroglyphics of the Cock and Breeches, and such like magical devices. This great burgomaster, who still chewed (he cud of ill-will against the valiant Stuyvesant, in conse- quence of having been ignominiously kicked out of his cabinet at (he time of his taking the reins of go- vernment — addressed (he greasy muKitude in what is called a patriotic speech, in which he informed them of the courteous summons to surrender — of the governor's refusal to comply therewith, and of his denying the public a sight of the summons, which, he had no doubt, contained conditions highly to the honour and advantage of the province. He then proceeded to speak of his Excellency in high-sounding terms, suitable to the dignity and grandeur of his station, comparing him to Nero, Ca- ligula, and those other great men of yore, who are generally quoted by [wpular orators on similar occa- sions. Assuring the people, that the history of the world did not contain a despotic outrage to equal the present for atrocity, crueUy, tyranny, and blood- thirstiness. That it would be recorded in letters of fire, on the blood-stained tablet of history ! That ages would roll back with sudden honor when they came to view it! That the womb of time (by the way, your orators and writers take strange liberties with the womb of time, though some would fain have us believe (hat time is an old gentleman) — (hat the womb of time, pregnant as it was with direful hor- rors, would never produce a parallel enormity ! — With a variety of other heart-rending, soul-stirring tropes and figures, which I cannot enumerate. — Nei- ther indeed need I, for (hey were exactly (he same (hat are used in all popular harangues and patriotic orations at the present day, and may be classed in rhetoric under the general title of Uigmarole:. The speech of this inspired burgomaster being fi- nished, the meeting fell into a kind of popular fer- mentation, which produced not only a string of right wise resolutions, but likewise a most resolute memo- rial, addressed to the governor, remonstrating at his conduct— which was no sooner handed to him, than he handed it into the fire; and thus deprived poste- rity of an invaluable document that might have served as a precedent to the enlightened cobblers mul tailors of the present day, in their sage intermeddlings with politics. ■'■: V 216 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. CHAPTER Vn. Containing a doleful disaster of Anthony the Trumpeter— And how Peter Stuyvcsant, like a second Cromwell, suddenly dis- solved a Rump Parliament. Now did the high-minded Pieter de Groodt shower down a pannier load of maledictions upon his burgo- masters for a set of self-willed, obstinate, headstrong varlets, who would neither be convinced nor per- suaded; and determined thenceforth to have nothing more to do with them, but to consult merely the opi- nion of his privy councillors, which he knew from experience to be the best in the world — inasmuch as it never differed from his own. Nor did he omit, now that his hand was in, to bestow some thousand left-handed compliments upon the sovereign people, whom he railed at for a herd of poltroons, who had no relish for the glorious hardships and illustrious misadventures of battle — but would rather stay at home, and eat and sleep in ignoble ease, than gain immortality and a broken head, by valiantly fighting in a ditch. Resolutely bent, however, upon defending his be- loved 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-denouncing 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 solitudesofCroton— arous- ing the rugged yeomanry of Weehawk and Iloboeken — the mighty men of battle of Tappaan Bay — and the brave Iwys of Tarry Town and Sleepy Hollow — to- gether with all tiie other warriors of the country round about; charging them one and all to sling their pow- der horns, shoulder their fowling-pieces, and march merrily down to the Manhattoes. Now there was nothing in all the world, the di- vine sex excepted, that Anthony Van Corlear loved better than errands of this kind. So just slopping to take a lusty dinner, and bracing to his side his junk bottle, well charged with heart-inspiring Hollands, lie issued jollily from the city gate, that looked out upon what is at present called Broadway; sounding as usual a farewell strain, that rung in sprightly echoes through the winding streets of New-Amster- dam — Alas! never more were they to be gladdened by the melody of their favourite trumpeter! It was a dark and stormy night when the goml Anthony arrived at the creek (sagely denominated Haerlem rieer) which separates the island of Manna- hala 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 bethink- ing himself of the urgency of his errand, took a hearty embrace of his stone-liottle, swore most valorously that he would swim across, en spijt den Duyvel, (in Hpite of the devil!) and daringly plunged into tiie stream. — Luckless Anthony ! scarce had he baflJ half-way over, when he was observed to straggle T lently, as if battling with the spirit of the wateij instinctively he put his trumpet to his moulh giving a vehement blast— sunk for ever to the I tom! The potent clangour of his trumpet, like the itj horn of the renowned paladin Orlando, when eii ing in the glorious field of Roncesvalles, rung far j wide through the country, alarming the neiglib round, who hurried in amazement to the spot. I| an old Dutch burgher, famed for his veracity, and \ had lieen a witness of the fact, related to them I melancholy affair; with the fearful addition (to vij I am slow of giving belief) that he saw the dur in the shape of a huge moss-bonker, seize thestgi Anthony by the leg, and drag him beneath the vai Certain it is, the place, with the adjoining prom tory, which projects into the Hudson, has been caj Spijt den duyvel, or Spiking devil, ever since restless ghost of the unfortunate Anthony still liaJ the surrounding solitudes, and his trumpet has ol been heard by the neighbours, of a stormy nia mingling with the howling of the blast. H ever attempts to swim over the creek after dark;| the contrary, a bridge has been built to guard agal such melancholy accidents in future — and as to hi bonkers, they are held in such abhorrence, tliatj true Dutchman will admit them to his table. i loves good fish and hates the devil. Such was the end of Anthony VanCorlear-ai deserving of a better fate. He lived roundly ( soundly, like a true and jolly bachelor, until the] of his death; but though he was never married, I did he leave behind some two or three dozen cliildq in different parts of the country — fine, chubhy, 1 ing, flatulent little urchins ; from whom, if le^ speak true (and they are not apt to lie) did desc the innumerable race of editors, who people andl fend this country, and who are bountifully paid| the people for keeping up a constant alarm— and n ing them miserable. Would that they inhcrileill worth, as they do the wind, of their renowned |[ genitor ! The tidings of this lamentable catastropiie inf a severer pang to the bosom of Peter Stnyvesanll did eA'en the invasion of his beloved Anislei'dani.| came ruthlessly home to those sweet affections i grow close around the heart, and are noiu'ishe(llj|| warmest current. As some lorn pilgrim, while j tempest whistles through his locks, and dreary i is gathering around, sees stretched cold and lifel his faithful dog— the sole companion of his jonrneyl who had shared his solitary meal, and so often Ik^ his hand in humble gratitude — so did llie genen hearted hero of the Manhattoes contemplate the I timely end of his faithful Anthony. He lind be(D| humble attendant of his footsteps— he had olio him in many a heavy hour, by his honest gaicly.i had followed him in loyalty and alfcction tim HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 217 J a scene of direful peril and mishap^he was [forever— and that too, at a moment when every [el cur seemed skulking from his side. — This f Stuyvesant— this was the moment to try thy KJe; and (his was the moment when thou didst j shine forth — Peter the Headstrong. e glare of day had long dispelled the horrors of ny night ; still all was dull and gloomy. The Kial Apollo hid his face behind lugubrious clouds, ^outnow and then for an instant, as if anxious, irful, to see what was going on in his favourite < This was the eventful morning when the great [wastogive his reply to the summons of the in- Already was he closeted with his privy coun- |tin^ in grim state, brooding over the fate of his pie trumpeter, and anon boiling with indigna- lilhe insolence of his recreant burgomasters flash- n his mind. While in this state of irritation, a tarrived in all haste from Winthrop, the subtle lor of Connecticut, counselling him, in the most litnate and disinterested manner, to surrender iDTJnce, and magnifying the dangers and cala- ^10 which a refusal would subject him. — What lit was this to intrude officious advice upon a irho never took advice in his whole life ! — The tiki governor strode up and down the chamber li vehemence that made the bosoms of his coun- ^toquake with awe — railing at his unlucky fate, s made him the constant butt of factious sub- |and Jesuitical advisers. (at this ill-chosen juncture the officious burgo- rs, who were now completely on the watch, and teard of the arrival of mysterious dispatches, Imarching in a resolute body into the room, with 1 of schepens and toad-eaters at their heels, vptly demanded a perusal of the letter. Thus Ibroken in upon by what he esteemed a " rascal 8," and that too at the very moment he was ing under an irritation from abroad, was loo [for the spleen of the choleric Peter. He tore let in a thousand pieces '—threw it in the face bearest burgomaster- broke his pipe over the [of the next — hurled his spitting-box at an un- jschepen, who was just making a masterly re- joatat the door, and finally prorogued the whole I sine die, by kicking them down stairs with Mien leg. Isoon as the burgomasters could recover from the ■ion into which their sudden exit had thrown I and had taken a little time to breathe, they {Hed against the conduct of the governor, which 1 not hesitate to |.ronounce tyrannical, uncon- nal, highly indecent, and somewhat disrespect- jThey then called a public meeting, where they protest, and, addressing the assembly in a ich, related at full length, and with appropriate |tingand exaggeration, the despotic and vindic- ortment of the governor; declaring that, for |own parts, they did not value a straw the being ■ Smith's IlUlory of N.V. kicked, cuffed, and mauled by the timber toe of his Excellency, but that they felt for the dignity of the sovereign people, thus rudely insulted by the outrage committed on the seat of honour of their representa- tives. The latter part of the harangue had a violent effect upon tlie sensibility of the people, as it came home at once to that delicacy of feeling, and jealous pride of character, vested in all true mobs; who, though they may bear injuries without a murmur, yet are marvellously jealous of their sovereign dignity — and there is no knowing to what act of resentment they might have been provoked against the redoubtable Peter, had not the greasy rogues been somewhat more afraid of their sturdy old governor than they were of St Nicholas, the English — or the d— 1 himself. CHAPTER Vin. '^*> How Peter Stnyvcsant defended tlic city of New-Amsterdam for several days, by dint of tlie slrengtli ofliis liead. There is something exceedingly sublime and me- lancholy in the spectacle which the present crisis of our history presents. An illustrious and venerable little city— the metropolis of an immense extent of uninhabited country — garrisoned by a doughty host of orators, chairmen, committee-men, burgomasters, schepens, and old women — governed by a determined and strong-headed warrior, and fortified by mud bat- teries, palisadoes, and resolutions — blockaded by sea, beleaguered by land, and threatened with direful de- solation from without; while its very vitals are torn with internal faction and commotion! Never did historic pen record a page of more complicated dis- tress, unless it be the strife that distracted the Israel- ites during the siege of Jerusalem — where discordant parties were cutting each other's throats, at the mo- ment when the victorious legions of Titus had toppled down their bulwarks, and were carrying fire and sword into the very sanctum sanctorum of the temple. Governor Stuyvesant having triumphantly, as has been recorded, put his grand council to the rout, and thus delivered himself from a multitude of imperti- nent advisers, dispatched a categorical reply to the commanders of the invading squadron; wherein he asserted the right and title of their High Mightinesses the Lords States-General to the province of New-Ne- therlands, and trusting in the righteousness of his cause, set the whole British nation at defiance ! My anxiety to extricate my readers and myself from these disastrous scenes prevents me from giving the whole of this gallant letter, which concluded in tliese manly and affectionate terms : " As touching the threats in your conclusion, we " have nothing to answer, only that we fear nothing " but what God (who is as just as merciful) shall lay " upon us; all things being in his gracious disposal, " and we may as well be preserved by him with " small forces as by a great army, which makes us " to wish you all happiness and prosperity, and re> 28 218 HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. " commend you to his protection.— My lords, your " thrice humble and affectionate servant and friend, "P. Stuyvesant." Thus having resolutely thrown his gauntlet, the brave Peter stuck a pair of horse pistols in his belt, girded an immense powder -horn on his side — thrust his sound leg into a Hessian Iwot, and clapping his fierce little war hat on the top of his head— paraded up and down in front of his house, determmed to de- fend his beloved city to the last. While all these woful struggles and dissensions were prevailing in the unhappy city of New-Amsteidani, and while its worthy but ill-starred governor was framing the above-quoted lelter, the English com- manders did not remain idle. They had agents se- cretly employed to foment the fears and clamours of the populace; and moreover circulated far and wide, through the adjacent country, a proclamation, re- peating the terms they had already held out in their summons to surrender, at the same time beguiling the simple Nederlanders with the most crafty and con- ciliating professions. They promised that every man who voluntarily submitted to the authority of his Bri- tish Majesty should retain peaceable possession of his house, his vrouw, and his cabbage-garden. That he should be suffered to smoke his pipe, speak Dutch, wear as many breeches as he pleased, and import bricks, tiles, and stone jugs from Holland, instead of manufacturing them on the spot. That he should on no account be compelled to learn the English lan- guage, nor keep accounts in any other way than by casting them up on his fingers, and chalking them down upon the crown of his hat; as is still observed among the Dutch yeomanry at the present day. That every man should be allowed quietly to inherit his father's hat, coat, shoe-buckles, pipe, and every other personal appendage ; and that no man should be oblig- ed to conform tu any improvements, inventions, or any other modern innovations; but, on the contrary, should be permitted to build his house, follow his trade, manage his farm, rear his hogs, and educate his children, precisely as his ancestors had done be- fore him from time immemorial.— Finally, that he should have all the lienelits of free trade, and should not be required to acknowledge any other saint in the calendar than St Nicholas, who should thenceforward, as before, be considered the tutelar saint of the city. These terms, as may be supposed, appeared very satisfactory to the people, who had a great disposition to enjoy tlieir property unmolested, and a most sin- gular aversion to engage in a contest, where they could gain little more than honour and broken heads —the first of which they held in philosophic ituliffe- rence, the latter in utter detestation. By these insi- dious means, therefore, did the English succeed in alienating the confidence and aiTcctions of the popu- lace from their gallant old governor, whom they con- si'' red as obstinately bent upon running them into hideous misadventures; and did not hesitate tn speak their minds freely, and abuse him most hean behind his back. Like as a mighty grampus, who, though i and buffeted by roaring waves and brawling suj still keeps on an undeviating course; and ih overwhelmed by boisterous billows, still em from the troubled deep, spouting and blowing I tenfold violence— so did the inflexible Peter J unwavering, his delerminetl career, and risej temptuous, above the clamours of the rabble. But when the British warriors found, by ihe j of his reply, that he set their power at defiance,! forlhwilh dispatched recruiting officers to hi and Jericho, and Nineveh, and Quag, and PaJ and all those towns on Long-Island which hadl subdued of yore by the immortal Stoffel BrinkeJ stirring up the valiant progeny of Preserved Fisif Determined Cock, and those other illustrious s ters, to assail the city of New-Amsterdam byl In the mean while the hostile ships made awfuf paration to commence an assault by water. The streets of New-Amsterdam now prescij scene of wild dismay and consternation. In Ta] the gallant Stuyvesant order the citizens to an assemble in the public square or market-place. I whole party of Short Pipes in the course of a I night had changed into arrant old women-al morphosis only to be paralleled by the prodij corded by Livy as having happened at Rome | approach of Hannibal, when statues sweated id affright, goats were converted into sheep, and] turning into hens, ran cackling about the strei The harassed Peter, thus menaced from \ and tormented from within— baited by the 1 masters, and hooted at by the rabble, cliafe^ growled and raged like a furious bear tied to al and worried by a legion of scoundrel curs. Fuf however, that all further attempts to defend I were vain, and hearing that an irruption of li and moss-troopers was ready to deluge him fro east, he was at length compelled, in spite of lm| heart, which swelled in his throat until it 1 choked him, to consent to a treaty of surrenda Words cannot express the transports of the p on receiving this agreeable intelligence; obtained a conquest over their enemies, lhey| not have indulged greater delight. The i sounded with their congratulations— they d their governor as the father and deliverer of hiij try—they crowded to his house to testify tliei titude, and were ten times more noisy in theirpf than when he returned, with victory percln his beaver, from the glorious capture of Forlj lina.— But the indignant Peter shut his dw windows, and took refuge in the innermoslr of his mansion, that he might not hear the i^ rejoicings of the rabble. In consequence of this consent of the gov( parley was demanded of the besieging forces f of I he terms of surrender. Accordingly a depi HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 21!) [ conimissioners was appuinted on both sides, g the 27th of August, 1604, a capitulation highly fible to tlie provin<^e, and iionourable to Peter ant, was agreed to by tiie enemy, wlio liad tved a lii^li opinion of Uie valour of llie Man- is, and the magnanimity and unbounded discre- flheir governor. > thing alone remained, which was, that the sof surrender should l^e ratified, and signed by i)?ernor. When the coniniissiuners respectfully 1 upon him for this purpose, they were received I bardy old warrior with the most grim and ^courtesy. liis warlike accoutrements were laid ■m old Indian night-gown was wrapped about «ed limbs, a red night-cap overshadowed his Ing brow, an iron gray beard of three days' iigave additional grimness to his visage. Thrice ^seize a little worn out stump of a pen, and essay gllie loathsome paper — thrice did he clinch his ,an(l make a most horrible countenance, as b a pestiferous dose of rhubarb, senna, and ipe- ia, had been offered to his lips; at length, gk from him, he seized his brass-hilted sword, eiking it from the scabbard, swore by St Ni- i,he'(l sooner die (ban yield to any power under |nin was every attempt to shake this sturdy re- -menaces, remonstrances, revilings, were sled to no purpose — for two whole days was ! of the valiant Peter besieged by the clamur- e, and for two whole days did he partake jrif to his arms, and [lersist in a magnanimous ilto ratify the capitulation. Ilen^tii the populace linding that bo!s!<>rous mea- jilid but incense mure determined oppttsilion, iglit themselves of an humble expedient, by ^, happily, the governor's ire might be soothed, sresolution undermined. And now a solenm nurnful procession, headed by the biu-gonias- lad schepens, and followed by the populace, |»slowly to the governor's dwelling, bearing the lalion. Here they found the stout old hero, ■ up like a giant into his castle, the doors slrong- licadued and himself in full regimentals, with |cked hat on his head, iirmly posted with a blun- i at the garret window. |(re was something in this lurmidable position uck even the ignoble vulgar with awe and ad- Tlie brawling multitude could nut but re- ^itliself-abasemenl upon their own pusillanimous Kt, when they beheld their hardy but deserted lovernor, thus faithful to his pitst, like a furlurn [and I'ully prepared to defend his ungrateful city ! last. These compunctions, however, were Hverwhelmed by the recurring tide of public ap- usion. The populace arranged themselves be- |liehoH§c, taking off their hats with most respect- Wniility— Ikugomaster lloerbock, who was of pnlar class of orators described by Sallust, as I" talkative rather than eloquent," stepped forth and addressed the governor in a speech of three hours' length, detailmg, in the most pathetic terms, the ca- lamitous situation of the province, and urging him, in a constant repetition of the saniii arguments and words, to sign the capitulation. The mighty Peter eyed him from his little garret window in grim silence— now and then his eye would glance over the surrounding rabble, and an indignant grin, like that of an angry mastiff, would mark his iron visage. But though he was a man of most un- daunted mettle — though he had a heart as big as an ox, and a head that would have set adamant to scorn — yet after all he was a mere morta' — wearied out by these repeated oppositions, and this eternal haran- guing, and perceiving that unless he complied, the inhabitants would follow their own inclination, or rather their fears, without wailing for his consent, he testily ordered them to hand up the paper. It was accordingly hoisted to him on the end of a pole, and having scrawled bis name at the bottom of it, he ana- thematized them all fur a set of cowardly, mutinous, degenerate poltroons— threw the capitulation at their heads, slammed down the window, and was heard stumping down stairs with the most vehement indi- gnation. The rabble incontinently took to then- heels; even the burgomasters were not slow in eva- cuating the premises, fearing lest the sturdy Peter might issue from his den, and greet them with some unwelcome testimonial of his displeasure. Within three hours after the surrender, a legion of British beef-fed warriors poured into New-Amster- dam, lakingpossessionof the fort and batteries. And now might be beard, from all quarters, the sound of hammers made by the old Dutch burghers, who were busily employed in nailing up their doors and win- dows, to protect their vrouws from these fierce bar- barians, whom they contemplated in silent sullenness from the garret window, as they paraded through the streets. Thus did Colonel Richard Nichols, the commander of the British forces, enter into (|uiet possession of the coiMiuered realm, as locum tenens tor the Duke of York. The victory was attended with no other out- rage than that of changing the name of the province and its metropolis, which Ihenceforlh were denomi- nated Nkw-Youk, and so have continued to he call- ed unto the present day. The inhabitants, according to treaty, were allowed to maintain cpiiet possession of their properly; but so inveterately did they retain their abhorrence of the British nation, that in a pri- vate meeting of the leading citizens, it was unanimous- ly determined never to ask any of their conquerors to diimer. CHAPTER IX. CoiUalalng Uic Uigiiificd rcliriMnnit, and mortal surrender of I>i>ter lliu lleadiitrung. Tmis then have I concluded this great historical en- terprise ; but before I lay aside my weary pen, there 2!^ fflSTORY OF NEW-YORK. ilf^ ' yet remains to be performed one pious duty. If among tlie variety of readers tliat may peruse this book, there should haply be found any of tliose souls of true nobility, which glow with celestial lire at the history of the generous and tlie brave, they will doubt- less 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-bi'M)ded curiosity of a whole fraternity of philo- sophers. No sooner had that high-mettled cavalier signed the articles of capitulation, than, determined not to witness the humiliation of his favourite city, he turn- ed his back on its walls and made a growling retreat to his houwery, or country seat, which was situated about two miles off; where he passed the remainder of his days in patriarchal retirement. There he en- joyed that tranquillity of mind, which he had never known amid the distracting cares of government; and tasted the sweets of absolute and uncontrolled author- ity, which his factious subjects had so often dashed with the bitterness of opposition. Mo 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 Improvements introduced by the conquerors — forbade a word of their detested language to be spoken in his family, a prohibition readily obeyed, since none of the household could speak any thing but Dutch — and even ordered a fine avenue to bo 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 vigour, though in narrower limits. He patrolled with unceasing watchfulness round the boundaries of his little territory; repelled every encroachment with intrepid promptness ; pu- nished every vagrant depredation upon his orchard or his farm-yard with inflexible severity ; and conducted every stray hog or cow in triumph to the pound. But to the indigent neighbour, the friendless stranger, or the weary wanderer, his spacious doors were ever Ven, and his capacious fire-place, that emblem of his own warm and generous heart, had always a corner to receive and cherish them. There was an exception to this, I must confess, in case the ill-starred applicant were 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 hospital- ity. Nay, if peradventure some straggling merchant of the east should stop at his door, with his cart-load of tin wnre 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 "tioHoiis " was fain to betake him- self to instant fliL'lif. His suit of regimentals, worn threadbare ; brush, were carefully hung up in the state bed-i her, and regularly aired the first fair day of « month ; and his cocked hat and trusty sword \ suspended in grim repose over the parlour i piece, forming supporters to a full-length porir the renowned admiral Yon Tromp. In hisdooi empire he maintained strict discipline, and a \_ organized, despotic government; but thougli his| will was the supreme lavv, yet the good of his [ jects was his constant object. He watched oveH merely their immediate comforts, but their i and their ultimate welfare; for hegavetlieinalil ance of excellent admonition, nor could any of J complain, that, when occasion required, he wj any means niggardly in bestowing wholesomel rection. The good old Dutch festivals, those periodia monstrations of an overflowing heart and a tliaJ spirit, which are falling into sad disuse among fellow-citizens, were faithfully observed in tlie j sion of Governor Stuyvesant. New year was! a day of open-handed liberality, of jocund rei( and warm-hearted congratulation, when tlie I swelled with genial good-iellowship, and the | teous table was attended with an uncereuio freedom, and honest broad-mouthed merniiientj known in these days of degeneracy and refineq Paas and Pinxler were scrupulously observed ihn out his dominions ; nor was the day of St Mcj suffered to pass by, without making presents, li ing the stocking in the chimney, and coinplying all its other ceremonies. Once a-year, on the first day of April, he i array himself in fiiU regimentals, being the an sary of his triumphal entry into New-Amstet after the conquest of New-Sweden. This nasail a kind of saturnalia among the domestics, wiienl considered themselves at liberty, in some measiii say and do what they pleased ; for on this darj master was always observed to unbend, and I exceeding pleasant and jocose, sending the ( headed negroes on April-fool's errands for pi^ milk ; not one of whom but allowed himself ( taken in, and humoured his old master's jokes,! came a faithful and well-disciplined dependant. 1 did he reign, happily and peacefully, on hisowoj — injuring no man — envying no man— niolesteT no oulwaixl strifes; perplexed by no internal i motions — and the mighty monarclis of the earll)| were vainly seeking to maintain peace, and pni the welfare of mankind, by war and desolation,' have done well to have made a voyage to tlie I island of Manna-hata, and learned a lesson in^l ment from the domestic economy of Peter Stiiyvff In process of time, however, the old governorj all other children of mortality, begun to exliil)i dent tokens of decay. Like an aged oak, though it long has braved the fury of the elei and still retains its gigantic proportions, yet Ik HISTORY OF PflEW-YORK. 221 jte and groan with every blast— so was it with the pliant Peter; for though he still bore the port and blance of what he was, in the days of his hardi- I and chivalry, yet did age and infirmity begin to ) the vigour of his frame— but his heart, that most onquerable citadel, still triumphed unsubdued. Viih matchless avidity would he listen to every ar- de of intelligence concerning the battles between English and Dutch— still would his pulse beat Ui, whenever he heard of the victories of De Ruyter jnd his countenance lower, and his eye-brows knit, ^hen fortune turned in favour of the English. At mgili, as on a certain day he had just smoked his I pipe, and was napping after dinner, in his arm- ilr, conquering the whole British nation in his teams, he was suddenly aroused by a ringing of ells, rattling of drums, and roaring of cannon, that mtall his blood in a ferment. But when he learnt ibat these rejoicings were in honour of a great victory blaliied by the combined English and French fleets Iter the brave De Ruyter, and the younger Von Iromp, it went so much to his heart, that he took to i bed, and, in less than three days, was brought death's door, by a violent cholera morbus ! But treninthis extremity he still displayed the uncon- perable spirit of Peter the Headstrong ; holding out tllie last gasp, with the most hiHexible obstinacy, igainsl a whole army of old women who were bent Igpon driving the enemy out of his bowels, after a lie Dutch mode of defence, by inundating the seat ivir with catnip and penny-royal. While he thus lay, lingering on the verge of disso- lution, news was brought him, that the brave De fluyter had suffered but little loss — had made good s retreat— and meant once more to meet the enemy II battle. The closing eye of the old warrior kindled kttbe words — he partly raised himself in bed — a flash ifmartial fire beamed across his visage — he clinched lis withered hand, as if he felt within his gripe that pord which waved in triumph before the walls of f ort Cluislina, and giving a grim smile of exultation, uk back upon his pillow, and expired. Thus died Peter Stuyvesant, a valiant soldier— a loyal subject— an upright governor, and an lionest Dutchman- who wanted only a few empires to de- olate, to have been immortalized as a hero ! His funeral obsequies were celebrated with the ut- st grandeur and solenmity. The town was per- iclly emptied of its inhabitants, who crowded in |brongs to pay the last sad honours to their good old fovernor. All his sterling qualities rushed in full tide on their recullecliun, while the memory of his l)ibles and his faults had expired with him. The an- ient biu'gheis contended who should have the pri- ^ieij'cur bearing the pall, the populace strove who ould walk nearest to the bier, and the melancholy ission was closed by a number of gray-headed groes, who had wintered and summered in the isehold of, their departed master, for the greater M of a century. With sad and gloomy countenances, the multitude gathered round the grave. They dwelt with mourn- ful 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 phlegmatic features had ne- ver 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 the head "Well den! — Uardkopping Peter ben gone at last." His remains were deposited in the family vault, under a chapel which he had piously erected on bis estate, and dedicated to St INicholas — and which stood on the identical 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 conti- nued 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 proved themselves worthy of their illustrious ancestor. Many a lime and oft has the farm been haunted at night by enter- prising 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 enrich- ed 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 or- chard " on a holiday afternoon ? At this strong-hold of the family may still be seen certain memorials of the immortal Peter. His full- length portrait frowns in martial terrors from the parlour wall— his cocked hat and sword still hang up in the l)est bed -room— his brimstone- coloured breeches were for a long while suspended in the ball, until some years since they occasioned a dispute be- tween a new-married couple— and bis silver-mounted wooden leg is still treasured up in the store-room, as an invaluable relique. CHAPTER X. The author's rellcctions upon what has been said. Among the numerous events, which are each in their turn the most direfid and melancholy of all pos- sible occurrences, in your interesting and authentic history, there is none that occasions such deep and heart-rending grief as the decline and fall of your re- nowned and mighty empires. Where is the reader who can contemplate without emotion the disastrous events by which the great dynasties of the world have been extinguished? While wandering, in imagina- tion, among the gigantic ruins of states and empires, anil marking the tremendous convulsions that wrought HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. their overthrow, the bosom of the melancholy inquirer swells with sympathy commensurate to tlie surround- ing desolation. Kingdoms, principalities, and powers, have each had their rise, their progress, and their downfall — each in its tnrn has swayed a potent scep- tre — each has returned to its primeval nothingness. And thus did it fare with the empire of their High Mightinesses, at the Manhattoes, under the peaceful reign of Walter the Doubter — the fretful reign of William the Testy, and the chivakic reign of Peter the Headstrong. Its history is fruitful of instruction, and worthy of being pondered over attentively ; for it is by thus rak- ing among the ashes of departed greatness, that the sparks of true knowledge are to be found, and the lamp of wisdom illuminated. Let then the reign of Walter the Doubter warn against yielding to that sleek, contented security, and that overweening fond- ness for comfort and repose, which are produced by a state of prosperity and peace. These tend to un- nerve a nation ; to destroy its pride of character ; to render it patient of insult, deaf to the calls of honour and of justice; and cause it to cling to peace, like the sluggard to bis pillow, at the expense of every va- luable duty and consideration. Such supineness en- sures the very evil from which it shrinks. One right yielded up produces the usurpation of a second ; one encroachment passively suffered makes way for an- other; and the nation which thus, through a doting love of peace, has sacrificed honour and interest, will at length have to fight for existence. Let the disastrous reign of William the Testy serve as a salutary warning against that fitful, feverish mode of legislation, which acts without system, de- pends on shiHs and projects, and trusts to lucky con- tingencies. Which hesitates, and wavers, and at length decides with the rashness of ignorance and imbecility. Which stoops for popularity by courting the prejudices and Haltering the arrogance, rather than commanding the respect of the rabble. Which seeks safety in a multitude of counsellors, and dis- tracts itself by a vai iety of contradictory schemes and opinions. Which mistakes procrastination for wari- ness — hurry for decision — parsimony for economy — bustle for business, and vapouring for valour. Which is violent in council— siuiguine in expectation, preci- pitate in action, and feeble in execution. Which un- dertakes enterprises without forethought — enters upon them without preparation — conducts them with- out energy, and ends them in confusion and defeat. Let the reign of the good Stuyvesant show the ef- fecls of vigour and decision, even when destitute of cool judgment, and surrounded by perplexities. Let it show how frankness, probity, and liigh-souled cou- rage will command respect, and secure honour, even where success is unattainable. But at the same time, let it caution against a too ready reliance on the good faith of others, and a too honest confidence in the loving professions of powerful neighbours, who are most friendly when they most mean to betray. Let it teach a judicious attention to tlie opiniung an wishes of the many, who, in times of peril, must I soothed and led, or apprehension will overpower tit deference to authority. Let the empty wordiness of his factious subjecis j their intemperate harangues; their violent "resolul tions ; " their hectorings against an absent enemy, an their pusillanimity on his approach, teach us to dig trust and despise those clamorous patriots, vrha courage dwells but in the tongue. Let them senJ as a lesson to repress that insolence of speech, desJ titute of real force, which too often breaks forth id popular bodies, and bespeaks the vanity rather liiaj the spirit of a nation. Let them caution us a;;ain vaunting too much of our own power and prowessj and reviling a noble enemy. True gallantry ofs would always lead us to treat a foe with courtesy an proud punctilio; a contrary conduct but takes fronj the merit of victory, and renders defeat doubly ( graceful. But I cease to dwell on the stores of excellent exam pies to be drawn from the ancient chronicles of ilij Manhattoes. He who reads attentively will discovd the threads of gold, which run throughout the ve of history, and are invisible to the dull eye of ignoj ranee. But, before I conclude, let me point uuti solemn warning, furnished in the subtle chain events by which the capture of Fort Gasimir has pn duced the present convulsions of our globe. Attend then, gentle reader, to this plain deduction! which, if thou art a king, an emperor, or olher po\v(r| ful potentate, I advise thee to treasure up in tiiy I —though little expectation have I that my worli will fall into such hands, for well I know the careofciaD{ ministers, to keep all grave and edifying books uf ll kind out of the way of unhappy inonarchs— lest perJ adventure they should read tliem and learn wisdom.! By the treacherous surprisal of Fort Casiinir, llienl did the crafty Swedes enjoy a transient tiiunipli; m drew upon their heads the vengeance of Peter Stuy! vesant, who wrested all New-Sweden from tiieii hands. By the conquest of New-Sweden, Peter Sluy| vesant aroused the claims of Lord Baltimore, wiioai)' pealed to the Cabinet of Great Britain ; who sulxiun the whole province of New-Netherlands. By Ihi great achievement the whole extent of North Auie rica, from Nova Scotia to the Floridas, was renden one entire dependency upon the British crown.— B mark the consequence : the hitherto scattered coluniej being thus consolidated, and having no riv.1l colonid to check or keep them in awe, waxed great and |)owef| ful, and finally becoming too strong for the inolli country,' were enabled to shake off its lionds, and III a glorious revolution l)ecame an independent (oi| pire. But the chain of effects stopped not here ; 1 successful revolution in America proiluced the sanj guiiiary revolution in France; which produced < puissant Bonaparte; who produced the French (let potism ; which has thrown the whole world in ( fusion !— Thus have these great powers been suo HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 225 Uy punished for their ill-starred conquests— and liiis, as I asserted, have all the present convulsions, ivolutions, and disasters that overwhelm mankind, ^nated in the capture of the little Fort Casimir, as orded in this eventful history. And now, worthy reader, ere I take a sad farewell, .vhich, alas ! must be for ever— willingly would I irtin cordial fellowship, and bespeak thy kind-heart- j remembrance. That I have not written a better story of the days of the patriarchs is not my fault — I any other person written one as good, I should i have attempted it at all. That many will here- ttt spring up and surpass me in excellence, I have little doubt, and still less care ; well knowing lat, when the great Christovallo Colon (who is vul- irly called Columbus) had once stood his egg upon send, every one at table could stand his up a thou- ^nd times more dexterously. — Should any reader 1 matter of offence in this history, T should hearti- f grieve, though I would on no account question his lenetration by telling him he was mistaken — his good Hlnre by telling him he was captious — or his pure oience by telling him he was startled at a shadow. Surely if he were so ingenious in flnding offence Uere none was intended, it were a thousand pities he should not be suffered to enjoy the benefit of his discovery. I have too high an opinion of the understanding of my fellow-citizens, to think of yielding them instnic- tion, and I covet too much their good will, to forfeit it by giving them good advice. I am none of those cynics who despise the world, because it despises them —on the contrary, though but low in its regard, I look up to it with the most perfect good nature, and my only sorrow is, that it does rot prove itself more worthy of tlie unlwunded love I bear it. If however in this my historic production — the scanty fruit of a long and laborious life — I have failed to gratify the dainty palate of the age, I can only la- ment my misfortune— for it is too late in the season for me even to hope to repair it. Already has wi- thering age showered his sterile snows upon my brow ; in a little while, and this genial warmth which still lingers around my heart, and throbs — worthy reader — throbs kindly towards thyself, will be chilled for ever. Haply this frail compound of dust, which while alive may have given birth to naught but unprofitable weeds, may form a humble sod of the valley, from whence may spring many a sweet wild flower, to adorn my beloved island of Manna-hata ! \:M. KND OF THE IHSTORY OF NEW-YORK. f /" SIR WALTI THIS WOB liiTuriMoriT or tbe , THE ADVEK I following desultory s country, liut pubiis tof the austerity witt 1 have hitherto beei m, too, that much < jleresling only in the e sinleiilion, therefoi' He has, howeve olime inserted in p( tslood that it was pro l(ollectiT6 form. lie Kandbringthcraforwi fcorrcclly before the jfsufliclcnt importanni e solicits for them Ihi l^er has some right t( Esboldofahospitabl lelnury, (820. fUTHOR'S ACC( 1 of (his mind with I lliershcl was turned eft Jlomakeastoole to sit aowne country is in wasliape, that he is candle live where he FAS always fond of pg strange character echildlbeganmyl »very into foreign I THE SKETCH BOOR OF ^toUte^ Crajjoit) <f^tnt. " I have no wife nor children, good or bad, lo provide for. A mere spectator of other men's fortunes and adventures, and how they play their parts : which, niethinks, arc diversely presented unto me, as from a common theatre or scene." Burton. :^-<- TO SIR WALTER SCOTT, Rart. THIS WOBK IS DEDICATED, lllTUriMONT OF TBB ADMIRATION AND AFFECTION OF THE AUTHOR. ADVERTISEMENT. I following desultory papers are part of a scries writtcc s country, but published in America. The auibor is tof the austerity with which Ihe writings ofhs couii- g haTC hitherto been treated by British critics : be is jous, too, that much of the contents of his papers can keresting only in the eyes of American readers. It was ^liinleution, therefore, to have them reprinted in this Irv. He has, however, observed several of them from llolime inserted in periodiral works of merit, and has rslood that it was probable they would be republished Itollective form. He has been induced, therefore, to pad bring them forward himself, that they may at least t correctly before the public. Should they be deein- Jfsuflicicnt importance to attract the attention of cri- IIk solicits for them that courtesy and candour which a f/tt has some right to claim, who presents himself at ishold of a hospitable nation. lelinury, 1820. THE llUTHORS ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 1 of this mind with Homer, that as the snalle that crept Ihershcl was turned eftsoons into a toad, and thereby was llo malie a stoolc to sit on; so Ihe traveller that straglelh |his owne country is in a short time Iraasformed into so > a shape, that he is faine to alter his mansion with his (.ami lo live where he can, not where he would." Lvly's Eupbues. FAS always fond of visiting new scenes, and ob- ig strange characters and manners. Even when « child I began my travels, and made many lours »very into foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents, and the emolument of the town crier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of my observations. My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles about the surrounding country. I made myself familiar with all its places famous in liistory or fable. I knew every spot where a murder or robbery had been com- mitted, or a ghost seen. I visited tlie neighbouring villages, and added greatly to my stock of knowledge, by noting their habits and customs, and conversing with their sages and great men. I even journeyed one long summer's day to the summit of the most di- stant hill, from whence I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra incognita, and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited. This rambling propensity strengthened with my years. Books of voyages and travels became my pas- sion, and in devouring their contents, I neglected the regular exercises of the school. How wistfully would I wander about the pier heads in flne weather, and watch the parting ships bound to distant climes ! with wliat longing eyes would I gaze after their lessening sails, and waft myself in imagination to the ends of the earth ! Farther reading and thinking, though they brought this vague inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to make it more decided. I visited various parts of my own country : and had I been merely in- fluenced by a love of fine scenery, I should have felt little desire to seek elsewhere its gratification : for on no country have the charms of nature been more pro- digally lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid silver; her mountains, with their bright aerial tints; her valleys, teeming with wild fertility ; her tre- mendous cataracts, thundering in their solitudes ; her boundless plains, waving with spontaneous verdure; her broad deep rivers, rolling in solemn silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling with the magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine .—no, never need an American look beyond his own country' for the sublime and beautiful of natural scenery. 226 THE SKETCH BOOK. But Europe held forth all the charms of storied and poetical association. There were to be seen the mas- terpieces of art, the refinements of highly cultivated society, the quaint peculiarities of ancient and local custom. ]VIy native country was full of youthful pro- mise : Europe was rich in the accumulated treasures of age. Her very ruins told the history of times gone by, and every mouldering stone was a chronicle. I longed to wander over the scenes of renowned achieve- ment — to tread, as it were, in the footsteps of anti- quity — to loiter about the ruined castle — to meditate on the falling tower — to escape, in short, from lite common-place realities of (he present, and iuse myself among the shadowy grandeurs of the past. I had, besides all this, an earnest desire to see the great men of the earth. We have, it is true, our great men in America : not a city but has an ample share of them. I have mingled among them in my time, and been almost withered by the shade into which they cast me ; for there is notliing so l)aleful to a small man as the shade of a great one, particularly the great man of a city. But I was anxious to see the great men of Europe; for I had read in the works of various philo- sophers, that all animals degenerated in America, and man among the number. A great man of Europe, thought I, must therefore be as superior to a great man of America, as a peak of the Alps to a highland of the Hudson; and in this idea I was confirmed, by ob- serving the comparative importance and swelling mag- nitude of many English travellers among us, who, I was assured, were very little people in their own country. I will visit this land of wonders, thought I, and see the gigantic race from which I am degenerated. It lias been either my good or evil lot to have my roving passion gratified. I have wandered through different countries, and witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I cannot say that I have studied them with the eye of a philosopher ; but rather with the sauntering gaze with which humble lovers of the pic- turesque stroll from the window of one print-shop to another; caught, sometimes by the delineations of beauty, sometimes by the distortions of caricature, and sometimes by the loveliness of landscape. As it is the fashion for modern tourists to travel pencil in hand, and bring home their portfolios filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few for the entertainment of my friends. When, however, I look over the hints and memorandums I have taken down for the purpose, my heart almost fails me at finding how my idle hu- mour has led me aside from the great objects studied by every regular traveller who would make a book. I fear I shall give equal disappointment with an unlucky landscape painter, who had travelled on the continent, but, following the bent of his vagrant inclination, had sketched in nooks, and corners, and by-places. His sketch-book was accordingly crowded with cottages, and landscapes, and obscure ruins ; but he had neglect- ed to paint St Peter's, or the Coliseum; the cascade of Temi, or the bay of Naples; and had not a single gla- cier or volcano in bis whole collection. THE VOYAGE. Ships, ships. I wilt descrie you Amidst the main, I will come and try you. What you are protecting, And|irojecliuR, What's your end and aim. One goes abroad for merchandize and trading. Another slays to keep his country from invadin;, A third Is coming home with rich and w eallhy ladin;. Ualio ! my fancie, whither wilt thou go? OiDPon To an American visitiitg Europe, the long voyj he has to make is an excellent preparative. The li p»»rary absence of worklly scenes and emplojn pioduces a state of mind peculiarly fitted to m new and vivid impressions. The vast spaceof waJ that separates the hemispheres is like a blank pa^ existence. There is no gradual transition by vli as in Europe, the features and population ofoneo try blend almost imperceptibly with those of anolhl From the moment you lose sight of the land you lij left, all is vacancy until you step on the opposite sh and are launched at once uito the bustle and norel of another world. In travelling by land there is a continuity ofs( and a connected succession of persons and incidi that carry on the story of life, and lessen the efTeo absence and separation. We drag, it is true, | lengthening chain" at each remove of our pilu'rin but the chain is unbroken : we can trace it backlj by link ; and we feel that the last of them slill ;i3p| us to home. But a wide sea voyage severe i once. It makes us conscious of being cast loose fi the secure anchorage of settled life, and sent adj upon a doubtful world. It interposes a merely imaginary, but real, between us aiitlj homes — a gulf subject to tempest, and fear, <inii| certainty, that makes distance palpable, and i precarious. Such, at least, was the case with myself. AsH the last blue line of my native land fade awayli cloud in the horizon, it seemed as if I had closedj volume of the world and its concerns, and iiad t for meditation, before I opened another. Tiiatlil too, now vanishing from my view, which conlail all that was most dear to me in life ; what viciisiiif might occur in it — what changes might talie plai me, before I should visit it again ! Who can I when he sets forth to wander, whither he majj driven by the uncertain currents of existenctl when he may return; or whether it may everl)e| lot to revisit the scenes of his childhood? I said that at sea all is vacancy ; I should ( the expression. To one given to day-dreaming,! fond of losing himself in reveries, a sea voyage isj of subjects for meditation; but then they artj wondei-s of the deep, and of the air, and ratherj to abstract the mind from worldly themes. U ed to loll over the quarter-railing, or climb to I , of n calm da utii L'ainbuls. Sin THE 8KETCH BOOR. , of si calm day, and muse for hours logelliei [llie tranquil bosom of a summer's sea; to gaze I the piles of golden clouds just peering above the »n, fancy tliem some fairy realms, and people igi with a cre.ition of my own; — to watch the [||euiuiuiating billows, rolling their silver volumes, If 10 (lie away on those happy shores. Ilbere was a delicious sensation of mingled secu- tami awe with which I looked down, from my iilv liei;,'ht, on the monsters of the deep at their ;outli {s;anibuls. Shoals of por[>oises tumbling about ^liow of the ship; the grampus slowly heaving his ifurm above tlie surface; or the ravenous shark, iin^r, like a spectre, through the blue waters. My iginalion would conjure up all that I had heard or I of the watery world beneath me; of the finny s that roam its fathomless valleys ; of the shapeless liters that lurk among the very foundations of the ^b;and of those wild phantasms that swell the tales Jiermen and sailors. iometiincs a distant sail, gliding along the edge of ( ocean, would be another theme of idle specula- How interesting this fragment of world, ftening to rejoin the great mass of existence ! What l^orious monument of human invention; that has ilriuniphed over wind and wave; has brought jeemlsof the world into communion ; has established I interchange of blessings, pouring into the sterile jfionsof the north all the luxuries of the south; has ed the light of knowledge and the charities of lltivaled life ; and has thus bound together those scat- i portions of the human race, between which ne- 'e seemed to have thrown an insurniountablebarrier! IWe one day descried some shapeless object drifting la distance. At sea, every thing that breaks the Motony of the surrounding expanse attracts atten- It proved to be the mast of a ship that must |Tebeen completely wrecked; for there were the lains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew 1 fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their ; washed off by the waves. There was no trace [wbich the name of the ship could be ascertained, wreck had evidently drifted about for many ntlis; clusters of shell-lish had fastened about it, i long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, niglil I, is the crew? Their struggle has long |en over— they have gone down amidst the roar of ! tempest— their bones lie wliitening among the herns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the pes, have closed over them, and no one can tell e story of their end. What sighs have been wafted lertliat ship! what prayers offered up at the desert- I fireside of home ! How often has the mistress, t wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to Icii some casual intelligence of this rover of the |(p ! How has expectation darkened into anxiety — (iely into dread— and dread into despair ! Alas ! I one memento shall ever return for love to cherish, i that shall ever be known, is, that she sailed from r port, '' and was never heard of more ! " 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 Eair, 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 sum- mer 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 related by the captain. " As I was once 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 im- possible for us to see far a-head 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 out for fishing smacks, which are accustomed to lie at anchor 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 alarm of 'a sail a-head!' — it was scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a iimall schooner, at anchor, with her broadside towards us. The crew were all asleep, and had ne- glected 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 v, as sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half-naked 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 farther hearing. I shall never forget that cry I 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." I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all my fine fancies. The storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed into tremendous confu- sion. There was a fearful, sullen sound of rushing waves, and broken surges. Deep 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 succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards would dip into the water : her bow was almost burietl beneath the waves. Sometimes an impending surge appeared niE SKETCH BOOK. ready to overwhelm her, and nolhing but a dexter- ous tnovement of tlie helm preserved her from the .shock. " When I retired to my cabin, tlie awful scene still followed me. The whistling of the wind through the rigging sounded like funereal wailings. The creak- . ;|ng of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk heads, as the ship laboured in the weltering sea, were friglitfid. As I heard the waves rushing along the side of (he ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking fur his prey : the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him en- trance. A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and fa- vouring breeze, soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible to resist the gladdening in- fluence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. When the ship is decked out in all her canvass, every sail swelled, and careering gaily over the curling waves, how lofty, how gallant she appears — how she seems to lord it over the deep! I might fill a volume with the reveries of a sea voyage, for with me it is almost a continual reverie — but it is time to get to shore. 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 American'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 pondvned. 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 mountains, 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 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 expectants of friends or relatives. I could dis- tinguish the merchant to whom the ship was consign- ed. I knew him by his calculating brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his potket.s ; he was whistling thouglufully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been accorded him by the crowd, in deference to his temporary iniporlaiice. .There were repeated cheerings and salutations interchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends happened to recognize each other. I particularly noticed one young woman of humble dress, but interestine i meanour. She was leaning forward irom amonsl crowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it nearedl shore, to catch some wished-for countenance, seemed disap|)ointed and agitated ; when I JieaJ faint voice call her name. — It was from a poor i who had been ill all the voyage, and had excited I sympathy of every one on board. When the weail was fine, his messmates had spread a mattressl him on deck in the shade, but of late his IIIdcss j so increased, that he had taken to his hanimock only breathed a wish that he might see his \\\f^ j fore he died. He had been helped on deck as I came up the river, and was now leaning againsil shrouds, with a countenance so wasted, so pale] ghastly, that it was no wonder even the eye of aJ tion did not recognize him. But at the sotind of| voice, her eye darted on his features; it read, alo a whole volume of sorrow ; she clasped her haij uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing ilieig silent agony. All now was hurry and bustle. The nieelin^ acquainli-'uces— the greetings of friends— tlie coiu talions of men of business. I alone was solitary i idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering lo | ceive. I stepped upon the land of my forefelhcr but felt that I was a stranger in the land. ROSCOE. -In llic sprvicc of mankind tolw A guardian gud l)elow ; still lo employ Tlic mind's brave ardour in heroic aims, Such as may raise us o'er the grovelling herd, And make us shine for ever— that is life. TboisoiI 0>E of the first places lo which a stranger isti in Liverpool is the Athe;.a;um. It is establisliedl a liberal and judicious plan ; it contains a good libi and spacious reading-room, and is the great I resort of the place. Go there at what hour yoiii you are sure lo find it filled with grave-lookinv|i sonages, deeply absorbed in (he study of new^ pers. As I was once visiting this haunt of the lean my attention was attracted to a person just eiiK the room. He was advanced in life, tail, anil ( form that might once have been coinmamling, I was a little boweil by lime— perhaps hy care, had a noble Roman style of countenance; a lieailll would have pleased a painter ; and though somesli| furrows on his brow sliowed that wasting llioiij,'lil been busy there, yet his eye still beamed willi lire of a poetic soul. There was sometliing in | whole appearance that indicated a being of a ( order from the bustling race around him. I inquired his name, and was informed that lit RoscoE. I drew back witli an involuntary fee . mingling amoiij THE SKETCH BOOK. 229 (feneration. This, tlien, was an author of cele- lity; this was one of those men , whose voices have ; forth to the ends of the earth ; with whose minds [liave communed even in tlie solitudes of America. Icciislomed, as we are in our country, to Itnow Eu- lean writers only hy their works, we cannot con- nive of llieni, as of other men, engrossed by trivial r sordid pursuits, and jostling with the crowd of nnion minds in the dusly paths of life. Tliey pass Ure our imaginalions like superior beings, radiant tiili (he eniiinations of their own genius, and sur- oiintol by a lialo of literary glory. Tolind, therefore, the elegant historian of (he Me- , mingling among the busy sons of (rafiic, at first icked my poetical ideas ; but it is from the very tumslances and situation in which lie has been Laced, that Mr Roscoe derives his highest claims (o tjiniradon. It is in(eresting to notice how some lojnds seem almost to create themselves, springing up der every disadvantage, and working (heir soli(ary loi irresistible way through a thousand obstacles. ^'alure seems to delight in disappointing (he assidu- lliesof art, with which it would rcarlegidmatedulness Umaturity ; and to glory in the vigour and luxuriance (her chance productions. She scatters the seeds of genius to the winds, and though some may perish inung (he stony places of (he world, and some be loked by the thorns and brambles of early adversily, 1(1 olliers will now and then strike root even in the (lefts of (he rock, struggle bravely up into sunshine, indspread over their sterile birth-place all the beauties IvpRPladon. Such has been the case with Mr Roscoe. Born in i place apparently ungenial (o the growth of literary uleiU; in (he very market-place of trade; without ^une, family connexions, or patronage ; self-prompl- d,$eir-$us(ained, and almost self-taught, he has con- [uereil every obsOcle, achieved his way to eminence. Bid, iiaving become one of the ornaments of the na- bn, has turned the whole force of his talents and in- lueiice (0 advance and embellish his na(ivc (own. Indeed, it is this last trait in his character which us given him the greatest interest in my eyes, and Induceil nie particularly to puint him out to my cuun- ymen. Eminent as are his literary merits, he is jiul one among the many disdngiiished authors of (his liitel!ee(ual na(ion. They, however, in general, live l)ii(fortheirown fame, ortheir own pleasures. Their pivate hi8(ory piescnts no lesson to the world, or, lerliaps, a humiliating one of human frailty and in- !()ii.sis(ency. At best, (hey are prone (o sleal away from (he bustle and common-place of busy exislence; I indulge in the sellishness of leKered ease; and (o «vel in scenes of mental, but exclusive enjoyment. Mr Roscoe, on (he contrary, bus claimed none of lie accorded privileges of (alent. He has shut hini- lelf up in no garden of thought, norelysiuni of fancy ; iHit has gone forth into the highways and thorougli- bresof life; he has planted bowers by the way side, Mherefrcsliment of the pilgrim and the sojourner, and has opened pure fountains, where the labouring man may turn aside from the dust and heat of (he day, and drink of the living streams of knowledge. There is a " daily beauty in his life," on which mankind may meditate and grow Iieiter. It exhibits no lofty and almost useless, because inimitable, example of excellence ; but presen(s a picture of active, yet simple and imitable virtues, which are within every man's reach, but which, unror(uiia(ely, are not exercised by many, or this world would be a paradise. But his private life is [leculiarly worthy the atten- tion of (he citizens of our young and busy country, where literature and the elegant ar(s must grow up side by side with the coarser plants of daily necessity; and must dep»nd for their culture, not on the exclu- sive devotion of time and weaUh, nor the quickening rays of tided patronage, but on liours and seasons snatched from the pursuit of worldly interests, by in- telligent and public-spiri(ed individuals. He has shown how much may be done for a place in hours of leisure by one masler spirit, and how completely it can give its own impress to surrounding objects. Like his own Lorenzo De' Medici, on whom he seems to have fixed his eye as on a pure model of antiquity, he has inlerwoven the history of his life with (hehis(ory ofhis native town, and has made the foundations of i(s fame (he monumen(s ofhis virtues. Wherever you go in Liverpool, you perceive traces of his foolsteps in all that is elegant and liberal. He found (he (ide of wealth flowing merely in the chan- nels of (rafiic; he has diverted from it invigorating rills to refresh the gardens of literature. By his own example and constant exertions he has effecled (hat union of commerce and the intellectual pursuits, so eloquently recommended in one of his latest writings:' and has practically proved how beautifully they may be brought to harmonize, and to benefit each other. The noble ins(itu(ions for literary and sciendlic pur- poses, which reflect such credit on Liverpool, and are giving such an impulse to (he public mind, have most- ly been originated, and have all been effectively pro- moted, by Mr Roscoe; and when we consider (he rapidly increasing opulence and magnitude of that (own, which promises (o vie in commercial import- ance widi (he inedopolis, it will be perceived (hat in awakening an ambidon of iiien(al improvement among its inhabilanis, he has effected a giral benefit to the cause of British lileralure. In -.merica, we know Mr Roscoe only as the au- thor — in Liverpool he is spoken of as (he banker; and I was (ohi of his having been unfortunate in business. I could not pi(y him, as I heard some rich men do. I considered him far above (he reach of my pi(y. 'those who live only for the world, and in (he world, may be cast down by (he frowns of adversily ; but a man like Roscoe is not to be overcome by (he reverses of fortune. They do bu( drive him in upon the re- sources of his own mind; (o (he superior sucie(y of his own (houglUs; which (he best of men are apt some- • A(l(tn.'8s on tlic o|ienlng of the Liverpool Institution. 250 THE SKETCH ©OOK. times to neglect, and to roam abroad in search of less worthy associates. He is independent of the world around him. He lives with antiquity and pos- terity; with antiquity, in the sweet communion of studious retirement; and with posterity, in the gene- rous aspirings after future renown. Tlie solitude of such a mind is its state of highest enjoyment. It is then visited by tliose elevated meditations wiiich are the proper aliment of noble souls, and are, like man- na, sent from heaven, in the wilderness of this world. While my feelings were yet alive on the subject, it was my fortune to light on further traces of Mr Roscoe. I was riding out with a gentleman, (o view theenvirons of Liverpool, when he turned off, through a gate, into some ornamented grounds. A fter riding a sliort distance, we came to a spacious mansion of free-stone, built in the Grecian style. It was not in the purest taste, yet it had an air of elegance, and the situation was delightful. A fine lawn sloped away from it, studded with clumps of trees, so disposed as to break a soft fertile country into a variety of land- scapes. The Mersey was seen winding a broad quiet sheet of water through an expanse of green meadow land; while the Welsh mountains, blended with clouds, and melting into distance, bordered the ho- rizon. Tills was Roscoe's favourite residence during the days of his prosperity. It bad been the seat of ele- gant hospitality and literary retirement. The house was now silent and deserted. I saw the windows of the study, which looked out upon the soft scenery I have mentioned. The windows were closed — the library was gone. Two or three ill-favoured beings were loitering about the place, whom my fancy pic- tured into retainers of the law. It was like visiting some classic fountain, that bad once welled its pure waters in a sacred shade, but finding it dry and dusty, with the lizard and the toad brooding over the shatter- ed marbles. I incpiired after the fate of Mr Roscoe's library, which had consisted of scarce and foreign books, from many of which be had drawn the materials for bis Italian histories. It had passed imder the hammer of the auctioneer, and was dispersed about the conn- try. The good people of the vicinity thronged like wreckers to get some part of the noble vessel that had I)een driven on shore. Did such a scene admit of ludicrous associations, we might imagine somelliing whimsical in this strange irruption into the regions of learning. Tigmics rummaging the armoury of a giant, and contending for the possession of weapons which they could not wield. We might picture to ourselves some knot of speculators, debuting with calculating brow over the quaint binding and illumi- nated margin of an obsolete author; of the air of in- tense, but baflled sagacity, with which some successful purchaser attempted to dive into the black-letter bargain he had secured. It is a beautiful incident in the story of Mr Roscoe's misfortunes, and one which cannot fail to interest the studious mind, that the parting with his books i to have touched upon his tenderest feelings, and j. have been the only circumstance that could provoU the notice of his muse. The scholar only knows I dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of ml thoughts and innocent hours become in the season! adversity. When all that is worldly turns to drj around us, these only retain their steady vaiJ When friends grow cold, and the converse of inj males languishes into vapid civility and commoi place, these only continue the unaltered countenan of happier days, and cheer us with that true riieni ship which never deceived hope, nor deserted sorroJ I do not wish to censure; but, surely, if the peopl of Liverpool bad been properly sensible of what i\ J due to Mr Roscoe and themselves, bis library woul never have been sold. Good worldly reasons nial doubtless, be given for the circumstance, wliich] would be difficult to combat with others that inH seem merely fanciful; but it certainly appears loi such an opportunity as seldom occurs, of cheerin"! noble mind struggling under misfortunes, by onef the most delicate, but most expressive tokens of puli sympathy. It is difficult, however, to esliniale| man of genius properly who is daily before oiirevef He becomes mingled and confounded with other iiiei His great qualities lose their novelty, and we be too familiar with the common materials which for the basis even of the loftiest character. SonieJ Mr Roscoe's townsmen may regard him merely asl man of business; others as a poHtician; all flnd engaged like themselves in ordinary occupations, ad surpassed, perhaps, by themselves on some points 1 worldly wisdom. Even that amiable and unoslenlj tious simplicity of character, which gives the namele grace to real excellence, may cause him to be unde^ valued by some coarse minds, who do not knowt true worth is always void of glare and prelensiol But the man of letters, who speaks of Livei] speaks of it as the residence of Roscoe.— The intelll gent traveller who visits it inquires where Roscoe j to be seen. — He is the literary landmark of theplad indicating its existence to the distant scholar.— lie i| like Pompey's column at Alexandria, towering aloi in classic dignity. The following sonnet, addressed by Mr Roscoe j his books on parting with them, is alluded toinll preceding article. If any thing can add effect lo ll pure feeling and elevated thought here displayed, it| Ibe conviction, that the whole is no effusiun of fan but a faithful transcript from the writer's heart. TO Siy BOOKS. As one who, tlcstiniHl from liU frUniils to part, Ili'grcis Hh Iohh, liiit hu|)(.>8 aKaiii cri'uliilc To »l)ari! Ih(!ir converse and enjoy llicir smile, And tempers as lie may aflliction'silarti Thus, love<l assoclulps, cliiel's of older art, Teachers of wisdom, who could unce beguile My tedious liours, and IlKhli'n every loll, I now resign you ; nor with fainting liearl i THE SKETCH BOOK. 251 for pass a few short years or days, or hours, And happier seasons may their dawn unfold. And all your sacred fellowship restore : When, freed from earth, unlimited its powers. Mind Shan with mind direct communion hold, And kindred spirits meet to part oo more. THE WIFE. The treasures of the deep are not so precious As are the conceai'd comforts of a man Locl^'d up in woman's love. I scent the air Of blessings, when I come but near the house. What a delicions breath marriage sends forlh !... The violet bed's not sweeter. MIDDLETON. 1 1 HAVE often had occasion to remark the fortitude I which women sustain the most overwlielming trerses of fortune. Tliose disasters whicli break loirn the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the , seem to call forlli all tiie energies of the softer li, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their Bracler, that at limes it approaches to sublimity. kolliing can be more touching than to beiioid a soft I tender female, who had been all weakness and lendence, and alive to every trivial roughness, Ihile treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly W in mental force to be the comforter and sup- rter of her husband under misfortune, and abiding, |iith unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blasU of ad- rsity. As the vine, which has long twined its graceful ^iage about the oak, and been lifted by it into sun- Ine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the ignderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils, ibind up its shattered boughs; so is it beautifully (dered by Providence, that woman, who is the mere lependant and ornament of man in his happier hours, pould be his stay and solace when smitten with sud- )en calamity; winding herself into the rugged re- isesof his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping Kad, and binding up the broken heart. 1 was once congratulating a friend, who had around lima blooming family, knit together in the strongest lITcclion. "I can wish you no better lot," said he, pilli enthusiasm, ''than to have a wife and children. -If you are prosperous, there they are to share your sperily; if otherwise, there they are to comfort [Oil." And, indeed, I have observed that a married lan falling into misfortune is more apt to retrieve his [itiiation in the world thai? a single one ; partly be- ause lie is more stimulated to exertion by the neces- ilies of the helpless and beloved beings who depend ppon him for subsistence; but chielly because his [lirits are soothed aiid relieved by domestic endear- «nts, and his self-respect kept alive by flnding, that |hougl) all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet here is still a little world of love at home, of which |ieis (he monarch. Whereas a single man is apt to rnn 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 accom- plished 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 about 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 somewhat serious cast ; she was all life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with which he wouldgazeuponher 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 linely 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 doated on his lovely burthen for its very help- lessness. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path of early and well-suited marriage 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 bis 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 insupportable was the neces- sity of keeping up a smile in the presence of his wife; for he could not bring himself to overwhelm her with the news. She saw, however, with the quick eyes of affection, that all was not well with him. She marked 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 blandishments to win him back to hap- piness; but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul. The more lie saw cause to love her, the more torturing was the thought that he was sooit 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 bosnm, 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 had heard him through, I inquired, "Does your wife know all this?"— At the question he bnrst 1 ■< 232 THE SKETCH BOOK. Ill into an agony of tears. ''For God's sake!" cried he, "if you have any pity on me, don't mention my wife; it is the tiiought of her that drives me almost to madness!" "And wliy not?" said I. "She must know it sooner or later : you cannot keep it long from her, and the intelligence may break upon her in a more startling manner, than if imparted by yourself; for the accents of those we love soften the harshest ti- dings. 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 community of thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that something is se- cretly 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 ! 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 — ail the pleasures of society — to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity ! To tell her that I have dragged her down from the sphere in which she might have continued to move in con- stant brightness — the light of every eye— the admira- tion of every heart ! — How can she bear poverty ? she has been brought up in all the refniements of opu- lence. How can she bear neglect ? she has been the idol of society. Oh! it will b-eak 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 resumed the subject gently, and urged him to break bis situation at once to his wife. He shook his head mournfully, but positively. " But how are yon to keep it from her? It is ne- cessary she should know it, that you may take the steps ()rq)er to the alteration of your circumstances. You nuist change your style of living nay, " ob- serving a pang to pass across his countenance, "don't let that aHlicl you. I am sure you have never placed your happiness in outward show— you have yet friends, warm friends, who will not think tlie worse of you for being less splendidly lodged : and surely it does not require a palace to be happy with Mary—" " I could be happy with her," cried he, convnl- sively, " in a hovel! — I could go down with her into poverty and the dust!— I could— I could GikI bless her! — Go«l bless her!" cried he, bursting into a transportof grief and tenderness. " And believe me, my friend," said I, stepping up, and grasping him warmly by the hand, " believe me, she can be the same with yon. Ay, Tpore : it will be a source of pride and triiunph to hei —it will call forth all the latent energies and fervent hympathies of her nature ; for she will rejoice to prove that slie loves you for yourself. There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies donnant| the broad daylight of prosperity ; but which kindi] up, and beams pnd blazes in the dark hour or j versity. No man knows what the wife of his 1 is — no man knows what a ministering angel she iJ until he has gone with her through the fiery trials 1 this world. " There was something in the earnestness ofi manner, and the figurative style of my language ihj caught the excited imagination of Leslie. I i^^ the auditor I had to deal with; and following up |M impression I had made, I finished by persuading hi] to go home and unburden his sad heart to his wire.] I must confess, notwithstanding all I had sai(l,lfj some little solicitude for the result. Who cane culateon the fortitude of one whose whole life has l a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revgj at the dark downward path of low humility suddei pointed out before her, and might cling to the sunij regions in which they had hitherto revelled, sides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by i many galling mortifications, to which in oilier ran] it is a stranger. — In short, I could not meet la the next morning without trepidation. He had niK the disclosure. " And how did she bear it ? " " Like an angel ! Il seemed rather to be a rdii to her mind, for she threw her arms round my net and asked if this was all that had lately made ineuil happy. — But, poor girl, " added he," she cannolrej| ize the change we nuist undergo. She has no idi of poverty but in the abstract ; she has only readofl in poetry, where it is allied to love. She feels as n no privation ; she suffers no loss of accustomed t veniencies nor elegancies. When we come pract cally to experience its sordid cares, its paltry wanli its petty humiliations— then will be the real Inai." | " But, " said I, " now that you have got overll severest task, that of breaking it to Iter, the soonJ you let the world into the secret the better. Tl( disclosure may be mortifying; but then it is asinn misery, and soon over : whereas you otherwise suM it, in anticipation, every hour in the day. It is J poverty so much as pretence, that harasses a ruinej man — the struggle between a proud mind and i empty purse— the keeping up a hollow siiow i must soon come to an end. Have the courage I appear poor, and you disarm poverty of its sting. " On this point I fotmd Leslie perfectly prep ed. He had no false pride himself, and as to liiswifJ she was only anxious to conform to their altered («[ tunes. Some days afterwards he called upon me in lli| evening. He had disposed of his dwelliii;;-houi and taken a small cottage in the country, a few mil from town. He had been busied all day in sendinj outfiunilure. The new establishment required fcij articles, and those of the simplest kind. All splendid furniture of his late residence had beeni excepting his wife's harp. That, he said, waj I THE SKETCH BOOK. 253 li lies dormant Beiy associated with the idea of herself ; it belonged It which kin(ilK«l>'tlc^'^''y°^l^h^i''''^^^^' for some of the sweet- dark hour of aHgionients of their courtship were those when he wife of his bosoBleaned over that instrument, and listened to the ng angel sliebBling tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this the fiery trialsKnce of romantic gallantry in a doting husband. was now going out to the cottage, where his irnestncss of lAhad been all day superintending its arrangement, my language thV feelings had become strongly interesced in the Leslie. I kneBiresi; of diis family story, and, as it was a fine I following up ilKing, I offered to accompany him. ly persuading hjlj^ was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and leart to his wife.Hie walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing, ill I had said, I fApoor Mary ! " at length broke, with a >.eavy sigh, t. Who can c^L his lips. whole life has befl' And what of her?" asked I : " has any thing hap- )ints might revgHed to her?" humility suddeiiBwiiat," said he, darting an impatient glance, " is cling to the suniHglliiiig to be reduced to this paltry situation — to be rto revelled. fiSri in a miserable cottage — to be obliged to toil al- ecompanied by Hi in the menial concerns of her wretched habita- ich in other ranlH?" I not meet LdBlIasshe then repined at the change?" lon. lie had niafliRepined ! she has been nothing but sweetness and humour. Indeed, she seems in better spirits 1 have ever known her ; she has been to me all ther to be a rellKand tenderness, and comfort! " ns round my nedBAdmirable girl ! " exclaimed I. " You call your- ately madeineiiiH|ioor, my friend; you never were so rich — you ," she cannot reaHt knew the boundless treasures of excellence you She has no liltHtssed in that woman." has only readofHoh! but, my friend, if this first meeting at the . She feels as yJKge were over, I think I could then be comfort- >f accustomed coiln|. But this is her first day of real experience; she we come pradBiiccn introduced into a humble dwelling — she has , its paltry wnnlKemployed all day in arranging its miserable equip- the real trial. " His-she has, for the first time, known the fatigues have got overtliHDiiiestic employment — she has, for the first time, to her, the soiiniHtd round her on a home destitute of every thing the better. TbHint,— almost of every thing convenient; and may then it is a singlH be silting down, exhausted and spiritless, brood- iiu otherwise suffflover a prospect of future poverty." le day. It is riBiere was a degree of probability in this picture harasses a ruintBl could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence. oud mind and iHfler turning from the main road up a narrow lane, hollow show liuHickly shaded with forest trees as to give it a com- ave the cuurai;elH air of seclusion, we came in sight of the cottage. rty of its sliarpoHis luimble enough in its appearance for the most ie perfectly prepaiHiral poet ; and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A and as to liiswiftHnne had overrun one end with a profusion of their altered foi|p; a few trees threw their branches gracefully !!• and I observed several pots of flowers taste- d upon me in IhH dispersed alwut the door, and on the grass plot is (lwellinj!;-iious(Hint. A small wicket gate opened upon a foot- )untry, a few miltHthat wound through some shrubbery to the door. all day in sendinfliswe approached, we heard the sound of music unent required feAlie grasped my arm; we paused and listened. st kind. All llAs Mary's voice singing, in a style of the most ence had Iwen toliBlng simplicity, a little air of which her husband , he said, was tofpeculiarly fond. I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He step- ped 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 bairj a fresh bloom was on her cheek; her whole countenance beamed with smiles — I had never seen her look so lovely. " 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 be- hind the cottage ; and I've been gathering some of the most delicious strawberries, for I know you are fond of them— and we have such excellent cream— and every thing is 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— Ue caught he, 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 bim, and his life has, indeed, been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of more ex- quisite felicity. RIP VAN WINKLE. A POSTUUHOIIS WBITING OF DIEDBICU HNICKERnOCKEB. [ The following Talc was found among the papers of the lato Dicdrieh Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New- York, who wag very curious in the Dutch history of the province, and Uic man- U'Ts of the descendant!) from its primitive settlers. His liistorical researches, however, did not lie so much among Ixraks as among men ; for the former are lamentably scanty on his favourite topics ; whereas he found the old burghers, and stilt more llicir wives, rich in that tegendary lore, so invaluable to true history. When- ever, therefore, lie happened u|Kin a genuine Uutch family, snug-, ly shut up in its low-i-oofed farm-house, under a spreading syca- more, he looknl upon it as i. little clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with tlic zeal of a book-wonn. The result of all Uicse rese.'.i'ches was a history of the province during the reign of the Dutcii governors, which lie published some years since. There have been various opinions as to the literary cliaracter of liis work, and. to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should l>e. Us chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned, on its first appearance, but has since been completely estahUshrd ; and it is uuw admitted into all historical collections, as a book of un(|uestionablu authority. The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work; and now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory to say, Uiat his time ukight have been much better cm- ployed in weightier laboiu"s. lie, however, was apt to ride his hobby his own way t and though it did now and then kick up the dust a lltrte in tlie eyes of his neighbours, irnl giievo the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt the truest deferciiee and atleclion t yet his errors and follies are i-emumbi'i'cd " more in sorrow than ill anger," and it begins to be suspected, Uiat he never intended to Injure or offend. But however his memory may be appreciated by critics. It Is still held dear by many folk, whose good opinion l^i well worth havinif i particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who m THE SKETCH BOOK. ^Hi W have gone so far as to imprint his lllieness on their new-year caltes ; and have thus given him a chance for immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne's Icirthing. ] By Woden, God or Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, thatisWodcnsday, Truth is a thing thai ever I will keep Unto thyllie day in which I creep into My sepulchre Cahtwbigiit. Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dis- membered branch of the great Appalacliian family, and are seen away to the west of tlie river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the surround- ing country. Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed every liour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on (he clear evening sky ; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hootl of grey vapours about their sununits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory. At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a liUle village of great antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists, in the early times of the province, just about the beginning of the government of the good Peter Stuyvesant, (may he rest in peace !) and there were some of the houses of the original set- tlers standing within a few years, built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks. 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, while the country was yet a province of Great Bri- tain, a simple good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who flgured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial 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. Indeed, to the latter circum- stance might be owing that meekness of spirit which gained him such universal popularity ; 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 malleable in the liery furnace of domestic tribulation, and a curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the virtues of patience and long suffering. A termagant wife may, therefore, mi respects, be considered a tolerable blessing; and irj Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed. Certain it is, that he was a great favourite ai all the good wives of the village, who, as usual the amiable sex, took his part in all family s(|uabbl and never failed, whenever they talked tjiose mail over in their evening gossipings, to lay all the hli on Dame Van Winkle. The children of the villa too, would shout with joy whenever he approach He assisted at their sports, made their playthji taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indig Whenever he went dotlging aljout the vil!a!>e, hei surrounded by a troop of them, banging on iiis ski clambering on his back, and playing a thousand trii on him with impunity ; and not a dog would bat him throughout the neighbourhood. The great error in Hip's composition was an it perable aversion to all kinds of profitable lab(<iir. could not be from the want of assiduity or verance ; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish alii without a murmur, even though he should nolbej couraged by a single nibble. He would carry a fe ing-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trud: through woods and swamps, and up hill and do dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. would never refuse to assist a neighbour evenioj roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all com frolics for husking Indian corn, or building fences ; the women of the village, too, used toem|{ him to run their errands, and to do sucli little jobs as their less obliging husbonds would not them. — In a word. Rip was ready to attend to; body's business but his own ; but as io doing ft duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it { possible. In fact, he declared it was of no use to work onj farm ; it was the most pestilent little piece of in the whole country; every thing about it wrong, and would go wrong, in spile of him. fences were continually falling to pieces; liii would either go astray, or get among the cabi weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields any where else; the rain always Hiide a point ofl ting in just as he had some out-dojr woi-k to do that though his patrimonial estate had dwiii !edn under his management, acre by acr: intil Iherej little more left than a mere patch o' Ii..i.an rorni potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned fanniaj neighbourhooil. His children, too, were as ragged and wild they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an ur liegotlcn in bis own likeness, promised to inlierit| habits, with the old clothes, of his father. He generally seen trooping like a colt at his molt heels, equifiped in a pair of his father's cast-off i gaskins, wltich he had much ado to hold upwilli| hand, as a flne lady does her train in bad weal) IsipVaii Winkle, li )ls, of foolish, w L world easy, eatw ^be gut with least ler starve on a pei 110 himself, he wo [jtcl contentment; ping in his ears al , and the ruin h mg, noon, and Illy going, and evei Ipiwluce a torrent Ibut one way of L|, and that, by fi bt. He shrugged tup his eyes, but i Lays provoked a fre [ns fain to draw ( ide of the house— kmgs to a hen-peck( ptip's sole domestic I was as inucii Ik i Van Winkle re, Hiess, and even lo( |e, as the cause of hi e it is, in all pointi Nog, he was as ( gred the woods — bi iever-during and all sue? The momeii his tail dro been his legs, he i Lcaslhig many a s fiiLle, and at the h e, be would fly to »n. rimes grew worse a lyears of matrimony pus with agt;, an I lool that grows iig while he used t n borne, by frequei le sages, pliilosoph ^be village; which 1 a small inn, desig Majesty George tli |iii llie shade of a lo Jessly over village g rits about nothing, ilatesman's nione >.ussionsthatsometii [old newspaper fell i; traveller. How st il«nts, as diawled schoolmaster, a d not to he daunted dictionary; and li upon public even b place, lie opluioiis of th J*ypw THE SKETCH BOOK. [Kip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy lis, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take ( world easy, eat wliite bread or brown, whichever ibegot with least tlionght or trouble, and would ler starve on a penny than work for a pound. If Itobiinself, he would have whistled life away in .ct contentment; but his wife kept continually ns in his ears about his idleness, his careless- , and the ruin he was bringing on his family. nin^, noon, and night, her tongue was inces- jjy going, and every thing he siiid or did was sure pnxluee a torrent of household elwiuence. Rip IJMit one way of replying to all lectures of the id, and that, by frequent use, had grown into a lie shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, lup his eyes, but said nothing. TliL", however, Lays provoked a fresh volley from his wife; so that [vas fain to draw off bis forces, and take to the tie of the house — the only side which, in truth, flgs to a hen-pecked husband. Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, I was as much hen-pecked as his muster ; fur : Van Winkle regarded them as companions in jiess, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil Las the cause of his master's going so often astray. ! It is, in all points of spirit befitting an honour- edog, he was as courageous an animal as ever lored the woods — but what courage can withstand iever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tie? The moment Wolf entered the house his 11, his tail drooped to the ground cr curled Iween his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows I casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van iikle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or le, he would fly to the door with yelping precipi- 011. Jrimesgrew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle nears of matrimony rolled on ; a tart temper never pws with ag(S and a sharp tongue is the only [)1 that grows keener with constant use. For jmig while he used to console himself, when driven inilioinc, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club llie sages, philosophers, and other idle [lersonages |lbe village; which held its sessions on a bench be- ta siiiall inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of ^Majesty George the Third. Here they used to lin the shade of a long la/y summer's day, talking jlessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepy r.t!s about nothing. Bui it would have been worth falatesinan's money to have heard the profound |iUssions that sometimes took place, when by chance 1 newspaper fell into their hands from some pass- ktraveller. How solenmly they would listen to the klenls, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, |sclioolmasler, a dapper learned little man, who mot to be daunted by the most gigantic word in [dictionary; and how sagely they would delibe- : upon public events some months after they had ^en place. The opinions of this junto were comiJetely con- trolled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door of which he took bis seat from morning till night, just moving sufli- ciently 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 accurately as by a sun-dial. It is true, he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, however ,^ (for every great man has his adherents,) perfectly undei-stood him, and knew how to gallier his opinions. When any thing that was read or related displeased him, be was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth, ehc*. frequent, and angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tran- quilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes taking the pi[)e from bis mouth, and lettuig the fragrant vapour curl about his nose, would grave- ly nod his head in token of perfect approbation. From even this strong hold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his termagant wife, who would sud- denly break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage, and call the members all to naught ; nor was that au- gust personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him oul right with encouraging her husband ui habits of idleness. Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only alternative, to escape from the labour of tLj farm and clamour of his wife, was to take gun in band and stroll away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and siiare the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom be sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution. " Poor Wolf," he 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 bis master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart. In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day. Rip had imcunsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill mountains. He was after bis favourite sport of squirrel shooting, and the still .solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with tlie re- ports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll, cover- ed with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the h)rdly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a pmple cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands. On the other side be looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the impending cliffs, and .scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene ; 25(i THE SKETCH BOOK. p •' evening was gradaally advancing; the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the valleys; he saw that it would be dark long l)efore he could reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle, As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from n distance, hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle! " He looked around, but could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the moun- tain. He thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he heard the same cry ring through the still evening air, "Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle ! " — At the same lime Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some one of the neighbour- hood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it. On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion — a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist — several pair of breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance. Rip complied with his usual ala- crity; and mutually relieving each other, they clam- bered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended. Rip every now and (hen heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofly rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused for an instant, but sup- posing it to be the muttering of one of those transient thunder-showers which often take place in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which impending trees shot their branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud. During the whole time Rip and his companion had laboured on in si- lence ; for though the former marvelled greatly Avhat could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspir- ed awe and checked familiarity. On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-looking personal playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a qa outlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, ot|J jerkins, with long knives in their bells, and them had enormous breeches, of similar style that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were i liar: one had a large head, broad face, andt piggish eyes : the face of another seemed to con entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a wd sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's i They all had beards, of various shapes and coloi There was one who seemed to be the commandl He was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-beal countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broadi and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, redsio^ ings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in The whole group reminded Rip of the figures iol old Flemish painting, in the parlour of Domif Van Shaick, tlie village parson, and which had I brought over from Holland at the time of the selll ment. What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, though these folks were evidently amusing ihej selves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, most mysterious sili nee, and were, withal, thet melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnei Nothing interrupted the stillness of the scene but j noise of the balls, which, whenever they wereroU echoed along the mountains like rumbling pealsl thunder. As Rip and his companion approached them, tlj suddenly desisted from their play, and stared atli with such fixed statue-like gaze, and such strad uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that liis lid turned within him, and his knees smote togelu His companion now emptied the contents of thelj into large flagons, and made signs to him to < upon the company. He obeyed with fear and tn bling ; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, a| then returned to their game. By degrees. Rip's awe and apprehension subsidf He even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon li to taste the beverage, wiiich he found had mud the flavour of excellent Hollands. He was nata a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat^ draught. One taste provoked another; and liei terated his visits to the flagon so often, that at lenj his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in j head, his head gradually declined, and he fell inlj deep sleep. On waking, he found himself on the green 1 from whence he had first seen the old man of ( glen. He rubbed his eyes— it was a bright suij morning. The birds were hopping and twitteril among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling ali and breasting the pure mountain breeze. " Surelj thought Rip, " I have not slept here all night." recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep, strange man with a keg of liquor — the mountain I vine— 1 lie wild retreat among the rocks— the d land his dog and TIIE SKETai BOOK. 237 iroached them, tn contents of the I party at nine-pins — the Hagon — "Oh! that that wiclced flagon ! " thouglit Rip—" what > shall I make to Dame Van Winkle ! " I He looked round for his gun, but in place of the tan well-oiled fowling-piece he found an old fire- k lying by him, the barrel encrusted with rust, the 1 falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now (ted that the grave roysters of the mountain had (a trick upon him, and, having dosed him with li- Dr, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had appeared, but he might have strayed away after a relor partridge. He whistled after him, and nted his name, but all in vain; the echoes repeat- ^his whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen. I He determined to revisit the scene of the last even- {"s gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to lanil his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he md himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his lal activity. " These mountain beds do not agree lih me," thought Rip, " and if this frolic should nne up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have liilessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some Scalty he got down into the glen : he found the ill)- up which he and his companion had ascended [preceding evening; but to his astonishment a nntain stream was now foaming down it, leaping irock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling nurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up i sides, working liis toilsome way through thickets jliiirch, sassafras, and witch-hazle, and sometimes «d up or entangled by the wild grape vines that jrjsted their coils and tendrils from tree to tree, and •d a kind of net-work in his path. I At length he reached to where the ravine had I through the cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but no of such opening remained. The rocks pre- Dted a high impenetrable wall, over which the tor- si came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and linloa broad deep basin, black from the shadows jlthesurrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was lo a stand. He again called and whistled rliis dog; he was only answered by a cawing of llock of idle crows, sporting high in air about a dry t that overhung a sunny precipice ; and who, se- e in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff |llie poor man's perplexities. What was to be done ? e morning was passing away, and Rip fell famished twaiit of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his ; and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it |ould not do to starve among the mountains. He lok his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, |ith a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his s homeward. I As he approached the village, he met a number of pie, but none whom he knew, which somewhat prised him, for he had thought himself acquainted tlh every one in the country round. Their dress, ](i, was of a different fashion from that to which he (accustomed. They all stared at him with equal kks of surprise, and whenever they cast eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had growti a foot long! He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an old ac- quaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered; it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he had never seen before, and those v/hich had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the doors — strange faces at the windows — every thing was strange. His mind now misgave him ; he began to doubt whethor both he and the world around him were not bewUched. Surely this was his native vil- lage, which he had left but the day before. There stood the Kaatskill mountains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance — there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been — Rip was sorely per- plexetl— "That flagon last night," thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly ! " It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, andpassedon. Thiswasan unkind cut indeed — "My very dog, " sighed poor Rip, " has forgotten me ! " He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears — he called loudly for his wife and children — the lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and then all again was silence. He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended with old hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, " The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolitlle. " Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes— all this was strange and incomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe ; but even this was singularly meta- morphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of 9 sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large characters, Generai, Washington. 238 THE SKETCH BOOK. There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about (he door, but none that Kip recollected. The very cha- racter of the people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious lone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain fur the sage Nicholas Yedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco smoke instead of idle speeches ; or Van Bunimel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the con- tents of an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of citizens — elections — inemlicrs of congress — liberty — Bunker's-hill — heroes of seventy-six — and other words, that were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of women and children that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round him, eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired " on which side he voted > " Ri|) stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulleil him by the arm, and, rising en tiptoe, inquir- ed in his ear, " Whether he was federal or Demo- crat ? " Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question ; when a knowing self-important old gentle- man, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows as he passed, and planting hunself l)efore Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetralinu:, as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, " what brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whetlier he meant to breed a riot in the village? — " Alas! gentlemen, " cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, " I am a poor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him ! " Here a general shout burst from the by-standers — " A tory I a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with liini ! " It was with great diflicully that the self- important man in the cocked hat restored order; and having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demand- ed again of the unknown culprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? The poor mai: humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but mere- ly came there in search of some of his neighbours, who used to keep about the tavern. " Well — who are they ? — name them. " Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, " Where's Nicholas Vedder ? " There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder? why he is dead and gone these eighteen years ! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that's rottea and gone too." " Where's Brom Dutcher?" " Oh, he went off to tlie army in the bcginnlnJ the war ; some say he was killed at Uie stormini] Stoney-Point — others say he was drowned in a sqii at the foot of A nthony's Nose. Idon't know— he nev] came back again. " " Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?' " He went off to the wars too, was a great nuljt general, and is now in Congress. " Rip's heart diedaway at hearingof these sad rlianiJ in his home and friends, and iinUing himscir tij alone in the world. Every answer puzzled hjin in by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and j matters whirh he could not understaiul : war- gress — Sloney-Point J— he bad no courage to ask aft any more friends, but cried out in despair, nobody here know Rip Van Winkle ? " " Oh, Rip Van Winkle ! " exclaimed two orlhn "Oh, to be sure! that's Rip Van Winkle, yom leaning against the tree." Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart I himself, as he went up the mountain : appnreiillvi lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor fellow vrj now completely confounded. He doubted lii$ un identity, and whetlier he was himselii' or anotiiernu In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in tliec ed hat demanded who he was, and what was t name ? "God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's eiKJ "I'm not myself— I'm somebotly else— that's yonder — no — that's somebody else got into my slw — I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on I mountain, and they've changed my gun, and evei thing's changed, and I'm clianged and I can't t what's my name, or who I am ! " The by-standers began n;)w to look at each otlw nod, wink signilicanlly, and tap their lingers apio their foreheads. There was a whisper, also, alt securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow fro doing mischief, at the very suggestion of wliicli t self-important man in the cocked hat retired with sod precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh eomfl woman pressed through the throng to get a pcepj the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby diildi her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began ^ cry, " Hush, Rip," cried she, " hush, you lillle foo the old man won't hurt you." The name oflhe chill the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all av| kened a train of recollections in his mind. " VVIi your name, my gootl woman ? " asked he. " Judith Gardenier." " And your father's name ? " "Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van WinkM it's twenty years since he went away from home «ij his gun, and never has been heard of since— his d came home without him ; but whether he shot liM self, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody cij tell. I was then but a little girl." Rip had but one question more to ask ; but he putj with a faltering voice : " Where's your mother?" L up the road. 11 THE SKETCH BOOK. 239 Oil, she too had died but a sliort time since ; she ike a blood vessel in a fit of passion at a New-Eng- I pedlar. [fliere was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intel- ^noe. The honest man could contain himself no ler. He caught bis daughter and her child in bis 'I am your father ! "—cried he— " Young .Van Winkle once— old Rip Van Winkle now! l-DofsnolMKly know poor Rip Van Winkle?" All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering lit from among (he crowd, put her liand to her brow, dpeeriiig imder it in bis face for a moment, exclaim- 'Sure enough ! it is Rip Van Winkle— it is him- l^f Welcome home again, old neighbour— Why, lereliave you been these twenty long years?" I Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty lars had l)een to liim but as one night. The neigb- lors stared when they beard it. some were seen to ink at each other, and put their tongues in Iheir Kks : and the self-important man in the cocked bat, , when the alarm was over, bad returned to the Md, screwed down the corners of his mouth, and Kik his head — upon which there was a general taking of the head throughout the assemltlage. I It was determined, however, to lake the opinion of i Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen«slowly advanc- > up the road. He was a descendant of the bisto- 1 of that name, who wrote one of the earliest ac- nls of the province. Peter was the most ancient ^labilant of the village, and well versed in all the nderriil events and traditions of the neigblwur- Ile recollected Rip at once, and corroborated k story in the most satisfactory manner. He assur- lOie company that it was a fact, Tianded down from I ancestor the historian, that the Kaalskill moun- had always been haunted by strange beings. fhat it was affirmed that the great Hcndrick Hudson, B first discoverer of the river and country, kept a ind of vigil there every twenty years, with bis crew |f (he Half-moon , being permitted in this way to re- sit the scenes of bis enterprize, and keep u guardian ke upon the river, and the great city called by bis ne. That his father had once seen them in their I Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow of ! mountain ; and that be himself had beard, one mer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like dis- uit peals of thunder. I To make a long story short, the company broke up, 1 returned to the more important concerns of the ■clion. Rip's daughter took him home to live with ler; she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a ul cheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip re- ollecled for one of the urchins that used to clind) on his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was lie ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, be las employed lo workion the farm; but evinced an jereditary disposition to attend lo any thing else but s business. J Rip now resumed his old walks and habits ; he soon M many of bis former cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear of time ; and prefer- red making friends among the rising generation, with whom he soon grew into great favour. Having nothing to do at honte, and being arrived at that happy age when a man can do nothing with impunity, he took his place once more on the l)ench at the inn door, and was reverenceil as one of the pa- triarchs of the village, and a chronicle of the old times " before the war." It was some time before be could get into the regular track of gossip, or could be made to comprehend the strange events that had taken place during his tor|»or. How that there bad been a revo- lutionary war — that the country had thrown off the yoke of old England — and that, instead of l)eing a subjtH't of his Majesty George the Third, be was now a free citizen of the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician ; the changes of states and empires made but little mipression on him ; but there was one spe- cies of despotism under which he had long groaned, and that was — petticoat government. Happily that was at an end ; be had got bis neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he pleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name was mentioned, bow- ever, he shook his bead, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up bis eyes ; which might pass either for an ex- pression of resignation to iiis fate, or joy at bis deli- verance. He used to tell bis story to every stranger that ar- rived at Mr Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to bis having so recently awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighbourhood, but knew it by heart. Some al- ways pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted that Rip bad been out of his head, and that this was one point on which be always remained flighty. The old Dntch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never bear a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins ; and it is a com- mon wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the neigh- bourhood, when life hangs heavy on their bands, that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle's flagon. NOTE. Tlie foregoins Tale, one would suspect, had been sugRested to Mr Knickerlmclier by a litlte German superstition about the Kmporor Fredericli dec Kothbait, and the Kypphadser moun- tain ! the subjoined note, however, wliich lie bad appended lo the talc, shows that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his usual fidelity : ■ "The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem lncredil)le to many, but neverUiclcss I give il my full belief, for 1 know the vicinity of our old Dutch settlements lo have been very subject lo marvellous events and appearances. Indeed, 1 have heard many stranger stories than this, in Ihe villages along the Hudson ; all of which were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talk- ed with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, that I think no conscientious person could 240 THE SKETCH BOOK. rchuc to take tliU into the bargain; nay, I have wen a cerliflcalc on the subject talten More a country Justice, and signed with a croM, in the justice's own hand-writing. The story, therefore, is bcyoiidthe possibility of doubt. D. K." ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA. " Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rous- ing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invin- cible lucks : methinks I sec her as an eaglo, mewing her mighty youth, and kindling hercndazzled eyes at the full midday beam." Milton on tue Lidertv op the Press. It is with feeling of deep regret that I observe Ihe literary animosity daily growing up between England and America. Great curiosity has been awakened of late with respect to the United Slates, and the Lon- don press has teemed with volumes of travels through the Republic ; but they seem intended to diffuse error rather than knowledge ; and so successful have they been, that, notwithstanding the constant intercourse between the nations, there is no people concerning whomthegreatmassoflhe British public have less pure information, or entertain more numerous prejudices. English travellers are the best and the worst in the world. Where no motives of pride or interest intervene, none can equal them for profound and philosophical views of society, or faithful and graphi- cal descriptions of external objects ; but when either the interest or reputation of their own country comes in collision with that of another, they go to the oppo- site extreme, and forget their usual probity of can- dour, in the indulgence of splenetic remark, and an illiberal spirit of ridicule. Hence, their travels are more honest and accurate, the more remote the country described. I would place implicit confidence in an Englishman's descrip- tion of the regions beyond the cataracts of the Nile ; of unknown islands in the Yellow Sea ; of the interior of India ; or of any other tract which other travellers might be apt to picture out with the illusions of their fancies ; but I would cautiously receive his account of his immediate neighbours, and of those nations with which he is in habits of most frequent intercourse. However I might be disposed to trust his probity, I dare not trust his prejudices. It has also been the peculiar lot of our countiy to ha visited by the worst kind of English travellers. While men of philosophical spirit and cultivated minds have been sent from England to ransack the poles, to penetrate the deserts, and to study the man- ners and customs of barbarous nations, with which she can have no permanent intercourse of profit or pleasure; it has been left to the broken-down trades- man, the scheming adventurer, the wandering me- chanic, the IManchesler and Birmingham agent, to be her oracles respecting America. From such sources she is content to receive her information respecting a coualry in a singular state of moral and physical de- velopement; a country in which one of the greau political experiments in the history of the world i now performing; and which presents the most prj found and momentous studies to the statesman an the philosopher. That such men should give prejudiced accminu ( America is not a matter of surprise. The tiiemesj offers for contemplation are too vast and elevated fj their capacities. The national character is yet iti a sM of fermentation; itmay have its frothiness aiujse,]] ment, hut its ingredients are sound and wholesome'] has already given proofs of powerful and genen qualities ; anil the whole promises to settle down inij something subslantially excellent. But the cause which are operating to strengthen and eimohle it, its daily indications of admirable properties, are < lost upon these purblind observers ; who are onl affected by the little asperities incident to its preseJ situation. They are capable of judging only of || surface of things ; of those matters which cotne J contact with their private interests and personal gn| tiiicalions. They miss some of the smig convenienoie and petty comforts which belong to an old, liighJTJ linished, and over-populous state of society; wheii the ranks of useful labour are crowded, and mani earn a painful and servile subsistence by sl(ulyin;;tl very caprices of appetite and self-indidgence. The! minor comforts, however, are all-important in thee tiinalion of narrow minds ; which either do not perj ceive, or will not acknowledge, that they are moi than counterbalanced among us by great and geni rally diffused blessings. They may, perhaps, have been disappointed i some unreasonable expectation of sudden gain. Thi may have picluretl America to themselves an El 1 rado, where gold and silver abounded, and the nativd were lacking in sagacity ; and where they were t become strangely and suddenly rich, in some unfon seen, but easy manner. The same weakness ofinin that indulges absurd expectations produces petulan in disappointment. Such persons become embilter'| ed against the country on finding that there, aserei] where else, a man must sow before he can reap| must win wealth by industry and talent; andnioi contend with the common difficulties of nalnrej and the shrewdness of an intelligent and enterprizi people. Perhaps, through mistaken or ill-directed liospita ity, or from the prompt disposition to cheer an countenance the stranger, prevalent among mycouii' trymen, they may have been treated with unwonte respect in America; and having been accustomed a their lives to consider themselves below the surface li good society, and brought up in a servile feeling i inferiority, they become arrogant on the comir boon of civility : they attribute to the lowliness i others Iheir own elevation; and underrate a societjj where there are no artificial distinctions, and where by any chance, such individuals as themselves can ris to consequence. THE SKETCH BOOK. 211 lone would suppose, however, that inrormation iin» from such sources, on a subject where the lib b so desirable, would be received witii caution ^tbe censors of the press; that the motives of these 11 tbeir veracity, their opportunities of inquiry and >rvation, and Iheir capacities for judgin;:; correctly, uldbe rigorously scrutinized before their evidence i adiiiilleil, in such sweeping extent, against a KJred nation. The very reverse, however, is the , and it furnishes a striking instance of human in- ystency. Nothing can surpass the vigilance with liich English critics will examine the credibility of (traveller who publishes an account of some di- iit,ami comparatively unim|)ortant, country. How ily will they compare the measurements of a py- liil, or the descriptions of a ruin ; and how sternly llliey censure any inaccuracy in these contribu- s of merely curious knowledge : while they will itive, with eagerness and unhesitating faith, the ) misrepresentations of coarse and obscure writ- I, concerning a country with which their own is in the most important and delicate relations. IT, they will even make these apocryphal volumes t-books, on which to enlarge with a zeal and an ^tv worthy of a more generous cause. I shall not, however, dwell on this irksome and neyed topic; nor should I have adverted to it, I for the undue interest apparently taken in it by I countrymen, and certain injurious effects which prehended it might produce upon the national ling. We attach loo much conseipience to these icks. They cannot do ns any essential injury. tissue of misrepresentations attempted to be ^en round us are like cobwebs woven round the iof an infant giant. Our country continually lurows them. One falsehood after another falls off ielf. We have but to live on, and every day we h whole volume of refutation. All the writers of ^and united, if we could for a moment suppose r great minds stooping to so unworthy a combi- loD, could not conceal our rapidly-growing import- |e, and matchless prosperity. They could not eeal that these are owing, not merely to physical [ local, but also to moral causes — to the political rty, the general diffusion of knowledge, the pre- loceof sound moral and religious principles, wliicb fforceand sustained energy to the character of a pie; and which, in fact, have been the acknow- laml wonderful supporters of their own national (or and glory. k why are we so exquisitely alive to the asper- 8 of England? Why do we suffer ourselves to )a(fecled by the contumely she has endeavoured Bt npon us? It is not in the opinion of England 6 that honour lives, and reputation has its being. I world at large is the arbiter of a nation's fame; tits thousand eyes it witnesses a nation's deeds, jlrom their collective testimony is national glory Wnal disgrace established. p ourselves, therefore, it is comparatively of but little importance whether England does as justice or not ; it is, perhaps, of far more importance to herself. She is instilling anger and resentment into the bosom of a youtlifid nation, to grow with its growth and strengthen with its strength. If in America, as some of her writers are labouring to convince her, she is hereafter to Pmd an invidious rival, and a gigantic foe, she may thank those very writers for having pro- voked rivalsbip and irritated hostility. Every one knows the all-pervading influence of literature at the present day, and how much the opinions and passions of mankind are under its control. The mere contests of the sword are temporary ; their wounds are but in the flesh, and it is the pride of the generous to forgive and forget them; but the slanders of the pen pierce to the heart; they rankle longest in the noblest spirits; they dwell ever present in the mind, and render it morbidly sensitive to the most trifling collision. It is but seldom that any one overt act produces hostilities between two nations; there exists, most commonly, a previous jealousy and ill-will; a predisposition to take offence. Trace these to their cause, and how often will they be found to originate in the mischiev- ous effusions of mercenary writers ; who, secure in their closets, and for ignominious bread, concoct, and circulate the venom that is to inflame the gene- rous and the brave. I am not laying too mnch stress upon this point; for it applies most emphatically to our particular case. Over no nation does the press hold a more absolute control than over the people of America; for the uni- versal education of the poorest classes makes every individual a reader. There is nothing published in England on the subject of our country that does not circulate through every part of it. There is not a calumny dropt from an English pen, nor an unworthy sarcasm uttered by an English statesman, that does not go to blight good-will, and add to the mass of latent resentment. Possessing, then, as England does, the fountain head from whence the literature of the language flows, how completely is it in her power, and how truly is it her duty, to make it the medium of amiable and magnanimous feeling— a stream where the two nations might meet together, and drink in peace and kindness. Should she, however, persist in lurning it to waters of bitterness, the time may come when she may repent her folly. The present friendship of America may be of but little moment to her; but the future destinies of that country do not admit of a doubt; over those of England there lower some shadows of uncertainty. Should, then, a day of gloom arrive ; should those reverses overtake her, from which the proudest empires have not been exempt; she may look back with regret at her infa- tuation, in repulsing from her side a nation she might have grappled to her bosom, and thus destroying her only chance for real friendship beyond the boundaries of her own dominions. There is a general impression in England, that the people of the United States are inimical to the parent 51 ;!! 242 THE SKETCH BOOK. country. It is one of the errors which have Ii^en di- ligently propagated by designing writers. There is, doubtless, considerable political hostility, and a ge- neral soreness at the illiberality of the English press; but, collectively speaking, the prepossessions of the people are strongly in favour of England. Indeed, at one time, they amounted, in many parts of the Union, to an absurd degree of bigotry. The bare name of Englishman was a passport to the confidence and hospitality of every family, and too often gave a transient currency to the worthless and the imgrate- ful. Throughout the country there was something of enthusiasm connected with the idea of England. We looked to it with a hallowed feeling of tenderness and veneration, as the land of our forefathers— the august repository of the monuments and antiquities of our race — the birth-place and mausoleum of the sages and heroes of our paternal history. After our own country, there was none in whose glory we more delighted — none whose good opinion we were more anxious to possess — none toward which our hearts yearned with such Uirobbings of warm consanguinity. Even during the late war, whenever there was the least opportunity for kind feelings to spring forth, it was the delight of the generous spirits of our country to show that, in the midst of hostilities, they still kept alive the sparks of future friendship. Is all this to be at an end? Is this golden band of kindred sympathies, so rare between nations, to be broken for ever ? — Perhaps it is for the best — it may dispel an illusion which might have kept us in men- tal vassalage; which might have interfered occasion- ally with our true interests, and prevented the growth of proper national pride. But it is hard to give up the kindred tie ! and there are feelings dearer than interest— closer to the heart tlian pride— that will still make us cast back a look of regret, as we wander farther and farther from the paternal roof, and lament the waywardness of the parent that would repel the affections of the child. Short-sighted and injudicious, however, as the con- duct of England may be in this system of aspersion, recrimination on our par*, would be equally ill-judg- ed. I speak not of a prompt and spirited vindication of our country, nor the keenest casligation of her slan- derers — but I allude to a disposition to retaliate in kind; to retort sarcasm, and inspire prejudice; which seems to be spreading widely among our writers. Let us guard particularly against such a temper, for it would double the evil, instead of redressing the wrong. Nothing is so easy and inviting as the retort of abuse and sarcasm ; but it is a paltry ami an unprofitable contest. It is the alternative of a morbid mind, fret- ted into petulance, rather than warmed into indigna- tion. If England is willing to permit the mean jea- lousies of tra'l>>, or the rancorous animostlies of politics, to deprave lh>' integrity of her press, and poison the fountain of publicopinion, let ushewareof her example. She may deem it her interest to diffuse error, and engender antipathy, for the purpose of checking emi- gration ; we have no purpose of the kind to serrl Neither have we any spirit of national jealousy to <J tify, for as yet, in all our rivalships with England i are the rising and the gaining party. There can I no end to answer, therefore, but the gralillcatioii] resentment — a mere spirit of retaliation ; and erJ that is impotent. Our retorts are never republisiJ in England ; they fall short, therefore, of their aij but they foster a querulous and peevish temper amoi our writers; they sour the sweet flow of our early | terature, and sow thorns and brambles amon" i blossoms. What is still worse, they circulate throuj our own country, and, as far as they have effect, i cite virulent national prejudices. This last is iheej most especially to be deprecated. Governed, as are, entirely by public opinion, the utmost cal should be taken to preserve the purity of the puU mind. Knowledge is power, and truth is knowledgl whoever, therefore, knowingly propagates a prejl dice, wilfully saps the foundation of his coiinir strength. The members of a republic, above all other mej should be candid and dispassionate. They are, J dividually, portions of the sovereign mind and soij reign will, and should be enabled »o come to questions of national concern with calm and unbia< judgments. From the peculiar nature of our relalioj with England, we nuist have more frequent qntj tions of a diflicult and ilelicate character with than with any other nation ; questions that affect I most acute and excitable feelings ; and as, in the i justing of these, our national measures must ullimall ly be determined Ity popular sentiment, we caiii( be too anxiously attentive to purify it from all ialt passion or prepossession. Opening too, as we do, an asylum for straiij from every portion of the earth, we should receil all with impartiality. It should be our pride to exif bit an example of one nation, at least, destitute of r tional antipathies, and exercising not merely theory acts of hospitality, but those more rare and noil courtesies which spring from liberality of opinion, What have we to do with national preji They are the inveterate diseases of old coiinlrij contracted in rude and ignorant ages, when nali(( knew but little of each other, and looked beyond tin own boundaries with distrust and hostility. Wf,i the contrary, have sprung into national existence i enlightened and philosophic age, when the diffeit parts of the habitable world, and the various brancM of the human family, have been indefaligably sludj and made known to each other; and we forep)l advantages of our birth, if we do not shake off the ij tional prejudices, as we would the local supei'slitioi of the old world. lUit above all, let us not be influenced hy anyan feelings, so far as to shut our eyes to (he perccp what is really excellent and amiable in the En^ character. We are a young people, necessarilr| imitative one, and must lake our examples and mm ^agreat degree, fro lere is no country ^and. The spiri rous to ours. Til iteliectual activity- tijtsofthinkhig on larest interests and ., are all congenial ^lact, are all inlrini jral feeling of the (British prosperity j Dcture may be tir tre must be somet I the materials, and tbat so long ha npesls of the world Let it be the pride ( ail feelings of in |ite the illiberality o Djlisii nation witlu Itiied candour. W iig bigotry with i biire and imitate ( Lose it is English, I really Avorthy of ap upland before us as lerein are recorded erience;and wliih which may hav< raw thence golder kberewith to streng nal character. RURAL LI oh! friendly to Friendly to tliuii Domestic life in I The stranger who £nji;lish charactei to the metropo mtry ; he must soj( lust visit castles, vi wander throu| nlges and green Ian lurches; attend wa slivals ; and cope w ms, and all their hi In some countries t fashion of the r lies of elegant and is inhabited ahno England, on the c( itheriiig-place, or g fasses, where they i a hurry of gaiety liilgedlhiskindofci THE SKETCH BOOK. 343 ^a<Teat degree, from the existing nations of Europe. lere is no country more worthy of our study than riand. The spirit of her constitution is most ana- us to ours. The manners of her people — their ^ellectual activity— tlieir freedom of opinion— their ^ts of thinking on those sui)jects whicii concern the grest interests and most sacred charities of private I are all congenial to the American character; and, ^lact, are all intrinsically excellent; for it is in the feeling of the people that the deep foundations IfBrilish prosperity are laid; and however the super- ncture may be time-worn, or overrun by abuses, ^remust be something solid in the basis, admirable ^tbe materials, and stable in the structure of an edi- , that so long has towered unshaken amidst the mpesls of the world. I Lei it he the pride of our writers, therefore, discard- ; all feelings of irritation, and disdaining to reta- jite llie illiberality of British authors, to speak of the nation without prejudice, and with deter- kiied candour. While they rebuke the indiscrimi- jiliiig bigotry with whicli some of our countrymen tore and imitate every thing English, merely be- Le it is English, let them frankly point out what |teally worthy of approbation. We may thus place SiiglaiKl before us as a perpetual volume of reference, iterein are recorded sound deductions from ages of ierience;and while we avoid the errors andabsurd- i which may have crept into (he page, we may raw thence golden maxims of practical wisdom, kberewilh to strengthen and to embellish our na- nal cliaracter. RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. oh! rricndly to the Ixist pursuits of man, Friendly to thouiglit, to virtue, and to peace, Duinestic life in rural pleasures past! COWPEB. I The stranger who would form a correct opinion of e English character must not conline his observa- to the metropolis, lie must go forth into the nntry ; he must sojourn in villages and hamlets; he kust visit castles, villas, farm-houses, cottages; he pt wander through parks and gardens; along eilges and green lanes; he must loiter about country lurches; attend wakes and fairs, and other rural ptirais ; and cope with the people in all their condi- m, and all their habits and humours. I In some countries the large cities absorb the wealth I fashion of the nation; they are the only fixed »(les of elegant and intelligent society, and the coun- f is inhabited almost entirely by boorish peasantry. lEiigiaiul, on the contrary, the metropolis is a mere bllieriiig-|(lace, or general rendezvous, of the polite lasses, where they devote a small portion of the year )a hurry of gaiety and dissipation, and, having in- lulged this kind of carnival, return again to tlic ap- parently more congenial habits of rural lite. The various orders of society are therefore diffused over the whole surface of the kingdom, and the most re- tired neighbourhoods afford specimens of the different ranks. The English, in fact, are strongly gifted with the rural feeling. They possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature, and a keen relish for the pleasures and employments of the country. This passion seems inherent in them. Even the inhabitants of cities, born and brought up among brick walls and bustling streets, enter with facility into rural habits, and evince a tact for rural occupation. The merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower-garden, and the maturing of his fruits, as he doe:' in the conduct of his business, and the success of a commercial enterprize. Even those less fortunate individuals, who are doomed to pass their lives in the midst of din and traffic, contrive to have something that shall remind them of the green aspect of nature. In the most dark and dingy quarters of the city, the drawing-room window re- sembles frequently a bank of flowers ; every spot ca- pable of vegetation has its grass-plot and flower-bed ; and every square its mimic park, laid out with pictu- resque taste, and gleaming with refreshing verdure. Those who see 'he Englishman only in town are apt to form an unfavourable opinion of his social cliaracter. He is either absorbed in business, or distracted by the thousand engagements that dissipate time, thought, and feeling, in this huge metropolis. He has, therefore, too commonly a look of hurry and abstraction. Wherever he happens to be, lie is on the point of going somewhere else ; at the moment he is talking on one subject, his mind is wandering to another ; and while paying a friendly visit, he is calculating how he shall economize time so as to pay the other visits allotted in the morning. An immense metropolis, like London, is calculated to make men selfish and uninteresting. In their casual and tran- sient meetings, they can but deal briefly in common- places. They pretsnt but the cold superficies of cha- racter-its rich and irenial qualities have no lime to be warmed into a flow. It is in (he country that the Englishman gives scope to his natural feelings. He breaks loose gladly from the cold formalities and negative civilities of town ; throws off his habits of shy reserve, and l)ecomes joyous and freehearted. He manages to collect round him all (he conveniences and elegancies of polite life, and to banish its restraints. His country seat abounds with every requisite, either for studious retirement , tasteful gialilicalion, or rural exercise. Books, paint- ings, music, horses, dogs, and sporting implenienis of all kinds, are at hand. He puts no constraint either upon his guests or himself, but in the true spirit of hospitality provides (he means of enjoyment, and leaves every one to partake according (o his in- clination. i '■ 244 THE SKETCH BOOK. The tasle of the English in the cullivalion of land, and in what is called landscape gardening, is unrival- led. They have studied nature intently, and discover an exquisite sense of her heautiful forms and harmo- nious combinations. Those charms, which in other countries she lavishes in wild solitudes, are here as- sembled round the haunts of domestic life. They seem to have caught her coy and furtive graces, and spread them, like witchery, about their rural abodes. Nothing can be more imposing that the magnifi- cence of English park scenery. Vast lawns that ex- tend 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 wind in natural meanderings, or ex- pand into a glassy lake — the sequestered pool, rellect- ing 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 un- promising and scanty portion of land, in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes a little paradise. With a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes at once upon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the fu- ture landscape. The sterile sjwt grows into love- liness under his hand ; and yel the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceivetl. The cherishing and training of some trees; the cau- tious pruning of others; the nice distribution of llowers and plants of lender and firacefid 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 yel (luicl assiduity, like the magic touch- ings with which a puiiiler linislies up a favourite picture. The residence of people of fortune and refinement in the country has diffused a degree of tasle and ele- gance in rural economy, that descends to the lowest class. The very labourer, with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground, attends to their enibellisli- nient. The trim hedge, the grass-plot before the door, the litlle fiower-hed borderetl with snug box, the woodbine trained up against the wall, and hang- ing its l)lossouis about the lattice, the pot of llowers in the window, the holly, providently planted about tJie house, to cheat winter of its dieariness, and (othrxw in a semblance of green sununer to cheer the fireside : all these bespeak the inlluence of tasle, flowing down from high sources, and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind. If ever Love, as poets sing, deligh'.s to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an Enoii peasant. The fondness for rural life among the higher ck of the English has liad a great and salutary effect un the national character. I do not know a finer rai of men than the English gentlemen. Instead ofi softness and effeminacy which characterize the mj of rank in most countries, they exhibit a unioaofej gance and strength, a robustness of frame and Fresl ness of complexion, which I am inclined to altribul to their living so much in the open air, and pursuiij so eagerly the invigorating recreations of ihe couiiln These hardy exercises produce also a healthful tod of mind and spirits, and a manliness and siniplleityj manners, which even the follies and dissipalium ] the town cannot easily pervert, and can never entin ly destroy. In the country, too, tiie different i ders of society seem to approach more freely, toll more disposed to blend and operate favourably un each other. The distinctions between them do i appear to be so marked and impassable as in the ciliej The manner in which property has been disliihuie into small estates and farms has established a regulJ gradation from the nobleman, through the classes j gentry, small landed proprietors, and substantial fain ers, down to the labouring peasantry; and while | has thus baniled the extremes of society together, 1 infused into each intermediate rank a spirit of indj pendence. This, it nuist he confessed, is nolsuunj versally the case at present as it was forintiiy : i larger estates having, in late years of distress, absorlj eil the snialler, and, in some parts of the coiiiitiy, a most annihilated the sturdy race of small faiiiierj These, however, I believe, are but casual breaks i| the general system I have nienlioned. In rural occupation there is nothing mean and dJ basing. It leads a man forth among scenes of uatiiri grandeur and beauty ; il leaves him to the workiiij of his own mind, operated upon by the purest anj most elevating of external inlluences. Such a iiiaJ may be simple and rough, but he cannot be vulgan 'J'he man of relinenient, therefore, finds notliiugrel volting in an intercourse with Ihe lower orders inruri life, as he does when he casually mingles willillij lower orders of cilics. He lays aside his distanceani reserve, and is glad to wave the (listincliousofraiiiJ and lo enter into the honest, heartfelt enjoyiiienls«j conunon life. Indeed the very anuisenaiXs of I coimtry bring men more and more together; ami I sound of hoimd and horn hlend all l'eelin.:,'s into liatj mony. I believe this is one great reason why lliem hility and gentry are more popular among tlic infi noJ orders in lingland than they are in any other eouiilr|| and why the latter have endured so many excossi\| [tressnres and extremities, without repiuiiiicmnrc nerally at the unequal distribution of roriunuaud|iii| vilege. To this mingling of cultivated and rustle sixielj may also be attributed the rural feeliug llial niM through British literature; the frequent usuuf illusi THE SKETCH BOOK. 245 .111(1 riislic sdeli ilionsfrom niral life; tliose incomparable descrip- s of nature tliat abound in tbe Britisb poets— tliat Lcontinueddown from " the Flower and the Leaf" [cliaucer, and have brouglit into our closets all the (sliness and fragrance of the dewy landscape. The floral Writers of other countries appear as if they nature an occasional visit, and become ac- iiiiited with her general charms; but the British Kti have lived and revelled with her, — they ha^ o her in her most secret haunts, — they have [ilclied her minutest caprices. A spray could not iible in the breeze — a leaf could not rustle to the ^Qiul— a diamond drop could not patter in the team— a fragiance could not exhale from the humble olet, nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morn- liut it has been noticed by these impassioned I delicate observers, and wrought up into some bliful morality. Illie effect of this devotion of elegant minds to rural mpations has been wonderful on the face of the luiilry. A great part of llie island is rather level, 1 would be monotonous, were it not for the charms kcultiire : but it is studded and genuncd, as it were, |lli castles and palaces, and embroidered will) parks 1 gardens. It does not aboimd in grand and sub- prospects, but rather in little home scenes of ilrepose and sheltered quiet. Every antique I'arin- M and moss-grown cottage is a i)icture : and as ! roads are coulinually winding, and the view is bliiiby groves and hedges, the eye is delighted by xiiiliniiiil succession of small iandscipesofcaplivat- {lovdiness. JTliu ;,'reut cliarm, however, of English scenery is e moral feeling that seems to pervade it. It is as- |cialed in the mind with ideas of order, of (juiet, of ler well-cslablished principles, of hoary usage, and kerend custom Every thing seems to be the growth jaites of regular and peaceful existence. The old |nrcli of remote architecture, with its low J'lussive ttal; its golhic tower ; its winiiows rich witli trace- I and painted gla'-s, in scrupulous preservation ; [slatoly mouunu'iits of warriors and worthies of oldc'ii lime, cUircstors of the present lords of liic ; ils tonilistones, recording successive generations jsliirdy yeomanry, whose progeny still plough the Bielii'lds, and kneel at the same altar — The parson- |e, a (jtiaiiit irrt g dar pile, partly antiquated, but Hired and altered in the tastes of various ages and lcii|);inis— The stile and foolpalh leading IVc;!'.; the jurclivanl, acioss pleasant finds, and .dong shady lilire-rnws, according loan inunenri'..i' right of way Tlic lu'iglihouring village, with lu, enerable cot- ifs, ils |Md)lio green sheltered b\ trees, inuler which ircfadi rs of the present lace have sported — Tlie |tii|iie raiiuly mansion, standing apart in some lillle piloiiiidn, hut looking down wilha proleelingair ] llifi siMidiuiding seenc— All these connnon fea- l*s (if I'jiglish landscape evince a calm and settled furily, and hereditary transmission of homebred lies and local atluchmentji, that speuk deeply and touchingly for the moral character of the nation. It is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning, when the bell is sending its sober melody across the (|uiet fields, to behold the peasantry in their best llnery, with ruddy faces and modest cheerfulness, thronging tranquilly along the green lanes to church ; but it is still more pleasing to see them in the evenings, ga- thering about their cottage doors, and appearing to exult in tbe humble comforts and embellislnnenls which their own hands have spread arotmd them. It is this sweet home-feeling, this settled repose of affection in the domestic scene, that is, after all, the parent of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyments ; and I cannot close these desultory remarks better, than by quoting the words of a modern English poet, who has depicted it with remarkable felicity : Ttiroiish each firadatlon, from the castled hall, The city iloine, Uic villa crowii'd v ilh shade, But chicrrmin imxli'st iiiansiuiis niinihi'i'less. In tuwii orluiinU't, sh('lt'l'in,^ iiiiddlc life, Down to the collated vale, and straw-rooPd shed j This western isle hath Ions; heeii famed for scenes Where bliss domestic finds a (IvvcllinK-place; Domestic hiiss, that, like a harmless dove, ( Ilononr and sweet cnih.'arment kceiiins guard, ) Can centre in a little quiel nest All that desire would lly for through the earth ; That can, the world eluding, he itself A worlil enjoy'd ; that wants no witnesses Hut ils own sharers, and approving heaven ; That, like a tlower deep hid iii rocky cleft, Smiles, though 'Us looking only at the sky. > THE BROKEN HEART. I never heard Of any true affection, but 'twas nipt '\\ilh care, that, like the caterpillar, eats The leaves of the spring's sw eelest book, the rose. MlUDLETON. It is a common practice with those who have out- lived the susceptibility of early feeling, or have been brought up in the gay liearlle,><snessof di-ssipatcd life, to laugh at all love stories, aiul to treat the tales of roinnntie passion as mere fielions of novelists and poels. iMy observations on human natiue have in- duced me (0 lliink otherwise. 1 hey have convinced ine, that however the surfiiee of the character may he chilled and frozen by the cares of the wu'd. or cidlivated into mere smiles by the arts of .society, s 'u there are dormant fires lurking in the depths of Ihe coldest bosom, which, when once enkindled, become impetuous, and arc somelimes tiesolaliiig in their ef- fecls. Iniieed, 1 am a true believer in the blind deity, and go to Ihe fidl extent of hisdoclrines. Shall I coiif<'ss it !— I believe in broken hearts, and the pos- sibility of (lying of disappointed love. I do not, how- ever, consiiler it a malady often falal to my own sex; < Krom a Toeni on Ihe nealli of the I'rincess Charlutte, by the nevcrciid Uann keinicdy, A. U. THE SKETCH BOOK. but I (irmly believe tliat it williers down many a lovely woman iato an early grave. Man is' the creature of interest and ambition. His nature 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 dominion 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 empire ; it is there her avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends forth her sympathies on ad- venture ; she embarks her whole soul in the traffic of affection; and if shipwrecked, her case is Jiopeless — tor it is a bankruptcy of the heart. To a man tlie disappointment of love may occasion some bitter pangs : it wounds some feelings of tender- ness — it blasts some prospects of felicity ; but he is an active being — he may dissipate his thoughts in the Avliirl of varied occupation, or may plunge into tlie 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 morn- ing, can " Jly to the uttermost parts of the earth, and be at rest." But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, and a medi" alive life. She is more the companion of her own tho ights and feelings ; and if they are turn- ed 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 tliat 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 blight- ed their loveliness ! As the dove nill clasp its wings to its side, and cover and conceal the arrow that is preying on its vitals, so is it the nature of woman to hide from the world the pangs of wounded affection. 1'he love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. Even when fortunate, she scarcely breathes it to her- self; hilt when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom, and there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of her peace. VViiJi her the desire of the heart has failed. The great charm of e> istence is at an end. She neglects all the cheerful exercises which gladden the spirits, (]uii;ken the pulses, ami send the tide of life in healthful currents through the veins. Her rest is broken — the sweet refreshment of sleep is poisoiunl by melancholy dreams — "dry sorrow drinks her blood," until her enfeebled frame sinks under the slightest txteinal injury. Look for her, after a lillle while, and you find friendship weeping over lier uiiliinely grave, and wondering that one, who but lately glowed with all the radiance of heallli and beauty, slioiild s(» speinlily be brought down to " darkiK'ss antl the worm." You will be told of some wintry chill, some casual indisposition, that laid lier luw; — but no otic knows of the mental malady that previously sapped her strength, and made hersoeaj a prey to the spoiler. She is like some tender tree, the pride and beau of the grove ; graceful in its form, bright in jtg m liage, but with the worm preying at its liMrt. w find it suddenly withering, when it shoukfbe mJ fresh and luxuriant. We see it drooping its branclJ to the earth, and shedding leaf by leaf, until, wastj and perished away, it falls even in the stillness of |H forest ; and as we muse over the beautiful ruin strive in vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt tj could have smitten it with decay. I have seen many insla:.ces of women riinniirj waste and self-neglect, and disappearing gradual from the earth, almost as if they had been exlialedi heaven ; and liave i tpeatediy fancied that I coiij trace their death through the various Ueclensiuiis ( consumption, cold, debility, languor, meLnicliolj until I reached the first symptom of disappoinJ love. But an instance of the kind was lately me; the circumstances are well known in llieeouiiiij where they happened, and I shall but give liiein i the manner in which they were related. Every one must recollect tlie tragical story of yomj E , the Irish patriot ; it was too touching lo | soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ireland I was tried, condemned, and executed, on a cliawii treason. His fate made a deep impression on piii)|| sympathy. He was so young — so intelligent— so gj nerous— so brave — so every tiling that we are .ipi || like in a young man. His conduct under trial, !« was so lofty and intrepid. The noble indignalioiiwiij which he repelled the charge of treason against 1 country — the elocjuent vindication of his iianie-aii| his pathetic appeal to posterity, in tlie hopeless I of condemnation — all these entered deeply into eveij generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented i stern policy that dictated his execution. But there was one heart, whose anguish it won! be impossible lo describe. In happier days and fairt fortunes, he hail won the affections of a beaiilifiil aM interesting girl, the daughter ot'a late celebrated Irisj barrister. She loved him with the disinterested m vour of a woman's first and early love. Wlieii eveij worldly maxim arrayed itself against him; wIm blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger dark around his name, she loved him the more anlciill for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate couldawakfj the sympathy even of his foes, what must liavel the agony of her, whose whole soul was occnpiedb his image ! Let those tell who have had the pnrtals(j the tomb suddenly closed between them and I being they most loved on earth — who have sat ali| llircsliokl, as one shutout in a cold and lonely woiW from whence all that was most lovely and luvin^'li deitarted. But then the horrors of such a grave ! sn fri!,'ii so dishonoured! there was nothing for nieinoi) i dwell on that could soollu' tne pang of separalioiH nonc of those lender though melancholy cimiinj THE SKETCH BOOK. 247 ,gce$, that endear tiie parting scene— nothing to jelt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the L's of lieaven, to revive tlie heart in the parting- urofan^'uish. [to render her widowed situation more desolate, > had incurred her fatlier's displeasure by her un- [tunate attachment, and was an exile from the pa- nal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices Iffrieiuls have reached a spirit so siiocked and driven [l;v liorror, she would have experienced no want of Bsolalion, for the Irish are a people of quick and Itnerous sensibilities. The most delicate and che- hing attentions were paid ' er by families of wealth Idjstinc'ion. She was led into society, and they lied by all kinds of occupation and anuisement to jsjpate her grief, and wean her from the tragical )ry of her loves. But it was all in vain. There > some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch e soul— that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness ^nd blast it, never again to put forth bud or blos- B). She never objected to frequent the haunts of lasure, but she was as much alone there as in the ipllis of solitude. She walked about in a sad re- [rie apparently unconscious of the world around She carried with her an inward woe that icked nt all the blandishments of friendship, and I heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he Iver so wisely." flhe person who told me her story had seen her la nias(iuera(le. There can be no exhibition of far- Ine wretchedness more striking and painful than to [eel it ill such a scene. To lind it wandering like a jeclre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay — [see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and king so wan and wobegone, as if it had tried in lin to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forget- llness of sorrow. After strolling through the splen- 1 rooms and giddy crowd with an ait of utter ab- taclioii, she sat herself down on the steps of an tciitslia, and, looking iibout for some time with a leant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish jene, she began, with the capriciousness of a sickly art, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an Iqnisiie voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, Itduchiiig, it breathed forth such a soul of wretched- s, thai she drew a crowd mute and silent around kr, and melted every one into tears. JTlie story of one so true and lender could not but Icite great interest in n country remarkable for en- liisiasm. II completely won I he heart of a brave pieer, wlio pai<l his adilresscs to her, anil thought al one so true to the dead could not but [trove affeo- bnale to the living. She declined his attentions, lier tlioughts were irrevocably engrossed by the leinoryuf her former lover. He, however, persisted [Ins suit. lie solicited not her tenderness, but her keein. He was assisted by her conviction of his prtli, anil her sense of her own destitute and (h-- ndenl situation, for she was existing on the kindness [friemls. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance, that her heart was unalterably another's. lie took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene miglu wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melan- choly that had entered into her very soul. She wast- ed away in a slow, but hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart. It was on her that Moore, the distinguished Irish poet, composed the following lines : She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sishing : 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 lin loved awaking— Ah! httlethey 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 entwinf'd him— Kor soon shall Uie tears of his country he 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 loved island of sorrow ! THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING. "If that severe doom of Syncsius be true— 'It is a greater (iffence to steal dead men's labour, than their clothes,' what shall become of most writers?" BliBTONS AMATOMV OF MELANCnOLV. I HAVE often wondered at the extreme fecundity of the press, and how it comes to pass that so many heads, on which nature seems to have inflicted the curse of barrenness, should teem with voluminous productions. As a man travels on, however, in the journey of life, his objects of wonder daily diminish, and he is continually (iiidiiig out some very simple cause for some great matter of marvel. U'lius have I chanced, in my peregriiialioiis alwiit this great me- tropolis, to blunder upon a scene which nnlokled to me some of tlie mysteries of the book-nuilving ciafi, and at once put an end to my aslonisliment. I was one summer's day loitering through the great saloons of the British I^lnseum, with that lisllessness with which one is apt to saunter about a mnseiiin in warm weather; sonietinics lolling over the glass-cases of minerals, .sometimes studying the hieroglyphics on an I'^gyptian nuimniy, and sometimes trying, with nearly equal success, to comprehend the allegorical paintings on the lofty ceilings. Whilst I was gazing aboul in this idle way, my attention was attracted to a d' (iiJil door, a( the end of a suite of apaili.icnts. It was closed, but every now and then it would open, and some strange-favoured being, generally clothed 2i8 THE SKETCH BOOK. in black, would steal forth, and glide through the rooms, without noticing any of the surrounding ob- jects. Tliere was an air of mystery about tliis that piqued my languid curiosity, and I determined to at- tempt the passage of (hat strait, and to explore the unknown regions that lay beyond. The door yielded to my hand, with all that facility with which the portals of enchanted castles' yield to the adventurous knight-errant. I found iw Sd in a spacious chamber, surrounded with great cases of venerable Ijooks. Alwve the cases, and just under the cornice, were arranged a great number of black-looking portraits of ancient authors. About the room were placed long tables, with stands for reading and writing, at whicli sat many pale, studious personages, poring intently over dusty volumes, rummaging among mouldy ma- nuscripts, and taking copious notes of their contents. The most hushed stillness reigned through this mys- terious apartment, excepting that you might hear the racing of pens over sheets of paper, or, occasionally, the deep sigh of one of these sages, as he shifted his position to turn over the page of an old folio; doubt- less arising from that hoUowness and flatulency inci- dent to learned research. Now and then one of these personages would write sometiiing on a small slip of paper, and ring a bell, whereupon a familiar would appear, take the paper in profound silence, glide out of the room, and return shortly loaded with ponderous lomes, upon which the other would fall tooth and nail with famished vora- city. I had no longer a doubt that I had happened upon a body of magi, deeply engaged in the study of occult sciences. The scene reminded me of an old Arabian tale, of a philosopher who was shut up in an enchanted library, in the bosom of a mountain, (hat opened only once a jear; where he i lade the spirits of the place obey his commands, and bring him books of all kinds of dark knowledge, so that at the end of the J ,ar, when the magic portal once more swung open on its hinges, he issued forin so versed in fur- bidden lore, as to be able lo soar above the heads of the multitude, and to control the powers of nature. My curiosity being now fully aroused, I whispered to one of the familiars, as he was about to leave the room, and begged an interpretation of the strange scene before me. A few words were sufiicient for the purpose. I found that these mysterious person- ages, whom I had mistaken for magi, were prin- cipally authors, and were in the very act of manufac- turing boaks. I was, in fact, in the reading-room of the g" jat Ihitish Library — an innneiise collection of volumes of all ages and languages, many of which are now forgotten, and most of which are seldom r<!ad. To these secpiestercd pools ofohsolete litera- ture, therefore, do many modern authors repair, and draw buckets full of classic lore, or "pure Jilnglish, undeliled," wherewith lo swell their own scanty rills of ihought. Meiiig now in possession of the secret, I sat ii \vn in a corner, and walciied the process of this book ma- nufactory. I noticed one lean, bilions-Iooking t^jJ who sought none but the most worm-eaten voluinJ printed in black-letter. He was evidently constnicj ing some work of profound eruditiim, tlial would I purchased by every man who wished to lie Ijiouji learned, placed upon a conspicuous shelf ariiisj brary, or laid open upon his table ; but never reaj I observed him, now and then, draw a large fraj menl of biscuit out of bis pocket, and gnaw; wlieihi it was his dinner, or whether he was endeavourij to keep off that exhaustion of the stomach produo by much pondering over dry works, I leave to iian students than myself to determine. There was one dapper little gentleman in bri;!hj coloured clothes, with a chirping, gossiping expiessij of countenance, who had "A\ the appearance of a author on good terms with his bookseller. All considering him attentively, I recognized in liiml diligent ge(ler-up of miscellaneous works, wliiclihi/ tied off well with the trade. I was curious to < how he manufactured bis wares. lie made mores and show of business than i y of the others; dippi into various books, fluttering over the leaves of iiJ nuscripis, taking a morsel out of one, a morsel oulj another, *' line upon line, precept upon precept, JieJ a little and there a little. " The contents ofliisii seemed to be as heterogeneous as those of tlie witc caldron in Macbeth. It was here a linger and llieij a thumb, toe of frog and blind worm's sting, wii| bis own gossip poured in like " baboon's blomi,"! make the medley " slab and good. " After all, thought I, may not this pilfering dispi tion be implanted in authors for wise purposes; nu| it not be the way in which Providence has taken cai that the seeds of knowledge and wisdom shall beprf served from age to age, in spite of the inevitable do of the works in which they were lirst produced ? Wl see that nature has wisely, though whimsically, provia ed for the conveyance of seeds from clime toeliine,il the maws of certain birds; so that animals wliidi.J themselves, are little better than carrion, andapparciill ly the lawless plunderers of the orchard mui llie coij held, are, in fad, nature's carriers to disperse ani perpetuate her blessings. In like manner, the lieauj ties and line thoughts of ancient and obsolete autlioi are caught up by these flights of predatory wrilfrs and cast forth again to flourish and bear fruit inarej mote and distant tract of time. Many of their worksj also, undergo a kind of metempsychosis, and spiiffi up under new forms. What was formerly a pniKJerj oils history revives in the shape of a romance— iuiolij legend changes into a modern play — and a sober | sophical treatise furnishes the body for a whole scrii^ of bouncing and spaikling essays. Thus it is iiilh| clearing of our A merican woodlands ; where we liiirl down a forest of stately pines, a progeny of dwarl oaks start up in their [tlace : and we never see iM |)rostraletrunkof a tree mouldering into soil, Imtil gives birth lo a whole tribe of fungi, l.el us not, then, lament over the decay and ^ \ THE SKETCH BOOK. aio (into which ancient writers descend; they do but pit 10 the great law of nature, whicii declares (ill sublunary shapes of matter shall be limited in r duration, but which decrees, also, that their leols shall never perish, (jcneration after genc- Ljn, both in animal and vegetable life, passes away, [the vital principle is transmitted to posterity, and [species continue to flourish. Thus, also, do au- 5 beget authors, and having produced a numerous reny, in a good old age they sleep with their fa- r5,lliat is to say, with the authors who preceded -and from whom they had stolen. Inliilst I was indulging in these rambling fancies, Cleaned my head against a pile of reverend folios. (tlier it was owing to the soporific emanations 1 these works; or to the profound quiet of the a; or to the lassitude arising from much wander- I or to an unlucky habit of napping at improper s and places, with which I am grievously afllicted, jivas, that I fell into a doze. Still, however, my nation continued busy, and indeed the same e remained before my mind's eye, only a little I in some of the details. I dreamt that the niter was still decorated with the portraits of an- ]fK aiitiiors, but that the number was increased. iig tables had disappeared, and, in place of the leniagi, I beheld a ragged, threadbare throng, such lay be seen plying about the great repository of l-offclothes, Monmouth-street. Whenever Ihey »\ upon a book, by one of those incongruities Dion to dreams, melhought it turned into a gar- |it of foreign or antique fashion, with which they eded to equip themselves. I noticed, however, kiio one pretemled to clothe himself fiom any par- Uar suit, hut took a sleeve from one, a cape from )ther, a skirt from a third, thus decking himself out temeal, while some of his original rags would peep [from among his borrowed (incry. lere was a portly, rosy, well-fed parson, whom I |pne(l ogling several mouldy polemical writei-s Wii an eye-glass. He soon contrived to slip on I voluminous mantle of one of the old fathers, and, tni; purloined the gray beard of another, endea- Ircdtolook exceedingly wise; hut the smirking pon-|)iace of his countenance set at nought all the ipings of wisdom. One sickly-looking gentleman [biisied embroidering a very (limsy garment with 1 llucad drawn out of several old court dresses of |rei|;n of Queen Elizabeth. A nother had trinnned «ir maf^nilicenlly from an illuminated manu- , had stuck a nosegay in his bosom, culled from file Paradise of dainty Devices," and having put Philip Sidney's hat on one side of his head, strut- |off\vilh an exquisite air of vulgar elegance. A ll,who was but of puny dimensions, had lM)lster- Jimseif nut bravely with the spoils from several pre Irnrts of philosophy, so llial ho had a very fning iVonl ; but he was laincMtably tattered in and I perceived that he had patched his sinall- lics Willi snaps of |)ar(-hnieut from a Latin author. There were some well-<lress«l 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 lop 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, wlio had a violent propensity to the pas- toral, but whose rural wanderings had been confined to the classic haunts of Primrose Hill, and the soli- tudes 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 roost struck my at- tention 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 through the throng, with a look of sturdy self-confidence, and having laid hands upon a thick Greek quarto, clapped 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!" I looked, and lo! the portraits abont the wall became animated ! The old authors thrust out, first a head, then a shoulder, from the canvass, look- ed down curiously, for an instant, upon the motley throng, and then descended w ith fury m their eyes, to claim their rifled property. The scene of scam- pering and hid)bub that ensuetl baffles all tiescriplion. The unhappy culprits endeavoured in vain to es- cape with plunder. On one side might be seen half a dozen old monks, stripping a modern professor ; on another, there was sad devastation canied into the ranks of modern dramatic writers, lieaumont and Fletcher, side by side, raged i-ound the field like Castor and Pollux, and sturdy Ben Jonson enacted more wonders than when a volunteer w it!i the army in Flanders. As to the dapper little compiler ol far- ragos, mentioned some lime since, he had arrayeil himself in as many patches anil colours as llailequiii , and there was as lierce a coulention of claimants about him, as about the dead body of Patroclus. I was grieved to see many men, to whom I had been accustomed to look up with awe and reverence, fain to steal off with scarce a rag to rover their nakedness. Just then my eye was •'aught by the piagniatical (dd gentleman in the (Ireek grizzled wig, who was scrambling away in sore affright with half a score of authors in full cry nflcrhim. They were close upon his haunches; in a twinkling off went liis wig; at every >iiru some strip o( raiment was peeled away; limit in a few inomeiits, from his domineering pomp, lie shrunk into a little, pursy, "chopp'd bald shot." niid made his e.vit with only a few lags and rags flut- leruig .It his hack. w '■ 7 250 THE SKETCH BOOK. There was something so ludicrous in the cata- strophe of this learned Theban, that I burst into an immoderate lit of laughter, wliich broke the whole il- lusion. The tumult and the scuffle were at an end. The chamber resumed iU usual appearance. The old authors shnmk 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 wliole assemblage of bookworms gazing at me with astonishment. Nothing of the dream had been real but my burst of laughter, a sound never l)efcre 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 demand- ed whether I had a card of admission. At first I did notcomprehendliim,butIsoon found that the library wasa 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, lest I should have a whole pack of authors let loose upon me. A ROYAL POET. Though your body be conlined, Anil soft love a prisoner bound. Yet the beauty of your mind Keitlicr checli nor chain hath found. L<)ol( out nolily, then, and dare Kvcn the fetters that you wear. Fletcuer. On a soft sunny morning, in the genial month of May, I made an excursion to Windsor Castle. It is a place full of storied and poetical associations. The very external aspect of the proud old pile is enough to inspire high thought. It rears its irregular walls and massive towers, hke a mural crown, round the brow of a lofty ridge, waves its royal banner in the clouds, and looks down, with a lordly air, upon the surround- ing world. On this morning the weather was of that volup- tuous vernal kind, which calls forth all the latent ro- mance of a man's temperament, iillinghis mind with music, and disposing him to quote poetry and dream of beauty. In wandering through the magnificent saloons and long echoing galleries of the castle, I passed with indifference by whole rows of portraits ofwarrioiaiind slatestnen, but lingered in the chamber where hang th<; likonesses of the beauties that graced the gay court of Charles the Second ; and as I gaz^;«l upon them, depicted with amorous, half-dishevelled tresses, and the sleepy eye of love, 1 blesseil the pencil of Sir Peter Leiy, wliich had thus enahM me to bask in the reflected rays ol beauty. In tnversing also the "large green courts," with sunshine beaming on the grey walls, and glancing along the velvet turf, my mind was* engrossed with the image of the lender, the gallant, but hapless Surry, and his account oil loiterings about them in his stripling days enamoured of the Lady Geraldine — "With eyes cast up unto the maiden's tower, with easle sighs, such as men draw In love." In this mood of mere poetical susceptibility, I vu the ancient Keep of the Castle, where James the [ ofScotland, the pride and theme of Scottish poets] historians, was for many years of his youth detain prisoner of state. It is a large grey tower, tliat| stood the brunt of ages, and is still in good pre tion. It stands on a mound, which elevates it an the other parts of the castle, and a great flight of J leads to the interior. In the armoury, wliich| gothichall, furnished with weapons of various k and ages, I was shown a coat of armour liani against the wall, which I was told had oncebeloi] to James. From hence I was conducted up a s case to a suite of apartments of faded magnilio hung with storied tapestry, which formed his priJ and the scene of that passionate and fanciful am which has woven into the web of his story then hues of poetry and Action. The whole history of this amiable but unrortoi prince is highly romantic. At the tender aj| eleven he was sent from home by his father, Bd III, and destined for the French court, to be ittl under the eye of the French monarch, secure t the treachery and danger that surrounded the r house ofScotland. It was his mishap in thecoun his voyage to fall into the hands of the English, I he was detained prisoner by Henry IV, nol(^ standing that a truce existed between the Ino ( tries. The intelligence of his capture, coming in the li of many sorrows and disasters, proved fatal to 1 happy father. "The news," we are told, "| brought to him while at supper, and did so i whelm him with grief, that he wasalmost ready to| tip the ghost into the hands of the servants I tended him. Rut being carried to his bed-ehai he abstained from all food, and in three daysdiej hunger and grief, at Rothesay." ' James was detained in captivity above eiglil years; but though deprived of personal libert|f| was treated with the respect due to his rank, was taken to instruct him in all the branches of n knowledge cultivated at that period, and to give| those mental and personal accomplishments de< proper for a prince. Perhaps, in this respect,! imprisonment was an advantage, as it enabled hi^ apply himself the more exclusively to Ids Impi ment, and qiiiclly to imbibe that rich fundofkoj ledge, and to cherish those elegant tastes, wlilcl given such a lustre to his memory. The picj drawn of him in early life, by the Scottish liistorii is highly captivating, and seems rather the descripl of a hero of romance, than of a chuiacter iniealj • niicliannn. THE SKETCH BOOK. 2al He was well learnt, we are told, "to (ight Lihesword, tojoust, to tonrnay, to wrestle, to sing Idance; he was an expert mediciner, right crafty Lying both of lute and harp, :;nd sundry other nments of nuisic, and vvas expert in grammar, y, and poetry." ' irith lliis combination of manly and delicate ac- plishments, filling him to shiiie both in active and 111 life, and calculated to give him an intense b for joyous existence, it must have been a severe in an age of bustle and chivalry, to pass Ihe e-time of his years in monotonous captivity. It Ltbe great fortune of James, however, to be gifted kapowerful poetic fancy, and to be visited in his ] by the choicest inspirations of the muse. Some J corrode and grow inactive, under the loss of nalliberty; others grow morbid and irritable; |il is the nature of Ihe poet to Income tender and ijnative in the loneliness of confinement. He inets upon Ihe honey of his own thoughts, and, [ihecaptive bird, pours forth his soul in melody. Have you not seen Ihc nightingale, A pilgrim coop'd into a cage? How dotli slie cliant licr wonted tale, In that her lonely hermitage ! Even there her charming melody doth prove That all her boughs are trees, her cage a grove. > KJeed, it is the divine attribute of the imagination, kit is irrepressible, unconfinalile; that when the Uorld is shut out, it can create a world for itself, |ffilii a necromanlic power can conjure up glo- s shapes and forms, and brilliant visions, to make Ai populous, arul irradiate the gloom of the m. Such was the world of pomp and pageant |lived round Tasso in his dismal cell at Ferrara, I he conceived the splendid scenes of his .leru- d; and we may consider the '* King's Quair," I by James, during his captivity at Windsor, mother of those beautiful breakings-forth of the I from the restraint and gloom of the prison-house. [he subject of the poem is his love for the Lady e Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset, and ^ncess of Ihe blood royal of England, of whom icame enamoured in the course of his captivity. |)t gives it peculiar value, is that it may be consi- I a transcript of the royal bard's true feelings, |the story of his real loves and fortunes. It is not ithat sovereigns write poetry, or that poets deal ict. It is gratifying to the pride of a common Y lo Hnd a monarch thus suing, as it were, for sion into his dosel, and seeking to win his fn- H)y administering lo his pleasures. It is a proof jhe honest equality of intellectual composition, |ch strips off all the trappings of factitious dignity, ! Ilie candidate down to a level wilh his fellow I, and obliges him to depend on his own native lets for dislinelion. It is curions, loo, lo get at kisloryof a monarch's licart, and to find Ihe simple hllfmicn's Translation ot Hector Boyco. Ner L'Eitraiige. affections of hnmaii nature throbbing under the er- mine. But James had learnt to be a poet before he was a king : he was schooled in adversity, and reared in the company of his own thoughts. Monarchs have sel- dom time to parley with their hearts, or to meditate their minds into poetry ; and had James been brought up amidst the adulation and gaiety of a court, wc should never, in all probability, have had such a poem as Ihe Quair. I have been particularly interested by those parts of the poem which breathe his immediate thoughts concerning his situation, or which are connected with the apartment in the tower. They have thus a per- sonal and local charm, and are given with such cir- cumstantial truth, as to make the reader present with the captive in his prison, and the companion of his meditations. Such is the account which he gives of his weariness of spirit, and of the incident that first suggested the idea of writing the poem. It was the still midwatch of a clear moonlight night; the stars, he says, were twinkling as the fire in the high vault of heaven ; and " Cyn» .la rinsing her golden locks in Aquarius." He lay in bed wakeful and restless, and took a book to beguile the tedious hours. The book he chose was Boelius' Consolations of Philosophy, a work po- pular among the writers of that day, and which had been translated by his great prototype Chaucer. From the high eulogium in which he indulges, it is evident this was one of his favourite volumes while in prison : and indeed it is an admirable text-book for meditation under adversity. It is the legacy of a noble and enduring spirit, purified by sorrow and suffering, bequeathing to its successors in calamity the maxims of sweet moraiuy, and the trains of elo- quent but simple reasoning, I)y which it was enabled to bear up against the various ills of life. It is a ta- lisman, which the unfortunate may treasure up in his bosom, or, like the good King James, lay upon his nightly pillow. After closing the volume, he turns its contents over in his mind, and gradually falls into a fit of musing on the fickleness of fortune, the vicissitudes of his own life, and the evils that had overtaken him even in his tender youth. Suddenly he hears the bell ringing to matins; but its sound, chiming in with his melancholy fancies, seems to him like a voice exhorting him to write his story. In the spirit of I>oetic errantry he determines to comply with this intimation : he therefore takes pen in hand, makes wilh it a sign of the cross to implore a benediction, and sallies forth into Ihe fairy land of poetry. There is something extremely fanciful in all this, and it is interesting as furnishing a striking and beautiful in- stance of Ihe simple manner in which whole trains of poetical thought are sometimes awakened, and lite- rary enterprize.e suggested to the mind. In the course of his poem he more than once bewails Ihe peculiar hardness of his fate; thus doomed to lonely and inactive life, and shut up from Ihe freedom :'I I '. i ^JSi THE SKETCH BOOK. ami pleasure uf the \t'orkl, in whicli the meanest ani- mal indulges unrestrained. There is a sweetness, however, in his very complaints; lliey are llie lanien- tations of an aniial)le and social spirit at being denied the indulgence of its kind and generous propensities; there is nothing in Iheni harsh or exaggerated ; (hey How with a natural and touching pathos, and arc perhaps rendered more toucliing by tiieir simple bre- vity. Tliey contrast iinely with tliose elaborate and iterated repinings, wiiich we sometimes meet with in poetiy; — the effusions of morbid minds sickening under miseries of their own creating, and venting their bitterness upon an imoffending world. James speaks uf his priva''ons with acute sensibility, but having mentioned them |>asses on, as if his manly mind disilained to brood over unavoidable calamities. When such a spirit breaks forth into complaint, how- ever brief, we are aware how great must he the suf- fering that extorts the murmur. We sympathize with James, a romantic, active, and accomplished prince, cut off in the lustihood of youth from all the enteiprize, the noble uses, and vigorous delights of life ; as we do with Milton, alive to all the beauties of nature and glories of art, when he breathes forth brief but deep-toned lamentations over his perpetual blindness. Had not James evinced a dePicieney of |>oetic arti- fice, we might almost have suspected that these lowerings of gloomy reflection were meant as prepa- rative to the U-ighlest scene of his story ; and to con- trast with that effulgence of light and loveliness, that exhilarating accompaniment of bird and song, and foliage and flower, and all the revel of the year, with which he ushers in the lady of his heart. It is this scene, in particular, which throws all the magic of romance about the old castle keep. lie had risen, he says, at daybreak, according to custom, to escape from the dreary meditations of a sleepless pillow. *' Bewailing in his diamber thus alone," despairing of all joy and remedy, " foriired of thought and wo- begone," he had wandered to the window, to indulge the captive's miserable solace of gazing wistfully upon the world from which he is excluded. The window looked forth upon a small garden wliich lay at the foot of the tower. It was a (piiet, sheltered spot, adorned with arbours and green alleys, and protected from the passing gaze by trees and hawthorn hedges. Now was tliere made, fast by llie tower's wall, A gai-deii faire. aiul in tlie comers set Au arbour green willi wandis loiig aiul small Hailed about, and so with leaves beset Was all Ihe place and hawtlioni liedges knel, Tliat lyf ' was none, watkyng there forbye. That might witliin scarce any wight esiiye. So thicl( the branches and the leves grcne, Beshaded all tlie alleys that there wei-e. And iiiidsl of every arbour miglit be seiie The sliarpc, grene, sweet juniper, Growing so fair, with brandies here and there. That as it seemed to a lyf without. The knighs did spread the arbour all about. ' fjfl, person. And oil tlw small grene twisliji ■ set The lytel swele niglilingalcs, aiNl sung So loud and clear, the hyinnis consecrali; Uf lovls use, now soft, now loud among, That all the garden and the wallis rung Itight of their song It was the month of May, when every tliin; j in bloom ; anil he interprets the song uf the nij ingale into the luuguage of his enamoured feelinj Worship, all ye that lovers lie. tliis May ; For of your bliss the kalends are begun, And sing witli us, Away, winter, away. Come, summer, come, the sweet season and sun. As he gazes on the .scene, and listens lu inti of the birds, he gradiiully lapses into one uf li tender and uiulelinahle re ries, which iill thevul ful bosom in this delicious sea.son. He vvuiuleisv this love may be, of which he has so often read,! which thus .seems breathed forth in the qiiickeJ breath of May, and melting all nature into eesliisvl song. If it really be so great a felicity, and iritf lK)on thus generally dispensed to the most iiisij cant of beings, why is he alone cut off from itii eq ments ? oft would I think, O Lord, what may this be. That love is of such noble inyglil and kynde? Loving his foike, and such prospcrilee Is it of him, as we in books do find : May he oure hertcs selten ' and unbynd : Ilatli he upon our hertes sudi maistryc? Or is all this but feynit fantasyc? Forgiff liebcof so grcte excellence, That be of every wight hath care and charge: What have I gilt > (ohim, or done olfeiLsc, That I am tlu-al'd, and birdis go at large? In the midst of his musing, as he casts liis | downward, be beholds " the fairest and the fm young floure," that ever he had seen. It is lhelo| Lady Jane walking in the garden, to enjoy the I: of that "fresh May morrow." Breaking thus | denly upon his sight, in the moment of lonelinej excited susceptibility, she at once captivates tiieli of the romantic prince, and becomes the ol)je< his wandering wishes, the sovereign of his i world. There is, in this diarming scene, an evidenl semblance to the early part of Chaucer's Kiii Tale ; where T'alamon and Arcite fall in love j Emilia, whom they see walking hi the garden o(| prison. Perhaps the similarity of the actual faa the incident which he had read in Cliaucermavi induced James to dwell on it in bis poem. Ili^ scriplion of the Lady Jane is given in the pieluR and minute manner of his master; and beiii^ duj less taken from the life, is a perfoct porliiiit beauty of that day. He dwells, with the (m of a lover, on every article of her apparel, huni net of pearl, splendent with emeralds aiiilsapplil that confined her golden hair, even to llie"?o|^ > Tvtslis, small bouglis or twigs. » Sellen, incline. :< Oill, what injury have I done, etc. !Vole,—Thc lansuagc of the ((uotations Is generally inixlct iiilellersof gold, I He receives the I dread : reads it wi TIIE SKETCH BOOK. 2r> Icbaineorsmall orfeverye"' about her neck, whereby llbere hun^ a rubby in shape of a heail, that seemed, Ijiesnys, like a spark of fire burning upon her white Iboijom. Her dress of while tissue was loo[)ed up to Liable her to walk with more freedom. She was licromp'inied l)y two female attendants, and about I bfr spoiled a little httund decorated wilh bells; pro- ||ial)ly the small Italian hound of exquisite synuuetry, Kliicli was a parlour favourite and pet anion;; the lyiioiiable dames of ancient limes. James closes I liis description by a burst of general eulogium. In lipr was yoiilli, beauty, willi hunilile port, Bountpe, richesse, and womanly fi'atiire ; Gcxl liclter knows than my |ieu can i'e|Hii't, Wisdom, larst'sse, > cstati!, ' and cunning 1 sure, In every jMiint so Ruidcd licr mcasnrc. In word, in deed, in sliapc, in coimtenance, That nature might no more her child advance. The departure of the Lady Jane from the garden I pills an end to this transient riol of the heart. With Iki departs the amorous illusion that had shed a tcm- Ipdiary charm over the scene of his captivity, and he [relapses into loneliness, now rendered tenfold more iiilolerable by this passing beam of unattainable beauty. Through the long and weary day he re- pines at his unhappy lot, and when evening ap- proaches, and Pho'bus, as he beautifully expresses it, 1 ''bade farewell to every leaf and flower," he I lingers at the window, and, laying his head upon I llie cold stone, gives vent to a mingled flow of love and sorrow, uiilil, gradually lulled by the mute me- [lancholy of the twilight hour, he lapses, " half sleep- ii», half swoon," into a vision, whir^h occupies the I remainder of the poem, and in which is allegoricaily I shadowed out the history of his passion. When he wakes from his trance, he rises from his [stony pillow, and, pacing Ids apartment, full of dreary reflections, questions bis spirit whither it has ken wanilering ; whether, indeed, all that has passed kfore his dreaming fancy has been conjured up by preceding circumstances ; or whether it is a vision, intended to comfort and assure him in his despond- ency. If the latter, he prays that some token may be sent to confirm the promise of happier days, given I him in his slumbers. Suddenly, a turtle dove, of Ihe purest whiteness, comes flying in at the window, and alights upon his hand, bearing in her bill a branch of red gillillower, on the leaves of which is written, I in letleis of gold, the following sentence : Awake 1 awako ! I lii'ing, lover, I brius The ucwis glad Ihat blissful is, and sure Of Hiy comfort ; now laugh, and play, and sing. For in the heaven decretit is thy cure. lie receives the branch wilh mingled hope and I dread; reads it wilh rapture : and this, he says, was Hie Ihsl token of his succeeding happiness. Whether ihis is a mere |)oelic fiction, or whelher the Lady I Jane did actually send him a token of her favour in ins is generally mod(T ' Wronglit gold. ' £'i7«te, dignity. •' Largesse, Iraunty. i (HnniiKj, discretion. this romantic way, remains to be determuted accord- ing to the faith or fancy of the reader. He con- cludes Ids poem, by intimating tliat the promise con- veyed i'l the vision and by the flower is fulfilled, by his being restored to liberty, and made happy in the possession of the sovereign of his heart. Such is Ihe [welical account given by James of his love adventures in W indsor Castle. How much of it is absolute fact, and how much the embellishment of fancy, it is fruitless lo conjecture : do not, liow- evcr, let us always consider whatever is romantic as incompatible wilh real life ; but let us sometimes take a poet at his word. I have noticed merely such parts of the poem as were immediately connected with the tower, and have passed over a large part, which was in the allegorical vein, so much cullivaled at that day. The language, of course, is quaint and aiUiquated, so that the beauty of many of its golden phrases will scarcely be perceived at the present ilay ; but it is impossible not to be charmed with the genuine sen- timent, the delightful artlessness and urbanity, which prevail throughout it. The descriptions of nature too, wilh which it is embellished, are given wilh a truth, a discrimination, and a freshness, worthy of the most cultivated periods of the art. As an amatory poem, it is edifying in these days of coarser thinking, to notice the nature, relineinent, and exquisite delicacy which pervade it : banishing every gross thought or immodest expression, and pre- senting female loveliness, clothed in all its chivalrous attributes of almost supernatural purity and grace. James flourished nearly about the lime of Chaucer and (jower, and was evidently an admirer and stu- dier of their writings. Indeed, in one of his stanzas he acknowledges them as his masters; and, in some parts of his [loem, we find traces of similarity lo theu' productions, more especially to those of Chaucer. There are always, however, general features of re- semblance in the works of contemporary authors, which are not so much borrowed from each other as from the limes. Writers, like bees, toll their sweets in Ihe wide world; they incorporale wilh their own conceptions the anecdotes and thoughts which are current in society ; and thus each generation has some features in common, characteristic of the age iu 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 ho- nours. Whilst a small cluster of Jinglisb writers are constantly cited as the fathers of our verse, the name of their great Scottish compeer is apt lo he passed over iu silence; but he is evidently worthy of being emoll- ed in tliat little constellation of remote but never- failing luminaries, who .shine iu Ihe highest firmament of literature, and who, like morning stars, sang to- gether at the bright dawning of British poesy. Such of my readers as may not be familiar with Scottish history (though the manner in which it has of laic been woven with captivating fiction has made ■ J 4,1 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 5< 1.0 I.I l&^l^ 12.5 Ao 12.0 IE L25 II u 1.6 6" V Hiotographic Sciences Corporation ^o, m \ <> 4 4^ 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WiBSTIR.N.Y. USSO (716)872-4503 .*^0 V 5k 254 THE SKETCH BOOK. it a univenal study), may be cnrtoiu to learn some- thing of the subsequent history of James, and the for- tunes of his love. His passion for the Lady Jane, as it was the solace of his captivity, so it facilitated his release, it being imagined by the court that a con- nexion with the blood royal of England would attach him to its own interests. He was ultimately restored to his liberty and crown, having previously espoused the Lady Jane, who accompanied him to Scotland, and made him a most tender and devoied wife. He found his kingdom in great confusion, the feu- dal chieftains having taken advantage of the troubles and irregularities of a long interregnum to strengthen themselves in their possessions, and place themselves above the power of the laws. James sought to found the basis of his power in the affections of his people. He attached the lower orders to him by tht; reforma- tion of abuses, the temperate and equable administra- tion of justice, the encouragement of the arts of peace, and the promotion of every thing that could diffuse comfort,competency,and innocent enjoyment through the humblest ranks of society. He mingled occasion- ally among the common people in disguise; visited their fire-sides; entered into their cares, their pur- suits, and their amusements ; informed himself of the mechanical arts, and how they could best be patron- ized and improved ; and was thus an all-pervading spirit, walc'ung with a benevolent eye over the mean- est of his subjects. Having in this generous manner made himself strong in the hearts of the common people, he turned himself to curb the power of the factious nobility ; to strip them of those dangerous immunities which they had usurped ; to punish such as had been guilty of flagrant oftiences; and to bring the whole into proper obedience to the crown. For some time they bore this with outward submission, hut with secret impatience and brooding resentment. A conspiracy was at length formed against his life, at the head of which was his own uncle, Robert Stewart, Earl of Athol, who, being too old himself for the per- petration of the deed of blood, instigated his grandson Sir Robert Stewart, together with Sir Rol)ert Graham, and others of less note, to commit the deeil. They broke into his bedchamber at the Dominican Convent near Perth, where he was residing, and barbarously murdered him by oft-repealed wounds. His faithful queen, rushing to throw her body between him and the sword, was twice wounded in the ineffectual at- tempt to shield him from the assassin; and it was not until she had been forcibly lorn from his person, that the murder was accomplished. It was the recollection of this romantic tale of (bmier limes, and of the golden Utile poem which had its birth-place in this lower, that made me visit the old pile with mure than common interast. The suit of armour hanging up in the hall, richly gilt and em- bellished, as if to figure in the toumay, brought the image of the gallant and romantic prince vividly be- fore my imagination. I paced the deserted chambers where he had composed bis poem ; I leaned upon the window, and endeavoured to persuade myself it was the very one where he had been visited by his vision; I looked out upon the spot where he had first seen the Lady Jane. It was the same genial and joyout month ; the birds were again vying with each other in strains of liquid melody ; every thing was bursting into vegetation, and budding forth the tender promise of the year. Time, which delights to obliterate the sterner memorials of human pride, seems to have pass- ed lightly over this little scene of poetry and love, and to have withheld his desolating hand. Several centuries have gone by, yet the garden still flourishes at the foot of tlie tower. It occupies what was once the moat of the keep; and though some parts hare been separated by dividing walls, yet others have still | their arbours and shaded walks, as in the daysof James, and Ihe whole is sheltered, blooming, and retired. I There is a charm about a spot that has been printed by the footsteps of departed beauty, and consecrated by the inspirations of the poet, which is heightened, rather than impaired, by the lapse of ages. Il is, in- deed, the gift of poelry to hallow every place in wliich | it moves; to breathe round nature an odour more ei- quisile than the perfume of the rose, and to shed over I it a lint more magical than the blush of morning. Others may dwell on the Illustrious deeds of James I as a warrior and a legislator; but I have delighted to view him merely as the companion of his fellow men, the benefactor of the human heart, stooping from his high estate to sow the sweet flowers of poelry and song in Ihe paths of common life. He was the first to cultivate the vigorous and hardy plant of Scottish genius, which has since become so prolific of the most wholesome and highly-favoured fruit. lie carried with him into the sterner regions of the north all the fertilizing arts of southern refinement. He tlid every thing in his power to win his countrymen to tiie gay, the elegant and gentle arts, which soften and refine the character of a people, and wreathe a grace round the loftiness of a proud and warlike spirit. He wrote many poems, which, unfortunately for the fulness of his fame, are now lost to the world; one, which is still preserved, calletl " Christ's Kirk of the Green," shows how diligently he had made himself acquaint- 1 ed with the rustic sporls and pastimes, which consti- tute such a source of kind and social feeling among I the Scottish peasantry ; and with what simple and happy humour lie could enter into their enjoyments. He contributed greatly to improve the national music; ] and traces of his tender sentiment, and elegant tasle, 7.re said to exist in those witching airs, still piped among the wild mountains and lonely glens of Scot- 1 land. He has I' us connected his image wilh wiwt- ever is most gracious and endearing in the national | character; he has emluilmed his memory in son?, and floated his name to after ages in the rich streams I of Scottish melody. The recollection of Ih rse thing* was kindling at my heart as I paced the silent scene of his imprisonment. I have, visited Vaucluse widi as much enthusiasm as a pilgrim would visit the THE SKETCH BOOK. 2B5 1, stooping from his Nviiieat Loretto; bat I have never felt more poet- ical devolion than vihen contemplating the old tower ud the little garden at Windsor, ami musing over ibe romantic loves of the Lady Jane and the Royal Poet of Scotland. THE COUNTRY CHURCH. A Rentlcman ! What, 0* the woolpack ? or the 'lUgar chest ? Or lists ofvelvet? which is't, puuml, or yard, You vend your gentry by ? BKGGAB'8 Bl'SB. There are few places more favourable to the study I of character than an English country church. I was I ooce passing a few weeks at the seat of a friend, who litsided in the vicinity of one^ the appearance of which I particalarly struk my fancy. It w^as one of those rich Imotsels of quaint antiquity which gives such a pecu- jljar charm to English landscape. It stood in the I midst of a country filled with ancient families, and [contained, within its cold and silent aisles, the con- I gregated dust of many noble generations. The inte- Itior walls were encrusted with monuments of every I age and style. The light streamed thit)ugh windows I dimmed with armorial bearings, richly emblazon- led in stained glass. In various parts of the church I were tombs of knights and high-born dames, of gor- Igeoos workmanship, with their effigies in coloured I marble. On every side the eye was struck with some I instance of aspiring mortality; some haughty memo- Irial which human pride had erected over its kin- dred dust, in this temple of the most humble of all I religions. The congregation was composed of the neighbour- ling people of rank, who sat in pews, sumptuously I lined and cushioned, furnished with richly-gilded I prayer-books, and decorated with their arms upon I Ibe pew doors; of the villagers and peasantry, who I filled the back seats, and a small gallery beside the I organ; and of the {Mwr of the parish, who were ran- I ged on benches in tlie aisles. The service was i>erformed by a snuffling well-fed JTicar, who had a snug dwelling near the church. I lie wag a privileged guest at all the tables of the I neighbourhood, and had been the keenest fox-hunter I b the country ; until age and good living had disabled I him from doing any thing more than ride to see the hounds throw off, and make one at the hunting Idumer. Under the ministry of such a pastor, I found it im- Ipouible to get into the train of thought suitable to lUie time and place : so having, like many other ■feeble christians, compromised with my conscience, I by laying the sin of my own deliquency at another IpenHMt's threshold, I occupied myself by making ob- |iervation8 on my neighbours. I was as yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice the manners of its fashionable classa. I found, as usual, that tliere was the least pretension where there was the most acknowledged title tu respect. I was particularly struck, for instance, with the family of a nobleman of higli rank, consisting of several sons and daughters. Nothing could be more simple and unassuming than their appearance. They generally came to church in the plainest equipage, and often on foot. The young ladies would stop and converse in the kindest manner with the peasantry, caress the children, and listen to the stories of the bumble cot- tagers. Their countenances were open and beauti- fidly 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 ele- gantly formed. They were dressed fashionably, but simply; with strict neatness and propriety, but with- out any mannerism or foppishness. Their wlwle demeanour was easy and natural, with that lofty grace, and noble frankness, which bespeak free-bom souls that have never been checked in their gmwtli by feelings of inferiority. There is a healthful har- diness about real dignity, that never dreads contact and communion with otiiers, however humble. It is only spurious pride that is morbid and sensitive, and shrinks from every touch. I was pleased to see the manner in which they would converse with the pea- santry 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 reminded of the difference of rank by the habitual respect of the peasant. 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 came to church en prtHc«. They were rolled miyestically along in a carriage embla- zoned with arms. The crest glittered in silver ra- diance 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 lung springs with peculiar stateliness of motion. The very horses champed their bits, arched theirnecks, and glanced tlieir eyes more proud- ly 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 tills splendid pageant was brought up to the gate of the churchyard. There was a vast elTect produced at the turning of an angle of the wall;— a great smacking of the whip, straining and scrambling of hones, glisten- ing of harness, and flaslting of wheels through gravel. 25G THE SKETCH BOOK. This was the moment of triumph and vainglory to the coachman. The horses were urged and checked until tliey were fretted into a foam. They threw out tlieir feet in a prancing trot, dashing about pehhies at every step. Tlie crowd of villagers sauntering 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 suddenness that pro- duced an immediate stop, and almost threw them on their haunches. There was an extraordinary hurry of the footman 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 emergetl 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 Market with a nod. His consort, a fine, fleshy, comfortable dame, follow- ed him. There seemed, I must confess, but little pride in her composition. She was the picture of broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well with her; and she liked the world. She had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine carriage, fine children, every thing was fine about her : it was nothing but driving about, and visiting 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 super- cilious air, that cliilled admiration, and disposed the spectator to be critical. They were ultra-fashionables in dress; and though no one could deny the richness of their decorations, yet their appropriateness might be questioned amidst the simplicity of a country church. They descended loflily from the carriage, and moved up the line of peasantry with a step that seemed dainty of the soil it trod on. They cast an excursive 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 ci- tizen, 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 questionable pretensions to style. They kept entirely by themselves, eying every one askance that came near them, as if measuring his claims to respectability ; yet they were without conversation, except the exchange of an occasional cant phrase. I'hey even moved artificially ; for th^ir bodies, in com- pliance with the caprice of the day, had been disci- plined into the absence of all ease and freedom. Art had done every thing to accomplish them as men of fashion, but nature had denied them the nameless grace. They were vulgarly shaped, like men form- ed for Uie common purposes of life, and had that air of supercilious assumption which is never seen in the I true gentleman. I have been rather minute in drawing the pictures! of these two families, because I considered them spe- 1 cimens of what is often to be met witli in this country I —the unpretending great, and the arrogant little. 1 1 have no respect for titled rank, unless it be accotn-l panicd willi true nobility of soul ; but I have remark- 1 ed in all countries where artificial distinctions exist [ that the very highest classes are always the most cour- 1 teous and unassuming. Those who are well assur- ed of their own standing are least apt to trespass on I that of others ; whereas nothing is so offensive as the I aspirings of vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itsevl by humiliating its neighbour. As I have brought these families into contrast, l| must notice their behaviour in church. Thatofihel nobleman's family was quiet, serious, and atlentlTeJ Not that they appeared to have any fervour of devo- 1 tion, but rather a respect for sacred things, andsacredl places, inseparable from good breeding. The others,! on the contrary, were in a perpetual flutter and! whisper ; they betrayed a continual consciousness ofl finery, and a sorry ambition of being the wonders of| a rural congregation. The old gentleman was the only one really att«n-{ tive to the service. He took the whole burden of ^| mily devotion upon himself, standing bolt upright,! and uttering the responses with a loud voice thitl might be heard all over the church. It was evidenll that he was one of those thorough church and kingi men, who connect the idea of devotion and loyah;;| 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 keptj up." When he joined so loudly in the service, it seeroedl more by way of example to the lower orders to show| them that, though so great and wealthy, he was i above being religious; as I have seen a turtle-fed al-l derman swallow publicly a basin of charity soap,! smacking his lips at every mouthful, and pronounciii;| it " excellent food for the poor. " When the service was at an end, I was curious lol witness the several exits of my groups. The yonn;! noblemen and their sisters, as the day was fine, preT ferred strolling home across the fields, clialting wilhl the country people as they went. The others depart-f ed as they came, in grand parade. Again were Ihel equipages wheeled up to the gate. There wasagainl the smacking of whips, the clattering of hoofs, andl the glittering of harness. The horses started off al-f most at a bound ; the villagers again hurried to rightl and left; the wheels threw up a cloud of dust; and! the aspiring family was rapt out of sight in a whirl| wind. THE SKETCH BOOK. I never seen in the I THE WnX)W AND HER SON. Pitlie olde aRO, within whose silver haires Ilonour and reverence evermore have raign'd. Mabblowe's Tambublaine. DcRiNG my residence in Ihe conntry, I used fre- Iqaently to attend at tlie old village church. Its sha- Idovy aisles, its mouldering monuments, its dark liiiken panelling, all reverend with the gloom of de- Ipirled years, seemed to fit it for the haunt of solemn liieditation. A Sunday, too, in the country, is so jliDly in its repose ; such a pensive quiet reigns over Itbe face of nature, that every restless passion is charm- Itddown, and we feel all the natural religion of tlie IgHil gently springing up within us. " Sweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright. The bridal of llie eartli and sky." {cannot lay claim to the merit of being a devout man ; Itatlhere are feelings that visit me in a country church, nid Ihe beautifid serenity of nature, which I expe- lijence nowhere else; and if not a more religious, I Ihink I am a belter man on Sunday, than on any other lay of the seven. But in litis church I felt myself continually thrown ick upon the world by the frigidity and pomp of poor worms around me. The only being that lemed thoroughly to feel the humble and prostrate iely of a true Christian was a poor decrepit old wo- an, bending under the weight of years and in- nities. She tore the traces of something better an abject poverty. The lingerings of decent pride lere visible in her appearance. Her dress, though {bamble in the extreme, was scrupulously clean, ne trivial respect, too, had been awarded her, fur lie did not take her seat among the village poor, but lat alone on the steps of the altar. She seemed to UTe survived all love, all friendship, all society; and I have nothing left her but the hopes of heaven. fhen I saw her feebly rising and bending her aged I in prayer ; habitually conning her prayer-book, irhicli her palsied hand and failing eyes would not lermit her to read, but which she evidently knew by art; I felt persuaded that the faltering voice of that r woman arose to heaven far before the responses jirthe clerk, the swell of the organ, or tite chanting f Ihe choir. I am fond of loitering about conntry churches, knd this was so delightfully situated that it frequently ptracled me. It stood on a knoll, round which a all stream made a Iteauliful bend, and then wound Its way through a long reach of soil meadow scenery. iThe church was surrounded by yew-trees which *'med almost coeval with itself. Its tall gothic spire hot up lightly from among them, with rooks and t)wg generally wheeling about it. I was seated Ihere one still sunny morning, watching two labour- frs who were digging a grave. They had chosen jine of the most remote and neglected corners of the hurchyard; where, from the namber of nameless graves around, it would appear that the indigent and friendless were huddled into the earth. I was told that the new-made grave was for the only son of a poor widow. While I was meditating on the dis- tinctions of worldly rank, which extend thus down into the very dust, the toll of the bell announced the approach of the funeral. They were the obsequies of poverty, with which pride had nothing to do. A cof- lin of the plainest materials, without pall or other covering, was borne by some of the villagers. The sexton walked before with an air of cold indifference. There were no mock mourners in the trappings of affected woe; but there was one real mourner who feebly tottered after the corpse. It was the aged mother of the deceased— the poor old woman whom I had seen on the steps of the altar. She was sup- ported by a humble friend, who was endeavouring to comfort her. A few of the neighbouring pcor bad joined the train, and some children of the village were running hand in hand, now shouting with un- thinking mirth, and now pausing to gaze, with child- ish curiosity, on the grief of the mourner. As Ihe funeral train approached the grave, the parson issued from the church porch, arrayed in the surplice, with prayer-book in hand, and attended by the clerk. The service, however, was a mere act of charity. The deceased had been destitute, and the survivor was pennyless; it wasshuffled through, there- fore, in form, but coldly and unfeelingly. The well- fed priest moved but a few steps from the church door; his voice could scarcely be heard at the grave; and never did I hear the funeral service, that sublime and touching ceremony, turned into such a frigid mummei7 of words. I approached the grave. The coflin was placed on the ground. On it were inscribed the name and age of the deceased — " George Somers, aged 26 years." The poor mother had been assisted to kneel down at the head of it. Her withered hands were clasped, as if in prayer, but I could perceive by a feeble rocking of the body, and a convulsive motion of the lips, that she was gazing on the last relics of her son, with the yearnings of a mother's heart. Preparations were made to deposit the coflin in the earth. There was that bustling stir which breaks so harshly on the feeling of grief and affection : direc- tions given in the cold tones of business; the striking of spades into sand and gravel ; which, at the grave of those we love, is, of all sounds, the most withering. The bustle around seemed to waken the mother from a wretched reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, and looked about with a faint wildness. As the men ap- proached with cords to lower the coflin into the grave, she wrung her hands, and broke into an agony of grief. The poor woman who attended her took her by the arm, endeavouring to raise her from the earth, and to whisper something like consolation—" Nay, now— nay, now— don't take it so sorely to heart." She could only shake her head and wring her hands, as one not to be comforted. 33 258 THE SKETCH BOOK. m As they lowered the body into the earth, the creak- ing of the cords seemed to agonize her ; but when, on M>ine accidental obstruction, there was a jostling of the coflin, all the tenderness of the mother burst forth ; as if any harm could come to liim who was far beyond the reach of worldly suffering. I could see no more — my heart swelled into my throat — my eyes filled with tears— I felt as if I were acting a barlMrnus part in standing by and gazing idly on this scene of maternal anguish. I wanderetl to another part of the churchyard, where I remained nntil the funeral train had dispersed. When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quit- ting the grave, leaving behind her the remains of all that was dear to her on earth, and returning to si- lence and destitution, my heart ached for her. What, thought I, are the distresses of the rich ! they have friends to soothe— pleasures to beguile— a world to divert and dissipate their griefs. Whatare the sorrows of the young ! their growing minds soon close above the wound — their elastic spirits soon rise beneath the pressure — their green and ductile afTections soon twine round new objects. But the sorrows of the poor, wIk) have no outward appliances to soothe— the sorrows of the aged, with whom life at best is but a wintry day, and who can look for no after-growth of joy — the sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son, the last solace of her years; these are indeed sorrows which m^e us feel the impotency of consolation. It was some time before I left the churchyard. On my way homeward I met with the woman who had acted as comforter : she was just returning from ac- companying the mother to her lonely habitation, and I drew from her some particulars connected with the affecting scene I had witnessed. The parents of the deceased had resided in the vil- lage from childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest cottages, and by various rural occupations, and the assistance of a small garden, had supported themselves creditably, and comfortably, and led a happy and blameless life. They had one son, who had grown up to be the staff and pride of their age — " Oh, sir ! " said the good woman, " he was such a comely lad, so sweet-tempered, so kind to every one around him, so dutiful to his parents ! It did one's heart good to see him of a Sunday, dressed out in his best, so tall, so straight, so cheery, supporting his old mother to church — for siie was always fonder of leaning on George's arm, than on her goodman's ; and, poor soul, she might well be proud of him, for a liner lad there was not in the country round." Unfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year of scarcity and agricultural hardship, to enter into the service of one of the small craft that plied on a neigh- bouring river. He had not been long in this employ when he was entrapped by a press-gang, and carried off to sea. His parents received tidings of his seizure, but beyond that they could learn nothing. It was the Iran of their main prop. The father, who was already iniirm, grew heartless and melancholy, an sunk into his grave. Tlie widow, left lonely in hn age and feebleness, could no longer support lierselfj and came upon the parish. Still there was a kii feeling toward her throughout the village, and a cerJ tain respect as being one of the oldest inlialuunlsj As no one applied for the cottage, in which she 1 passed so many happy days, she was permitted to t main in it, where she lived solitary and almost help less. The few wants of nature were chiefly supplie, from the scanty productions of her little garden, whit the neighbours would now and then cultivate foriieri It was but a few days before the time at which lb circumstances were told me, that she was galheri some vegetables for her repast, when she heard lb cottage door which faced the garden suddenly openeilJ A stranger came out, and seemed to be looking eaJ gerly and wi''.'.'.y around. He was dressed in sea-l man's clothes, was emaciated and ghastly pale, i bore the air of one broken by sickness and hardshipi He saw her, and hastened toward her, but his sUp were faint and faltering; he sank on his knees 1 fore her, and sobbed like a child. The poor wonu gazed upon him with a vacant and wandering eye " Oh my dear, dear mother ! don't you know yoi son? your poor boy George? " It was indeed lb wreck of her once noble lad; who, shattered 1 wounds, by sickness and foreign imprisonment, 1 at length dragged his wasted limbs homeward, tor pose among the scenes of his childhood. I will not attempt to detail the particulars of m a meeting, where joy and sorrow were so compleleljl blended : still he was alive ! he was come home! I might yet live to comfort and cherish her old age J Nature, however, was exhausted in him; and \(m thing had been wanting to finish the work of fal^ the desolation of his native cottage would have 1 sunicient. He stretched himself on the pallet, which his widowed mother had passed many asleep: less night, and he never rose from it again. The villagers, when they heard that George Sou had returned, crowded to see him, offering evei comfort and assistance that their humble means a forded. He was too weak, however, to talk- could only look his thanks. His mother was liis c stant attendant ; and he seemed unwilling to be help ed by any other hand. There is sometliing in sickness that breaks dot the pride of manhood; that softens the heart,! brings it back to the feelings of infancy. Whot has languished, even in advanced life, in sickness a despondency; who that has pined on a weary bedi the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land; buH thought on the mother "that looked on liisdiil hood," that smoothed his pillow, and adminisl to his helplessness ? Gb ! there is an enduring tei derness in the love of a mother to a son that tram cends all other affections of the heart. It is tieilt to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by dangerj nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by in THE SKETCH BOOR. 230 IliUMie. Siie will sacrifice every comfort to his con- lieoience; she will surrender every pleasure to his Ljoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in |tis prosperity :— and, if misfortune overtake him, he If ill be the dearer to her from misfortune ; and if liljsgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and rish him in spite of his disgrace; and if all the Iwirhl beside cast liim off, she will be all tlie world I him. Poor George Somei's had known what it was to (in sickness, and none to soothe — lonely and in pri- , and none to visit him. He could not endure i mother from his sight; if she moved away, his ife would follow her. She would sit for hours by iixxl, watching him as he slept. Sometimes he lioukl start from a feverish dream, and look anxiously I until he saw her bending over him; when he liould take her hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall sleep with the tranquilUty of a child. In this way edied. My first impulse on hearing this humble tale of IDiction, was to visit the cottage of the mourner, and biinistcr pecuniary assistance, and, if possible, com- I found, however, on inquiry, that the good eeliiigs of the villagers had prompted them to do Itery thing that the case admitted : and as the poor «\v best how to console each other's sorrows, I did Uentiire to intrude. The next Sunday I was at the village church; JFJien, to my surpiise, I saw the poor old woman Mtering down the aisle to her accustomed seat on e steps of the altar. She had made an effort to put on something like lourning for her son; and nothing could be more iching than this struggle between pious affection ] utter poverty : a black riband or so — a faded black iindkerchief, and one or two more such humble tempts to express by outward signs that grief which «s show. When I looked round upon the storied Hiuments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble np, with which grandeur mourned magnificently Iw departed pride, and turned to this poor widow ped down by age and sorrow, at the altar of her d, and ofrering up the prayers and praises of a |ious though a bi-oken heart, I felt that this living lonument of real grief was worth them all. I I related her story to some of the wealthy members ftlie congregation, and they were moved by it. fhey exerted themselves to render her situation more nfortable, and to lighten her afflictions. It was, lovever, but smoothing a few steps to the grave. In t course of a Sunday or two after, she was missed I her usual seat at church, and before I left the leighlMurhood, I heard, with a feeling of satisfaction, fuit she iiad quietly breathed her last, and had gone ) rejoin those she loved, in that world where sorrow I never known, and friends are never parted. THE BOARS HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP. * 8HAESPEAHU!ti HE8EAKCU. " A tavern ia tlie rendezvous, the exchange, the staple of good ffllows. I have heanl my great grandfather tell, liow his great great grandfather sliould say, that it was an old proverb when his great grandfather was a child, that ' it was a good wind that blew a man to the wine.' " Motbeh Bombie. It is a pious custom, in some Catholic countries, to honour tlie memory of saints by votive lights burnt before their pictures. The popularity of a saint, therefore, may be known by the niunber of these offerings. One, perhaps, is left to moulder in the darkness of his little chapel ; another may have a solitary lamp to throw its blinking rays athwart his efQgy; while the whole blaze of adoration is lavished at the shrine of some beatified father of renown. The wealthy devotee brings his huge luminary of wax; the eager zealot his seven-branched candlestick, and even the mendicant pilgrim is by no means satisfied that sufficient light is thrown upon the deceased, unless he hangs up his little lamp of smoking oil. The consequence is, that in the eagerness to enlighten, they are often apt (o obscure, and I have occasionally seen an unlucky saint almost smoked out of counte- nance by the officiousness of his followers. In like manner has it fared with the immortal Shakspeare. Every writer considers it his bounden duty to light up some portion of his character or works, and to rescue some merit from oblivion. The commentator, opulent in words, produces vast tomes of dissertations; the common herd of editors send up mists of obscurity from their notes at the bottom of each page; and every casual scribbler brings his far- thing rtishlight of eulogy or research, to swell the clouds of incense and of smoke. As I hononr all established usages of my brethren of the quill, I thought it but proper to contribute my mite of homage to the memory of the illustrious bard. I was for some time, however, sorely puzzled in what way I should discharge this duty. I found myself anticipated in every attempt at a new reading; every doubtful line had been explained a dozen different ways, and perplexed beyond the reach of elucidation; and as to fine passages, they had all been amply praised by previous admirers; nay, so completely had the bard, of late, been overlarded with panegyric by a great German critic, that it was difficult now to find even a fault that had not been argued into a l)eauty. In this perplexity, I was one morning turning over his pages, when I casually opened upon the comic scenes of Henry lY, and was, in a moment, com- pletely lost in the -madcap revelry of the Boar's Head Tavern. So vividly and naturally are these scenes of humour depicted, and witli such force and consistency are the characters sustained, that they become min- gled up in the mind with the facts ami personages of real life. To few readers docs it occur, that these s»». aeo THE SKETCH BOOK. are all ideal creations of a poet's brain, and tliat, in solier trutti, no sucli Icnot of merry roysters ever en- livened tlie dull neighbourhood of Eastcheap. For my part, I love to give myself up to the illu- sions of poetry. A hero of fiction that never existed is just as valuable to me as a hero of history that existed a thousand years since: and, if I may be excused such an insensibility to the common ties of human nature, I would not give up fat Jack for half the great men of ancient chronicle. What have the heroes of yore done for me, or men like me ? They have conquered countries of which I do not enjoy an acre; or they have gained laurels of which I do not inherit a leaf; or they have furnished examples of hair-brained prowess, which I have neither the op- portunity nor the inclination to follow. But, old Jack Falstaff!— kuid Jack Falstaff!— sweet Jack Fal- staff ! — has enlarged the boundaries of human enjoy- ment; he has added vast regions of wit and good humour, in which the poorest man may revel; and has bequeathed a never-failing inheritance of jolly laughter, to make mankind merrier and belter to the latest posterity. A thought suddenly struck me : '' I will make a pilgrimage to Eastcheap," said I, closing the book, *' and see if the old Boar's Head Tavern si ill exists. Who knows but I may light upon some legendary traces of Dame Quickly and her guests; at any rate, there will be a kindred pleasure, in treading the ha'ls once vocal with their mirth, to that the toper enjoys in smellmg to the empty cask once filled with gene- rous wine." The resolution was no sooner formed than put in execution. I forbear to treat of the various adven- tures and wonders I encountered in my travels; of the haunted regions of Cocklane; of the faded glories of Little Britain, and the parts adjacent; what perils I ran in Gateaton-slreel and Old Jewry; of the re- nowned Guild-hall and its two stunted giants, the pride and wonder of the city, and the terror of all unlucky urchins; and how I visited London Stone, and struck my staff upon it, in imitation of that arch rebel, Jack Cade. Let it suffice to say, that I at length arrived in merry Eastcheap, that ancient region of wit and wassail, where the very names of the streets relished of good cheer, as Pudding-lane bears testimony even at the present day. For Eastcheap, says old Stowe, " was always famous for its convivial doings. The cookes cried hot ribbes of beef roasted, pies well baked, and other victuals : there was clattering of pewter pots, harpe, pipe, and sawtrie." Alas! how sadly is the scene changed since the roaring days of Falstaff and old Stowe! The madcap royster has given place to the plodding tradesman ; the clattering of pots and the sound of " harpe and sawtrie," to the din of carts and the accursed dinging of the dust- man's bell; and no song is heard, save, haply, the Htrain of some siren from Billingsgate, chanting the eulogy of deceased mackerel. I sought, in vain, for the ancient abode of Dao Quickly. The only relique of it is a boar's head] car>'ed in relief in stone, which formerly ser\ed a the sign, but at present is built into the parting | of two houses, which stand on the site of the renovn old tavern. For the history of this little abode of good fellovj ship, I was referred to a tallow-chandler's widow, c posite, who had been born and brought up on tb spot, and was looked up to as the indisputable chrooil cler of the neighbourhood. I found her seated ioi^ little back parlour, the window of which looked ( upon a yard about eight feet square, laid out as j flower-garden ; while a glass door opposite aflbrded^ distant peep of the street, through a vista of soap an tallow candles : the two views, which comprised, i all probability, her prospects in life, and the littl world in which she had lived, and moved, and I her being, for the better part of a century. To be versed in the history of Eastcheap, great a little, from London Stone even unto the MonumenlJ was, doubtless, in her opinion, to be acquainted viU the history of the universe. Yet, with all this, sh {H)ssessed the simplicity of true wisdom, and thtj liberal communicative disposition, which I have ^ nerally remarked in intelligent old ladies, knowii in the concerns of their neiglibourhood. Her information, however, did not extend farl into antiquity. She could throw no light upon lit history of the Boar's Head, from the time IhatDai Quickly espoused the valiant Pistol, until the gread fire of London, when it was unfortunately bunilj down. It was soon rebuilt, and continued to flotirisbf under the old name and sign, until a dying landlord,! struck with remorse for double scores, bad measun and other iniquities, which are incident to the sinlii race of publicans, endeavoured to make his peaa with heaven, by bequeathing the tavern toSt Michael'^ Church, Crooked-lane, toward the supporting ofi chaplain. For some time the vestry meetings wen regularly held there; but it was observed thai tlie« Boar never held up his head under church governmenl.| He gradually declined, and finally gave his last gasji about thirty years since. The tavern was then {m\ ed into shops; but she informed me that a piclureo it was still preserved in St Michael's Church, whici stood just in the rear. To get a sight of lliis picliin was now my determination; so, having infoi'ni«l| myself of the abode of the sexton, I took my leave o the venerable chronicler of Eastcheap, my visit Im-I ing doubtless raised greatly her opinion of her legend-l ary lore, and furnished an important incident inllie| history of her life. It cost me some difficulty, and much curious iii-| quiry, to ferret out the humble hanger-on to Ibi church. I had to explore Crooked-lane, and diverjl little alleys, and elbows, and dark passages, vitli| which this old city is perforated, like an ancient cheeie,[ or a worm-eaten chest of drawers. At length I trao him to a corner of a small court, surrounded by iofti "W.- THE SKETCH BOOK. SXH n, which Ihavei! io, having infoi'Dinll t, where the inhabitants enjoy about as much of (bee of heaven, as a community of frogs atthebot- lof a well. The sexton was a meek, acquiescing I man, of a bowing, lowly habit : yet he had a ant twinkling in his eye, and, if encouraged, lid now and then hazard a small pleasantry ; such ^man of iiis low estate might venture to make in the any of high church-wardens, and other mighty lof Ibe earth. I found him in company with the uty organist, seated apart, like Milton's angels, nrsing, no doubt, on high doctrinal points, and ng the affairs of the church over a friendly pot of .for the lower classes of English seldom deliberate I loy weighty matter without the assistance of a illaniiard to clear their understandings. I arrived llbe moment when they had finished their ale and ^ argument, and were about to repair to the 1 (0 put it in order ; so, having made known my >s, I received their gracious permission to accom- kvtliem. >ciiurchofSt Michael's, Crooked-lane, stand- ^a short distance from Billingsgate, is enriched ithe tombs of many fishmongers of renown; and trery profession has its galaxy of glory, and its stellalion of great men, I presume the monument I mighty fishmonger of the olden time is regarded i as mucii reverence by succeeding generations Ihe craft, as poets feel on contemplating the tomb Virgil, or soldiers the monument of a Marlborough Turenne. ^cannot but turn aside, w^hile thus speaking of illus- smen, to observe that St Michael's, Crooked-lane, ains also the ashes of that doughty champion, pliam Walworth, knight, who so manfully clove ilhe sturdy wight, Wat Tyler, in Smithfield; a ) worthy of honourable blazon, as almost the only I Mayor on record famous for deeds of arms : — I sovereigns of Cockney being generally renowned ! most pacific of all potentates. ■ Irbe following was the ancient inscription on tlic monument hm worthy; which, unhappily, was destroyed ia the great "'•ration. Hereunder lyth a man of Fame, William Walworth callyd by name; Fishmonger lie was in lyniime here. And twise Lord Maior, as in books appere ; Who, with courage stout and manly niyght. Slew Jack Straw in Kyng Richard's sight. For which act done, and trew entcnt. The Kyng made him knyght incontinent; And gave him amies, as here you see. To declare his Tact and chivaldrie. He left this lytf tl>e yere of our God Thirteen hondrcd fourscore and three odd. p error in Ihe foregoing inscription has been corrected by the ^e Stowe. •• Whereas," saith he, "it hath been farspread d by vulgar opinion, that the rebel smitten down so manhilly pr William Walworth, the then worthy Lord Maior, was kd Jack Straw, and not Wat Tyler. I thought good to recon- Itiiit rash-conceived doubt by such testimony as I And in an- ^aid good records. The principal leaders, or captains, of the , were Wat Tyler, as the flwt man; the second was p,orJ»ck, straw, etc. etc." Stowe's London. Adjoining the church, in a small cemetery, imme- diately under the back wuidow of what was once the Boar's Head, stands the tombstone of Robert Preston, whilome drawer at the tavern. It is now nearly a century since this trusty drawer of good liquor closed his bustling career, and was thus quietly deposited within call of his customers. As I was clearing away the weeds from his epitaph, the little sexton drew me on one side with a mysterious air, and informed me in a low voice, that once upon a time, on a dark win- try night, when the wind was unruly, howling, and whistling, banging about doors and windows, and twirling weathercocks, so that the living were fright- ened out of their beds, and even the dead could not sleep quietly in their graves, the ghost of honest Preston, which happened to be airing itself in the churchyard, was attracted by the well-known call of " waiter" from the Boar's Head, and made its sud- den appearance in the midst of a roaring club, just as the parish clerk was singing a stave from the *' mirre garland of Captain Death ; " to the discomfiture of sundry trainband captains, and the conversion of an infidel attorney, who became a zealous Christian on the spot, and was never known to twist the truth af- terwards, except in the way of business. I beg it may be remembered, >hat I do not pledge myself for the authenticity of this anecdote ; though it is well known that the churchyards and by-corners of this old metropolis are very much infested with per- turbed spirits; and every one must have heard of the Cock-lane ghost, and the apparition that guards the regalia in the Tower, which has frightened so many bold sentinels almost ont of their wits. Be all this as it may, this Robert Preston seems to have been a worthy successor to the nimble-tongued Francis, who attended upon the revels of Prince Hal; to have been equally prompt with his " anon, anon, sir ;" and to have transcended his predecessor in ho- nesty ; for Falstaff, the veracity of whose taste no man will vent> lO impeach, flatly accuses Francis of putting Hi.. ;■ his sack; whereas honest Preston's epitaph laiido nim for the sobriety of his conduct, the soundness of his wine, and the fairness of his measure. ■ The worthy dignitaries of the church, however, did not appear much captivated by the sober virtues of the tapster; the deputy organist, who had a moist look ou* of the eye, made some shrewd remark on the ab- stemiousness of a man brought up among full hogs- heads; and the little sexton corroborated his opinion • As this inscription is rife with excellent morality, I transcribe it for the admonition of delinquent tapsters. It is, no doubt, the production of some choice spirit, who once frequented the Boar's Head. Bacchus, to give the toping world surprise, Produced one sober son, and here he lies. Though rcar'd among full hogsheads, he defy'd The charms of wine, and every one beside. O reader, if to justice thou'rt inclined, Keep honest Preston daily in thy mind, lie drew good wine, took care to fill his pots, Had sundry virtues that excused his faults. Tou that on Bacchus have the like dependancc. Pray copy Bob in measure and attendance. !^ THE SKETCH BOOK. ■I. by a significant wink, and a dulMous shake of the head. Thus far my researches, though they threw much light on the history of tapsters, lisbmongers, and Lonl Mayors, yet disappointed me in the great object of my quest, the picture of tlie Boar's Head Tavern. No such painting was to be found in the church of St Mi- chael. ''Marry and amen!" said I, "here endeth my research ! " So I was giving llie matter up, with the air of a liafned antiquary, when my friend tlie sexlon, perceiving me to be curious in every thing re- lative to tlie old tavern, offered to show me the choice vessels of the vestry, wliicli had been handed down from remote times, when the parish meetings were held at the Roar's Head. Tlle^se were deposited in the parish club-room, which had been transferred, on the decline of the ancient establishment, to a tavern in the neighbonrliood. A few steps brought us to the house, which stands No. 42, Miles-lane, bearing the title of the Mason's Arms, and is kept by Master Edward Honeyball, the " bully-rock" of the establishment. It is one of those little taverns whidi abound in the heart of the city, and form the centre of gossip and intelligence of the neighbourhood. We entered the bar-room, which was narrow and darkling; for in these close lanes but few rays of reflected light are enabled to struggle down to the inhabitants, whose broad day is at best but a tolerable twilight. The room was partitioned into boxes, each containing a table spread with a clean white cloth, ready for dinner. This showed that the guests were of the good old stamp, and divided their day equally, for it was but just one o'clock. At the lower end of the room was a clear coal fire, before which a breast of lamb was roasting. A row of bright brass candlesticks and pewter mugs glistened along the mantel-piece, and an old-fashioned clock licked in one corner. There was something iirimitive in this medley of kitchen, parlour, and hall, that carried me back to earlier times, and pleased me. The place, indeed, was hund)le, but every thing had that look of order and neatness, which bespeaks the superintend- ence of a notable English housewife. A group of amphibious - looking beings, who might be either fisheitnen or sailors, were regaling themselves in one of the boxes. As I was a visitor of rather higher pre- tensions, I was ushered into a little misshapen back room, having at least nine corners. It was lighted by a sky-light, furnished with antiquated leathern chairs, and ornamented with the portrait of a fat pig. It was evidently appropriated to particular customers, and I found a siiabby gentleman, in a red nose and oil-cloth hat, seated in one corner, meditating on a half-empty pot of porter. The old sexton had taken the landlady aside, and with an air of profound importance imparted to her my errand. Dame Honeyball was a likely, plump, bustling, little woman, and no liad substitute for that paragon of hostesses, Dame Quickly. She seemed de- lighted with an opportunity to oblige; and hurrying up stairs to the archives of her house, where the precious vessels of the parish club were deposited, she return smiling and courtesying, with them in her hands. The first she presented me was a japanned iron t bacco-box, of gigantic size, out of which, I was to{ the vestry had smoked at their stateil meetings, sin time immemorial; and whidi was never suffered to| profaned by vulgar hands, or used on common i sions. I received it with becoming reverence;! what was my delight, at beholding on its cover i| ideiilical painting of which I was in quest ! TIk was displayed the outside of the Boar's Head Tare and before the door was to be seen the whole coiitj vial group, at table, in full revel ; pictured wiili i wonderful fidelity and force, with which the portral of renowiieil generals and commodores are illustniif on lobiicco-boxes, for the benefit of posterity, however, there should be any mistake, the ciinniJ limner had warily inscribed the names of Prince 1| aiul Falstaff on the bottoms of their chairs. On the inside of the cover was an inscription, r obliterated, recording that this box was IhegiHJ Sir Richard Gore, for the use of the vestry meelii^ at the Boar's Head Tavern, and that it was " rcpi ed and beautified by his successor, Mr John I ard, 1767." Such is a faithful description of i august and venerable reiique ; and I question whelbi the learned Scribblcrius contemplated his Rom shield, or the Knights of the Round Table the I sought san-greal, with more exultation. While I was meditating on it with enraptured ga; Dame Honeyball, who was highly gratified by the iJ terest it excited, put in my hands a drinking cup f goblet, which also belonged to the vestry, and w| descended from the old Boar's Head. It bore I inscription of having been the gift of Francis Wylb knight, and was held, she told me, in exceeding gi, value, being considered very " antyke." This 1 opinion was strengthened by the shabby gentiert in the red nose and oil-cloth hat, and whom I stn suspected of being a lineal descendant from the \ liant Bardolph. He suddenly aroused from his n tation on the pot of porter, and, casting a knov look at the goblet, exclaimed, "Ay, ay! thehei don't ache now that made that there article!" The great importance attached to this memenlo| ancient revelry by modern church-wardens at puzzled me; but there is nothing sharpens the<ippi liensiun so much as antiquarian research ; for I i mediately perceived that this could be no other lit the identical " parcel-gilt goblet " on which Falst made his loving, but faithless vow to Dame Quicklj and which would, of course, be treasured np ' care among the regalia of her domains, as a testin of that solemn contract.' « Tliou didst swear to inc upon a parcel-gilt goblet, silliii!| my Dolpliin cliaml)ei', at llie round tabic, by a sea-coal litt,| Wednesday, in Wtiilsun-week, wlien the prince brolte Ihf fc for likening his father to a singing inan of Windsor; Ihou d swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me,' make me my lady Uiy wife. Canst thou deny it?— ffwm < part 2. THE SKETCH BOOK. 9G3 iM Warcel-gilt goblet, »\m tabic, by a sea-coal riit,| the prince brokellijl nanof Windiior;ltoii' ly wound, to marry iiie.i tlioudenyit?-ffiwili I nine liostess, indeed, gave me a long history how (goblet had been handed down from generation to iration. She aliw enter' -^ined me with many culars concerning tlie wortliy vestrymen who lie seated themselves thus quietly on tlie stools of (ancient loysters of Eastclieap, and, like so many entators, utter clouds of smoke in honour of ispeare. These I forbear to relate, lest my read- I sbould not lie as curious in these matters as my- Siiflice it to say, the neighbours, one and all, at Eaiilcheap, believe Uiat Faislaff and his merry r actually lived and revelled there. Kay, there (several legendary anecdotes concerning iiim still ot among the oldest fre({uenters of the Mason's IS, which they give as transmitted down from forefathers; and Mr M'Kash, an Irish hair- «r, whose shop stands on the site of the old r's Head, has several dry jokes of Fat Jack's, not Idown in the books, willi which he makes his cus- lere ready to die of laughter. [now turned to my friend the sexton to make t further inquiries, but I found him sunk in pen- I meditation, ilis head had declined a little on (side; a deep sigh heaved from the very bottom of [stomach; and, though I could not see a tear sibling in his eye, yet a moisture was evidently ^ing rrom a corner of his mouth. I followed the [tioD of his eye tlirough the door which stood ]), and found it fixed wistfully on the savoury I of lamb, roasting in dripping richness before I lire. I now called to mind that, in the eagerness of my Midite investigation, I was keeping the poor man 1 Ills dinner. My bowels yearned with sympathy, , putting in his hand a small token of my grati- eandgooii will, I departed, with a hearty bene- ion on him. Dame Iloneyball, and the Parish I of Crooked-lane ;— not forgetting my shabby [sententious friend, in the oil-cloth hat and copper thus have I given a ''tedious brief" account of ) interesting research, for which, if it prove too jiiand unsatisfactory, I can oidy plead my inexpe- ; in this branch of literature, so deservedly po- r at the present day. I am aware that a more iTuI illnslralor of the immortal bard would have I the materials I have touched upon, to a good fchantable bulk; comprising the biographies of lliam Walvorth, Jack Straw, and Robert Preston ; ! notice of the eminent fishmongers of St Mi- d's; the history of Eastclieap, great and little ; bte anecdotes of Dame Honeyball, and her pretty per, whom I have not even mentioned ; to say jiing of a damsel tending the breast of Iamb (and D, by the way, I remarked to be a comely lass, I a neat foot and ankle)— the whole enlivened by I'iots of Wat Tyler, and illuminated by the great of London. Ul this I leave, as a rich mine, to be worked by ! commentators; nor do I despair of seeing the lobaccu-box, and the '' parcel-gilt goblet," whidi I have thus brought to light, the subjects of future en- gravings, and almost as fruitful of voluminous disser- tations and disputes as the sliield of Achilles, or the far-famed Portland vase. THE MUTABILITY OF LITEBATURE. k GOLLOQUT n WESTMIXSTKB ABBBT. I know that all l)cnrath the moon decay*. And what by mortals in this world is bronght, In time's great periods shall return to nought. I know that all the maoe's heavenly layes. With toil or sprite which arc so dearly bought, As idle sounds, of Tew or none arc sought. That there is nothing lighter than mere praise. OHLMMONU UV lUWTHOHNnKII. There are certain half-dreaming moods of mind, in which we naturally steal away from noise and glare, and seek some quiet haunt, where we may in- dulge our reveries and build our air castles undisturb- ed. In such a mood I was loitering about the old grey cloisters of Westminster Abbey, enjoying that luxury of wandering thought which one is apt to di- gnify with the name of retleclion ; when suddenly an irriqition of madcap boys from Westminster School, playing at foot-ball, broke in upon the monastic still- ness of the place, making the vaulted passages and mouldering tomlM echo with their merriment. I sought to lake refuge from their noise by penetrating still deeper into the solitudes of the pile, and applied to one of the vergers fur admission to the library. He conducted me through a portal rich with the crum- bling sculpture of former ages, which opened upon a gloomy passage 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 difliculty, 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 picture of some reverend dignitary of the church in Ilis 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 writers, and were much more worn by time than use. In the centre of the library was a solitary table with two or three books on it, an inkstand with- out ink, and a few pens parched by long disuse. The place seemed fitted for quiet study and profound me- ditation. It was buried 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 264 THE SKETCH BOOK. of the school-boys faintly swelling from the clobters, and the sound of a bell tolling for prayers, that echo- ed soberly along the roofs of the abbey. liy 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. In- stead of reading, however, 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 tlie library a kind of literary catacomb, where authors, like mum- mies, are piously entombed, and left to blacken and moulder in dusty oblivion. How much, thought I, has each of these volumes, now thrust aside with such indifference, cost some aching head ! how many weary days ! how many sleepless nights ! How have their authors buried themselves in the solitude of cells and cloisters; shut themselves up from (he face of man, and the still more blessed face of nature ; and devoted themselves to painful research and intense reflection ! 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 to re- membrance. Such is the amount of this boasted im- mortality. A mere temporary rumour, a local sound; like the tone of that bell which has just tolled among these towers, fdling the ear for a moment— lingering transiently in echo — and tlien passing away like a thing that was not ! While I sat half murmuring, half meditating these nnprofitable speculations, with my head resting on my hand, I was thrumming with the otiier hand upon the quarto, until I accidentally loosened the clasps; when, to my utter astonislunent, the little book gave two or three yawns, like one awaking from a deep sleep : then a husky hem; and at length began to talk. At flrst its voice was very hoarse and broken, being much troubled by a cobweb which some stu- dious spider had woven across it ; and having probably contracted a cold from long exjiosure to the chills and damps of the abbey. In a short time, however, it became more distinct, and I soon found it an ex- ceedingly fluent conversable little tome. Its language, to be sure, was rather quaint and obsolete, and its pronunciation, what, in the present day, would be deemed barbarous ; but I shall endeavour, as far as I am able, to render it in modern parlance. It began with railings about the neglect of the world — about merit being suffered to languish in obscurity, and other such common-place topics of literary repin- ing, and complained bitterly that it had not been opened for more than two centuries. That the dean only looked now and then into the library, sometimes took down a volume or two, trifled with them I few moments, and then returned them to their gheh] "What a plague do they mean," said llie IjJ quarto, which I began to perceive was somewl] choleric, *' what a plague do they mean by kefpi several thousand volumes of us shut up liere watched by a set of old vergers, like so many beauj in a harem, merely to be looked at now and ihen 1 the dean ? Books were written to give pleasure j to be enjoyed; and I would have a rule passed tliat i{ dean should pay each of us a visit at least oncea yo or if he is not equal to the task, let them once in while turn loose the whole school of WeslmiR among us, that at any rate we may now and Itien 1 an airing. " "Softly, my worthy friend," replied 1, "yoaj not aware how much better you are olT tlian i books of your generation. By lieing stored away I this ancient library, you are like the treasured i mains of those saints and monarchs which iieenshi ed in the adjoining chapels ; while the remains of ib^ contemporary mortals, Ml to the ordinary conr; nature, have long since returned to dust." " Sir," said the Utile tome, ruffling his leaves) looking big, " I was written for all the world, ikxI the l)ookwornis of an abbey. I was intended tod culate from hand to hand, like other great eontc^ porary works ; but here have I been clasped up i more than two centuries, and might have silei fallen a prey to these worms that are playing ilieTJ vengeance with my intestines, if you had not] chance given me an opportunity of uttering a I last words liefore I go to pieces." " My good friend," rejoined I, "had you been ll to the circulation of which you speak, you would la ere this have been no more. To judge from yJ physiognomy, you are now well stricken in yei very few of your contemporaries can be at presfflt| existence; and those few owe their longevity toll immured like yourself in old libraries ; which, s me to add, instead of likening to harems, you i more properly and gratefully have compared toll infirmaries attached to religious establishnienis, the benefit of the old and decrepit, and where, quiet fostering and no employment, they often ewi^ to an amazingly good-for-nothing old age. Yool of your contemporaries as if in circulation— where| we meet with their works? what do we hear of I l)ert Groteste, of Lincoln ? No one could liave l harder than he for immortality. He is said to i written nearly two hundred volumes. He bnilt,| it were, a pyramid of books to perpetuate hisi but, alas! the pyramid has long since fallen, and o a few fragments are scattered in various lib where they are scarcely disturbed even by the a quarian. What do we hear of Giraldus Gamb the historian, antiquary, philosopher, tlieologian,i| poet? He declined two bishoprics, that he T shut himself up and write for posterity; butpo$te never inqnires after his lalraurs. What of Henri TIIE SKETCn BOOR. *J(Si llantingdon, who, besides a learned history of Eng- UimI, wrote a treatise on tlie contempt of tlie world, Uhicli the world has revenged by forgetting him? What is quoted of Joseph of Exeter, styled the mi- rtcle of his age in classical composition ? Of his three treat heroic poems one is lost for ever, excepting a mere fragment; the others are known only to a few lofllie curious in literature; and as to his love verses I ind epigrams, they have entirely disappeared. What I it in current use of John Wallis, the Franciscan, who Lqnired the name of the tree of life? Of William I of Maimsbury ;— of Simeon of Durham ; — of Benedict ItlPetei-borough;— of John llanvill of St Albans;— U- — " "Prithee, friend," cried the quarto, in a testy tone, |<'how old do you think me ? You are talking of au- llhors that lived long before my time, and wrote either L Latin or French, so that they in a manner expa- llriated themselves, and deserved to be forgotten;- lint I, sir, was ushered into the world from the press lofllie renowned Whykyn de Worde. I was written liDinyowH native tongue at a time when the lan- Inage had become fixed ; and indeed I was consi- Idend a model of pure and elegant English." (I should observe that these remarks were couched |in such intolerably antiquated terms, that I have in- InitediHiculty in rendering them into modern phra- alogy.) "I cry your mercy," said I, " for mistakmg your but it matters little : almost all the writers of Ijoar time have likewise passed into forgelfulness; and I Worde's publications are mere literary rarities ong book-collectors. The purity and stability of , too, on which you found your claims to leipetuity, have been the fallacious dependance of liuthors of every age, even back lo the times of the Rorthy Robert of Gloucester, who wrote hix history I rhymes of mongrel Saxon.' Even now many talk (Spenser's ' well of pure English undefiled,' as if I language ever sprang from a well or fountain d, and was not rather a mere confluence of various ngues, perpetually subject to changes and inter- uxlnres. It is this which has made English litera- ! 80 extremely mutable, and the reputation built it so fleeting. Unless thought can be com- nitled to something more permanent and unchange- ible than such a medium, even thought must share ' In Latin and Frencli hath many goueratne witles had great ; (0 cndite, and have many noble thinges fuUilde, but cartes ! beii some that gpcalien their poisye in French, of which I the Frenchmen have aa good a fontasye as we have in iryiog ot Frenchmen's Englishe.— £A«ucei-'« Tatament of [ ' Holinshed, in his Chronicle, obsenrcs, "Afterwards, also, by ;entlravell of GelTry Chaucer and ot John Gowre, in the time JfBichanithe Second, and after them of John Scogan and John |l<lple, monke of Berrie, our said toong was brought to an excel- M pisse, notwithstanding that it never came unto the type of iteclion until the time ot Queen Elizabeth, where in John Jewell, > of Sarum, John Fox, and sundrie learned and excellent len, have fully accomplished theomature of the same, to their 'praise and immortal comnien<laHoii." the fate of every thing else, and fall into decay. This should serve as a check upon the vanity and exiilla- tion of the most popular writer. He finds the lan- gtiage in which he has embarked his fame gradually altering, and subject to the dilapidations of time and the caprice of fashion. He looks back and l)eholdH the early authors of his country, once the favourites oftheir day, supplanted by modern writers. A few short ages have covered them with obscurity, and their merits can only be relished by the quaint taste of the bookworm. And such, he anticipates, will be the fate of his own work, which, however it may be admired in its day, and held up as a niotlel of purity, will in the course of years grow antiquated and ob- solete ; imtil it shall become almost as Mnintelligible in its native land as an Egyptian obelisk, or one of those Runic inscriptions said to exist in the deserts of Tarlary. I declare," added I, with some emotion, " when I contemplate a modern library, filled with new works, in all the bravery of rich gilding and binding, I feel disposed to sit down and weep ; like the good Xerxes, when he surveyed his army, pranV- e<l out in all tlie splendour of military array, and re- flected that in one hundred years not one of them would be in existence ! " " Ah," said the little qnai^o, with a heavy sigh, " I see how it isj these modern scribblers have su- perseded all the good old authors. I suppose nothing is read now-a-days but Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia, Sackville's stately plays, and Mirror for Magistrates, or the fine-spun euphuisms of the * unparalleled John Lyly.' " "There yon are again mistaken," said I; "the writers whom you suppose in vogue, because they happened to be so when you were last in circulation, have long since had their day. Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia, the immortality of which was so fondly pre- dicted by his admirers, ' and which, in truth, is full of noble thoughts, delicate images, and graceful turns of language, is now scarcely ever mentioned. Sack- ville has strutted into obscurity ; and even Lyly, though his writings were once the delight of a court, and ap- parently perpetuated by a proverb, is now scarcely known even by name. A wliole crowd of authors who wrote and wrangled at the time, have likewise gone down, with all their writings and their contro- versies. Wave after wave of succeeding literature has rolled over them, until they are buried so deep, that it is only now and then that some industrious diver after fragments of antiquity brings up a specimen for the gratification of the curious. " For my part," I continued, " I consider this mu- tability of language a wise precaution of Providence • Live ever sweete booke ; Ihe simple image of his gentle wIM. and the golden pillar of his noble courage; and ever notify unto the world that thy writer was the secretary of eloquence, the breath of the muses, the honey bee of the dalntyest (lowers of wilt and arte, the pith of morale and intellectual virtues, the armc of Beliona in the field, the tonge of Suada in the chamber, the sprite of Practice in esse, and the i>aragon of excellency in print. Hnrvty Pifrre's Xwpererogatlim. t)«i Wii Tim SKETCH BOOK. for the benefit of the world at large, and of authors in particular. To reason from analogy, we daily l)ehold the varied and beautiful tribes of vegetables springing up, flourishing, adorning the fields for a short time, and then fading into dust, to make way for their successors. Were not this the case, the fe- cundity of nature would be a grievance instead of a blessing. The earth would groan with rank and ex- cessive vegetation, and its surface become a tangled wilderness. In like manner the works of genii><> and learning decUne, and make way for subsequent pro- ductions, ^-^nguage gradually varies, and with it fade away ti)e rvritings of authors who have flourish- ed their allotted time ; otherwise, the creative powers of genius would overstock the world, and the mind would Ite completely bewildered in the endless mazes of literature. Formerly there were some restraints on this excessive multiplication. Works had to be transcribed by hand, which was a slow and laborious operation; they were written either on parchment, whidi was expensive, so that one work was often erased to make way for another; or on papyrus, which was fragile and extremely perishable. Authorship was a limited and unprofital)le craft, pursued chiefly by monks in the leisure and solitude of their cloisters. The accumulation of manuscripts was slow and costly, and confined almost entirely to monasteries. To these circumstances it may, in some measure, be owing that we have not been inundated by the intellect of antiquity; that the fountains of thought have not been broken up, and modern genius drowned in the de- luge. But the inventions of paper and the press have put an end to all these restraints. They have made very one a writer, and enabled every mind to pour its'^lf into print, and diffuse itself over the whole intel- lectual world. The consequences are alarming. The stream of literature has swollen into a torrent — aug- mented into a river— expanded into a sea. A few centuries since, five or six hundred manuscripts con- stituted a great library; but what would you say to libraries such as actually exist, containing three or four hundred thousand volumes; legions of authors at the same lime busy ; and the press going on with fearfully increasing activity, to double a:)d quadruple the number ? Unless some unforeseen mortality should break out among the progeny of the muse, now that she has become so prolific, I tremble for posterity. I fear the mere fluctuation of language will not be sufilcient. Criticism may do much. It increases with tlie increase of literature, and resembles one of those salutary checks on population spoken of by economists. Ail possible encouragement, therefore, should be given to the growth of critics, good or bad. But I fear all will be in vain; let criticism do what it may, writ- '*■' ers will write, printers will print, and the world will inevitably be overstocked with good books. It will soon be the employment of a lifetime merely to learn their names. Many a man of passable information, at the present day, reads scarcely any thing but rcviewt; and before long a man of erudition will be little better than a mere walking catalogs?," "My very good sir," said the little quarto, yawn- ing most drearily in my face, -'excuse my interrnpt. ing you, but I pirceive yon are rather given to prose. I would ask the fate of an author who was making some noise just as I left the world. His reputation however, was considered quite temporary. The learn- ed shook their heads at him, for he was a poor half- educated varlet, that knew little of Latin, and nothing of Greek, and had been obliged to run the country for deei -stealing. I think his name was Shakspeare I presume he soon sunk into oblivion." " On the contrary," said I, " it is owing to that very man that the literature of his period has exp^ rienced a duration beyond the ordinary term of En*-! lish literature. There rise authors now and then who seem proof against the mutability of language, because they 1' ^ rooted themselves in the uncliang' ing principles of human nature. They are like gantic trees th-it we sometimes see on the banks of i{ stream ; whic, by their vast and dee[> roots, penetrat- ing through the mere surface, and laying hold on l] very foundations of the earth, preserve the soil aroundl them Tvom l)eing swept away by the ever-floffii current, and hold np many a neighbouring plant, and,. perhaps, w" iless weed, to perpetuity. Such is tl case with Shakspeare, whom we behold defying tl encroachments of time, retaining in modern use tl language and literature of his day, and giving dui tion to many i indifferent author, merely from hav- ing flourislK . in his vicinity. But even he, I grien to say, is g dually assuming the tint of age, and whole forr s overrun by a profusion of commenii tors, who. ke clambering vines and creepers, aimi bury the tbie plant that upholds them." Her .te little quarto began to heave his sides ai chur' ., until at length iie broke out in a plelhi fit ' laughter that had well nigh choked him, b] r( on ot nis excessive corpulency. " Mighty well!" ci . ' he, as soon as he could recover breath, "miglil well ! and so you would persuade me that the litera-j ture of an age is to be perpetuated by a vagabow deer-slealer ! by a man without learning; by a poet,| tbrsoolh— a poet ! " And here he wheezed forth afr other fit of laughter. I confess that I fell somewhat nettled at this nidfr ness, which however I pardoned on account of I having flourished in a less polished age. I deteru ed, nevertheless, not to give up my point. "Yes," resumed I, positively, "a poet; for of a writers he has the best chance for immorli Others may wrile from the head, but he writes frc the heart, and the heart will always understand himl He is the faithful pourirayer of na'ure whose fea| lures are always the same, and always iiiterestiiijj Prose writers are voluminous and unwieldy; lli«j pages are crowded with common-places, and Ihe^ thoughts expanded into tediousness. But withthi irue poet every thing is terse, touching, or brillianU He gives the choicest thoughts in the choicest lai^ ar- THE SKETCH BOOK. 2<>7 Mjge. He illQst rates them by every thing that he tees most striking in nature and art. He enriches lliein by pictures of human life, such as it is passing lieforeliim. His writings, therefore, contain the spirit, Ihe aroma, if I may use the phrase, of tlie age in which lie lives. I'hey are caskets whicli enclose irilliin a small compass tlie wealth of the language — lis Eamiiy jewels, which are thus transmitted in a portable foim to posterity. The setting may occa- sionally be antiquated, and require now and then to be renewed, as in the case of Chaucer; but the bril- liancy and intrinsic value of the gems continue un- altered. Cast a look back over the long reach of li- terary history. What vast valleys of dulness, filled vilh monkish legends and academical controversies ! viiat bogs of theological speculations ! what dreary wastes of metaphysics ! Here and there only do we iiehold the heaven-illumined bards, elevated like bea- cons on their widely-separate heights, to transmit the pare light of poetical intelligence from age to age." ' I was just about to launch forth into eulogiums Igpon the poets of the day, when the sudden opening of tlie door caused me to turn my head. It was the Tcrger, who came to inform me that it was time to {close the library. I sought to have a parting w^ord wilh the quarto, but the worthy little tome was silent; {the clasps were closed; and it looked i>erfectly un- nscious of all that had passed. I have been to the llibrary two or three times since, and have endea- oured to draw it into further conversation, but in ain; and whether all this rambling colloquy actually [look place, or whether it was another of those odd ly-dreams to which I am subject, I have never to moment been able to discover. RURAL FUNERALS. Here's a few Howrrs! but aliont miclnigtitmorc : The liei-lM tliat liave on tticni cold dew o' tlie uiglit Are strcwings litt'sl for graves Vou were as flowers now wiUier'd ; even so These lierblets sliall, wliicli we ui)on you strow. CVMDELINB. Among the beautiful and simple-hearted customs bFniral life which still linfer in some parts of Eng- land, are those of strewing flowers before the fune- 'als, and planting them at the graves, of departed ■ Tliorow eartli and waters dccpc, Tlie pen by skill dotli passe : And (catty nyps the worldes abuse, And shoes us In a glassc, ' The vcrlu and the vice or every wight alyve; The honey comb that bee doth make Is not so sweet in hy ve, As are the golden levcs Tliat drop fi'oni iioct's head ! Which doth surmount our common taiko As farrc us dross doth lead. churchtjard. friends. These, it is said, are the remains of some of the rites of the primitive church; but they are of still higher antiquii/, having been observed among the Greeks and Romans, and frequently mentioned by their writers, and were, no doubt, the spontaneous tributes of unlettered affection, originating long be- fore art had tasked itself to modulate sorrow into song, or story it on the monument. They are now only to be met with in the most distant and retired places of the kingdom, where fashion and innovation have not been able to throng in, and trample out all the curious and interesting traces of the olden time. In Glamorganshire, we are told, the bed whereon thecorpse lies is covered witli flowers, a custom alluded to in one of the wild and plaintive ditties of Ophelia : white his shroud as the mountain snow, Larded all wilh sweet flowers ; Which be-wept to the grave did go. With true love showers. There is also a most delicate and beautiful rite ob- served in some of the remote villages of the south, at the funeral of a female who has died young and un- married. A chaplet of white flowers is borne before the corpse by a young girl nearest in age, size, and resemblance, and is afterwards hung up in the church over the accustomed seat of the deceased. The chap- lets are sometimes made of white paper, in imitation of flowers, and inside of them is generally a pair of white gloves. Tliey are intended as emblems of the purity of the deceased, and the crown of glory which she has received in heaven. In some parts of the country, also, the dead are carried to the grave with the singing of psalms and hymns : a kind of triumph, '' to shew," says Bourne, "that they have finished their course with joy, and are become conquerors." This, I am informed, is observed in some of the northern counties, particular- ly in Northumberland, and it has a pleasing though melancholy effect, to hear, of a still evening, in some lonely country scene, the mournful melody of a fu- neral dirge swelling from a distance, and to see the train slowly moving along the landscape. Thus, thus, and tliiis, we compass round Tliy harmlesse and iinhauntcd gwund, And as we sing thy dirge, wo will The dafToilill And other flowers lay u[ion The altar of our love, thy stone. llerrick. '.i There is also a solemn respect paid by the traveller to the passing funeral in these sequestered places; for such spectacles, occurring among the quiet abodes of nature, sink deep into the soul. As the mourning train approaches, lie pauses, uncovered, to let it go by; he then follows silently in the rear; sometimes (piite to the grave, at other times for a few hundred yards, and, liaving paid this tribute of respect to the deceased, turns and resumes his journey. The rich vein of melancholy which runs through the English character, and gives it some of its most touching and ennobling graces, is finely evidenced in 368 THE SKETCH BOOK. 'if these pathetic customs, and hi the solicitude shown by the common people for an honoured and a peace- ful grave. The humblest peasant, whatever may be his lowly lot while living, is anxious that some little respect may be paid to his remains. Sir Thomas Qverbu-y, describing the " faire and happy milk- maid," observes, " thus lives she, and all her care is, that she may die in the spring time, to have store of flowers stueke upon lier wmding-sheet." The poets, too, who always breathe the feeling of a nation, continually advert to this fond solicitude about the grave. In "The Maid's Tragedy," by Beaumont and Fletcher, there is a beautiful instance of the kind, describing the capricious melancholy of a broken- hearted girl: When she sees a bank Stuck All! of flowers, she, with a sigli, will tell Her servants, what a pretty place it were To bury lovers in ; and make her maids Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corse. The custom of decorating graves was once univer- sally prevalent : osiers were carefully bent over them to keep the turf uninjured, and about them were planted evergreens and flowers. " We adorn their graves," says Evelyn, in his Sylva, " with flowers and redolent plants, just emblems of the life of man, which has been compared in Holy Scriptures to those fading beauties, whose roots being buried in disho- nour, rise again in glory." This usage has now be- come extremely rare in England; but it may still be met with in the churchyards of retired villages, among the Welsh mountains; and I recollect an instance of it at the small town of Ruthen, wliich lies at Ihe head of the beautiful vale of Glewyd. I have been told also by a friend, who was present at tlte funeral of a young girl in Glamorganshire, that the female attendants had their aprons full of flowers, which, as soon as the body was interred, tliey stuck about the grave. He noticed several graves which had been decorat- ed in the same manner. As the flowers had been merely stuck in the ground, and not planted, they had soon wilhered and might be seen in various states of decay; some drooping, others quite perished. They were afterwards to be supplanted by holly, rosemary, and other evergreens; which on some graves had grown to great luxuriance, and oversha- dowed tlie tombstones. There was formerly a melancholy fancifulness in the arrangement of tliese rustic offerings, that had something in it truly poetical. The rose was some- limes blended with the lily, to form a general emblem of frail mortality. ' * This sweet flower,' ' said Evel y ti , " borne on a branch set with thorns, and accompa- nied with the lily, are natural hieroglyphics of our fu- gitive, umbralile, anxious, and transitory life, which, making so fair a show for a time, is not yet without its thorns and crosses." The nature and colour of the flowers, and of the ribands with which they were lied, had ofleii u particular reference to the qualities or story of the deceased, or were expressive of the feelings of the mourner. In an old poem, entitled " Corydon's Doleful Knell," a lover specifies the dv ' corations he intends to use : A garland shall be framed By art and nature's skill. Of sundry-coloured flowers, In token of good-will. And sundry-colour'd ribands On it I will bestow ; But chiefly blacke and yellowe ' ~ With her to grave shall go. I'll deck her tomb with flowers. The rarest ever seen ; And with my tears as showers, I'll keep them tresh and green. The white rose, we are told, was planted at the I grave of a virgin; her chaplet was tieil with white] ribands, in token of her spotless innocence; though 1 sometimes black ribands were intermingled, to be-] speak the grief of the survivors. The red rose was oc- 1 casionally used in remembrance of such as had been I remarkable for benevolence; but roses in general I were appropriated to the graves of lovers. Evelyn tells I us that the custom was not altogether extinct in bis I time, near his dwelling in the country of Surrey,! '' where the maidens yearly planted and decked tlie I graves of their defunct sweethearts with rose-bushes." ( And Camden likewise remarks, in his Britannia ; " Here is also a certain custom, observed time outol] mind, of planting rose-trees upon the graves, especial- ly by the young men and maids who have lost llieirl loves; so that this churchyard is now full of them." I When the deceased had been unhappy in their I loves, emblems of a more gloomy character were I used, such as the yew and cypress, and irtlowenl were strewn, they were of the most melancholy co-l lours. Thus, in poems by Thomas Stanley, Esq, I (published in id'ai) is the following stanza : Yet sirew . Ui)on my dismal grave Sudi ufTerings as you have, ^ Forsaken cypresse and sad yewe; For kinder flowers con take no birth Or growth from such unhappy earth. In "The Maid's Tragedy," a pathetic little air is I introduced, illustrative of this mode of decuraliiin the funerals of females who had been disappointed la | love : Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismall yew, Maidens, willow branches wear, Say I died true. My love was false, but I was Ann, From my hour of birth i U|X)n my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth. The natural effect of sorrow over the dead is io I retinc and elevate the mind; and we have a proof o(| it in the purity of sentiment and the unafTected ele-l gance of thought which pervaded Ihe whole of these I funeral observances. Thus, it was an especial iw- 1 THE SKETCH BOOK. an) D, that none but sweet-scented evergreens and ; should be employed. The intention seems [haTe lieen to soften tlie horrors of the tomb, to ^ye tlie mind from brooding over the disgraces of 1)^ mortality, and to associate the memory of e deceased with the most delicate and beautiful ob- s in nature. Tliere is a dismal process going on [the grave, ere dust can return to i\s kindred dust, di tlie imagination shrinks from contemplating; Ine seek still to think of the form we have loved, those refined associations which it awakened KH blooming before us in youth and beauty. " Lay ri' the earth," says Laertes, of his virgin sister, And hrom her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring ! iBerrick, also, in his " Dirge of Jephtha," pours 1 a fragrant flow of poetical thought and image, I in a manner embalms the dead in the recol- I of the living. Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make litis place all Paradise : Hay sweets grow here ! and smoke from henco Fat frankincense. Let balme and cassia send their scent From out thy maiden monument. over the dead is lo I we have a proof of j the unaffected ele- 1 the whole of these I as an especial pre- 1 Hay nil shie maids at wonted hours Come forth to strew thy tombc with flowers! Uay virgins, when they come to mourn, Male incense burn Upon thine altar ! then return Aud leave thee sleeping in thine urn. Il might crowd my pages with extracts from the ler British poels, who wrote when these rites were ! prevalent, and delighted frequenlly to allude to i; but I have already quoted more than is neces- I cannot, however, refrain from giving a pas- > from Sliakspeare, even though it sliould appear |le; which illustrates the emblcinatical meaning len conveyed in these floral tributes ; and at the e time possesses that magic of language and appu- [eness of imagery for which he stands pre-eminent. With fairest flowers. Whilst summer last, and I live here, Fidelc, I'll sweeten thy sad grave ; thou shall not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale prinu-osu; nor The aziianl harebell, like thy veins; uo, nor The loaf of eglantine : whom not to slander, Uulswcclen'd uot thy breath. There is certainly something more affecting in these [luipt and spontaneous offerings of nature, than in I most costly monuments of art; the band strews I flower while the heart is warm, and the tear > on the grave as affection is binding the osier biid the sod; but pathos expires under the slow Ur of the chisel, and is chilled among the cold Dceils of sculptured marble. |t is greatly to be regretted, that a custom so truly gaiit and touching has disappeared from general k, and exists only in the most remote and insigni- m villages. But it seems as if poetical custom fays shuns the walks of cultivated society. In pro- portion as people grow polite, they cease to be poet- ical. Tbey talk of poetry, but they have learnt to check its free impulses, to distrust its sallying emo- tions, and to supply its most afiiecting and picturesque usages, by studied form and pompous ceremonial. Few pageants can be more stately and frigid than an English funeral in town. It is made up of show and gloomy parade; mourning carriages, mourning hor- ses, mourning plumes, and hireling mourners, who make a mockery of grief. " There is a grave di^ed," says Jeremy Taylor, " and a solenm mourning, and a great talk in the neighbourhood, and when the dales are finished, they shall be, and they shall be remembered no more." The associate in the gay and crowded city is soon forgotten; the hurrying suc- cession of new intimates and new pleasures effaces him from our minds, and the very scenes and circles in which he moved are incessantly fluctuating. But funerals in the country are solemnly impressive. The stroke of death makes a wider space in the village circle, and is an awful event in the tranquil uniform- ity of rural life. The passing bell tolls its knell in every ear; it steals with its pervading melancholy over hill and vale, and saddens all the landscape. The fixed and unchanging features of the country also perpetuate the memory of the friend with whom we once enjoyed them, who was the companion of our most retired walks, and gave animation to every lonely scene. His idea is associated with every charm of nature; we hear his voice in the echo which he once delighted to awaken; his spirit haunts the grove which he once frequented ; we think of him in the wild upland solitude, or amidst the pensive beauty of the valley. In the freshness of joyous morning, we remember his beaming smiles and bounduig gaiety; and when sober evening returns with its gathering shadows and subduing quiet, we call to mind many a twilight hour of gentle talk and sweel- suuled melancholy. Each lonely place shall him restore. For him the tear be duly shed ; Belov'd tilt life can charm uo more; And mourn'd till pity's self be dead. Another cause that perpetuates the memory of the deceased in tbe country is, that the grave is more im- mediately in sight of the survivoi's. They pass it on their way to prayer ; it meets their eyes when their hearts are soflened by the exercises of devotion ; they linger about it on the sabbath, when the mind is disengaged from worldly cares, and most disposed to turn aside from present pleasures and present loves, and to sit down among the solemn momentoes of tbe past. In North Wales the peasantry kneel and pray over tbe graves of their deceased friends for several Sundays after the interment; and where the tender rite of strewuig and planting flowers is still practised, it is always renewed on Easter, Whitsuntide, and other festivals, when the season brings the compa- nion of former festivity more vividly to mind. It is also invariably performed by the nearest relatives and •* |. *ro THE SkEXai BOOK. friends; no menials nor hirelings are employed; and if a neighbour yields assistance, it would be deemed an insult to offer compensation. I have dwelt upon this beautiful rural custom, be- cause, as it is one of the last, so it is one of the holiest ofRces of love. The grave is the ordeal of true affec- tion. It is there that the divine passion of (he soul manifests its superiority to the instinctive impulse of mere animal attachment. The latter must be conti- nually refreshed and kept alive by the presence of ils object, but the soul can live on long remembrance. The mere inclinations of sense languish and decline with the charms which excited them, and turn with shuddering disgust from the dismal precincts of (he tomb; but it is thence that truly spiritual affection rises, purified from every sensual desire, and returns, like a holy flame, to illumine and sanctify the heart of the survivor. The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal — every other affliction to ""orget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep ( "n — this affliction we cherish and brood over in litude, Where is the mother who would willingly foi. :x the infant that perished like a blossom from hei arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns ? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved ; when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal ; would accept of consolation that must be brought by forgetfulness ?— No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attri- butes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights ; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection ; when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over (he present ruins of all that we most loved, is softenal away into pensive meditation on ail that it was in the days of its loveliness— who would root out such a sorrow from the heart ? Though it may some- times throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry ? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from (he charms of (he living. Oh the grave! — the grave! — It buries every error — covers every defect — extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful Iwsom spring none but fond regrets and tender recoN leclions. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he sliould ever have warred with the poor handful of car(h (hat lies mouldering before him. But the grave of those wc loved — what a place for meditation ! There it is that we call up in long re- view (lie whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished apon us ain unheeded ui the daily intercourse of intimacy— thn it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, (he solen awful (enderness of (he partmg scene. The bed j death, with all its stifled griefs— its noiselessatlendai —its mute, watchful assiduities. The last testimoniJ of expiring love! The feeble, fluttering, thrillingJ oh ! how thrilling !— pressure of the hand. The !a| fond look ofthe glazing eye, turning upon userd from the threshold of existence I The faint, falteri accents, struggling m death to give one more i ranee of affection! Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and medilaij There settle (he account with thy conscience Fur ere past benefit unrequited — every past endearment t regarded, of that departed being, who can never-J never — never return to be soothed by thy conlriiioi If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrov j the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow ofanafrej tionate parent — if thou art a husband, and hast erJ caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole luJ piness in thy a.'ms to doubt one moment of thy kin ness or thy truth — if Uiou art a friend, and hastetj wronged in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit tl generously confided in (bee — if (hou art a lover, j hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true lie which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet;— th be sure (hat every unkind look, every ungracioi word, every ungentle action, will come throng back upon (hy memory, and knocking dolefully i thy soul— then be sure that thou wilt lie down s rowing and repentant on the grave, and utter llien heard groan, and pour (he unavailing tear; in deep, more hitter, because unheard and unavailingj Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew li beauties of nature about the grave; console tliy t ken spirit if thou canst, with these tender, yet rulij tributes of regret; but take warning by the biUen of this tiiy contrite aflliclion over the dead, and km forth be more faithful and affectionate in the i charge of thy duties to the living. In writing (he preceding article, it was not intei cd to give a full detail of the funeral cnsloins ofll English peasantry, but merely to furnish a few I and quotations illustrative of particular rites, to I appended, by way of note, to another paper, wbij lias been withheld. The article swelled insem into its present form, and this is mentioned a i apology for so brief and casual a notice of these iifi ges, after (hey have been amply and learnedly innj (igated in other works. I must observe, also, that I am well aware i this custom of adorning graves with flowers prevaj in other coun(ries besides England. Indceil, ins it is much more general, and is ol)sei*vcd even by ll rich and fashionable; but it is then apt to simplicity, and to degenerate into affectation. Briji in his travels in Lower Hungary, tells of monun of marble, and recesses formed for retirement, THE SKETCH BOOK. 271 led upon us ain e of inlimacy— ilx lerness, the solen scene. The bed i s noiseless aUenda The last testiir liUtering, thrilling.] tlieliand. Thelai rning upon usev(j Tlie faint, falteri give one more < love, and mediUM f conscience for eve past entlearinenti ig, who canneTer-j led hy thy conlrilioi ver added a sorrow I ercdbroworanalM shand, and hast erJ lured its whole lu|| moment of thy kin friend, and hast eif irdeed, the spirit ( thou art a lover, ; )ang to that true lie neath thy feet ;-tli )k, every ungraci will come thron^ij knocking dolefullir lu wilt lie down ■ave, and utter then inavailing tear; leard and unavailingj lowers, and strew I ave; console lliyl lese tender, yet full rning by the bluer T the dead, and hem ffeclionate in the icle, it wasnotinte uneral customs of to furnish a few larticular riles, to another paj)er, wiiii icle swelled inseii ■" s is mentioneil as a notice of these y and learnedly iii« am well aware with flowers previ and. Inded, in s observed even by s then apt lo lose ito affectation. Br^ yls placed among bowers of greenhouse plants ; and Ut the graves generally are covered with the gayest irers of the season. He gives a casual picture of ill piety, which I cannot but describe; for I trust [is as useful as it is delightful, to illustrate the )le virtues of the sex. " When I was at Berlin," I he, " I followed the celebrated Iffland to the lare. Mingled with some pomp, yon might trace di real feeling. In the midst of the ceremony, my otion was attracted hy a young woman, who I on a mound of earth, newly covered with turf, ihicli she anxiously protected from the feet of the glng crowd. It was the tomb of her parent; and eOgure of this affectionate daughter |)resenled a mo- nentmoreslrikingthan the most costly workof art." 1 1 will barely add an instance of sepulchral decora- 1 that I once met with among the mountains of ritzerland. It was at the village of Gersau, which on the borders of the Lake of Lucern, at the t of Mount Rigi. It was once the capital of a mi- Llnre republic, shut up between the Alps and the ike, and accessible on the land side only by foot- The whole force of the republic did not ex- Isix hundred fighting men; and a few miles of umference, scooped out as it were from the bosom llhe mountains, comprised its territory. Tlie village [Gersan seemed separated from the rest of the rid, and retained the golden simplicity of a purer II had a small church, with a burying ground [lining. At the heads of the graves were placed i of wood or iron. On some were affixed mi- Ures, rudely executed, but evidently attempts at lenesses of the deceased. On the crosses were ng chaplets of flowers, some withering, others b, as if occasionally renewed. I paused with in- stal this scene; I felt that I was at the source of jetical description, for these were the beautiful but lalTecled offerings of the heart which poets are fain Irecord. In a gayer and more populous place, I I have suspected them to have been suggested [factilious sentiment, derived from books; but the 1 people of Gersau knew little of books; there was t a novel nor a love poem in the village ; and I jestion whether any peasant of the place dreamt, pile he was twining a fresh chaplet for the grave of I mistress, that he was fulfllling one of the most Kiful riles of poetical devotion, and that he was icticaliy a poet. THE INN KITCHEN. Sliall I not take mine case in mine inn 7 VklSTKVV. iiiRiNG a journey that I once made through the Iberlands, I had arrived one evening at the Pomme >r, the principal inn of a small Flemish village, ry, tells of monum^as after the hour of the table d'hdte. so that I was d for reliremeulii^igedto make a solitary supper from the relics of its ampler board. The weatlier 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 evenmg, without any visible means of enlivening it. I sunmioned mine host, and requested something to read; he brouglit me the whole literary slock of his household, a Dutch family- bible, an almanac in the same language, and a num- ber 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 favourite 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 lire becomes agreeable toward evening. I threw aside the newspaper, and exploretl my way lo 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 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, dying duskily away into remote corners ; except where they settled in 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 neck- lace with a golden heart suspended to it, was the presiding 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 ad- ventures ; at the end of each of which there was one of those bursts of honest unceremonious laughter, in which a man indulges in that temple of true liberty, an inn. As I had no belter mode of getting through a te- dious blustering evening, I took my seat near the stove, and, listened to a variety of traveller's tales, some very extravagant, and most very dull. All of them, however, have faded from my treacherous me- mory, except one, which I will endeavour lo 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 traveller. He was dressed in a tarnished green travelling-jacket, with a broad belt round bis waist, and a pair of overalls^ with buttons from the hips to the ankles. li^^ < 11 272 THE SKETCH BOOK. irf He vras .of a Tall rubicund countenance, with a double chin, aquiline nose, and a pleasant twinkling eye. His hair was light, and curled from under an old green velvet travelling-cap stuck on one side of his head. He was interrupted more than once by the arrival of guests, or the remarks of his auditors; and paused now and then to replenish his pipe ; at which times he had generally a roguish leer, and a sly joke for the buxom kitchen maid. I wish my reader could imagine the old fellow lolN ing in a huge arm-chair, one arm akimbo, Ihe other holding a curiously twisted tobacco pipe, formed of genuine icume 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 BRmEGROOM. A TBAVELLEU'S TALEk ■ He that supper for is (light, He lyes full cold, I trow, this night ! Yestreen to chamber I him led, ; J This night Gray-steel has made his bed. Sir EGEB, sir GRAbAME, AND SIR GRAT-STRRL. ' On the summit of one of the heights of the Oden- wald, a wild and romantic tract of Upper Germany, that lies not far from the contluence of the Main and the Rhine, there stood, many, many years since, the Castle of the Baron Yon Landshort. It is now quite fallen to decay, 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 uijon the neighbouring country. The baron was a dry branch of the great family of Katzenellenbogen,' and inherited the reliques of the property, 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, ill general, had abandoned their inconvenient old castles, perched like eagles' nests among the moun- tains, and had built more convenient residences in the valleys : still the baron remained proudly drawn up in his little fortress, cherishing, with hereditary in- veteracy, all the old family feuds; so that he was on ill terms with some of his nearest neighbours, on ac- count of disputes that had happened between their great great grandfathers. • The erudite reader, well versed in good.ro^nothing lore, will perceive that tlie above Tale muiil have been suggested to the old Swiss by a little French anecdote, of a circumstance said lo have taken place at Paris. > i. e, Cat'S'Elbow. The name of a family of those parts very powerhil in former times. The appellation, we are told, was given in compliment to a peerless dame of the family, celebrated for a fine arm. The baron had but one child, a daughter; tntg ture, when she grants but one child, always i pensates by making it a prodigy ; and so it was \ the daughter of the baron. All the nurses, and country cousins, assured her father that ! not her equal for beauty in all Germany; and should know better than they ! She had, moreovj been brought up with great care under the supeti tendence of two maiden aunts, who had-s|)ents years of their early life at one of the little Gen courts, and were skilled in all the branches of kn ledge necessary to the education of a fine lady, il der their instructions she became a miracle ofao plishments. By the time she was eighteen, shec embroider to admiration, and had worked whole h tories of the saints in tapeslry, wilh such stren^hj expression in their countenances, that they looked li so many souls in purgatoiy. She could read mi great difficulty, and had spelled her way through J veral church legends, and almost all the chiral wonders of the Hehlenbuch. She had even i considerable proficiency in writing; could sign I own name without missing a letter, and so le| that her aunts could read it without spectacles. excelled in making little elegant good-for-noi lady-like nicknacks of all kinds ; was versed in I most abstruse dancing of the day; played a nni of airs on the harp and guitar; and knew all theli der ballads of tlie Minnielieders by heart. Her aunts, too, having been great tlirts and ( quettes in their younger days, were admirably c lated to be vigilant guardians and strict censors of II conduct of their niece; for (here is no duenna so i| gidly prudent, and inexorably decorous, as a sapi annuated coquette. She was rarely suffered oulj their sight; never went beyond the domains of ll castle, unless well attended, or rather well wait had continual lectures read to her about strict ( rum and implicit obedience; and, as to thei pah !*->she was taught to hol^ them at such dislan and in such absolute distrust, that, unless pn authorized, she would not have cast a glance i the handsomest cavalier in the world— no, not if| were even dying at her feet. The good effects of Ihis system were wonder! apparent. The young lady was a pattern of doi and correctness. While others were wasting t sweetness in the glare of the world, and liable lo| plucked and thrown aside by every hand ; she i coyly blooming into fresh and lovely womanhoodl der the protection of those immaculate spinsters,! a rose-bud blushing forth among guardian tb Her aunts looked upon her wilh pride and exuluiil and vaunted that though all the other young ladi(i| Ihe world might go astray, yet, thank heaven, i thing of the kind could happen to the heiress of K zcnellenbogen. But, however scantily the Baron Von Lan might be provided with children, his household i by no means a small one; for Providence ludl THE SKETCH BOOK. mn I him with abundance of poor relations. They, i and all, possessed the affectionate disposition on to humble relatives ; were wonderfully at- I to the baron, and took every possible occasion Icome in swarms and enliven the castle. All fa- iiy festivals were commemorated by these good {)leat the baron's expense; and when they were I with good cheer, they would declare that there i nothing on earth so delightful as these family tings, these jubilees of the heart. Ilbe baron, though a small man, had a large soul, lit swelled with satisfaction at the consciousness llieing the greatest man in the little world about He loved to tell long stories about the stark I warriors whose portraits looked grimly down the walls around, and he found no listeners 1 to those who fed at his expense. He was much I to the marvellous, and a firm believer in all i supernatural tales with which every mountain 1 valley in Germany abounds. The faith of his sis exceeded even his own : they listened to every t of wonder with open eyes and mouth, and never I to be astonished, even though repeated for the dredth time. Thus lived the Baron Yon Land- rt, the oracle of his table, the absolute monarch of ^little territory, and happy, above all things, in the gasion that he was the wisest man of the age. |At the time of which my story treats, there was a at family gathering at the castle, on an affair of e utmost importance : it was to receive the destined Idegroom of the baron's daughter. A negotiation 1 been carried on between the fatlier and an old Ueman of Bavaria, to unite the dignity of their i by the marriage of their children. The preli- airies had been conducted with proper punctilio, young people were betrothed without seeing 1 other; and the time was appointed for the mar- ge ceremony. The young Count Von Altenburg 1 been recalled from the army for the purpose, and 5 actually on his way to the baron's to receive his de. Missives had even been received from him, I Wurtzburg, where he was accidentally detain- |, mentioning the day and hour when he might be «led to arrive. Die castle was in a tumult of preparation to give |« a suitable welcome. The fair bride had been |cked out with uncommon care. The two aunts dsuperinlendedher toilet, and quarrelled the whole ►miiig about every article of her dress. The young p had taken advantage of their contest to follow (bent of her own taste; and fortunately it was a lone. She looked as lovely as youthful bride- could desire; and the flutter of expectation hiened the lustre of her charms. The suffusions that mantled her face and neck, the hile heaving of the bosom, the eye now and then Tin reverie, all betrayed the soft tumult that was [ on in her little heart. The aunts were conli- py iiovering around lier ; for maiden aunts are apt fake great interest in affairs of this nature. They were giving her a world of staid counsel how to de- port herself, what to say, and in what manner to re- ceive the expected lover. The baron was no less busied in preparations. He Iiad, in truth, nothing exactly to do : but he was na- turally a fuming bustling little man, and could not remain passive when all the world was in a huri^. He worried from top to bottom of the castle with an air of inHnite anxiety; he continually called the ser- vants 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 hunts- men; the kitchen was crowded with good cheer; the cellars had yielded up whole oceans of Rhein-wein and Feme-wein; and even the great Heidelburg tun had been laid under contribution. Every thing was ready to receive the distinguisbt J guest 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 had poured his downward rays upon the rich forest of the Odenwald, now just gleamed along the summits of the moun- tains. Tlie 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 beheld them; the sound of horns come 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 oft in a different direction. 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 in it, but now and then a peasant lagging homeward from his labour. While the old castle of Landshort was in this slate of perplexity, a very interesting scene was transact- ing in a different part of the Odenwald. The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly pursuing bis route in that sober jog-trot way, in which a man travels toward 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 jour- ney. He had encounteretl, at Wurtzburg, a youthful companion in arms, with whom he had seen some service on the frontiers ; Herman 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 feud rendered tlie families hostile and strangers to each other. In the warm-hearted moment of recognition, the young friends related all their past adventures and fortunes, and the count gave the whole history of his fir ik •XI 274 THE SKETCH BOOR. in intended- nuptials with a yonng lady whom he had never seen, but of whose cliamis he liad received the most enrapturing descriptions. As the route of the friends lay in the same direction, they agreed to perform the rest of their journey toge- ther; and, that they might do it the more leisurely, set off from Wurlzburg at an early hour, tlie count having given directions 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 reputed 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 lonely and thickly wooded passes. It is well known, that the forests of Germany have always been as much infested by robbers as its castles by spectres; and, at tlus time, the former were particularly numerous, from the hordes of disbanded soldiers wandering about the country. It will not appear extraordinary, therefore, that the cavaliers were attacked by a gang of these stragglers, in the midst of the forest. They defended themselves 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 received a mortal wound. He was slowly and carefully conveyed back to tlie city of Wurtzburg, and a friar summoned 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 repair instantly to the castle of Landshort, and ex- plain the fatal cause of his not keeping his appoint- ment with his bride. Though not the most ardent of lovers, he was one of the most punctilious of men, and appeared earnestly solicitous that his mission should be speedily and courteously executed. " Un- less 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 im- pressive, admitted no hesitation. Starkenfaust en- deavoured to soothe him to calmness; promised faith- fully to execute his wish, and gave him his hand in solemn pledge. The dying man pressed it in acknow- ledgment, but soon lapsed into delirium — raved about his bride— his engagementf — his plighted word; or- dered his horse, that he might ride to the castle of Landshort, and exp>-ed in ti\e fancied act of vaulting into the saddle. Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a soldier's tear on the untimely fate of his comrade; and then pon- dered 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 Ealal to their hopes. Still there were certain whis- perings of curiosity in his bosom to see this for-l beauty of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut i from the world; for he was a passionate admirer] the sex, and there was a dash of eccentricity am! ( terprize in his character that made him fond of ) singular adventure. Previous to his departure, he made allduearrai ments with the lioly fraternity of the convent ^ the funeral solemnities of his friend, wlw was tod buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg, near souk] his illustrious relatives; and the mourning retinue] the count took citarge of his remains. It is now high time that we should return tot ancient family of Katzenellenbogen, who were in tient for their guest, and still more for their dinni and to the worthy little baron, whom we left ; himself on the watclHower. Night closed in, but still no guest arrived, baron descended from the tower in despair. Tl| banquet, which had been delayed from hourtohn could no longer be {wsiponed. The meats werei ready overdone; the cook in an agony; and the wh household Itad the look of a garrison that had reiluced by famine. The baron was obliged relw antly to give orders for the feast without the pi-e of the guest. All were seated at table, and just t the point of commencing, when the sound of a I from without the gale gave notice of the approach | a stranger. Anotlter long blast filled the old ( of the castle with its echoes, and was answered I the warder from the walls, llie baron hastened j receive his future son-in-law. The drawbridge had been let down, and thes ger was before the gate. He was a tall gallant c valier, mounted on a black steed. His counten was pale, but he had a beaming, romantic eye, { an air of stately melancholy. The baron vai| little mortified titat he should come in this simple,) litary style. His dignity for a moment was rut and he felt disposed to consider it a want of [ respect for the important occasion, and the import family with which lie was to be connected. Hep cified himself, however, with the conclusion, tbtll must have been youthful impatience which had i| duced him thus to spur on sooner tlian his altem " I am sorry," said the stranger, " to break in upi you thus unseasonably " Here the baron interrupted liim with a world j compliments and greetings; for, to tell the trulli,l prided himself upon his courtesy and his eloquei The stranger attempted, once or twice, to stemll torrent of words, but in vain; so he bowed his 1 and suffered it to flow on. By the time the I had come to a pause, they had readied the innerc of the castle; and the stranger was again iitxHitj speak, when he was once more interrupted by t appearance of the female part of the family, leadid forth the shrinking and blushing bride. He gazed| her for a moment as one entranced ; it seeined it| his whole soul beamed forth in the gaze, and i THE SKETCH BOOK. i» (bat lovely Ibmi. One of the maiden aunts ered something in her ear; she made an effort Lipeik; her moist bhie eye was timidly raised; ea shy glance of inquiry on the stranger ; and was tigain to the ground. The words died away ; but e was a sweet smile playing about her lips, and a I dimpling or the cheek, that showed her glance Inot been unsatisfactory. It was impossible for a I of the fond age of eighteen, higlily predisposed r love and matrimony, not to be pleased with so gal- t a cavalier. I The late hour at which the guest had arrived left ^liine foriurley. The baron was peremptory, and I all particular conversation until the morning, I led the way to the unlasled banquet. In vas served up in the great hall of the castle, and the walls hung the hard-favoured (wrlraits of eheroesofllie house of Katzenellenliogen, and the hies which they had gained in the field and in the Hacked corslets, splintered jousting spears, j Uttered banners were mingled with the spoils of iTin warfare; the jaws of the wolf, and the tusks of tboar, grinned horribly among cross-bows and ^lie-axes, and a huge pair of antlers branched im- ately over the head of the youthful bridegroom. iThe cavalier took but little notice of the company jihe entertainment. He scarcely tasted the ban- it, but seemed absorbed in admiration of his bride. Itconversed in a low tone that could not be overheard r the language of love is never loud ; but where lie female ear so dull (hat it cannot catch the softest |iisper of ihe lover ? There was a mingled tender- sand gravity in liis manner, that appeared to have lowerful effect upon the young lady. Her colour I and went as she listened with deep attention. |)w and (hen she made some blushing reply, and len his eye was turned away, she would steal a side- : glance at his romantic countenance, and heave lenllo siyli of tender happiness. It was evident It ilie young couple were completely enamoured. J aunts, who were deeply versed in the mysteries I the heart, declared that they had fallen in love ) each other at first sight. The feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, for the sis were all blessed with those keen appetites that I upon light purses and mountain air. The ba- 1 told his best and longest stories, and never had he I them so well, or with such great effect. If there s any thing marvellous, his auditors were lost in lonishment; and if any thing facetious, they were ! to laugh exactly in the right place. The I)aron, I true, like most great men, was too dignilietl to ler any joke but a dull one ; it was always enforced, TCver, by a bumper of excellent Hockheimer ; and I a dull joke, at one's own table, served up with fj old wine, is irresistible. Many good things were I by poorer and keener wits, that would not bear leating, except on similar occasions; many sly ^les whispered in ladies' ears, that almost con- 1 them with suppressed laughter ; and a song or two roared out by a poor, bot merry and broad-bced cousin of the baron, that absolutely made Uie maiden aunts hold up their fans. Amidst all this revelry, the stranger guest mafai- tained a most singular and unseasonable gravity. His countenance assumed a deeper cast of dejection as th« evening advanced; and, strange as it may appear, even the baron's jokes seemed only to render him the more melancholy. At times he was lost in thought, and at times there was a perturbed and restless wan- dering of the eye that bespoke a mind but ill at ease. His conversations with the bride became more and more earnest and mysterious. Louring clouds began to steal over the fair serenity of her brow, and tre- mors to run througli her tender frame. 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; whis- pers 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 succeeded by wild tales and supernatural le- gends. One dismal story pruthiced another still more dismal, and the baron nearly frightened some of the ladies into hysterics with the history of the goblin horseman that carried away the fair Leonora ; a dread- ful but tnie story, which has since been put into excellent verse, and is read and believed by all the world. The bridegroom listened to this tale with profound attention. He kept his eye steadily fixed on the ba- ron, and, as the story drew to a close, began gra- dually to rise from his seat, growing taller and taller, until, in the baron's entranced eye, he seemed almost to tower into a giant. The moment the tale was fi- nished, he heaved a deep sigh, and took a solemn farewell of the company. They were all amazements The baron was perfectly thunderstruck. " What ! going to leave the castle at midnight? why^ every thing was prepared for his reception; a cham- ber was ready for him if he wished to retire." The stranger shook his head mournfully and mys- teriously ; " I must lay my head in a different cham- l)er to-night!" There was something in this reply, and the tone in which it was uttered, that made the baron's heart misgive him ; but he rallied his forces, and repeated his hospitable entreaties. The stranger shook his head silently, but positively^ at every offer; and, waving his farewell to (he com- pany, stalked slowly out of the hall. The maiden aunts were absolutely petrified— the bride htmg her head, and a (ear stole (o her eye. The baron followed the stranger to Ihe great court of the castle, where (he 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 In^ ! 276 THE SKETai BOOK. W :l'> f which the vaulted roof rendered still more sepulcliral. " Now that we are alone," said he, " I will impart to you the reason of my going. I have a solemn, an indispensable engagement-<-" " Why," said the baron, " cannot you send some one in your place ? " " It admits of no 8ubslitute->-I must attend it in person — I must away to Wurtzburs cathedral—" " Ay," said the baron, plucking up spirit, " but not until to-morrow — to-morrow you shall take your bride there." "No, no!" replied the stranger, with tenfold so- lemnity, " my engagement is with no bride— the worms > the worms expect me ! I am a dead man — I have been slain by robbers— my body lies at Wurtz- burg — at midnight 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 drawbridge, and the clattering of his horse's hoofs was lost in the whistling of the niglit blast. The baron returned to the hall in the utmost con- sternation, and relate<1 what had passed. Two ladies fainted outright, others sickened at the idea of having banqueted with a spectre. It was the opinion of some, thit lliis might be the wild huntsman, famous in Ger!na\i legend. Some talked of mountain sprites, uf wood (Ismons, and of other supernatural beings, with which the good people of Germany have been M) grievously harassed 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 caprice seemed to ac- coi-d w^ith so melancholy a personage. This, how- ever, drew on him the indignation of the whole com- pany, and especially of the baron, who looked upon him as little better than an infldel; so 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 entertain'>- cd, they were completely put to an end by the arrival, next day, of regular missives, confirming the intelli- gence of the young count's murder, and his interment in Wurtzburg cathedral. The dismay at the castle may be well imagined. Thebaronshut himself upinhischamber. The guests, who liad 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 bride was the most pitiable. To have lost a husband before she had even embrac- ed him-^ and such a husband ! If the very spectre could be so gracious and noble, what must have been the living man? She iilied the house with lamenta- tions. On the night of the second day of her widowhood she had retired to her cliamber, accompanied by one of her aunts, who insisted on sleeping with her. 'ftf aunt, who was one of the best tellers of ghost st( in all Germany, had just been recounting oneofhJ longest, and had fallen asleep in the very midst of j The chamber was remote, and overlooked a sn garden. The niece lay pensively gazing at the beaJ of the rising moon, as they trembled on the leaves j an aspen tree before the lattice. The castle cIm had just tolled midnight, when a soft strain of nut stole up from the garden. She rose hastily from hJ bed, and stepped lightly to the window. A tail figul stood among the shadows of the trees. As it rais its head, a beam of moonlight fell upon the conntj nance. Heaven and earth ! she beheld the Sped Bridegroom ! A loud shriek at that moment boi upon her ear, and her aunt, who had been awaken by the music, and had followed her silently tot window, fell into her arms. When she looked a^ the spectre had disappeared. Of the two females, the aunt now required [\ most soothing, for she was perfectly beside lien with terror. As to the young lady, there was som thing, even in the spectre of her lover, that seem endearing. There was still the semblance of nunl beauty ; and thougli the shadow of a man is but liiq calculated to satisfy the affections of a love-sick { yet, where the substance is nottobehad,evenlhat| consoling. The aunt declared she would neverslei in that chaml)er again ; the niece, for once, was i fraetory, and declared as strongly that she wonldslei in no other in the castle : the consequence was, I she had (o sleep in it alone : but she drew a pron from her aunt not to relate the story of the sp lest she should be denied the only melandioly sure left her on earth — that of inhabiting the eliambi over which the guardian shade of her lover kept il nightly vigils. How long the good old lady would have obsenJ this promise is uncertain, for she dearly loved toul of the marvellous, and there is a triumph in beingtif lirst to tell a frightful story ; it is, however, still qm ed in the neighbourhood, as a memorable instancej female secrecy, that she kept it to herself for a «b week, when she was suddenly absolved fromi further restraint, by intelligence brought to Ihebrf fast table one morning that the young lady was notf be found. Her room was empty— the bed had i been slept in — the window was open, and the t had flown! The astonishment and concern with which the n telligence was received, can only be imagined bytb who have witnessed the agitation which the mislu{ of a great man cause among his friends. Even t poor relations paused for a moment from the indef tigable labonrs of the trencher, when the aunt,vi| had at first l>een struck speechless, wrung her ban and shrieked out, "The goblin! the goblin! carried away by the goblin! " In a few words she related the fearful scene of il garden, and concluded that the spectre must G«rinany, as m THE SKETCH BOOK. 277 (irried ofTbis bride. Two of the domestics corrobo- itted the opinion, for they had heard the clattering «( a horse's lioob down the mountain about mid- night, and liad no doubt that it was the spectre on tis black charger, bearing her away to tlie tomb. All present were struck with the direful probability ; Ibr events of Ihe kind are extremely common in Germany, as many well authenticated histories bear I fitness. What a lamentable situation was that of the poor I iMion ! What a heart-rending dilemma fur a fond bther, and a member of the great family of Katzenel- lenlx^en ! His only daughter had either been rapt away to the grave, or he was to have some woodnle- non for a sun-in-law, and, perchance, a troop of gob- lin grand-children. As usual, he was completely iiewildered, and all the castle in an uproar. The Lenwere ordered to lake horse, and scour every road and path and glen of the Odenwald. The l)a- ron himself had just drawn on his jack-lraots, girded I on his sword, andwasalmut to mount his steed to tally forth on the doubtful quest, when he was brought lloa |)ause by a new apparition. A lady w<is seen ap- proaching the castle, mounted on a palfrey, attended by a cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to the gale, sprang from her horse, and falling at the baron's feet, embraced his knees. It was bis lost daughter, and her companion — the Spectre Ikidegroom ! The baron was astounded. He looked at his daughter, I then at the spectre, and almost doubted tite evidence I of his senses. The latter, too, was wonderfully im- pved in his appearance, since his visit to the world irits. His dress was splendid, and set off a noble jligiire of manly symmetry. He was no longer pale land melancholy. His fine countenance was Hushed I with the glow of youth, and joy rioted in his large I dark eye. The mystery was soon cleared up. The cavalier I (for, in truth, as you must have known all the while, I lie was no goblin) announced himself as Sir Herman jVon Staikenfaust. He relatetl his adventure with llhe young count. He told how he had hastened to Ithecaslleto deliver the unwelcome tidings, but that llhe eloquence of the baron had interrupted him in lerery attempt to tell his tale. How the sight of the Ihride had completely captivated him, and that to pass la few hours near her, he had tacitly suffered the linislake to continue. How he had been sorely pcr- Iplexed in what way to make a decent retreat, until ■the baron's golilin stories had suggested his eccentric ■exit. How, fearing the feudal hostility of the family, Ihe had repeated his visits by stealth — had haunted |lhe garden beneath the young lady's window — had irooed— l»ad won — had borne away in triumph — nd, in a word, had wedded the fair. Under any other circumstances the baron would bave been inflexible, for he was tenacious of paternal pnliiority, and devoutly obstinate in all family feuds; jinlhe loved his daughter; he had lamented her as St; he rejoiced to And her still alive; and, titough 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 veracity, in the joke the knight bad passed upon him of his being a dead man ; but several old (Viends present, who had served in the wars, assured him that every stratagem wasexcusable in love, and that the cavalier was entitled to especial privilege, having lately serve<l 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 rela- tions 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 particularly mortified at having her marvellous story marred, and that the only spectre she had ever seen should turn out a counterfeit ; but the njece seemed perfectly happy at having found him sulwlanlial flesh and blood— and so the story ends. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Wlien I l)Cliold, Willi deep aetoiiislinieut, y.. To famous Westminster liow tliere resurta . Living in hrasse or stoney monnmcnt, Tlie princes and the worlliics uf all sorle ; "' ' Doe not I see rcformde nobilltie, Without coniempt, or pride, or ostentatious And loolic upon ofrenselcsse miycsty, Naked of pomp or earthly domination ? And how a play-game of a painted stone Contents Ihe quiet now and silent sprites, Wliutuc all the world which late Ihcy stood upou Could not content nor quench their a[)petitC8. Life is a frost of cold felicltie. And death the Ihaw of all our vanilie. CUBISTOLERO'S EPIGRAMS, B\ T. B. ISM. Ox one of those sober and rather melancholy days, in the latter part of autumn, when the shadows of morning and evening almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the decline of the year, I passed several hours in rambling about Westminster Abbey. There was something congenial to the season in the mournful magnilicenee of the old pile ; and, as I pass- ed its threshold, seemed like stepping back into the regions of antiquity, and losing myself among the shades of former ages. I entered from the inner court of Westminster School, through a long, low, vaulted passage, that bad an almost subterranean look, being dimly lighted in one part by circular perforations in the massive walls. Through this dark avenue I bad a distant view of the cloisters, with the figure of an old verger, in his black gown, moving along their shadowy vaults, 378 TIIE SKETCH BOOK. and seeming like a (pectre from one of the neigh- bouring tombR. Tlie approach to (he abbey tlirwigli these gloomy monastic remains {irepareH tlie mind for its solemn contemplation. Tlie cloisters still retain ■ometliing of the quiet and seclusion of former days. The grey walls are discoloured by damps, and crum- bling with age; a coat of hoary moss has gathered over the inscriptions of the mural monuments, and oli- scured the death's iieads, and other funereal emblems. The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the rich tracery of the arches ; the roses which adorned the key stones have lost their leafy beauty ; every thing bears marks of the gradual dilapidations of lime, which yet has something touching and pleasing in its very decay. The sun wa.s pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the square of the cloisters ; beaming upon a scanty plot of grass in the centre, anil lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage with a kind of dusty splendour. From between the arcades the eye glance<l up to a bit of blue sky or a passing cloud ; and beheld the sun- gilt pinnacles of (he abbey towering into the azure heaven. As I paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplat- ing this mingleil picture of glory and decay, and some- times endeavouring to decipher the inscriptions on the tombstones, which formed (he pavement beneath my feet, my eye was attracted to three figures, rudely carved in relief, but nearly worn away by the foot- steps of many generations. They were the effigies of three of the early ablwts; the epitaphs were entirely effaced ; the names alone remained, having no doubt been renewed in later times. (Vitalis. Abbas. 1082, and Gislebertus Crispinus. Abbas. 1114, and Lauren- tius. Abbas. 1176.) I remained some little while, mus- ing over these casual relics of antiquity, thus left like wrecks upon this distant shore of time, telling no tale but that such beings had been and had [terished ; teaching no moral but the futility of that pride which hopes still to exact homage in its ashes, and to live in an inscription. A little longer, and even these faint records will be obliterated, and the monument will cease to be a memorial. Whilst I was yet looking down upon these gn estones, I was roused by the sound of the abbey clock, reverl)erating from buttress to buttress, and echoing among the cloisters. It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed time sounding among the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave. I pursued my walk to an arched door opening to the interior of the abl)ey. On enter- ing here, the magnitude of the building breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with the vaults of the clois- ters. The eye gazes with wonder at clustered columns of gigantic dimensions, with arches springing from them to such an amazing height ; and man wandering aliout their iMses, shrunk into insignificance in com- parison with his own handiwork. The spaciousness and gloom of Ibis vast edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe. We step cautiously and softly about, as if fearful of disturbing the hallowed silence of (h| tombs ; while every foot-fall whispers along the walli, and chatters among the sepulchres, making us mon I sensible of the quiet we have interrupted. It seems as if the awful nature of the place pmm I down upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into noiseless reverence. We feel that we are surrounded I by the congregated bones of the great men of pjist I times, who have filled history with their deeds, indl the earth with their renown. And yet it almost provokes a smile at the vani(T| of human ambition, to see how they are crow<ifd| together and iiislled in the dust; what parsimony ii| observed in doling out a scanty nook, a gloomy cw. I ner, a little portion of earth, to those, whom, wheal alive, kingdoms could not satisfy ; and how manr I shapes, and forms, and artifices, are devised to caicfa | the casual notice of the passenger, and save from fur- getfulness, for a few short years, a name which once I aspired to occupy ages of the world's thought and ad- 1 miration. I passed some time in Poet's Corner, wliich oc- 1 cupies an end of one of the transepts or cross aiglei I of the abbey. The monuments are generally simple; I for the lives of literary men afford no striking themetl for the sculptor. Shakspeare and Addison haveslatuet I erected to their memories; but the greater part hate I busts, medallions, and sometimes mere inscriptions. I Notwithstanding the simplicity of these memorials, 1 1 have always observed (hat the visitors to the altbeyl remain longest about them. A kinder and fonder I feeling takes place of that cold curiosity or vague ad- 1 miration with which they gaze on the splendid mo- 1 numents of the great and the heroic. They linger I about these as about the tombs of friends ami com- 1 panions; for indeed there is something of companion- 1 ship between the author and the reader. Other nieo I are known to posterity only through the mediumofl history, which is continually growing faint andob-f score : but the intercourse between the antlior and! his fellow-men is ever new, active, and immediate.! He has lived for them more than for himseir; he I has sacrificed surrounding enjoyments, and shut liiio-l self up from the delights of social life, thathemighll the more intimately commune with distant mindil and distant ages. Well may the world cherish !iii| renown ; for it has been purchased, not by deeds of I violence and blood, but by the diligent dispensation I of pleasure. Well may posterity be grateful to hkl memory; for he has left it an inheritance, not oil empty names and sounding actions, but whole trea-l surcs of wisdom, bright gems of thought, and goldeii| veins of language. From Poet's Corner I continued my stroll towaril that part of the abbey which contains the sepulciintl of the kings. I wandered among what once verel chapels, but which are now occupied by the tonilii| and monuments of the great. At every turn I metl with some illustrious name ; or the cognizance orsoml powerful house renowned in history. As the cyel HIE SKETCH BOOK. S7f> mile at the vankjl lliey are crowiledl what parsimony ii I nok, a gloomy cw- 1 lose, wtioin, when I ' ; ami how many I ire devised to caicfa , and save from Tor- 1 a name wtiich once I d's thought and ad- 1 Corner, wliicli oc- epis or cross aislet re generally simple; 1 no striking Uiemet UdisonhavestaliKi le greater part have s mere inscriptions. f these memorials, I isitors to the altbey kinder and fondet iriosity or vague ad- in the splendid mo- eroic. They linger of friends and com- ithing of companion- reader. Othermeo oiigh the medium of >wing faint and ob- een the anlhor and tve, and immediate, an for himself; be iients, and shut hiiD- il life, that lie might with distant mindi world cherish bb ed, not by deeds of diligent dispensation be grateful to hit inheritance, notofi ns, but whole Irea- thought, and goWeu ed my stroll towaiil ntains the sepuldiwl ing what once wetel !upied by the lominl At every turn I metl le cognizance of sowl listory. As the c)«| jtftt into these dusky chambers of death, it catches | ilimpses of quaint efiigies ; some kneeling in niches, g if in devotion ; others stretched upon the tombs, tilh hands piously pressed together; warriors in ar- iHur, as if reposing after battle ; prelates with cro- Btnand mitres; and nobles in nibes and coronets, ifing as it were in state. In glancing over this scene, i) strangely populous, yet where every form is so itill and silent, it seems almost as if we were treading I mansion of that fabled city, where every being had Iten suddenly transmuted into stone. I paused to contemplate a tomb on which lay the (ffigy of a knight in complete armour. A large tackier was on one arm ; the hands were pressed to- gether in supplication upon the breast ; the face was ilmost covered by the morion ; the legs were crossed, in token of the warrior's having been engaged in the My war. It was the tomb of a crusader ; of one of those military enthusiasts, who so strangely mingled ftligion and romance, and whoscexploits form thecuii- iMdiiig link between fact and fiction ; between the his- tory and the fiiiry tale. There is something extremely picturesque in the tombs of these adventurers, deco- rated as they are with rude armorial bearings and Iplhic sculpture. They comport with the antiquated lapels in which they are generally found ; and in lidering them, the imagination is apt to kindle ith the legendary associations, the romantic fiction, chivalrous pomp and pageantry, which poetry spread over the wars for the sepulchre of Christ. ty are the relics of times utterly gone by ; of beings from recollection; of customs and manners ith which ours have no afiinity. They are like ob- its from some strange and distant land, of which ehave no certain knowledge, and about which all ir conceptions are vague and visionary. There is iielhing extremely solemn and awful in those ef- igies on golhic tombs, extended as if in the sleep of alh, or in the supplication of the dying hour. They ive an effect infinitely more impressive on my feel- Ihan the fanciful attitudes, the over-wrought con- its, and allegorical groups, which abound on mo- il monuments. I have been struck, also, with the iperiority of many of the old sepulchral inscriptions, lere was a noble way, in former times, of saying lingssimply, and yet saying them proudly ; and I do know an epitaph that breathes a loftier conscious- of family worth and honourable lineage, than e which affirms, of a noble house, that "all the ithers were brave, and all the sisters virtuous." In the opposite transept to Poet's Corner stands I monument which is among the most renowned hievements of modern art; but which to me appears jorrible rather than sublime. It is the tomb of Mrs |ighlingale, by Roubillac. The iMttoin of the monu- lent is represented as throwing open its marble doors, i a sheeted skeleton is starling forth. The shroud is iHing from his fleshless frame as he launches his dart 1 his victim. She is sinking into her affrighted hus- N's arms, who strives, with vain and frantic effort, to avert the blow. The whole is executed with ter- rible truth and spirit; we almost fancy we hear the gibbering yell of triumph bursting from the distended jaws of the spectre.— but why should we thus seek to clothe death wiMi cnnecessary terrors, and to spread horrors round the tomb of those we love ? The grave should be surrounded by every thing that might in- spire tenderness and veneration for the dead; or that might win the living to virtue. It is the place, not of disgust and dismay, but of sorrow and meditation. While wandering about these gloomy vaults and silent aisles, studying the records of the dead, the sound of busy existence from without occasionally reaches the ear ;— the rumbling of the passing equip- age; the murmur of the multitude; or perhaps the light laugh of pleasure. The contrast is striking with the death-like repose around : and it has a strange effect u|Kin the feelings, thus to hear the surges of active life hurrying along, and beating against the very walls of the sepulchre. I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, and from chapel to chapel. The day was gradually wearing away ; the distant tread of loiterers about the abbey grew less and less frequent; the sweet- tongned bell was summoning to evening prayers; and I saw at a distance the choristers, in their white sur- plices, crossing the aisle a.id entering the choir. I stood before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's cha- pel. A flight of steps lead up to it, through a deep and gloomy, but magnificent arch. Great gales of brass, richly and delicately wrought, turn heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluctant to admit the feet of common mortals into this most gorgeous of sepulchres. On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of architecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The very walls are wrought into universal ornament, encrusted with tracery, and scooped into niches, crowded with the statues of saints and mar- tyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning labour of the chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and density, suspended aloft, as if by magic, and the fretted roof achieved with the wonderful minuteness and airy se- curity of a cobweb. Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the grotesque decorations of golhic architecture. On the pinnacles of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of the knights, with theirscarfs and swords; and above them are suspended their banners, em- blazoned with armorial bearings, and contrasting the splendour of gold and purple and crimson, with the cold grey fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this grand mausoleum stands the sepulchre of its founder, — his effigy, with that of his queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole surrounded by a su- perbly-wrought brazen railing. There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence; this strange mixture of tombs and trophies; these emblems of living and aspiring ambition, close beside mementos S[80 THE SKETCH BOOK. which show the dust and oblivion in which all must sooner or later terminate. Nothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness, than to tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng and pageant. On looking round on the vacant stalls of the knighls and their esquir°s, and on the rows of dusty hut gorgeous banners that were once borne be- fore them, my iinaginalion conjured up the scene when this hall was bright with the valour and beauty of the laud; glittering with the splendour of jewelled rank and military array; alive with (he tread of many feel and the hum of an admiring mnllilude. All had passed away; the silence of death had settled again upon the place, interrupted only by the casual chirping of birds, which liad found their way into the chapel, and built their nests among its friezes and pendants— sure signs of solitariness and desertion. When I read (he names inscribed on the banners, they were those of men scattered far and w:de about the world ; some tossing upon distant seas ; some un- der arms in distant lands; some mingling in (he busy intrigues of courLs and cabinets; all seeking to deserve one more disdnclion in this mansion of shadowy ho- nours : the melancholy reward of a monument. Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching instance of (he equality of the grave; which brings down the oppressor to a level with the oppress- ed, and mingles the dust of (he biderest enemies to- gether. In one is the sepulchre of the haughty Elisa- beth ; in the other is that of her victim, (he lovely and unfortunate Mary. Not an hour in (he day but some ejaculation of pi(y is uttered over the fate of (he latter, mingled with indignalion at her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre continually echo with the sighs of sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival. A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows darkened by dust. The greater pari of (he place is in deep shadow, and the walls are stained and tinled by time and weather. A marble figure of Maiy is stretched upon (he (ond), round which is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem — the thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat down to rest myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the chequered and disastrous story of poor Mary. The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey. I could only hear, now and then, the distant voice of the priest repeating (he evening service, and the faint responses of the choir : these paused for a time, and all was hushed. The stillness, the deser- tion and obscurily that were gradually prevailing around, gave a deeper and more solemn interest to the place : For In the silent grave no convcrsntiofi, No joyful tread of rrlrnds, no voicr of lovrnt. No careful faUier'R couukI— nothing's heard, For nothing is, but all oblivion, Dust, and an cndlrsa darkne**. Suddenly the notes of the deep-labouring orsani burst upon the ear, falling with doubled and redou- bled intensity, and rolling, as it were, huge billows i of sound. How well do their volume and grandeur I accord with this mighty building! With what pompl do they swell through its vast vaults, and breathe i their awful harmony through these caves of death and make the silent sepulchre vocal ! — And now theyl rise in triumphant acclamation, heaving higher andl higher their accordant notes, and piling sound on I soiuid. — And now I'ley pause, and the soft voicesofl the choir break '-lit into sweet gushes of melody •[ they soar aloft, aiu^ warble along Ihe roof, and seem I (0 play about these lofty vaults like the pure airs ofl heaven. Again the pealing organ heaves its tlirillinsi thunders, compressing air into nmsic, and roiling it f forth upon the soul. What long-drawn cadences!! ^Vhat solemn sweeping concords! It grows morel and more dense and powerful— it fills (he vast [ and seems to jar the very walls— the ear is stunnetll — the senses are overwhelmed. And now it is wlnd-l ing up in full jubilee— it is rising from Ihe earlli io| heaven— the very soul seems rapt away and floated | upwards on this swelling tide of harmony ! I sat for some time lost in that kind of reveriel which a strain of music is apt sometimes to inspire:! the shadows of evening were gradually tluckeningl round me; the monuments began to cast deeper andl deeper gloom; and the distant clock again gavetoken| of the slowly waning day. I rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As I des-l cended Ihe flight of steps which lead into the body off the building, my eye was caught by the shrine ofl Edward the Confessor, and I ascended Ihe simllf staircase that conducts to it, to take from thence al general survey of this wilderness of tombs. Tliesiirinel is elevated upon a kind of platform, and close aroundl it are the sepulchres of various kings and queens.1 From this eminence the eye looks down between pil-f lars and funeral trophies to the chapels andcliamkts| below, crowded with tombs ; where warriors, pre-l lates, courtiers, and statesmen lie mouldering inl their " beds of darkness." Close by me stood lliq great chair of coronation, rudely carved of oak, intlie barbarous taste of a remote and gothic age. Tlie scene seemed almost as if contrived, with tlieatrici artiiice, to produce an effect upon (he beliolder,| Here was a type of the beginning and the end of ba man pomp and power; here it was literally but aslq from the throne to the sepulchre. Would not oiie| think that these incongruous mementos had beei gathered together as a lesson to living greatness?- to show it, even in the moment of its proudest exaim-l tion, the neglect and dishonour to which it inustsoonr arrive; how soon that crown which encircles ils| brow must pass away, and it must lie down in i dust and disgraces of the (omb, and be trampled up by the feet of the meanest of the multitude. i'«\ strange to tell, even the grave is here no longer i sanctuary. There is a shocking levity in some na-j THE SKETCH BOOK. ;)-lal)Ouring organ] ubied and redoii- ere, huge billows I lime and grandeur I With what pomp I mils, and breathe I se caves of death,! il!— And now they I leaving liiglteraiull d piling sound on I il the soft voices of I [pushes of melody;! llie roof, and seeml :e the [lure airs ofj I lieaves its tiirillingS iisic, and rolling it [ ;-drawn cadences! s! It grows morel t fills the vast pile,[ ■the ear is stunned I \nd now il is wind-! ; from the earth tol t avs'ay and floated | iiarmony ! hat kind of reveriel imelimes to inspire:! ;radually thickeningl II to cast deeper andl i)ck again gave token [ 18 abbey. As I des- lead into the body ol hi by the shrine of| ascended the small lake from thence a of tombs. Tbe shrine m, and close aiound| kings and queens. isdown between pil- lapels and cliainbenj lere warriors, p lie mouldering iaj Me by me stood ( carved of oak, iutl id gothic age. Tli ived, withtlieatrii upon the beholder, g and the end of hi ras literally but a si re. Would not om mementos had bei living greatness? of its proudest exalt^| lowhichitmnslsi which encircles it lusl He down in and be trampled u| Ihe multitude. For is here no longer I levity in some «■ ;, which leads Ihem to sport with awful and hal- iwed things; and there are base minds, which de- it to revenge on the illustrious dead the abject lage and groveling servility which they pay to the ing. The cofiin of Edward the Confessor has been ilicn open, and his remains despoiled of their fune- ornainents; the sceptre has been stolen from the nd uf the imperious Elizabclli, and the effigy of lenry the Fifth lies headless. Not a royal monument It hears some proof how false and ''ugitive is the ho- {niage of mankind. Some are plmulered ; some muli- some covered with ribaldry and insult — all ire or less outraged and dishonoured ! The last beams of day were now faintly streaming lugh the painted windows in the high vaultii above ; the lower parts of the abbey were already wrap- in the obscurity of twilight. The chapels and aisles Iff darker and darker. The effigies of the kings led into shadows; the marble figures of the inonu- inls assumed strange shapes in the uncertain light; evening breeze crept through the aisles like tbe Id breath of the grave; and even the distant foot-fall ^'a verger, traversing Ihe Poet's Corner, bad some- liiig strange and dreary in its sound. I slowly re- niy morning's walk, and as I passed out at portal of the cloisters, the door, closing with a ng noise behind mc, filled the whole building ilh echoes. I endeavoured to form some arrangement in my lind of the objects I had been contemplating, but nd they were already fallen into indistinctness and fusion. Names, inscriptions, trophies, had all be- ne confounded in my recollection, though I had arcely taken my foot from off the threshold. What, lought I, is this vast assemblage of sepulchres but a leasury of humiliation ; a huge pile of reiterated ho- lies on the emptiness of renown, and the certainty f oblivion! It is, indeeil, the empire of death; his real shadowy palace, where he sits in state, mock- ; at the relics of human glory, and spreading dust I forgetfulness on the monuments of princes. How e a boast, after all, is the inimorlalily of a name ! fime is ever silently turning over his pages ; we are ) much engrossed by the story of the present, to |iink of the characters and anecdotes that gave in- aresttothe past; and each age is a volume thrown iide to be speedily forgotten. The idol of to-day ishes the hero of yesterday out of our recollection ; 1 will, in turn, be supplanted by his successor of i-morrow. " Our fathers," says Sir Thomas Brown, I* And their graves in our short memories, and sadly fcll us how we may be buried in our survivors." pislory fades into fable; fact becomes clouded wilh ubt and controversy; the inscription moulders from ! tablet; the statue falls from the pedestal. Co- nns, arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of l;and their epitaphs, but characters written in I dust? What is the security of a tomb, or the Jfrpeliiity of an embalmment ? The remains of Alexander the Great have been scattered to the wind, and his empty sarcophagus is now the mere curiosity of a museum. " The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth; Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams." ' What then is to insure this pile which now towers above me from sharing the fate of mightier mauso- leums ? The lime must come when its gilded vaults, which now spring so loftily, shall lie in rubbish be- neath the feet ; when, instead of the sound of melody and praise, the wind shall whistle through the broken arches, and the owl hoot from the shattered tower — when the garish sun-beam shall break into these gloomy mansions of death, and the ivy twine round the fallen column; and the fox-glove hang its blos- soms about the nameless urn, as if in mockery of the dead. Thus man passes away; his name perbhes from record and recollection ; his history is as a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin. i\ ■!;■ CIffilST»L\S. But Is old, old, good old Christmas gone ? Nothing but the hair of his gootl, giey, old liead ami beard left ? Well, I will have that, seeing I cannot have more of him. Hue and CRT AFTEH CUBISTVAS. A man might tlicn behold At Christmas, in each hall Good fires to curb the cold, And meat for great and small. , The neighbours were friendly bidden, And all had welcome true. The poor from the gates were not chidden, When this old cap was new. OtD SOMO. There is nothing in England that exercises a more delightful spell over my imagination, than the finger- ings of the holiday customs and rural games of former times. They recall the pictures my fancy used to draw in the May morning of life, when as yet I only knew the world through books, and believed it to be all that poets had painted it; and they bring with them the flavour of those honest days of yore, in which, perhaps with equal fallacy, I am apt to think the world was more home-bred, social, and joyous than at present. I regret to say that they are daily growing more and more faint, being gradually worn away by time, but still more obliterated by modern fashion. They resemble those picturesque morsels of gothic architecture, which we see crumbling in various parts of the country, partly dilapidated by the waste of ages, and partly lost in the additions and al- terations of latter days. Poetry, however, clings with cherishing fondness about tlie niral game and holiday revel, from which it has derived so many of its themes— as the ivy winds its rich foliage al)out Ihe > Sir T. Brown. 06 IS: I •! 282 THE SKETCH BOOK. i m gothic arch and mouldering tower, gratefully repay- ing their support, by clasping together their tottering remains, and, as it were, embalming them in verdure. Of all the old festivals, Iiowever, that of Christmas awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of hallowed and elevated enjoyment. The ser- vices of the church about this season are extremely tender and inspiring. They dwell on the beautiful story of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral scenes that accompanied its announcement. They gradually increase in fervour and pathos during the season of Advent, until they break forth in full jubilee on the morning that brought peace and good-will to men. I do not know a grander effect of music on the moral feelings, than to hear the full choir and the pealing organ performing a Christmas anthem in a catliedral, and filling every part of the vast pile with triumphant harmony. It is a beautiful airangement, also, derived from days of yore, that this festival, which commemorates the announcement of the religion of peace and love, has been maile the season for gathering together of family connexions, and drawing closer again those bands of kindred hearts, which the cares and plea- sures and sorrows of the world are continually ope- rating to cast loose; of calling back the children of a family, who have launched forth in life, and wander- ed widely asunder, once more to assemble about (he paternal hearth, that rallying place of the affections, there to grow young and loving again among the en- dearing mementos of childhood. There is something in the veiy season of the year that gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other times we derive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere beauties of nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny land- scape, and we "live abroad and everywhere." The songof thebird, the murmur of the stream, the breath- ing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of summer, the golden pomp of autumn ; earth with its mantle of refreshing green, and heaven with its deep delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, all (ill us with mute but exquisite delight, and we revel in the luxury of mere sensation. But in (he depth of winter, when nature lies despoiled of every charm, and wrap- ped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn for our gratifications to moral sources. The dreariness and desolation of the landscape, the short gloomy days and darksome nights, while they circumscribe our wan- derings, shut in our feelings also from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly disposed for the pleasures of (he social circle. Our thoughts are more concentrated, our friendly sympathies more aroused. We feel more sensibly the charm of each other's so- ciety, and are brought more closely together by de- pendence on each other for enjoyment. Heart cal- leth unto heart; and we draw our pleasures from the deep T.ells of living kindness, which lie in the quiet I recesses of our bosoms; and which, when resortct to, furnish forth the pure element of domestic felicity] The pitchy gloom widiout makes the heart dilau on entering the room filled with the glow an warmdi of the evening fire. The ruddy blaze dif fuses an artificial summer and sunshine through (It room, and ligh(s up each coun(enance into a kindlin welcome. Where does the honest face of hospitaljij expand into a broader and more cordial smile— \vh«n is the shy glance of love more sweedy eloquen(- (han by (he winter fireside? and as the hollow blaj of win(ry wind rushes through the hall, c\!\\ts{h distant door, whisdes about (he casemen(, and run bles down (he chimney, what can be more gralefgl than that feeling of sober and sheltered securi(y,vii| which we look round upon (he comfortable clian and (he scene of domestic hilarity ? The English, from (he great prevalence of am habit throughout every class of society, have alwan been fond of those festivals and holidays which ag ably interrupt thestillnessof country life; and lb were, in former days, parficularly observant oft religious and social ri(cs of Christmas. It is inspirin (0 read even (he dry details which some andquari liave given of (he quaint humours, the burlesque p gean(s, (he comple(e abandonment to mirth aiidgn fellowship, with which this festival was celebral« It seemed to throw open every door, and iinlo* every heart. It brought (lie peasant and (lie [ togelher, and blended all ranks in one warm s nerous flow of joy and kindness. The old liallso casdes and manor-houses resounded wi(h (he harp an the Christmas carol, and their ample boards gronne under the weight of hospitality. Even (he poort cottage welcomed (he fesdve season wi(h green dei radons of bay and holly — the cheerful fire glanced ij rays through the la(tice, inviting the passenger (oral the latch, and join the gossip knot huddled round t hearth, beguiling the long evening with legendai jokes and oft-told Christmas (ales. One of the least pleasing effects of modern refim ment is (he havoc it has made among the hearty i holiday customs. I( has completely taken ofT (lie sliai touchings and $|)iri(ed reliefs of (hese cnibellisliinn of life, and has worn down socie(y into a more sm and|)olished, but certainly a less charac(eris(icsurra(e| Many of (he games and ceremonials of Christmas hii'^ entirely disappeared, and like the sherris sack ofol Fals(aff, are become ma(ters of speculation and i pute among commentators. They flourished in tin full of spirit and lustihood, when men enjoyed lij| roughly, but heartily and vigorously; (imes wiiili picturesque, which have fiu'nislied poe(ry willi Hj richest materials, and the drama wi(h i(s nios( alti ive varie(y of cliarac(ers and manners. The m has become more worldly. Tiiere is more of dissip tion, and less of enjoyment. Pleasure has expan into a broader, but a shallower stream ; and lias I saken many of those deep and quiet channels vh It flowed sweetly through the calm bosom of don THE SKETCB BOOK. 283 lich, vihen resortn I of domestic felicity! akes the heart ( with tlie glow an 'he ruddy blaze difj unshine Ihroiigii i nance into a Jiindlia est face of liospitalitj cordial smile— wjierj sweelly eloquenl- 1 as the hollow blai 1 the hall, claiHtlt casement, and run :an be more gralefuj eltered security, will comfortable clian ty? I prevalence of ran society, have alway^ holidays which agre( mntry life ; and tb arly observant oftJK ilmas. It is inspirinj lich some anti(|uari Lirs, the burlesque p ent to mirth and go( siival was celebratedl ■ry door, and [teasant and the j iks in one warm i ess. The old idedwiththeliarpan imple boards grosnd ty. Even the po«r( ason with green do leerful hre glanced ilj the passenger to rai not huddled round I ;ning with legendai es. cts of modern refiit among the hearty ( ely taken off the slia these cmbellisiiinei ety intoainoresiiK characteristic surfaci dais of Christmas lu'tj the sherris sack of o f speculation and ley flourished in tin hen men enjoyed lil| ously; limes wild 1 ished poetry wilh i la with its most atu manners. The m lereis moreofdissipi Measure has expan stream; and has f quiet channels wh aim bosom of don Society has acquired a more enlightened and ant tone ; but it has lost many of its strong local aliarities, its home-bred feelings, its honest fireside gbts. The traditionary customs of golden -heart- j antiquity, its feudal hospitalities, and lordly was- ilings, have passed away wilh the baronial castlesand litely manor-ltouscs in which tliey were celebrated. ley comported wilh tlie shadowy hall, the great ten gallery, and the tapestried parlour, but are un- I to the light showy saloons and gay drawing- I of the modern villa. I Sborn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive ours, Christmas is still a period of delightful ex- lement in England. It is gratifying to see that home tling completely aroused which holds so powerful I place in every English bosom. The preparations ting on every side for the social board that is again ) unite friends and kindred ; the presents of good • passing and repassing ; those tokens of regard, I quickeners of kind feelings ; the evergreens dis- uled about houses and churches, emblems of peace I gladness ; all these have the most pleasing effect I producing fond associations, and kindling bene- lent sympathies. Even the sound of the Wails, de as may be their minstrelsy, breaks upon the mid- ^itclies of a winter night with the effect of perfect irmony. As I have been awakened by them in lit still and solemn hour, " when deep sleep falleth 1 man, " I have listened with a hushed delight, i connecting them with the sacred and joyous oc- ision, have almost fancied them into another celestial loir, announcing peace and good-will to mankind. I How delightfully the imagination, when wrought I by these moral influences, turns every thing to lelody and beauty ! The very crowing of the cock, I sometimes in the profound repose of the coun- T,"telling the night watches to his feathery dames," |u thought by the common people to announce the ach of Ibis sacred festival : "Some say tliat ever 'gainst tliat season comes Wherein our Saviour's birtli is celol)ratC(l, TJiisbiitl of dawning singelli all night long; And llien, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; The iiiglils are wholesome— then no planets strike, No tairy takes, no witch haih power to charm, So hallowed and so gracious is the time." nidst tbs general call to happiness, the bustle of t spirits, and stir of the affections, which prevail at s period, what bosom can remain insensible ? It pndeed,lhe8eason of regenerated feeling — the season kindling, not merely the Are of hospitality in the kil, but the genial flame of charity in the heart. I The scene of early love again rises green to memory yoiid the sterile waste of years ; and the idea of |»ine, fraught with the fragrance of home-dwelling Vs, reanimates the drooping spirit; as the Arabian «ze will sometimes waft the freshness of the di- bnt lields to the weary pilgrim of the desert. |Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land — though rmii no social hearth may blaze, no hospitable roof throw open its doors, nor the warm grasp of friend- ship welcome me at the threshold— yet f feel the in- fluence of the season beaming into my soid from the happy looks of those around me. surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven ; and every coun- tenance, bright with smiles, and glowing with inno- cent enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of a supreme and ever shining benevolence. He who can turn churlishly away from contemplating the felicity of lus fellow beings, ar.d can sit down darkling and repining in his loneliness w hen all around is joyful, may have ins moments of strong excitement and sel- fish gratification, but he wants the genial and social sympathies which constitute the charm of a merry Christmas. THE STAGE COACH. Omneben6 SiDcpoenl "" Tempus est ludcndi. Venit hora Abstpic mord LIbros deponeodl. Old holidat scuool sonu. In the preceding paper I have made some general observations on the Christmas festivities of England, and am tempted to illustrate them by some anecdotes of a Christmas passed in the country ; in perusing which I would most courteously invite my reader to lay aside the austerity of wisdom, and to put on that genuine holiday spirit which is tolerant of folly and anxious only for amusement. In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode for a long distance in one of the public coaches, on the day preceding Christmas. I'he coach was crowded, Iwth inside and out, with passengers, who, by their talk, seemed principally bound tc die man- sions of relations or friends to eat the Christmas din- ner. It was loaded also with hampers of game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies ; and hares hung dan- gling their lon^j; ears about the coachman'sbox; presents from distant friends for the impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked schoolboys for my fellow pas- sengers inside, ftdl of the buxom health and manly spirit which I have observed in the children of this country. They were returning home for the holidays in high glee, and promising themselves a world of en- joyment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans of pleasure of the little rogues, and the impracticable feats they were to perform during their six weeks' emancipation from the abhorred thraldom of book, birch, and pedagogue. They were full of anticipa- tions of the meeting with tlie family and household, down to the very cat and dog; and of the joy they were to give their little sisters by the presents with which their pockets were crammed; but the meeting to which they seemed to look forward with the great- ;i) 'i *' ( '.' ':r 284 THE SKETCH BOOK. w est impalience was with Bantam, which I found to be a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of more virtues than any steed since the days of Bucephalus. How he could trot ! how he could run ! and then such leaps as he would take—there was not a hedge in the whole country that he could not clear. They were under the particular guardianship of the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity presented, they addressed a host of questions, and pro- nounced him one of the best fellows in the whole world. Indeed, I could not but notice the more than ordinary air of bustle and importance of the coachman, who wore his hat a Utile on one side, and had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the button-hole of his coat. He is always a personage full of mighty care and business, but he is particularly so during this season, having so many commissions to "xecule in consequence of the great interchange of presents. And here, perhaps, it may not be unacceptable to my untravelled readers, to have a sketch that may serve as a geiicral representation of this very numerous and important class of functionaries, who have a dress, a manner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves, and prevalent throughout the fraternity; so that, wher- ever an English stage coachman may be seen, he cannot be mistaken for one of any other craft or mys- tery. 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 swell- ed into jolly dimensions by frequent potations of mall liquors, and his bulk is still further increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like a caulillower, the upper one reaching to his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed low-crowned hat; a huge roll of coloured handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom; and has in sum- mer time a large bouquet of flowers in his button- bole; 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 jockey boots which reach about half way up his legs. All this costume is maintained with much preci- sion ; he has a pride in having his clothes of excellent materials ; and, notwithstamling the seeming gross- ness of his appearance, there is still discernible that neatness and propriety of person, which is almost in- herent in an Englishman. He enjoys great conse- quence and consideration along the road ; has frequent conferences with the village housewives, who look upon him as a man of great trust and dependence; and he seems to have a good understanding with every bright-eyed country lass. The moment he ar- rives where the horses are to be changed, he throN\ s down the reins with something of an air, and aban- dons 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 in the pockets cf his great coat, and he rolls about the inn-yard witl an air of the most absolute lordliness. Here he is en nerally surrounded by an admiring throng of hostlenj stable-boys, shoe-blacks, and those nameless hangetjl on, that infest inns and taverns, and run errands, an do all kind of odd jobs, for the privilege of battenioi on the drippings of the kitchen and the leakage of tb taproom. These all look up to him as to an oraclej treasure up his cant phrases ; echo his opiniomaLoa] horses and other topics of jockey lore; and above all endeavour to imitate his air and carriage. Even ragamuflin that has a coat to liis back, thrusts hi hands in the pockets, rolls in liis gait, talks slang, j is an embryo Coachey. Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenih that reigned in my own mind, that I fancied I saj cheerfulness in every countenance throughout thJ journey. A stage coach, however, carries aiiimalioJ always with it, and puts the world in motion as | whirls along. The horn, sounded at the entrance o a village, produces a general bustle. Some liaiiiei forth to meet friends; some with bundles and baiidj boxes to secure places, and in the hurry of the mom can hardly take leave of the group that accompanid them. In the mean time, the coachman has a wotli of small commissions to execute. Sometimes he del vers a hare or pheasant; sometimes jerks a small pan or newspaper to the door of a public house; and son times, with knowing leer and words of sly import hands to some half-hlusliing half-laughing houseiuaij an odd-shaped billelHloux from some rustic admin As the coach rattles through the village, every on runs to the window, and you have glances on evtij side of fresh country faces and blooming gigirlin; girl At the corners are assembled juntos of village idl( and wise men, who take their stations there fur I important purpose of seeing company pass; but Ihj sagest knot is generally at the blacksmith's, to win the passing of the coach is an event fruitful of mucJ speculation. The smith, with the horse's heel in h lap, pauses as the vehicle whirls by; the cycioi round the anvil suspend their ringing hammers, i suffer the iron to grow cool ; and the sooty speclre| brown paper cap, labouring at the bellows, leans « the handle for a moment, and permits the asllinialij engine to heave a loiig-ilrawn sigh, while he glare through the murky smoke and sulphureous gleaimi| the smithy. Perhaps the impending holiday might have giv(ii| more than usual animation to the country, for its ed to me as if every body was in good looks andg spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxuries of I table, were in brisk circulation in the villages; t grocers, butchers, and fruiterars' shops were tlm with customers. The housewives were stirring brisk! about, putting their dwellings in order; aiul Ihegl* branches of holly, with their bright red berries, 1 to appear at the windows. The scene brought I mind an old writer's account of Christmas prq tions:--"Now capons and hens, besides tuilu] IHE SKETOI BOOK. 285 rer, carries aiumatioa lens, besWes lu iieese, and ducks, with beef and mutton— must all Idie'for in twelve days a multitude of people will not ||ie fed with a little. Now plums and spice, sugar and llioney, square it among pies and broth. Now or liever must music be in tune, for the youth must ! and sing to get them a heat, while the aged sit ||)f the fire. The country maid leaves half her market, |iad must be sent again, if she forgets a pack of cards 1(0 Christmas eve. Great is the contention of Holly lad Ivy, whether master or dame wears the breeches. iDice and cards benefit the butler; and if the cook do loot lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers." I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation, |liy a shout from my little travelling companions. jlliey had been looking out of the coach windows for luie last few miles, recognizing every tree and cottage lislhey approached home, and now there was a ge- liijal burst of joy — " There's John ! and there's old Icarlo! and there's Bantam!" cried the happy little liogaes, clapping their hands. At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking Iservant in livery, waiting for them; he was accom- ';,:nied by a superannuated pointer, and by the re- [doubtable Bantam, a lilile old rat of a pony, with a jsliaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stood dozing Iqaietly by the road-side, little dreaming of the bus- jliing times that awaited him. I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows leaped about the steady old footman, and |hugged the pointer , who wriggled his whole body •joy. But Bantam was the great object of in- Iterest; all wanted to mount at once, and it was with |soine difliculty that John arranged that they should |tide by turns, and the eldest should ride first. Off Ihey set at last ; one on the pony, with the dog Ibounding and barking before him, and the others ding John's hands ; both talking at once, and over- Ipoweriiig him with ques'ions about home, and with IkIiooI anecdotes. I looked after them with a feeling |in which I do not know whether pleasure or melan- Icboly predominated; for I was reminded of those |days when, like them, I had neither known care nor Iton'ow, and a holiday was the summit of earthly fe- llicily. We stopped a few moments afterwards to ■water the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn ■of the road brought us in sight of a neat country seat. Il could just distinguish the forms of a lady and two lyoiing girls in the portico, and I saw my little com- {rades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping liong the carriage road. I leaned out of the coach window, in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, ut a grove of trees shut it from my sight. In tlie evening we reached a village where I had determined to pass the night. As we drove into the at gateway of the inn, I saw on one side the light ^f a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a window. I entered, and admired, for the hundredth time, that picture of convenience, neatness, and broad honest Djoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It was of clous dimensions, bung round with copper and tin vessels highly polished, and decorated here and there with a Christmas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, were suspended from the ceiling; a smoke- jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the fire-place, and a clock ticked in one corner. A well-scoured deal table extended along one side of the kitchen, with a cold round of beef, and other hearty viands, upon it, over which two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard. Travellers of inferior or- der were preparing to attack this stout repast, wliile others sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on two high-backed oaken settles beside the fire. Trun housemaids were hurrying backwards and forwards under the directions of a fresh bustling landlady; but still seizing an occasional moment to exchange a flip- pant word, and have a rallying laugh, with the group round the fire. The scene completely realized Poor Robin's humble idea of the comforts of mid-winter : Now trees their leafy hats do bare To reverence Winter's silver hair; A handsome hostess, merry host, A pot of ale now and a toast. Tobacco and a good coal fu'e. Are tbings.this season doth rcquii-e. > I had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise drove up to the door. A young gentleman stept out, and by the light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance which I thought I knew. I moved for- ward to get a nearer view, when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken; it was Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly good-humoured young fellow, with whom I had once travelled on the continent. Our meeting was extremely cordial, for the countenance of an old fellow-traveller always brings up the recollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, mid adventures, and ex- cellent jokes. To discuss all these in a transient in- terview at an inn was impossible ; and finding that I was not pressed for time, and was merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I should give him a day or two at his father's country seat, to which he was going to pass the holidays, and wliich lay at a few miles distance. "It is better than eating a so- litary Christmas dinner at an inn," said he, " and I can assure you of a hearty welcome in something of the old-fashioned style." His reasoning was cogent, and I must confess the preparation I had seen for universal festivity and social enjoyment had made me feel a little impatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, at once, with his invitation; the chaise drove up to the door, and in a few moments I was on my way to the family mansion of the Brace- bridges. > Poor Robin's Almanac, 1684. ti 286 THE SKETCH BOOK. CHRISTMAS EVE. Mnl Francis and Saint Benedight Blesse (his house from wiclced wigiit ; From the niglit-niare and the goblin, That is high! good fellow llobin ; Keep it from all evil spirits. Fairies, weezeLs, rats, and ferrets i From curfew time To the next prime. CAHTnillGHT. It was a brilliant moonlight night, but extreme- ly cold; our chaise whirled rapidly over the frozen {ground ; the post-boy smacked his whip incessantly, and a part of the lime liis horses were on a gallop. " He knows where he is gouig," said my companion, laughing, " and is eager to arrive in time for some of the merriment and good cheer of the servants' hall. My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of the old school, and prides himself upon keeping up something of old English hospitality. He is a toler- able specimen of what you will rarely meet with now- a-days in i(s purity, the old English country gentle- man; for our men of fortune si>end so much of their time in town, and fashion is carried so much into the country, that the strong rich peculiarities of ancient rural life are almost polished away. My father, how- ever, from early years, look honest Peacham ■ for his text I)ook, instead of Chesterfleld ; he determined in bis own mind, that there was no condition more truly honourable and enviable than that of a country gen- tleman on his paternal lands, and, therefore, passes Uie whole of his time on his estate. He is a strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural games and holiday observances, and is deeply read in the writ- ers, ancient and modern, who have treated on the subject. Indeed, his favourite range of reading is among the authors who flourished at least two centu- ries since ; who, he insists, wrote and thought more like true Englishmen than any of their successors. Fe even regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few centuries earlier, when England was itself, and had its peculiar manners and customs. As he lives at some distance from the main road, in rather a lone- ly part of the country, without any rival gentry near him, he has that most enviable of all blessings to an Englishman, an opportunity of indulging the bent of his own humour without molestation. Being representative of the oldest family in the neighlwur- hood, and a great part of the peasantry being his te- nants, he is much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply by the appellation of ' The Squire; ' a title which has been accorded to the head of the fa- mily since time immemorial. I think it best to give you these iiints about my worthy old father, to pre- pare you for any Utile eccentricities that might other- wise appear absurd." We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, and at length the chaise stopped at the gate. It • rcacham's Complete Gentleman, 1622. was in a heavy magniflcent old style, of iron barsj fancifully wrought at top into flourishes and flowersj The huge square columns that supported the get( were surmounted by the family crest. Close adjoin-l ing was the porter's lodge, sheltered under dark (irf trees, and almost buried in shrubbery. The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which re sounded through the still frosty air, and was ans\rer-| ed by the distant barking of dogs, with which thJ mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old wotnanl immediately a|»peared at ihe gate. As the nioonligiiJ fell strongly upon her, I had a full view of a liiile pri-f mitive dame, dressed very much in the antique state,! with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her silver! hair peeping from under a cap of snowy whiteness.[ She came courtesying forth, with many expiessionsl of simple joy at seeing her young master. Her hus-l band, it seemed, was up at the house keeping Chrisl-[ mas eve in the servants' hall; they could not do \vitli-| out him, as he was the best hand at a song and story | in the household. My friend proposed that we should alight and walkl through the park to the hall, which was at no greall distance, while the chaise should follow on. Oiir roadl wound through a noble avenue of trees, among thel naked branches of which the moon glittered as sliel rolled through the deep vault of a cloudless sky, Thel lawn beyond was sheeted with a slight covering ofl snow, which here and there sparkled as the moon- beams caught a frosty crystal; and at a distance niiglit| be seen a tlnn transparent vapour, stealing up rrooil the low grounds and threatening gradually to sliroad| the landscape. My companion looked around him with transport: — " How often," said he, " have I scampered up lliisl avenue, on returning home on school vacations! Ilovi often have I played under these trees when a boy! l| feel a degree of filial reverence for them, as \velo( up to those who have cherished us in childhood, Myl father was always scrupulous in exacting our iioli-l days, and having us around him on family feslivalsJ He used to direct and superintend our games with the I strictness that some parents do the studies of tiieirl children. He was very particular that we slioiildl play the old English games according to their original I form; and consulted old books for precedent and au- thority for every 'merrie disport;' yet I assure yon I there never was pedantry .so delightful It was ikl policy of Ihe good old gentleman to make lisciiildreDl feel that Lome was the happiest place in the world; I and I val>: U\v- delicious home-feeling as oiieofllw| choicest riVus a parent could bestow." We were interrupted by the climour of a troop of I dogs of all sorts and sizes, " mongrel, puppy, whelp,! and hound, and curs of low degree," that, disturbed I by the ring of the porter's bell and the rattling of tin j chaise, came bounding, open - moutlied, acros(Uie| lawn. " Tlic little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, ice, they bark at mf : THE SKETCH BOOK. S87 thrybarkatme!' 1 Bracebridge laughing. At the sonnd of his voice, ebark was changed into a yelp of delight, and in a nent he was surrounded andainiost overpowered r tlie caresses of the faithful animals. We had now come in full view of (he old family ansion, partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly it up by the cold moonshine. It was an irregular gilding, of some magnitude, and seemed to be of e arcliiteclure of different periods. One wing was [tidently very ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow liiulows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from nng (he foliage of which the small diamond-shaped mes of glass glittered with the moon-beams. The tsl of the house was in the French taste of Charles {Second's time, having been repaired and altered, smyfiiend told me, by one of his ancestors, who Ktnrned with (hat monarch at (he Restoration. The viiiids about the house were laid out in the old nial manner of artificial (lower beds, clipped shrub- leries, raised terraces, and heavy stone balustrades, namenled with urns, a leaden statue or two, and a It of water. The old gendeman, I was told, was alrenicly careful to preserve this obsolete finery in its original state. lie admired this fashion in tardeiiing; it had an air of magnificence, was urliy and noble, and beniting good old family byie. The boasted imitation of nature in modern prdening had sprung up with modern republican lotions, but did not suit a monarchical government ; it Hacked of the levelling system.— I could not help ;at this introduction of politics into gardening, loiigli I expressed some apprehension that I should ind tlie old gentleman rather intolerant in his creed. -Frank assured me, however, that it was almost the Kily instance in which he had ever heard his father (Idle with politics; and he believed that he had got liis notion from a member of parliament who once Bssed a few weeks with him. The squire was glad If any argument to defend his clipped yew trees and Vmal terraces, which had been occasionally attacked |iy modern landscape gardeners. As we approached the house, we heard the sound f music, and now and then a burst of liuighler, from me end of the building. This, Bracebridge said, tiusl proceed from the servants' hall, where a great leal of revelry was permitted, and even encouraged, |iy llie squire, throughout the twelve days of Christ- as, provided every thing was done conformably to indent usage. Here were kept up the old games of dman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, heal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap dragon : the tule clog and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, |nd the mistletoe, with its white berries, hung up, to |he imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids. ' So intent were the servants upon their sports, that ^e had to ring repeatedly before we .could make I ■ The mUlrloe is still liung up In farm-houses and kitchens at |limiinas ; and tlio young men have (he privilege of kissing the I nmlcr it, plucking each time a berry from (he bush. When e benries are aH plucked, the privilege ceases. ourselves heard. On onr arrival being announced, (he squire came out to receive us, accompanied by his two other sons ; one a young officer in the army, home on leave of absence; the other an Oxonian, just from (he university. The squire was a fine hetlthy-looking old gentleman, with silver hair curl- ing lightly round an open florid countenance ; in which a physiognomist, with the advantage, like myself, of a previous hint or two, might discover a singular mixture of whim and benevolence. The family meeting was warm and affectionate : as the evening was far advanced, titc scpiire would not permit us to change our travelling dresses, but usher- ed us at once to (he coiipany, which was assembled in a large old-fashioned hall. It was composed of different branches of a numerous family connexion, where there were the usual proportion of old uncles and aun(s, comfor(able married dames, superannuat- ed spinsters, blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed boarding-school hoydens. They were variously occupied ; some at a round game of cards ; others conversing around the (ire-place ; at one end of the hall was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others of a more tender 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 ofa troop of little fairy beings, who, having frolicked through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber through a peaceful night. While the mutual greetings were going on between young Bracebridge and his relatives, I had time to scan (he apartment. I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in oUI times, and the s(|uire had evi- dently endeavoured to restore it to something of its prin^itive state. Over (he heavy projecdng fire-place was suspended a picture of a warrior in armour, standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung a helmet, buckler, and lance. At one end an enormous pair of antlers were inserted in the wall, the branches serving as hooks on which to suspend hats, whips, and spurs; and in the corners of the apartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. The furniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of former days, though some articles of modern convenience had been added, and the oaken floor had been carpeted ; so that the whole presented an old mixture of parlour and hall. The grate had been removed from the wide over- whelming fire-place, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light and heat : this I understood was the Yule clog, which the squire was particular in having brought in and illumined on a Christmas eve, according to ancient custom. ' ■ The rule clog Is a great tog of wood, sometimes the root of a tree, brought into the house with great ceremony, on Christmas eve, laid In the firei)lace, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. While it laHted. there was great drinking, singing, and telllnf ass THE SKETCH BOOK. It was really delightful to see the old squire seated in his hereditary elbow chair, by the liospitable fire- side of his ancestors ; and looking around him like the sun of a system, beaming warmth and gladness to every heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched at his feet, as he lazily shifted his position and yawn- ed, would look fondly up in his master's face, wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself again to sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but is immediately felt, and puts the stranger at once at his ease. I had not been seated many minutes by the comfortable hearth of the worthy old cavalier, before I found myself as much at home as if I had been one of the family. Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was served up in a spacious oaken chamber, the pannels of which shone with wax, and around which were several family portraits decorated with holly and ivy. Besides the accustomed lights, two great wax tapers, called Christmas candles, wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly polished beaufet among the family plate. The table was abundantly spread with substantial fare ; but the squire made his supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes boil- ed in milk, with rich spices, being a standing dish in old times for Christmas eve. I was happy to find my old friend, minced pie, in the retinue of the feast : and finding him to be perfectly orthodox, and that I need not be ashamed of my predilection, I greeted him with all the warmth wherewith we usually greet an old and very genteel acquaintance. The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by thehumoursofan 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 pox, with a dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He had an eye of great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggery of expression that was irresistible. He was evidently the wit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and innuendos with the ladies, and of talcs, Sometimes it vias accompanied by Christmas candles ; but in the cottages the only light was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood fire. The Yule clog was to burn all night : if it went out, it was considered a sign of ill luck. Herrick mentions it in one of his songs :— Come, bring with a noise, ; My merrie, merrie boyes, The Christmas log to the firingt While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your hearts desiring. The Ynle clog is still burnt in many farm-houses and kitchens in England, particularly in the north, and there are several super- stitions connected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come to the house while it is burning, or a person bare- footed, it is considered an ill omen. The brand remaining trom the Yule clog is caretbUy put away to light the next year's Christ' luas Arc. making infinite merriment by harpings upon old themes; which, unfortunately, my ignorance of thJ family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. J seemed to be his great delight during supper to ke«d a young girl next him in a continual agony of siiflei laughter, in spite of her awe of the reproving looks ^ her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he wastlJ idol of the younger part of the company, who laiiohl ed at every thing he said or did, and at every turn o| his countenance. I could not wonder at it ; for hJ must have been a miracle of accomplishments in tiiejJ eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy j make i old woman of his hand, with the assistance of a bun cork and pocket handkerchief; and cut an orange im such a ludicrous caricature, that the young folks we J ready to die with laughing. I was let briefly into his history by Frank BraceJ bridge. He was an old bachelor, of a small indcpea dent income, which, by careful management, waj, sufficient for all his wants. He revolved through ihj family system like a vagrant comet in its orbit; some. times visiting one branch, and sometimes auollie quite remote; as is often the case with gentlemen o| extensive connexions and small fortunes in England He had a chirping buoyant disposition, always enjojJ ing the present moment; and his frequent change o| scene and company prevented his acquiring thoi rusty unaccommodating habits, with which old bache- lors are so uncharitably charged. He was a complelel family chronicle, being versed in the genealogy, his- tory, and intermarriages of the whole house of Brao bridge, which made him a great favourite wilii tliej old folks; he was a beau of all the elder ladies an superannuated spinsters, among whom he was M\ tually considered rather a young fellow, and be wai master of the revels among the children; so ihill there was not a more popular being in the spliereii( which he moved than Mr Simon Bracebridge. late years, he had resided almost entirely with I squire, to whom he had become a factotum, am whom he particularly delighted by jumping wiili| his humour in respect to old times, and by having j scrap of an old song to suit evei7 occasion. Weha presently a specimen of his last-mentioned talent, fo(| no sooner was supper removed, and spiced wines an other beverages peculiar to the season intioduo than Master Simon was called on for a good oldj Christmas song. He bethought himself for a i ment, and then, with a sparkle of the eye, and a void that was by no means bad, excepting that it ran oc-l casionally into a falsetto, like the notes of a split reed,[ lie quavered forth a quaint old ditty. Mow Christmas is come, Let us beat up the drum, And call all our neiglibours together. And when they appear. Let us make them such cheer. As will keep out the wind and the weather, etc. The supper had disposed every one to gaiety, and! an old harper was summoned from the servants' half THE SKETCH BOOK. 280 ing supper to ke«|| ■•berehe had been strammtng all the evening, and to ■ill appearance comforting himself with some of the iKmiie's home-brewed. He was a kind of hanger-on, I] was told, of the establishment, and, though osten- ■lilily a resident of the village, was oftener to be found |ia the squire's kitchen than his own home, the old Iffiilleman being fond of the sound of " harp in hall." The dance, like most dances after supper, was a Inerry one : some of the older folks joined in it, and I the squire himself figured down several couple with a liartner, with whom he affirmed he had danced at ■erery Christmas for nearly half a century. Master Ismon, who seemed to be a kind of connecting link ■lietween the old times and the new, and to be withal la liltle antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments, Itndently piqued himself on his dancing, and was en- Ideavouriiig to gain credit by the heel and toe, riga- Idton, and other graces of the ancient school ; but he Iliad aniuckily assorted himself with a little romping IpA from boarding-school, who, by her wild vivacity, Kept him continually on the stretch, and defeated all jbissober attempts at elegance : — such are the ill-sort- |(d matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortu- Inately prone ! Tlie young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out ne of his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played I thousand liltle knaveries with impunity ; he was full [ practical jokes, and his delight was to tease his laants and cousins ; yet, like all madcap youngsters, e was a universal favourite among the women. The isl interesting couple in the dance was the young Jicer and a ward of the squire's, a beautiful blush- gii'l of seventeen. From several shy glances vhich I had noticed in the course of the evening, I «cte(1 there was a little kindness growing up be- ||ween them ; and, indeed, the young soldier was just lie hero to captivate a romantic girl. He was tall, jlender, and handsome, and, like most young British m(x:>' of late years, had picked up various small ac- nmplishments on the continent — he could talk French lid Italian— draw landscapes— sing very tolerably— nee divinely ; but, above all, he had been wound- 1 at Waterloo : — what girl of seventeen, well read 1 poetry and romance, could resist such a mirror of liivalry and perfection ! The moment the dance was over, he caught up a )iitar, and, lolling against the old marble fire-place, 1 an attitude which I am half inclined to suspect was jtiidied, began the liltle French air of the Trouba- or. The squire, however, exclaimed against hav- ; any thing on Christmas eve but good old English; on which the young minstrel, casting up his eye for Imoment, as if in an effort of memory, struck into Vollier strain, and, with a charming air of gallantry, pve Herrick's " Night-Piece to Julia; " Her eyes the glo^r-worm lend thee, Tlie shooting stars aUcnd Ihee, And the elves also, Whose lltUe eyes glow Ukfi the sparks of fire, befriend Uiof . No Win 0' th' Wisp misUglit theei Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee t But on , on thy way, Not making a slay. Since ghost there is none to alTright thee. Then let not the dark thee, cumber; W bat though the moon does slumber. The stars of the night Will lend thee their light. Like tapers clear without number. Then, Jnlia, let me woo thee. Thus, thus to come unto me i And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet. My souiru pour into thee. ■■•;■.*'} Tlie song might or might not have been intended in compliment to the fair Julia, for so I found his part- ner was called; she, however, was certainly uncon- scious of any such application, for she never looked at the singer, but kept her eyes'cast upon the floor. Her face was suffused, it is true, with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the bosom; but all that was doubtless caused by the exercise of the dance; indeed, so great was her indifference, that she was amusing herself with plucking to pieces a choice bou- quet of hot-house flowers, and by the time the song was concluded the nosegay lay in ruins on the floor. The party now broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the hall, on my way to my chamber, the dying emblems of the yule clog still sent forth a dusky glow, and had it not been the season when " no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep whether the fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth. My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponderous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the days of the giants. The room was pannelled, with cornices of heavy carved work, in which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely in- termingled; and a row of black-looking portraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was of rich though faded damask, with a lofty tes- ter, and stood in a niche opposite a bow window. I bad scarcely got into bed, when a strain of music seemed to break forth in the air just below the win- dow. I listened, and found it proceeded from a band, which I concluded to be the waits from some neigh- bouring village. They went round the house, play- ing under the windows. I drew aside the curtains to hear them more distinctly. The moon-beams fell through the upper part of the casement, partially lighting up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, became more soft and aerial, and seemed to accord with tlie quiet and moonlight. I listened and listened — they became more and more tender and remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sunk upon the pillow, and I fell asleep. 3T 29() THE SKETCH BOOK. CHRISTMAS DAY. Dark and dull night, file hence away, : And Rive the honour to this day That sees December tnm'd to May. : Why docs the chilling winter's morne Smite lil(e a Held besot with corn? Or smell liiie to a meadc new-shonie. Tims on the sudden ?— Come and see The cause why thiiiss thus fragrant be. tlKBBICK. When I woke the next morning, it seemed as if all the events of tlie preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identity of tlie ancient chamber convinced ine of their reality. While I lay musing on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet palter- ing outside of the door, and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was — Bejoice, our Saviour he was born On Christmas day in the morning. I rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, and lieheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a painter could imagine. It consist- ed of a boy and two girls, the eldest not more than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going the rounds of the house, and singing at every chamber- door; but my sudden appearance frightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their lips with their lingers, and now and then stealing a shy glance, fromunder their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they scampered awa; j and as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them laughing in triumph at their escape. Every thing conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in this strong hold of old-fashioned hospital- ity. The window of my chamber looked out upon what \n summer would liave been a beautiful land- scape. There was a sloping lawn, a fine stream winding at the foot of it, and a tract of park l)eyond, with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a distance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage chimneys hanging over it ; and a church with its dark spire in strong relief against the clear cold sky. The house was surrounded with evergreens, according to the English custom, which would have given almost an appearance of summer ; but the morn- ing was extremely frosty; the light vapour of the pre- ceding evening bad been precipitated by the cold, and covered all the trees and every blade of grass with its fine crystallizations. The rays of a bright morning sun had a dazzling effect among the glittering foliage. A robin, perched upon the top of a mountain ash, that hung its clusters of red berries just before my window, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a few querulous notes ; and a peacock was displaying all the glories of his train, and strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish grandee on the terrace walk below. I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant ap- peared to invite me to family prayers. He shonedl me the way to a small chapel in the old wing of tliJ house, where I found the principal part of the familyl already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished wiihl cushions, hassocks, and large prayer Itooks; the ser-| vanis were seated on benches below. The old genilfr man read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery,! and Master Simon acted as clerk and made the re; ponses; and I must do him the justice to say, that I accpiiltcd himself with great gravity and decorum. The service was followed by a Christmas carolj which IMr Bracebridge himself had constructed fn a poem of his favourite aulhor, Ilerrick; and it lia(i been adapted to an old church inehKly by Blaster Si^ mon. As there were several good voices ainoni; Ih household, the effect was extremely pleasing; but ] was pa'licularly gralilicd by the oxallatioii oflieartJ and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which iha worthy sqtiire dtlivered one stanza ; his eye glisicn-j ing, and his voice rambling out of all the bounds i time and tune : "'Tis liioj iiiat crown'stmy filittering hearth V.ilh guiillcssc mirth, And siv'st nie Wassaile bowles to drink Shin'd lo llic brink : Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That soiles my land ; And giv'st mc for my bushcU sownc, Twice ten for one." I afterwards understood that early morning sen was read on every Siuiday and sa<nJ's day throuitiK the year, eillier by Mr Bracebridge or by some niei ber of tlie family. It was once almost universallil the case at the seats of the nobility and genlry i England, and i' 's much to be regretted that the( torn is falling into neglect; for the dtillesl obserrd must be sensible of the order and serenity prevalenj in those households, where the occasional exen of a beautiful form of worship in the morning pse as it were, the key note to every temper for IhedaTi and attunes every spirit to harmony. Our breakfast consisted of what the squire dew minated true old English fare. lie indulged ins bitter lamentations over modern breakfasts of tea anl toast, which he censured as among the causes of n dern effeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline (j old English heartiness; and though he admitted t to his table to suit the palates of his guests, yel ll'f was a brave display of cold meats, wine, and ale, e the sideboard. A aer breakfast I walked about the grounds \ Frank Bracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr Slit as he was called by every body else but the We were escorted by a number of genllemen-lil dogs, that seemed loungers about the establislimeiil from the frisking spaniel to the steady old stag-houw the last of which was of a race that had been in I' family time out of mind : they were all obedient loj dog whistle which hung to Master Simon's hole, and in the midst of their gambols would gla« THE SKETCH BOOK. SM Ueye occasionally upon a itmall twitch he carried in l^liaiul. The old mansion lud a still more venerable look in Jllie yellow sunshine than by pale moonlight; and I Ifouhl not but feel the force of the Squire's idea, that I Ibe formal terraces, heavily moulded balustrades, and [dipped yew trees, carried with them an air of proud Itfiilocracy. There appeared to be an unusual num- Iterof peacocks about the place, and I was making I HOie remarks u()on what I termed a tlock of Ihem, I that were basking under a sunny wall, when I was Unliy corrected in my phraseology by Master Simon, I (ho told me that, according to the most ancient and lipproved treatise on hunting, I must say a muster of I peacocks. " In the same way," added he, with a lilighlair of pedantry, " we say a (light of doves or Itvallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens, tr cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks." I lie went on to inform me (hat, according to Sir An- llhony Fitzherbert, we ought to ascribe to this bird I "both understanding and glory; for, being praised, be will presently set up his tail, chietly against (he lian, to (he intent you may (he better behold the llieauly thereof. But at (he fall of (he leaf, when his tail failed), he will mourn and hide himself in cor- I ners, (ill his (ail come again as it was." I could not help smiling at this display of small eru- Idilion on so whimsical a subject ; but I tbimd (hat the ] peacocks were birds of some consequence at the hall ; I for Frank Bracebridge informed me that they were (great favountes with his father, who was extremely [careful to keep up the breed ; partly because (hey be- I longed (0 chivalry, and were in great request at the I stately banquets of the olden lime ; and partly because I they had a pomp and magniCcence about (hem, highly becoming an old family mansion. Nothing, he was lacciMiomed to say, had an air of greater state and di- Ignily than a peacock perched upon an andque stone I balustrade. Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an ap- I pointnient at (he parish church with tlie village cho- risters, who were to perform some music of his selec- tion. Tliere was something extremely agreeable in (he cheerful flow of animal spirits of the little man ; and I confess I had been somewhat surprised at his apt quotations from authoi-s who certainly were not in the range of every-day reading. I mentioned this I last circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me, with a smile, that Master Simon's whole stock of eru- dition was confmed to some half a dozen old authors, which the squire bad put into his hands, and which he read over and over, whenever he had a studious Gt;ashesometunes had on a rainy day, or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert's Book of Husbandry; Markham's Country Contentments; the Tretyse of Hunting, by Sir Thomas Cockayne, knight; Isaac Walton's Angler, and two or three more such ancient worthies of the pen, were his standard author- ities; and, like all men who know but a few Iwoks, lie k)oked up to Ihem with a kind of idolaliy, and quoted them on all occasions. As to hb aongs, they were chietly picked out of old books in the squire'* library, and adapted to tunes that were popular among the choice spirits of the last century. His practical application of scraps of literature, however, had cau- sed him to be looked upon as a prodigy of Inwk know- ledge by all the grooms, huntsmen, and small sports- men of the neighbourhood. While we were talking, we heard the distant toll of (he village bell, and I was told that the squire was a little particular in having his household at church on a Christmas morning; considering it a day of pour- ing out of thanks and rejoicing ; for, as old Tusser ob- served, ' * " At Cliristmas Ixjnjprry, and thanlftil uithal. And feasi Uiy iwor ncighlMurs, Hie great wild the small" " If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank Bracebridge, " I can promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's musical achievements. As (be church is destitute of an organ, he has formed a band from the village amateurs, and established a musical club for their improvement; he has also sorted a choir, as he sorted my father's pack of hounds, according to (he direcdons of Jervaise Markham, in his Country Con- tentments; for (he bass he has sought out all the ' deep solemn mouths,' and for the tenor, the * loud ring- ing mouths,' among the country bumpkins ; and for '^ sweet mouths,' he has culled with curious taste among the prettiest lasses in the neighbourhood; though these last, he aflirms, are the most diflicult to keep in tune; your pretty female singer being exceedingly wayward and capricious, and very liable to accident." As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and dear, the most of the family walked to tlie church, which was a very old building of grey stone, and stood near a village, about half a mile from the park gate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval with (he church. The front of it was perfectly matted with a yew tree, that had been trained against its walls, through the dense foliage of which apertures had been formed to admit light into the small antique lattices. As we passed this sheltered nest, the parson issued forth and preceded us. I had expected to see a sleek well-conilitioned pa»- tor, such as is often found in a snug living in the vi- cinity of a rich patron's table, but I was disappointed. The parson was a little, meagre, black-looking man, with a grizzled wig Uiat was too wide, and stood olT from each ear; so that his head seemed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbert in its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets that would have held the church bible and prayer book : and his small legs seemed still smaller, from beinj planted in large shoes, decorated with enormous buckles. I was informed by Frank Bracebridge, that tlie parson had been a chum of his father's at Oxford, and had received this living shortly after the latter had come to his estate. lie was a compleh) Mark- Wi niE SKETCH BOOK. W letter hunter, and would scarcely read a work print- ed in tlie Roman cliaracter. The editions of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were his delight, and he was Indefatigable in his researcliea after such old English writers as have fallen into oblivion from tlieir worlho lessness. In deference, perhaps, to the notions of Mr Bracebridge, he had made diligent invesligaiions into the festive rites and holiday customs of former tunes ; and had been as jealous in the inquiry, as if he had been a boon companion ; but it was merely with that plodding spirit with which men of adust tempe- ran^ent follow up any track of sindy, merely because it is denominated learning; indifferent to its intrinsic nature, whether it be the illustration of the wisdom, or of the ribaldry and obscetiity of antiquity. He had [lored over these old volumes so intensely, that they seemed to have been reflected into his countenance ; which, if the face be indeed an index of the mind, might be compared to a title-page of blackTielter. On reaching the church-porch, we found the par- son rebuking the grey-headed sexton for having used mistletoe among the greens with which thechurchwas decorated. It was, he observed, an unholy plant, profaned by having been used by the Druids in their myslie ceremonies ; and though it might be innocent- ly employed in the festive ornamenting of halls and kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Ciiurch as unhallowed, and totally imfit for sa- cred purposes. So tenacious was he on this point, that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a great part of the humble trophies of his tasle, before the parson would consent to enter upon the service of the day. The interior of the church was venerable but sim- ple; on the walls were several mural monuments of the Bracebridges; and just lieside the altar was a tomb of ancient workmanship, en which lay the efligy of a warrior in armour, with his legs crossed, a sign of his having been a crusader. I was told it was one of the family who had signalized himself in tlie Holy Land, and the same whose picture hung over the fire-place in the haU. During service. Master Simon stood up in the pew, and repeated the responses very audibly : evincing that kind of ceremonious devotion punctually observed by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of old family connexions. I observed, too, that he turnetl over the leaves of a folio prayer book with something of a flourisli ; possibly to show off an enormous seal- ring which enriched one of his fingers, and which had the look of a family relic. But he was evidently most solicitous about the musical part of the service, keep- ing his eye fixed intently on the choir, and beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis. The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presents ed a most whimsical grouping of heads, piled one above the other, among which I particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale fellow with a retreat- ing forehead and chin, who played on the clarionet, and seemed to have blown his face to a point; and there was another, a short pursy man, stooping ami labouring at a bass viol, so as to show notliiii)^ but] the top of a round bald head, like the egg of an oi^ [ tricli. There were two or three pretty laces among I the female singers, to whicti the keen air of a frog|» I morning had given a bright rosy tint; but the gentle- 1 men choristers had evidently been chosen, like oM I Gremona fiddles, more for tone than looks; aiidasse-i veral had to sing from the same book, there were I clusteruigs of odd physiognomies, not unlike tho«e I groups of cherubs we sometimes see on country I tombstones. The usual services of the choir were managed toler- 1 ably well, the vocal parts generally lagging a little I behind the instrumental, and some loitering fiddler I now and then making up for lost lime by travelling I over a passnge with prodigious celerity, and clearing! mure bars than (he keenest fox-hunter to be ia at the I death. But the great trial was an anthem that ; been prepared and arranged by Master Sinion, and I on which he had founded great expectation. In- 1 luckily there was a blunder at the very outset; tkl musicians became flurried; Master Simon was in a I fever ; every thing went on lamely and irregularly I until they came to a churns beginning " Now let usl sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal | tor parting company : all became discord and confu- sion ; each shifted for himself, and got to the end as I well, or, rather, as soon as he could, excepting one I old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles, bestriding I and pinching a long sonorous nose; who happeniuglol stand a little apart, and being wrapped up in his owa I melody, kept on a quavering course, wriggling liis I head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal | soh) of at least three bars duration. The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the I rites and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriely { of observing it, not merely as a day of thanksgiving, 1 but of rejoicing; supporting the correctness ofliis opi- nions by the earliest usages of the church, and enforc- 1 ing them by the authorities ofTheophilus of Cesarea, I St Cyprian, St Chrysostom, St Augustine, and a cloud more of saints and fathers, from whom he madeoh pious quotations. I was a little at a loss to perceive the necessity of such a mighty array of forces, U I maintain a point which no one present seemed inclin- 1 ed to dispute ; but I soon found that the good man had I a legion of ideal adversaries to contend with ; having, I in the course of his researches on the subject of I Christmas, got completely embroiled in the sectarian I controversies of the Revolution, when the Puritans I made such a fierce assault upon the ceremonies of I the church, and poor old Christmas was driven out | of the land by proclamation of Parliament. ■ The | » From the " Flying Eagle," a small Gazette, publisiied Deceni' bcr 24111, 1652—" Tlie house spent much time this day about to I business of the Navy, for settling the affairs at sea, and bcfure Iber rose, were presented with a terrible remonstrance against Chriit- mas day, grounded upon divine Scriptures, 2Cor. v. 16. I Cor.H. 14, <7; and in honour of the Lord's Day, grounded upon Ibw | Scriptures, John, sx. I. llev. 1. 10. Fsalnu, cxvni. 24. I^v.iiiu. TIIE SKETCH BOOK. !£» rtby parson lived but with times past, and linew iule ortl>d pnvent. 5hat u() amo>!^ worm-eaten tomes in the retire- ntof his antiquated little study, the pages of old I were to him as the gazettes of the day ; while e era of the Revolution was mere modern history. t fiirgot that nearly two centuries had elapsed since I tiery persecution of poor mince-pie throughout land; wlien plum porridge was denounced as "Diere popery," and roast beef as antichnstian; aiul at Christmas had liecn brought in again triumph- glly wilh the merry court of King Charles at the Htstoration. He kindled into warmth wiUi the ar- ur of iiis contest, and the host of imaginary foes litliwiiom he had to combat; he had a stubborn nflict wilh old Prynne and two or three other ibr- itten champions of the Hound Heads, on the subject ifCbristnias festivity ; and concluded by urging his iirers, in the most solenm and affecting manner, to und to (he traditional customs of their fathers, and ist and make merry on this joyful anniversary of the thurch. I liave seldom known a sermon attendej' apu-v slly with more immediate effects; for on leaving e church, the congregation seemed one and all pos- with the gaiety of spirit so earnestly enjoined f Ibeir pastor. The elder folks gathered in knots in churchyard, greeting and sliaking hands; and (Children ran about crying Ule ! Ule I and repeat- [ some uncouth rhymes,' which the parson, who i joined us, informed me had heen handed down I days of yore. The villagers doffed their hats to esquire as he passed, giving him the good wishes Iftlie season with every appearance of lieartfelt sin- ttrily, and were invited by him to the liall, to take jomething to keep out the cold of the weather; and I anl blessings uttered by several of Ihe poor, which |oavinced me (hat, in the midst of his enjoyments, ! wcrlhy old cavalier had not forgotten the true £tmas virtue of cliarity. I On our way homeward, his heart seemed over- jowed with generous and happy feelings. As we 1 over a rising ground which commanded some- king of a prospect, the sounds of rustic merriment jow and then reached our ears ; the squire paused ra few moments, and looked around wilh an air of lexpressible benignity. The beauty of the day was [itself sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Kolwilh- pnding the frostiness of tlie morning, the sun in cloudless journey had acquired sufficient power I melt away the thin covering of snow from every uthern declivity, and to bring out the living green HI' Marli. XV. 8. Psalms, lxxxiv. 10. in which Christmas is ^1 Anli-chri«l'» masse, and lliose Jlasse-mongera and Papists looljservc it, etc. In consequence of which Parliament spent elime in consultation about the abolition of Christmas day, ed onlers to that elTcct, and resolved to sit on the following li which was commonly called Christmas day." ■ "Ule! Ule! Three piuldingN in a pule ; Crack nuU and cry Ule!" which adorns an English landscape even in mid-win- ter. Large tracts of smiling verdure contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of the sliaded slopes and hol- lows. Kvery sheltered bank, on which the br id rays rested, yielded its silver rill of fl^'^ and lim^ i. water, glittering through the dnpping grass ; aii ! sent up slight exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung just above the surface of the earth. There was something truly cheering in this triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter : it was, as the squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality, breaking through the chills of ceremony and selHshness, and thawing every heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to the indica- tions of good cheer reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farm-houses, and low thatched cottages. " I love," said he, " to see this day well kept by rich and poor ; it is a great thing to have one day in the jear, at least, when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and of having, as it were, the wut Id all thrown open to you ; and I am almost dis- posed to join with Poor Robin, in his malediction on every churlish eneniy to this honest festival ; i " Those who at Christmas do repine, And would fain hence dis|)aluh liirn. May they with old Duke Humphry dine. Or else may stpiirc Retch catch 'eni." Tlie squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of the games and amusements which were once pre- valent at this season among the lower orders, and countenanced by the higher; when the old balls of castles and manor-houses were thrown open at day light; when the tables were covered with brawn, and beef, and humming ale; when the harp and the carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were alike wcleome to enter and make merry. ' " Our old games and local customs," said he, '' had a great effect in making the peasant fond of his home, and the promotion of them by the gentry made him fond of his lord. They made the times merrier, and kind- er, and better, and I can truly say with one of our old poets : ' ' I like them well— the curious preclseness And all-pretended gravity of those That seek to banish hence these harmless sports, ;: ., Have thrust away much ancient honesty." " The nation," continued he, " is altered ; we have almost lost our simple true-hearted peasantry. They have broken asunder from the higher classes, and seem to think their interests are separate. They have become too knowing, and begin to rend news- papers, listen to alehouse politicians, and talk of re- ' " An English gentleman at the opening of the great day, I. e. on Christmas day in Ihe morning, had all his tenants and neigh- Iwnrs entered his hall by day break. The strong beer was broach- ed, and the black jacks went plentifully alwut with toast, sugar and nutmeg, and gooil Cheshire cheese. The Hackin ( the great; sausage ) nmst be boiled by day break, or else two young men must take the maiden ( i. c. the cook ) by the arms and run her round the market-place till she is shamed of her laziness."— Aouncf about our Sea-Coal fire. •1'" i !294 THE SKETCH BOOK. form. I think one mode to keep them in good hu- mour in these hard times, would be for the nobility and gentry to pass more time on their estates, mingle inore among the country people, and set the merry old English games going again." Such was the good squire's project for mitigating public discontent : and, indeed, he liad once attempt- ed to put his doctrine in practice, and a few years before had kept open house during the holidays in the old style. The country people, however, did not understand how to play their parts in Ihe scene of hos- pitality; many uncouth circumstances occurred; the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the country, and more beggars drawn into the neighbourhood in one week than Ihe parish oflicers could get rid of in a year. Since then, he had contented himself with in- viting the decent part of the neighbouring peasantry to call at the hall on Christmas day, and with distri- buting beef, and bread, and ale, among the poor, that they might make merry in their own dwellings. We had not been long home when Uie sound of music was heard from a distance. A band of country lads, without coals, their shirt sleeves fancifully tied with ribands, Iheir hats decorated with greens, and clubs in their hands, were seen advancing up the ave- nue, followed by a large number of villagers and peasantry. They stopped before Ihe hall door, where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads per- formed a curious and intricate dance, advancing, re- treating, and striking their clubs together, keeping exact time to the music; while one, whimsically crowned with a fox's skin, the tail of which Haunted down his back, kept capering round Ihe skirls of the dance, and rattling a Christmas box with many antic gesticulations. The stpiire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great interest and delight, and gave me a full account of its origin, which he traced to the times when the Ro- mans held possession of the island ; plainly proving that this was a lineal descendant of the sword dance of the ancients. " It was now, " he said, " nearly ex- tinct, but he had accidentally met with traces of it in the neighbourhood,and had encouraged ilsrevivaljtliough, to tell the truth, it was too apt to be followed up by rough cudgel play, and broken heads in the evening." After Ihe dance was concluded, the whole party was entertained with brawn and beef, and slout home- brewed. The squire himself mingled among the rus- tics, and was received with awkward demonstrations of deference and regard. It is true I perceived two .'tr three of the younger peasants, as they were raising their tankards to their moullis, when the squire's back was turned, making something of a grimace, and giving each other the wink ; but the moment they caught my eye they pulled grave faces, and were ex- ceedingly demure. With Master Simon, however, they all seemed more at their ease. His varied occu- pations and amusements had made him well known throughout Ihe neighbourhood. He was a visitor at every farm-house and cottage ; gossiped wilh Uie farm- ers and their wives; romped with their danghlersj and like that type of a vagrant bachelor, the humbk bee, tolled the sweets from all the rosy lips ot'ii country round. The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way befoj good cheer and affability. There is something i nuine and affectionate in the gaiety of the low«r orJ ders, when it is excited by the bounty and famiiiarij of those above them ; the warm glow of gratitu enters into Iheir mirth, and a kind word or a small pleasantry frankly uttered by a patron, gladdens lb Iieart of the dependant more than oil and wine. Whei the squire had retired, the merriment increased, an there was much joking and laughter, particularly!: tween Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced, whitj headed farmer, who appeared to be the wltofUij village : for I observed all his companions to waitwid^ open months for his retorts, and burst into a gratDil| ous Inugh before they could well understand lliem. I tie whole house indeed seemed abandoned merriment : as I passed to my room to dress for dinna I heard Ihe sound of music in a small court, and loolJ ing through a window that commanded it, I perl ccived a band of wandering musicians, with pnndea| pipes and tambourine ; a pretty coquettish liousenia was dancing a jig with a smart country lad, whilj several of the other servants were looking on. Inil midst of her sport the girl caught a glimpse of i face at the window, anil colouring up, ran off vill an air of roguish affected confusion. THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. Lo, now is come our joyful'st fcasl ! Let every man be jolly, Eaclie roome willi y vie leaves is dresi, Ami every post with holly. Now all our iielglilwuiV chimneys smoke, And Clii'islnias blocks are burning ; Their ovens they wilh bak't meals choke. And all Ibcir spits are turning. Without the door b't sorrow lie, And if, for culd, it hai* to die, ■Wee'te bury 't in a Christmas pyc, And evermore be merry. WiTUEHs' Juvtmii.! I iiAi) finished my toilet, and was loitering will Frank Bracebridge in the library, when we lieanll distant thwacking sound, which he informed nieiri a signal for Ihe serving up of the dinner. The squii kept up old customs in kitchen as well asliall;aq the rolling-pin, struck upon the dresser by llie i summoned Ihe servants lo carry in the meals. Just in tills nick the cook knock'd Ihricc, And all tlie waiters In a trice Ills summons did obey; IMch serving man, with dish in hand. March'd Itoldly up, like our train band, I'rcsenled, and away. ■ • Sir John Suoklingi |lbe occasion ; a nm SKETCH BOOK, 295 n as well as hall; an The dinner was served up in the great liall, where llhe squire always held his Christ mas banquet. A ting crackling fire of logs had been heaped on to wrm Che spacious apartment, and the llame went Wing and wreathing up the wide-mouthed chim- The great picture of the crusader and his white llane had been profusely decorated with greens for I occasion ; and holly and ivy had likewise been italhed round the helmet and weapons on the op- isite wall, which I understood were the arms of the ! warrior. I must own, by the by, I had strong about the authenticity of the painting and oor as having belonged to the crusader, they cer- hinly having the stamp of more recent days ; but I ttold that the painting had been so considered |liineoiit of mind ; and that, as to the armour, it had «n found in a lumber room, and elevated to its pre- nt situation by the squire, who at once determined ilo be the armour of the family hero ; and as he was iolute authority on all such subjects in his own lehold, the matter had passed Jnto current accep- laiion. A sideboard was set out just under this chi- alric trophy, on which was a display of plate that ghthave vied (at least in variety) with Belshazzar's laradeof the vessels of the temple : " flagons, cans, nps, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers ; " the gor- «ns utensils of good companionship that had gra- dually accumulated through many generations of jo- jrial liousekeepers. Before these s,tood the two yule ndles, beaming like two stars of the first magnitude; lotlier lights were distributed in branches, and the irhole array glittered like a firmament of silver. We were ushered into this banqueting scene with lie sound of minstrelsy, the old harper being sealed bn a stool beside the fire-place, and twanging his in- strument with a vast deal more power than melody. \ever did Christmas board display a more goodly and [racious assemblage of countenances ; those who were ^ot handsome, were, at least, happy ; and happiness 5 a rare improver of your hard-favoured visage. I {always consider an old English family as well worth pludyingas a collection of Holbein's portraits or AI- it Durer's prints. There is much antiquarian lore kobe acquired ; much knowledge of the physiognomies V former limes. Perhaps it may be from having «nlinually before their eyes those rows of old family ortraits, with which the mansions of this country |ire stocked ; certain it is, that the quaint features of ntiquity are often most faithfully perpetuated in these ncient lines; and I have traced an old family nose Ihrough a whole picture gallery, legitimately handed nown from generation to generation, almost from the pnie of the Conquest. Something of the kind was to B observed in the worthy company around me. Many bf their faces had evidently originated in a gothic age, m been merely copied by succeeding generations ; m lliere was one little girl ii- particular, of staid peineanour, with a high Roman nose, and an antique ["inegar aspect, who was a great favourite of the quire's, being, as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very counterpart of one of his ancestors who figured in the court of Henry VIII. The parson said grace, which was not a short fa- miliar one, such as is commonly addressed to the Deity in these unceremonious days ; but a long, court- ly, well-worded one of the ancient school. There was now a pause, as if something w?8 expected ; when suddenly the butler entered the hall with some degree of bustle : he was attended by a servant on each side with a large wax light, and bore a silver dish, on which was an enormous pig's head, decorated with rosemary, with a lemon in its mouth, which was placed with great formality at the head of the table. Tlie moment this pageant made its appearance, the harper struck up a flourish ; at the conclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receiving a hint from the squire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, an old carol, the first verse of which was as follows : I; f'.? Caput apri defcro Reddens laudes Uomino. * The Iwar's liead in liand bring I. ; Willi garlands gay and rosemaiy. , 1 pray you ail synge nierily Qui estis in convivio. Though prepared to witness many of these little ec- centricities, from being apprized of the peculiar hobby of mine host; yet, I confess, the parade with which so oddadishwasintroducedsomewhat perplexed me,until I gathered from the conversation of the squire and the parson, that it was meant to represent the bringing in of the boar's head ; a dish formerly served up with much ceremony and the sound of minstrelsy and song, at great tables, on Christmas day. " I like the old custom, " said the squire, " not merely because it is stately and pleasing in itself, but because il was ob- served at Ihe College at Oxford, at which I was edu- cated. When I hear Ihe old song chanted, il brings to mind the time when I was young and gamesome —and the noble old college hall— and my fellow stu- dents loitering about in their black gowns; many of whom, poor lads, are now in their graves ! " The parson, however, whose mind was not haunt- ed by such associations, and who was always more taken up with the text than the sentiment, objected to the Oxonian's version of the carol ; which he aflirmed was different from that sung at college. He went on, with the dry perseverance of a commentator, to give the college reading, accompanied by sundiy an- notations ; addressing himself at first to the company at large ; but finding their attention gradually diverted to other talk, and other objects, he lowered his lone as his number of auditors diminished, until he concluded hisremarksin an under voice, loa fat-headed old gentle- man next him, who was silently engaged in the dis- cussion of a huge plateful of turkey. ■ The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented an epitome of country abundance, in this season of overflowing larders. A distinguished post • The old ceremony of serving np ihc lioar's head on Cliristmas day is still observed in the liall of Queen's College, 0.\foi-d. 1 was 296 THE SKETCH BOOK, If'.. was allotted to " ancient sirloin, " as mine host term- ed it; being, as he added, " the standard of old Eng- lish hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and full of expectation." There were several dishes qaaintly decorated, and which had evidently some- thing traditional in their embellishments; but about which, as I did not like to appear over curious, I asked no questions. I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnifi- cently decorated with peacoc'-'o r<>at]iers, in imitation of the tail of that bird, which overshadowed a consi- derable tract of the table. This, the squire con- fessed, with some little hesitation, was a pheasant pie, though a peacock pie was certainly the most autlien- tical; but there had been such a mortality among the peacocks this season, that he could not prevail upon himself to have one killed.' It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may not have that foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things to which I nm a little given, were I to mention the other make-shifls of this worthy old hu- morist, by which he was endeavouring to follow up, though at humble distance, the qua^ ' customs of an- tiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the respect shown to his whims by his children and relatives ; who, indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed all well versed in their parts ; hav- ing doubtless been present at many a rehearsal. I was amused, too, at theair of profound gravity with which favoured by the panon witli a copy of ttie carol as now sung, and as it may be acceptable to such of my readera as are curious in these grave and learned matters, I give it entire. The boar's head in hand bear I, Bedeck 'd with bays and rosemary ; And I pray you, my masters, be merry, Quot estis in convivio. Caput apri dcfcro Reddens laudes Domino. The boar's head, as I understand, b the rarest dish in all this land, ' I Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland Let us scrvire cantico. Caput apri dercro, etc. Our steward hath provided this In honour of llic King of Itliss, Which on this day to be served is In Reginensi Alrio. Caput apri defero, etc. etc. etc. ■ The Peacock wax anciently in great demand for stately enter- tainments. Sometimes it was made intoa pie, at one end of which the head appeared above the crust in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt ; at the other end the tall was displayed. Such pies were served up at the solemn banquets of chivalry, when Knights- errant pledged themselves to undertake any perilous enterprise i whence came the ancient oath, used by Justice Shallow, " by cock and pie." The peacock was also an important dish for the Christm"- ' ^ot ; and Massingcr, in his City Madam, gives some idea of the extrava- gance with which this, as well as other dishes, was prcparni fur the gorgeous revels of Uie olden times i " Men may laikofCuiinlry Chri;tmas8(!s, their thirty |)uunil bullcr'd eggs ; lliclr pics nl caqM' lo.igucs; HieJr pheasants drench 'd with ainlwrgris; the careaies of three fat wrtltivt bruited for gravy to make sauce for a liinglt pearoek !" the butler and other servants executed the duties as. signed them, however eccentric. They had an oldJ fashioned look; having, for the most part, M brought up in the household, and grown into keepm with the antiquated mansion, and the humours of iij lord; and most probably looked upon all liiswliimsicj regulations as the established laws of honourablJ housekeeping. When the cloth was removed, the butler brouvhll in a huge silver vessel of rare and curious workman ship, which he placed before the squire. Its appearJ ance was hailed with acclamation; being theWassi Bowl, so renowned in Christinas festivity. ThecoJ tents had been prepared by the squire himself; for j was a beverage in the skilful mixture of which he i ticularly prided himself, alleging that it was too j struse and complex for the comprehension of an otdi-l nary servant. It was a potation, indeed, that i well make the heart of a toper leap within him ; beini composed of the richest and raciest wines, highly gid ced and sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing a the surface. ■ The old gentleman's whole countenance bv. .i« with a serene look of in-dwelling delight, as he sti this mighty bowl. Having raised it to his lips, wji hearty wish of a merry Christinas to all present h sent it briinmuig round the board, for every one t follow his example, according to the primitive style J pronouncing it " the ancient fountain of good feeliojl where all hearts met together." » There was much laughing and rallying as the! nest emblem of Christmas joviality circulated, an was kissed rather coily by the ladies. When it reai ed Master Simon, he raised it in both hands, witli the air of a boon companion struck up an i Wassail chanson : The brown bowie. The merry brown bowlo. As It goes round about-o, > Fill Still, Let the world say what it Will, And drink your fill all out-a. ■•'' •' The deep canne, ^ > ■ j 'v The mciTy deep canne. As thou dost freely quaff-a, ' The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale iosteid ol wine I with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabiiii this way the nut-brown beverage is still prepared in wnK o families, and round the hearths of subslanUal farmers at ( mas. It is also called Lamb's Wool, and is celebrated by Ha inhte Twelfth Night : Next crowne the bowIe Ibll With gentle Lcmb's Wooll, Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale too I And thus yc must doe To make the Wassaile a swinger. • " The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place kl each having his cup. When the steward came to the doore willi| the Wassel, he was to cry three times, tVattel, n'astrt, n'ntiitM and then the cha|)pcll ( chaplain ) was to answer with a tm'-f Archvoloou. THE SKETCH BOOK. 297 nted the daties as- They had an oldJ I most part, Ki{ grown into kwpm the humours of iij lonaUhiswhimsici aws of honourable! , the butler broughd 1 curious workman squire. Its appear.] a J being theWa festivity. The cod squire himself; for ii Lure of which he I ; that it was too j rehension of an ordi-l I, indeed, that mighj ap within him ; bein iest wines, highly spi-] apples bobbing a countenance bv. .le ; delight, ashesiirt edit tohi$lips,AYith{ nas to all present,! ard, for everyone ,0 the primitive style; intainofgoodfeelingj nd rallying as the! iality circulated, an idies. When it real in both hands, ion struck up an i wIp, ut-a. latilwill, II out-a. latr-a, composed of ale liuleid get, and roasted crabti still prepared in dome itantlal farmers at ' id Is celebrated by H( vie hill Wooll. (inger, vlngcr. Jlie same cup gave pbM*! [rdcamolothodoorewilk I to answer with* Hong '-1 Sing Fling, , . ., Be as merry as a king, And sound a lusty laugli-a. ' Much of the conversation during dinner tur d jpon family topics, to which I was a stranger. There sas however, a great deal of rallying of Master Si- mon about some gay widow, with whoni he was ac- cused of having a flirtation. This attack was coin- lenced by the ladies ; hut it was continued throughout llhe dinner by the fat-headed old genlleinan next the with the persevering assiduity of a slow Ibound; being one of those longwinded jokers, who, lugh rather dull at starting game, are unrivalled for leir talenls in hunting it down. At every pause in general conversation, he renewed his bantering in relty much the same terms; winking hard at me ilh bolh eyes, whenever he gave Blaster Simon hat he considered a home thrust. The latter, in- , seemed fond of being teased on the subject, as bachelors are apt to be; and he took occasion to iforin me, in an under tone, that the lady in question as a prodigiously fine woman, and drove her own irricle. The dinner-time passed away in this flow of inno- nt hilarity, and though the old hall may have lunded in its time with many a scene of broader rat and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed honest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it is one benevolent being to diffuse pleasure around ; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of glad- ss, making every thing in its vicinity to freshen ito smiles ! the joyous disposition of the worthy [uire was perfectly contagious; he was happy him- f,and disposed to n^ ^e all the world happy; and 16 little eccentricitits of bis humour did but season, a manner, the sweetness of his philanthropy. When the ladies had retired, the conversation, usual, became still more animated; many good lings were broached which had been thought of dur- dinner, but which would not exactly do for a ily's ear; and though I cannot positively affirm that lere v.'as much wit uttered, yet I have certainly ard many contests of rare wit produce much less lugliler. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ;redient, and much too acid for some stomachs ; but inest good hiunour is the oil and wine of a merry :ting, and there is no jovial companionship ecpial that, where the jokes are rather small, and the inghler abundant. The squire told several long stories of early college aiiks and adventures, in some of which the parson id been a sharer; though in looking at the latter, it Hired some effort of imagination to figure sucli a lie dark anatomy of a man into the perpetrator of a itlcap gamliol. Indeed, the two college chums iiled pictures of what men may be made by their ferent lots in life; the squire had left the University live lustily on his paternal domains, in the vigorous Ifixtm Poor Robin's Almanac. enjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, and had flou- rished on to a hearty and florid old age ; whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had dried and withered away, among dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows of his study. Still there seemed to be a spark of al- most extinguished fire, feebly glimmering in the bot- tom of his soul; and as the s(piire hinted at a sly story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid, whom they once met on the banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an " alphabet of faces," which, as far as I could decipher his physiognomy, I verily believe was indi- cative of laughter;— indeed, I have rarely met with an old gentleman that took absolute offence at the im< puted gallantries of his youth. I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry laud of sober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as their jokes grew duller. Mas- ter Simon was in as chirping a humour as a grass- hopper filled with dew ; his old songs grew of a warmer complexion, and he began to talk maudlin about the widow. He even gave a long song about the wooing of a widow, which he informed me he liad gathered from an excellent black-letter work, entitled "Cupid's Solicitor for Love," containing store of good advice for bachelors, and which he promised to lend me : the first verse was to this effect : He that will woo a widow must not dally, He must malic hay while the sun doth .shine ; He must not stand with her, shall I, sliall I, But boldly say. Widow, thou must be mine. This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who made several attempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller, that was pat to the purpose ; but he always stuck in the middle, every body recollecting the latter part excepting himself. The parson, too, began to show the effects of good cheer, having gra- dually settled down into a doze, and his wig sitting most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncture we were summoned to the drawing-room, and, I sus- pect, at the private instigation of mine host, whose joviality seemed always tempered with a proper love of decorum. 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 merriment, as they played at romping games. I de- light in witnessing the gambols of children, and par- ticularly at this happy holiday season, and could not help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing one of their peals of laughter. I f'oimd them at the game of blindman's-huff. Master Simon, who was the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule, ■ was blinded in the midst of the hall. Hie little beings were as busy about him as the mock • " At Chrislmassc there was in the Kingcs house, wheresoever hoc was lodged, alorile of misrule, or mayster of merle disportes, and Ihn like had yc in the house of every nobleman of honor, or good worshippe, were ho splriluall or temporall."-8Towi. 38 <n 1:296 THE SKETQI BOOK. |i v-.t 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 complete 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 corners, and obliged her to jump shrieking over chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded than was convenient. When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seated round the lire, listening to the par- son, who was deeply ensconced in a high-backed oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer of yore, which had been brouglit from the library for his particular accommodation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with which his shadowy figure and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he was dealing out strange accounts of the popular supersti- tions and legends of the surrounding country, with which he had become acquainted in the course of his antiquarian researches. I am half inclined to think that the old gentleman was himself somewhat tinc- tured with superstition, as men are very apt to be who live a recluse and studious life, in a sequestered part of the country, and pore over black-letter tracts, so often filled with the marvellous and supernatural. He gave us several anecdotes of the fancies of tl>e neighbouring peasantry, concerning the effigy of the crusader, which lay on the tomb by the church altar. As it was the only monument of the kind in that part of the country, it had always been regarded with feelings of superstition by the good wives of the vil- lage. It was said to get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of the churchyard in stormy nights, parti- cularly when it thundered; and one old woman, whose cottage bordered on the churchyard, had seen it through the windows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly pacing up and down the aisles. It was the belief that some wrong had been left un- redressed by the deceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in a state of trouble and restless- ness. Some talked of gold and jewels buried in the tomb, over which tlie spectre kept watch ; and there was a story current of a sexton in old times who en- deavoured to break his way to the coflin at night, but, just a", he reached it, received a violent blow from the '.narble hand of the effigy, which stretched liim scseless on the pavement. Tiiese tales were often Ir.ughed at by some of the sturdier among the rustics, yet when night came on, there were many of the stou'est unbelievers that were shy of venturing alone in the footpath that led across the churchyard. From these and other anecdotes that followed,- the crusader appeared to be the favourite hero of ghost stories throughout the vicinity. His picture, which hung up in the hall, was thought by the servants to have something supernatural about it ; for they re- marked that, in whatever part of the hall you went, the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on you. The j old porter's wife too, at the lodge, who had been born 1 and brought up in the family, and was a great gossip among the maid servants, affirmed that in her yoang days she had often heard say, that on Midsummer eve when it was well known all kinds of ghosts, goblins and fairies' become visible and walk abroad, the orn- sader used to mount his horse, come down from his picture, ride about the house, down the avenue, and j so to the church to visit the tomb; on which occasion the church door most civilly swung open of itself; not I that he needed it, for he rode through closed gates I and even stone walls, and had been seen by one ofl the dairy maids to pass between two bars of the great [ park gate, making himself as thin as a sheet of paper. , All these superstitions I found had beenveiymuoiil countenanced by the squire, who, though notsuper-l stitious himself, was vei-y fond of seeing others so.! He listened to every goblin tale of the neighbouring! gossips with infinite gravity, and held tl.e porter'sl wife in high favour, on account of her talent for the| marvellous. He was himself a great reader of ( legends and romances, and often lamented that hel cculd not believe in them; for a superstitious persoii,| he thought, must live in a kind of fairy land. Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories,! our Ctiis were suddenly assailed by a burst of iietero-l geneous sounds from the hall, in which were mingiei something like the clang of rude minstrelsy, with thd uproar of many small voices and girlisli laiighlerJ The door suddenly flew open, and a train cai trooping into the room, that might almost have beed mistaken for the breaking up of the court of Fairy| That indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in the faitl ful discharge of his duties as lord of misrule, \a conceived the idea of a Christmas mummery or nijs quing; and having called in to his assistance the Osol nian and the young officer, who were equally rip for any thing that should occasion romping and mwj riment, they had carried it into instant effect. Th old housekeeper had been consulted; the anliqnj clothes-presses and wardrobes rummaged, and niau to yield up the relics of finery that had not seen l light for several generations; the younger part of tin company had been privately convened from the | lour and hall, and the whole had been bedizened odIJ into a burlesque imitation of an antique masque.' Master Simon led the van, as " Ancient Christ mas," quaintly apparelled in a ruff, a short cloi which had very much the aspect of one of the ( housekeeper's petticoats, and a hat that might \ai served for a village steeple, and must indubitably M figured in the days of the Covenanters. From undij this his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with a fro bitten bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a I I Masquings or mummeries were favourite sports at Christ: in old times; ami the waixlrobes at halls and manor-hoiwm often laid under contribuiion to furnish drosses and fanlMlicij Riiisings. I strongly suspect Master Simon to have taken the » of his from Ben Jonson's Masque of Christmas. THE SKETCH BOOK. ^SQ I antique mas(iue. as " Ancient Cliri ceniber blast. He was accompanied by the blue-eyed njmp, dished up as " Dame Mince Pie," in llie vene- rable magnificence of faded brocade, long stomacher, peaked bat, and high-heeled slices. The yonng ofii- cer appeared as Robin Hood, in a sporting dress of I Rendal green, and a foraging cap with a gold tassel. The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to I (letp research, and there was an evident eye to the picturesque, natural to a yorng gallant in presence of his mistress. The fair Julia hung on his arm in a pretty rustic dress, as " Maid Marian." The rest of the iraia had been metamorphosed in various ways; the girls trussed up in the finery of the ancient belles of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bcwhisker- ed with burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, iianging sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to represent the characters of Roast Beef, Plum Pudding, and oilier worthies celebrated in ancient masquings. The vbole was under the control of the Oxonian, in the appropriate character of Misrule; and I observed that heexercised rather a mischievous sway with his wand I over the smaller personages of the pageant. The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of I drum, according to ancient custom, was the consum- mation of uproar and merriment. Master Simon co- vered himself with glory by the slateliness with which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless, though giggling. Dame Mince Pie. It was followed by a dance of all the characters, ffiiich,from its medley of costumes, seemed as though the old family portraits had skipped down from their frames to join in the sport. Different centuries were figuring at cross hands, and right and left; the dark ages were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons ; and the (lays of Queen Bess jiggling merrily down the middle, I (hroiigh a line of succeeding generations. The worthy squire contemplated these fantastic {sports, and this resurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple relish of childish delight. Ik stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hear- ing a word the parson said, notwithstanding that the latter was discoursing most authentically on the an- cient and stately dance of the Paon, or peacock, from which he conceived the minuet to be derived. ' For my part, I was in a continual excitement from the varied scenes of whim and innocent gaiety passing before me. It was inspiring to see wild-eyed frolic and wa in-hearted hospitality breaking out from among the chills and glooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy, and catching once more the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an in- terest in the scene, from t he consideration that these fleeting customs were posting fast into oblivion, and I that this was, perhaps, the only family in England in ■ sir John IIawl(iiu, speaking o( the danco callcil llic Pavon, from pavo, a peacock, sayit, " It Is a grave and ini^esUc dance ; tlu; method of dancing itancienlly was by gentluineu (Iressed with caiM and iwords, by tliose of the long robe in llieir gowns, by the peers I In their mantles, and by the ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled that of a peacock."— »<«• lory nfMutie. which the wiiole of them was still punctiliously ob- served. There was a quaintness, too, mingled with all this revelry, that gave it a peculiar zest : it was suited to the time and place ; and as the old manor- house almost reeled with mirth and wassail, it seem- ed echoing back the joviality of long departed years. But enough of Christmas and its gambols ; it is time for me to pause in this garrulity. Melhinks I hear Uie questions asked by my graver readers, " To what purpose is all this?— how is the world to be made wiser by this talk?" Alas! is there not wisdom enough extant for the instruction of the world ? A nd if not, are there not thousands of abler pens labouring for its improvement? — It is so much pleasanter to please than to instruct — to play the companion rather than the preceptor. What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into the mass of knowledge; or how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be safe guides for the opinions of others? But in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is in my own disa[)pointment. If, however, I can by any lucky chance, in these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow; if I can now and then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent view of human nature, and make my reader more in good humour with his fellow beings and himself, sure- ly, surely, I shall not then have written entirely in vain. LITTLE BRITAIN. [ The following modicum of local history was lately put into my hands by an odd-looking old gentleman in a small brown wig and snufT-coIoured coat, with whom I became acquainted In the course of one of ray tours of observation through the centra of that great wilderness, the City. I confess tliat I was a little dubious at flrst, whelber it was not one of those aiMcryphul tales often passed off upon inquiring travellers like myself; and which have brought our gener.il character for veracity into such unmerited reproach. Ou making proper irtquiries, however, I have received the most satisfactory a^urances of the author's probity ; and, indeed, have been told that he is actually engaged in a full and particular account of (lie very interesting region in which he resides ; of wliich the following may be considered ir crcly as a foretaste. ] What I write is most true *"" I have a whole booke of case* lying by me, which if I should sette foortli, some grave auntienti ( w ithin the hearing of Bow bell ) would be out of charity with me. Jiksm. In the centre of the great city of London lies a small neighbourhood, consistingof a cluster of narrow streets and courts, of very venerable and debilitated houses, which goes by tlie name of Little Britain. Christ Church School and St Bartholomew's Hospital bound it on the west; Smithfield and Long-lane on the north; Aldersgate-street, like an arm of the sea, divides it from the eastern part of the city ; whilst the yawning gulf ofBull-and-Moulh-stieet separates it from Butcher- 300 THE SKETCH BOOK. Wr lane, and Iheregiuns of Newgale. Over this liltle ter- ritory, thus bounded and designated, the great dome of St Paul's, swelling above the intervening houses of Paternoster-row, Amen Corner, and Ave-Maria-lane, looks down with an air of motherly protection. This quarter derives its appellation from having been, in ancient times, the residence of the Dukes of Britanny. As London increased, however, rank and fashion rolled off to the wesi, and trade creeping on at their heels, took possession of their deserted abodes. For some time Little Britain became the great mart of learning, and was peopled by the busy and prolific race of booksellers : these also gradually deserted it, and, emigrating beyond the great strait of Newgate- street, settled down in Paternoster-row and St Paul's Churchyard, where they continue to increase and multiply even at the present day. But though thus fallen into decline. Little Britain still bears traces of its former splentlour. There are several houses ready to tumble down, the fronts of which are magnificently enriched with old oaken carvings of hideous faces, unknown birds, beasts, and fishes; and fruits and flowers which it would perplex a naturalist to classify. There are also, in Aldersgate- street, certain remains of what were once spacious and lordly family mansions, but which have in latter days been subdivided into several tenements. Here may often be fonnd the family of a petty tradesman, with its trumpery furniture, burrowing among the relics of antiquated finery, in great rambling lime- stained apartments, with fretted ceilings, gilded cor- nices, and enormous marble fire-places. The lanes and courts also contain many smaller houses, not on so grand a scale, but like your small ancient gentry, sturdily maintaining their claims to equal antiquity. These have their gable ends to the street; great bow windows, with diamond panes set in lead, grotesque carvings, and low arched door- ways. ' In this most venerable and sheltered little nest have I passcil several quiet years of existence, comfortably lodged in (he second floor of one of the smallest but oldest edifices. My sitting-room is an old wainscoted chamber, with small pannels, and set off with a mis- cellaneous array of furniture. I have a particular res- pect for three or four high-backed claw-footed chairs, covered with tarnished brocade, which bear the marks of having seen belter days, aud have doubtless figured in some of the old palaces of Little Britain. Tiiey seem to me to keep together, and to look down with sovereign contempt upon Iheir leather-bottomed neigh- bours; as I have seen decayed gentry carry a high head among the plebeian society with which tlicy were reduced lo associate. The whole front of my sitting-room is taken up with a bow window; on the panes of which are recorded the names of previous occupants for many generations, mingled with scraps of very indifferent gentleman-like poetry, written in ■ It is evident (liat tlic aullior of this interesting communication has incliideil, In his general title uf Little Britain, many of those little laites and comis that k<long immediately to Cloth Isilr. characters which I can scarcely decipher, Mid wlijch extol the charms of many a beauty of Little Rritain who has long, long since bloomed, faded, and passed away. As I am an idle personage, with no apparent occupation, and pay my bill regularly every week I am looked upon as the only independent goniieman of (he neighbourhood ; and, being curious to learn the internal state of a community so apparently shut up within itself, I have managed to work my way into all the concerns and secrets of the place. Liltle Britain may truly be called the heart's core of the city ; the strong hold of true John Bullism. it is a fragment of London as it was in its belter days with its antiquated folks and fashions. Here flourish in great preservation many of the holiday games and customs of vore. The inhabitants most reli^'iously eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, hot-cross-buns oii Good Friday, and roast goose at Michaelmas; ther send love-letters on Valentine's Day, burn the popeon the fifth of November, and kiss all the girls under the mistletoe at Christmas. Roast beef and plum pudding are also held in superstitious veneration, and port and sherry maintain their grounds as the only true English wines; all others being considered vile outlandish beverages. Little Britain has its long catalogue of city wonden, which its inhabitants consider the wonders of the world; such as the great bell of St Paul's, which sours all the beer when it tolls; the figures that strike the hours at St Dunstan's clock ; the Monument ; the lions in the Tower; and the wooden giants in Guildhall. They still believe in dreams and fortune-telling, and an old woman that lives in Bull-and-Mouth-street makes a tolerable subsistence by detecting stolen g(K)ds, and promising the girls good husbands. They are apt to be rendered uncomfortable by cornels and eclipses; and if a dog howls dolefully at night, it is looked up' n as a sure sign of a death in the place. There are even many ghost stories current, parlicu- larly concerning the old mansion-houses; in several of which it is said strange sights are sometimes seen. Lords and ladies, the former in fidl-boltomed wijs, hanging sleeves, and swords, the latter in lappets, stays, hoops, and brocade, have been seen walking up and down tlie great waste chambers, on moonlight nights; and are supposed to be the shades of the an- cient proprietors in their court dresses. Little Britain has likewise its sages and great men. One of the most important of the former is a tail dry old gentleman, of the name of Skryme, who keeps a small apothecary's shop. He has a cadaverous coiinlenunce, full of cavities, and projections; with a brown circle round each eye, like a pair of horn spectacles, lie is much (bought of by the old women, who consider him as a kind of conjuror, becaii.se he has two or three stuffed alligators hanging up in his shop, and several snakes in bottles. He is a great reader of almanacs and newspapers, and is much given to pore over alarming accounts of plots, conspi- racies, fires, earthquakes, and volcanic criiplioiis; lecipher, Midwliich iity of Liille Britain, d, faded, and passed ;e, with no apparent daily every week, I ependent getilleman 5 curious to learn the I apparently shut up J work my way into le place. illetl the heart's core le John Bullism. it ras in its belter days, lions. Here flourisii e holiday games and ints most religiously ly, hot-cross-buns on at Michaelmas; they )ay, burn the popeon s all the girls under oast beef and plum lions veneration, and ■ grounds as the only )eing considered vile ogiie of city wonders, the wonders of the St Paul's, which sours igures that strike the Monument ; the liens I giants in Guildhall. \ fortune-telling, and hill-and-Moulh-streel by detecting stolen ood husbands. They rtable by cornels and )lefnlly at night, ills I death in the place. ries current, parlicu- houses; in several are sometimes seen. full-bottomed wigs, he latter in lappets, )een seen walking up nbers, on moonlight le shades of the an- resses. ages and great men. le former is a tali Skryme, who keeps has a cadaverous projections; with a ike a pair of liom f by the old women, onjuror, becraise he s hanging up in his les. He is a great apers, and is much nts of plots, conspi- volcanic eruptions; THE SKETCH BOOK. 801 which last phenomena he considers as signs of the times. He has always some dismal talc of the kind to deal out to his customers, with their doses; and thus at the same time puts both soul and body into an uproar. He is a great believer in omens and predic- tions; and has the prophecies of Robert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart. No man can make so nnich oat of an eclipse, or even an unusually dark day; and he shook the tail of the last comet over the lieads of his customers and disciples until they were nearly frightened out of their wils. He has lately got hold of popular legend or prophecy, on which he has been imusually eloquent. There has been a saying current among Ihe ancient sibyls, who treasure up these things, that when the grasshopper on the top of the Exchange shook hands with the dragon on the top of Bow Church steeple, fearful events would take place. This strange conjunction, it seems, has as strangely come to pass. The same architect has been engaged lately on the repairs of the cupola of the Exchange, and the steeple of liow Church; and, fearful to relate, the dragon and the grasshopper actually lie, cheek by jole, in the yard of his workshop. "Others," as Mr Skryme is accustomed to say, "may go star-gazing, and look for conjunctions in the heavens, but here is a conjunction on the earth, near at home, and under our own eyes, which sur- passes all the signs and calculations of astrologers." Since these portentous weathercocks have thus laid their heads together, wonderful events had already occurred. The good old king, notwithstanding that he had lived eighty-two years, had all at once given nplhe ghost; another king had mounted the throne; a royal duke had died suddenly — another, in France, had been murdered ; there had been radical meetings in all parts of the kingdom; the bloody scenes at Man- chester; the great plot in Cato-street; — and, above all, the queen had returned to England ! All these sinister events are recounted by Mr Skryme with a mysterious look, and a dismal shake of the head; and being taken with his drugs, and associated in the minds of his auditors with stuffed sea -monsters, bottled serpents, and his own visage, which is a title- luge of tribulation, they have spread great gloom through the minds of the people in Little Britain. They shake their heads whenever they go by Bow Church, and observe, that they never expected any t,ood to come of taking down that steeple, which in old times told nothing but glad tidings, as the history ofWhittington and his Cat bears witness. The rival oracle of Little Britain is a substantial cheese-monger, who lives in a fragment of one of the old family mansions, and is as magnificently loilged as a round-bellied mite in the midst of one of his own Cheshire. Indeed he is a man of no little standing and importance ; and his renown extends through Huggin-lane, and Lad-lane, and even unto Alder- manbury. His opinion is very much taken in affairs of stale, having read the Sunday papers for the last half ceiilury, together with the Gentleman's Maga- zine, Rapin's History of England, and the Naval Chronicle. His head is stored with invaluable maxims which have borne the test of time and use for centu- ries. It is his firm opinion that " it is a moral im- possible," so long as England is true to herself, that any thing can shake her : and he has much to say on the subject of the national debt; which, somehow or other, he proves to be a great national bulwark and blessing. He passed the greater part of his life in the purlieus of Little Britain, until of late years, when, having become rich, and grown into the dig- nity of a Sunday cane, he begins to take his pleasure and see the world. He has therefore made several excursions to Hampstead, Highgate, and other neigh- bouring towns, where he has passed whole afternoons in looking back upon the metropolis through a tele- scope, and endeavouring to descry the steeple of St Bartholomew's. Not a stage coachman of Bull-and- Moutb-street but touches his hat as he passes ; and he is considered quite a patron at the coach-oflice of the Goose and Gridiron, St Paul's Churchyard. His fa- mily have been very urgent for him to make an expe- dition to Margate, but be has great doubts of those new gim-cracks the steam-boats, and indeed thinks himself too advanced in life to undertake sea-voyages. Little Britain has occasionally its factions and divi- sions, and parly spirit ran very high at one time in consequence of two rival "Burial Societies" being set up in the place. One held its meeting at the Swan and Horse-Shoe, and was patronized by the cheese-monger; the other at the Cock and Crown, under the auspices of the apothecary : it is needless to say that the latter was the most flourishing. I have passed an evening or two at each, and have acquired much valuable information, as to the best mode of being buried ; the comparative merits of churchyards; together with divers hints on the sub- ject of patent iron coffins. I have heard the ques- tion discussed in all its liearings, as to the legality of prohibiting the latter on account of their durability. The feuds occasioned by these societies have happily died of late ; but they were for a long time prevailing themes of controversy, the people of Little Britain being extremely solicitous of funeral honours and of lying comfortably in then' graves. Besides these two funeral societies, there is a third of quite a different cas*, which tends to throw the sunshine of good-humour over the whole neighbour- hood. It meets once a week at a little old-fashioned house, kept by a jolly publican of the name of Wag- staff, and bearing for insignia a resplendent half- mr on, with a most seductive bunch of grapes. The whole edifice is covered with inscriptions, to catch the eye of the thirsty wayfarer; such as " Truman, Han- bury, and Co.'s Entire," " Wine, Rum, and Brandy Vaults," "Old Tom, Rum and Compounds, etc." This indeed has been a temple of Bacchus and Momus from time immemorial. It has always been in the family of the Wagstafl's, so that its history is tolerably preserved by the present landlord. It was much fre- ( i 30i THE SKETCH BOOK. quented by the gallants and cavalieros of the reign of Elizabeth, and was loolced into now and then by the wits of Charles the Second's days. But what Wag- staff principally prides himself upon, is, that Henry the Eighth, in one of his nocturnal rambles, broke the head of one of his ancestors with his famous walk- ing staff. This, however, is considered as rather a dubious and vainglorious boast of the landlord. The club which now holds its weekly sessions here goes by the name of " the Roaring Lads of Lillle Britain." They abound in old catches, glees, and choice stories, that are traditional in the place, and not to be met with in any other part of the metro- polis. There is a madcap undertaker who is in- imitable at a merry song; but the life of the club, and indeed the prime wit of Little Britain, is bully Wagstaff himself. His ancestors were all wags be- fore him, and he has inherited with the inn a large stock of songs and jokes, which go with it from ge- neration to generation as heirlooms. He is a dapper little fellow, with bandy legs and pot belly, a red face with a moist merry eye, and a little shock of grey liair behind. At the opening of every club night he is called in to sing his ' Confession of Faith," which is the famous old drinking trowl from Gammer Gur- ton's Needle. He sings it, to be sure, with many variations, as he received it from his father's lips; for it has been a standing favourite at the Half-Moon and Bunch of Grapes ever since it was written : nay, he aflirms that bis predecessors have often had the ho- nour of singing it before the nobility and gentry at Christmas mummeries, when Little Britain was in all its glory.' It would do one's heart good to hear on a club night the shouts of merriment, the snatches of song, and now and then the choral bursts of half a dozen discordant voices, which issue from this jovial man- sion. At such times the street Ls lined with listeners, who enjoy a delight equal to that of gazing into a confectioner's window, or snufling up the steams of a cook-shop. • As mine host of the Hair-Moon's Conression of Faith may not be familiar to the majority of readers, and as it is a specimen of the currentsongs of Lillle Britahi, I suhjoin.it in its original orthogra- phy. I would observe, that the whole club always join in the chorus, with a feariUI tliumping on the tabic and clattering of pewter pots. I cannot eate but lyUe meate, Sly stomaclie is not good. But sure I thinke that I can drinke Willi him that wearcs a hood. Though I go bai-e take ye no care, I nothing am a colde, I stuff my skyn so full within, ;'' Of joly good ale and olde. chorui. Backe and syde go bare, go bare. Booth foole and hand go colde. But belly, God scud thee good ale ynoughe, Whether it be new or olde. I have no rost, bat a nut browne to&te, And a crab laid in the fyre i A little hreade shall do me ateade, Much breade I not dcsyre. There are two annual events which produce great stir and sensation in Little Britain; these are St Bar- tholomew's Fair, and the Lord Mayor's day. During the time of the Fair, which is held in the adjoining regions of Smithfield, there is nothing going on but gossiping and gadding about. The late <|uiet streets of Little Britain are overrun with an irruption of j strange figures and faces; every tavern is a scene of j rout and revel. The fiddle and the song are heard from the tap-room, morning, noon, and night; and at each window may l)e seen some group of boon companions, with half shut eyes, hats on one side, pipe in moulh and tankard in hand, fondling, and prosing, and singing maudlin songs over their liquor. Even the fiber decorum of private families, which! must say is rigidly kept up at other times among my neighbours, is no proofagainst this Saturnalia. There is no such thing as keeping maid-servanis within doors. Their brains are absolutely set madding with j Punch and the Puppet Show ; the Flying Horses; Signior Polito ; the Fire Eater ; the celebrated Mt I Paap ; and the Irish Giant. I'he children, too, lavisli | all their holiday money in toys and gilt gingerbread, and fill the house with the Lilliputian din of drums, | trumpets, and penny whistles. But the I.ord Mayor's day is the great anniversary, j The Lord Mayor is looked up to by the iiihabilantii of Little Britain as the greatest potentate upon eartli; his gilt coach with six horses as the summit of hu- man splendour; and his procession, with all the She- riff and Aldermen in his train, as the grandest of I earthly pageants. How they exult in the idea, that the King himself dare not enter the city, \Yilhoui first knocking at the gate of Temple Bar, and asking permission of the Lor^. Mayor : for if he did, heaven and earth I there is no knowing what might be the consequence. The man in armour who rides before the Lord Mayor, and is the city champion, liasorden | to cut down every body that offends against the dig- nity of the city; and then there is the little man witb | No frost nor snow, nor winde, 1 trowe. Can hurte mcc if I wolde, I am so wrapt and throwly lapt Of joly good ale and olde. Chorut, Backe and syde go bare, go bare, elc. And Tyb my wife, that, as her lyfo, Loveth well good ale to sceke. Full oft drynkes ghee, tyll ye may see, The tcares run downe bur chccke. Then doth shee irowlc to mc the bowlc, Even as a mault-worme sholde. And saylh, swcete haric, 1 took my parte Of this Joly good ale and olde. Chorus. Backe and syde go bare, go bare, etc. Now let them drynke, tyll they nod and winkc, Even as goodc foiluwcs shulde doc, They shall not myssc to have the bUssc, Good ale d(itli bring men to, And all poore soules that have scowred bowlcn, Or have them lustily trolde, God save the ly ves of them and their wives, Whether they be yonge or ohle. chorus. Backe and syde go bare, go bare, etc. THE SKETCH BOOK. 303 a velvet porringer on his head, who sits at the window of the state coach and holds the city sword, as long as a pike staff— Odd's blood ! If he once draws that sffoni, Majesty itself is not safe ! Ciulert lie protection of this mighty potentate, there- fore the good people of Little Britain sleep in peace. Temple Bar is an effectual barrier against all interior foes; and as to foreign invasion, the Lord Mayor has but to throw himself into the Tower, call in the train bands, and put the standing army of Beef-eaters un- der arms, and he may bid defiance to the world ! Thus wrapped up in its own concerns, its own habits, and its own opinions. Little Britain has long llonrisiied as a sound heart to this great fungous me- tropolis. I have pleased myself with considering it as a chosen spot, where the principles of sturdy John Buliism were garnered up, like seed corn, to renew the national character, when it had run to waste and degeneracy. I have rejoiced also in the general spi- rit of liarmony that prevailed throughout it ; for though there might now and then be a few clashes of opinion between the adherents of the cheese-monger and the apothecary, and an occasional feud between the burial societies, yet these were but transient clouds, and soon passed away. The neighbours met with good- ffill, parted with a shake of the hand, and never abus- ed each other except behind their backs. I could give rare descriptions of snug junketing parties at which I have been present ; where we play- ed at All-fours, Pope-Joan, Tom-come-tickle-ine, and other choice old games; and where we sometimes had a good old English country dance to the tune of Sir Roger de Coverley. Once a year also the neighbours would gather together, and go on a gipsy party to Epping Forest. It would have done any man's heart good to see the merriment that took place here as we banqueted on the grass under the trees. How we made the woods ring with bursts of laughter at the songs of little Wagstaff and the merry undertaker ! After dinner too, the young folks would play at blind- man's-bulTand hide-and-seek; and it was amusing to see them tangled among the briars, and to hear a fine romping girl now and then squeak from among the bushes. The elder folks would gather round the cheese-monger and the apothecary, to hear them talk politics; for they generally brought a newspaper in their pockets, to pass away time in the country. They would now and then, to be sure, get a little warm in argument; but their disputes were always adjusted by reference to a worthy old umbrella maker in a double chin, who, never exactly comprehending the subject, managed somehow or other to decide in favour of both parties. All empires, however, says some philosopher or historian, are doomed to changes and revolutions. Luxury and innovation creep in; factions arise; and families now and then spring up, whose ambition and intrigues throw the who.o system into confusion. Thus in latter days has the tranquillity of Little Britain been grievously disturbed, and its golden simplicity of manners threatened with total subversion, by the aspiring family of a retired butcher. The family of the Lambs had long been among the ' most thriving and popular in the neighbourhood : the Miss Lambs were the belles of Little Britain, and every botly 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 honr, however, one of the Miss Lambs had the honour of being a lady in attendance on the Lady 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 car- riage, put a bit of gold lace round the errand-boy's hat, and have been the talk and detestation of the whole neighbourhood ever since. They could no longer be induced to play at Pope-Joan or blindman's- buff; they could endure no dances but quadrilles, which nobody bad ever heard of in Little Britain ; and they took to reading novels, talking bad French, and playing upon the piano. Their brother too, who had been articled to an attorney, set up for a dandy and a critic, characters hitherto unknown 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 neighbours; but they had a great deal of genteel company from Theobald's-road, Red-lion-square, and other parts towards the west. There were several beaux of their brother's acquaintance from Gray'slnn- lane and Ilatton-garden; and not less than three Alder- men's ladies with their daughters. This was not to be forgotten or forgiven. 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 gossips of tha neighbourhood might be seen popping their night-caps out at every window, watching the crazy vehicles rumble by; and there was a knot of virulent old cronies, that kept a look-out from a house just opposite the retired but- cher's, and scanned and criticized 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 acquaintance, would give little hum-drum tea junketings 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 delighted 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 Mrs Lamb's anecdotes of Alderman Plunkel's family, of Portsoken- waitl, and the Miss Timberlakes, the rich heiresses 304 THE SKETCH BOOK. of Cnitched-Friars; but then tliey relieved their con- sciences, and averted llie reproaches of their confede- rates, by canvassing at tlie next gossiping convocation every thing tliat had passed, and pulling the Lambs and their rout all to pieces. The only one of the family that could not be made fashionable 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 hair like a shoebrush, and a broad face mottled like his own beef. It was in vain that the daughters always spoke of him as " (he old gentle- man," addressed him as " papa," in tones of infinite softness, and endeavo'ued to coax him into a dressing- gown and slippers, and other gentlemanly habits. Do what they might, there was no keeping down the butcher. His sturdy nature would break through all their glozings. He had a hearty vulgar good-humour that was irrepressible. His very jokes made his sen- sitive daughters shudder; and he |)ersisted in wearing bis bluecotton 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 unpopular- ity of his family. He found his old comrades gra- dually growing cold and civil to him ; no longer laugh- ing at his jokes; and now and then throwing out a fling at "some people," and a hint about "quality binding." This both nettled and perplexetl the ho- nest butcher; and his wife and daughters, with the consummate policy of the shrewder sex, taking ad- vantage of the circumstance, at length prevailed upon him to give up his afternoon's pipe and tankard at Wagstaffs; to sit after dinner by himself and take his pint of port — 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 in- duced a French dancing-master to set up in the neigh- bourhood; 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 iiddle and dancing pumps, and decamp with such precipitation, that he absolutely forgot to pay for his lodgings. I bad flattered myself, at first, with the idea that all this fiery indignation on the part of the commu- nity was merely the overflowing of their zeal for good old English manners, and their horror of innovation; and I applauded the silent contempt they were so vociferous in expressing, 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 be- ginning to follow their example. I overheard my landlady importuning her husband to let their daugh- ters have one quarter at French and music, 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. I still had my hopes that all this folly would <n». dually die away; that the Lambs might move out of the neighbourhood; might die, or might run away with attorneys' apprentices; and that quiet and slm. plicity might be again restored to the community, But unluckily a rival power arose. An opulent oilman died, and left a widow with a large jointure and a family of buxom daughters. The young ladies iiad long been repining in secret at the parsimony of a prudent father, which kept down all their elegant as- pirings. Their ambition being now no loii<;er re- strained broke out into a blaze, and they openly look the field against the family of the butcher. It is true that the Lambs, having had the start, had naturally an advantage of them in the fashionable career. Tiiey could speak a little bad French, play the piano, dance quadrilles, and had formed high acquaintances; but the Trotters were not to be distanced. VVlien the Lambs appeared with two feathers in their hats, tiie Miss Trotters mounted four, and of twice as line co- lours. If the Lambs gave a dance, the Trotters were sure not to be behind-hand : and though they might not boast of as good company, yet they had double the number, and were twice as merry. The whole community has at length divided itself | into fashionable factions, under the banners of tliese two families. The old games of Pope-Joan and Toni- come-tickle-me are entirely discarded; there is no such thing as getting up an honest country dance; and on my attempting to kiss a young lady under the mistletoe last Christmas, I was indignantly repulsed; the Miss Lambs having pronounced it " shocking vulgar." Bitter rivalry has also broken out as to the most fashionable part of Little Britain ; the Lambs standing up for the dignity of Cross-Keys-square, and the Trotters for the vicinity of St Bartholomew's. Thus is this little territory torn by factions and in- ternal dissensions, like the great empire whose name it bears; and what will be the result would puzzle the apothecary himself, with all his talents at prognostics, to determine; though I apprehend that it will termi- nate in the total downfall of genuine John Rullism. The immediate effects are extremely unpleasant lo me. Being a single man, and, as I observed before, rather an idle good-for-nothing personage, I have been considered the only gentleman by profession in the place. I stand therefore in high favour witlibolh parties, and have to hear all their cabinet counsels and mutual backbilings. As I am too civil not to agree with the ladies on all occasions, I have committed myself most horribly with both parties, by abusing their opponents. I might manage to reconcile tbis lo my conscience, which is a truly accommodating one, but I cannot to my apprehension — if the Lambs and Trotters ever come to a reconciliation and compare notes, I am ruined ! I have determined, therefore, to beat a retreat in 1 time, and am actually looking out for some otiierne$t TIIE SKETCH BOOK. 9ttl se of Ihe Miss Lambs lis folly would gra- i might move on', of or might run away that quiet and sim. to the commimily, . An opulent ulltnan large jointure and a le young ladies liad the parsimony of a 1 all their elegant as- now no longer re- and they openly look ; butcher. It is true start, had naturally lonable career. They play the piano, dance li acquaintances; Lnt slanced. When llie ers in their hals, the d of twice as line co- ce, the Trotters were id though they might it they had double the rry. it length divided ilseif the banners of these f Pope-Joan and Tom- iscarded; there is no )nest country dance; young lady under Ihe indignantly repulsed; unced it " shocking broken out as to the Britain; the Lambs oss-Keys-square, and It Bartholomew's, n by factions and in- empire whose name isult would puzzle the talents a», prognostics, tnd that it will ternil- luine John Piullism. remely unpleasant to as I observed before, IJ5 personage, I have man by profession in Ihigh favour with both cabinet counsels and ,00 civil not to agree Is, I have committed parties, by abusing ;e to reconcile this to accommodating one, In— If the Lambs and liliation and compare to beat a retreat in It for some otbeniesi ill Uiis great city, where old English manners are still kept up; where French is neither eaten, drank, dan- ced, nor spoken ; and where there are no fashionable families of retired tradesmen. This found, I will, like a veteran rat, hasten away before I have an old house about my ears; bid a long, though a sorrowful adieu to my present alwde, and leave the rival factions of the Lambs and Ihe Trotters to divide Ihe distracted empire of Little Britakx. STRATFORD-ON-AVON. Thou soft-flowing Avon, by tliy silver stream Of tilings mure than mortal sweet Sliakspearc woiilil ilrcam ; The fairies by mooiitiKlit dance round liis^ecn bed, Forhallow'd the turf is which pilluw'd his head. GABRICK. To a homeless man, who has no s|)Ot on this wide world which he can truly call his own, there is a Diomentary feeling of something like independence and territorial consequence, when, after a weary day's travel, he kicks off his Irauls, thrusts his feet into slippers, and stretches himself before an inn Are. Let the world without go as it may ; let kingdoms rise or fall, so long as he has the wherewithal to pay his bill, he is, for Ihe time being, the very monarch of all he surveys. The arm-chair is his throne, the poker his sceptre, and the little parlour, of some twelve feet sipiare, his undisputed empire. It is a morsel of certainty, snatched from the midst of the uncertainties of life ; it is a sunny moment gleaming out kindly on a cloudy day; and he who has advanced some way on the pilgrimage of existence, knows the importance of husbanding even morsels and moments of enjoyment. " Shall I not take mine ease in mine ion?'' thought I, as I gave the lire a stir, lolled back in my elbow-chair, and cast a complacent louk alraut the little parlour of the Red Horse, at Slratford-on- 1 Avon. The words of sweet Shakspeare were just passing I through my mind as the clock slrnck midniglit from tiie tower of the church in which he lies buried. There was a gentle tap at the door, and a pretty chambermaid, putting in her smiling face, inquired, with a hesitating air, whether I had rung. I under- stood it as a modest hint that it was time to retire. My dream of absolute dominion was at an end; so abdicating my throne, like a prudent potentate, to 1 avoid being deposed, and putting the Stratford Guide Book under my arm, as a pillow companion, I went I to bed, and dreamt all night of Shakspeare, the Jubilee, |and David Gar rick. The next morning was one of those quickening I mornings which we sometimes have in early spring; I for it was about the middle of March. The chills of la long winter had suddenly given way; the north I wind had spent its last gasp; and a mild air came stealing from the west, breathing the breath of life into natm-e, and wooing every bud aud flower to burst forth into fragrance and beauty. I had come to Stratford on a poetical pilgrimage. My first visit was to the liouse where Shakspeare was born, and where, according to tradition, he wag brought up to his father's craft of wool-combing. It is a small mean-looking edifice of wood and plaister, a true nestling-place of genius, which seems to delight in hatching its offspring in by-corners. The walls of its s<pialid chambers are covered with names and inscriptions in every language, by pilgrims of all na- tions, ranks, and conditions, from the prince to the peasant; and present a simple, but striking instance of the spontaneous and universal homage of mankind lo Ihe great poet of nature. The house is shown by a gamdous old lady, in a frosty red face, lighted np by a cold blue anxious eye, and garnished with artificial locks of flaxen hair, curling from under an exceedingly dirty cap. She was peculiarly assiduous in exhibiting the relics with which this, like all other celebrated shrines, abounds. There was the shattered stock of Ihe very matchlock with which Shakspeare shot the deer, on his poach- ing exploits. There, too, was his tobacco-box; which proves that he was a rival smoker of Sir Waltei' Raleigh; the sword also with which he played Ham- let; and Ihe identical lantern with which Friar Lau- rence discovered Romeo and Juliet at the tomb! There was an ample supply also of Shakspeare's mul- berry-tree, which seems to have as extraordinary powers of self-nuiltiplication as Ihe wood of the true cross; of which there is enough extant to build a ship of the line. The most favourite object of curiosity, however, is Shakspeare's chair. It stands in the cliimney nook of a small gloomy chamber, just beiiind what was his father's shop. Here he may many a lime have sat when a boy, watching the slowly revolving spit with all Ihe longing of an urchin; or of an evening, listening to the cronies and gossips of Stratford, deal- ing forth churchyard tales and legendary anecdotes of the troublesome times of England. In this chair it is the custom of every one that visits Ihe house to sit : whether this be done with Ihe hope of imbibing- any of the inspiration of Ihe bard I am at a loss to say — I merely mention the fact; and mine hostess pri- vately assured me, that, though built of solid oak, such was Ihe fervent zeal of devotees, that the chair had to be new bottomed at least once in three years. It is worthy of notice also, in the history of this extra- ordinary chair, that it partakes something of the vola- tile nature of the Santa Casa of Lorello, or the flying chair of the Arabian enchanter; for though sold some few years since to a northern princess, yet, strange to tell, it has found its way back again to the old chimney corner. I am always of easy faith in such matters, and am ever willing lo be deceivetl, where the deceit is ))leasant and costs nothing. I am therefore a ready believer in relics, legends, and local anecdotes of n rm THE SKETCH DOOK. r fn>l>lin!i aiul itreal iiicii ; and would advise all travellers wliu travel Tur llieir graUllcalioii tu be the same. Vliai iii it to UN, wlicllicr Miesc stories he true or Ihlsc, so loiij; as wc enii iM^rsuiide ourselves into the belief of them, and enjoy all the charm of the reality 7 There is nothing like resolute pNMl-hunioured eredu- lily in these matters; ond t»\ this (K'casion I went even so far as willin;;ly to iH'lievc the ehiims of mine hostess to a lineal descent from the |M»el, when, un- luckily for my faith, she put into my haiuls a play of her own com|Misition, which set all belief in her con- san^^uinily al derumce. l-'roni the birth-place of Shakspearc n few paces hroti;;hl mo to his );rave. He lies buried in the chancel of the parish church, a large and venerable pile, mouhlering with age, but richly ornamented. It stands (m the hanks of the Avon, on an embowered |i«>int, and separateil by adjoining ganlens from the suburbs of the town. Its situation is (piiet and retir- ed : the river runs nmrnnuing at the foot of the rhnrchyard, aiul the elms which grow upon its banks dr(Mi|> tlieir branches into its clear lH)sam. A n avenue of limes, the boughs of which are curiously iuterlactul, so as lo form in summer an arched way of foliage, leads u|> fnim the gule of the yard lo the church porch. The graves are overgrown with grass; the grey toiubstones, some of them nearly sunk into the earth, are half covered with moss, which has likewise tinted the reverend old building. Small birds have built their nestj) among the cornices and lissures of the walls, and keep up a continual thiKer and chirp- ing; and rooks are sailing and cawing about its lofty grey spire. In tiic course of my rambles I met with tlie grey- headed sexton, and accompanied him home lo get the key of the church. He had li\'ed in Stratford, man and boy, for eighty years, and seemed still to consi- der himself a vigorous man, with the trivial exception that he had nearly lost the use of his legs for a few years past. His dwelling was a cottage, looking out uiion the Avon and its bordering meadows ; and was a picture of that neatness, order, and comfort, which pervade the humblest dwellings in this country. A low white-washed room, with a stone floor carefully scrublieil, served for parlour, kitchen, and hall. Ilows of pewter and earthen dishes glittered along the dresser. Un an old oaken table, well rubbed and polished, lay the family bible and prayer-book, and the drawer contained the family library, com- posed of about, half a score of well-thumbeil volumes. An ancient clock, that important article of collage fiunilure, ticked un the opposite side of the room ; with a bright warming-p<tn hanging un one side of it, and the old man's horn-handled Sunday cane on the other. The ilre-place, as usual, was wide and deep enough to adnut a gossip knot within its jaml)s. In one corner sat the old man's grand-daughter sew- ing, a pretty blue-eyed girl, — and in the opposite corner was a superannuated crony, whom lie ad- dresscil by the name of John Ange, and who, I found, had been his companion fi-oni childhood. They |i.-h| playetl together in infancy; they had worketl to. getlier in manhood; they were now tottering lUnit and gossiping away Ihcevemngof life; and in a short time they will pn)bid)ly be buried together in ihe neighliouring churchyard. Il is not often tlini we see two streams of existence running thus cvruiy arid Ir.inqnilly side by side; it is only in such quiet "U>. som scenes" of life that they are to lie met with. I had hoped to gather some traditionary aiimloies of the bartl from these ancient chroniclers, hm ihry had nothing new lo impart. The long interviil (lur- ing which Shakspcare's writings lay in cuni|hiralive ueglccl has spread its shadow over his history ; and il is his good or evil lol that scarcely any {\m^ re- mains to his biographers but a scanty handful of con- jectures. The sexlon aiuI his companion had l)een employed as carpenters on the prcparalituis for Ihe cclelualetl Stratford jubilee, and they rcmemliered (>arrick, the prime mover of the f«He, who superintended the ar- rangenu'uls, and who, according lo the sexlon, naj "a short punch man, very lively and biistliii)!;." John Ange had assisted also in culling down Sliak- speare's mulberry tree, of which he had a niorsel in his |iocket for sale; no doubt a sovereign (piickenerof literary conception. I was grievetl to hear these two worthy wiuliij speak very dubiously of the el(Mpieut dame who slinws the Shakspeare house. John Ange shook his head when I mentioned her valuable and inexliausllble collection of relics, parlieularly her remains oriiui mulberi7-tree; and the old sexton even expressed! doubt as to Shakspeare having been burn in her house. I soon discovered that he looked upon ber mansion with an evil eye, as a rival to the poet's tomb ; the latter having comparatively but few visi- tors. Thus it is that historians differ at the very outset, and mere pebbles make the stream of truth diverge into different channels even at the fountain head. Wc approached Ihe church through the avenne ol limes, and entered by a golhic porch highly orni- menled, wilh carved doors of massive oak. The in- terior is spacious, and the architecture and embtHish- mcnt superior to those of nutst country cluirriies. There are several ancient monuments of noliillly and | gentry, over some of which hang funeral escutcheons, and banners dropping piecemeal from the walls. 'Itie tomb of Shakspeare is in the chancel. The place b solenm and sepulchral. Tall elms wave before tiw |H)inted windows, and the Avon, which runs at a sliort : distance fi-om the walls, keeps up a low per|wtiul murmur. A flat stone marks the spot where the bard is buried. There are four lines inscribed on il, saM lo have been written by himself, and which have in them something extremely awful. If they are indeed bis own, they show that solicitude about Ihequietol Ihe grave, which seems natural to line sensibililio | and thoughtful minds : THE SKETCH BOOK. • lliond. Thry lin<t hail worked lo- iw (otlerint; !iU)ul lire; niul ill a sluirt ed t()g«'tlicr in Die not ont'ii liini we ,11); tliiis cvrnly .ind ill 8I10I1 <|iii('l "bu' ) Im; met willi. ililioiiary anrdolcs iioniclers, liiil ilipy c loii^ intervui ilur- lay ill coiii|iara(ive ei Itis history ; and rcely any Ihini? re- anty handful of cou- hail Iwcii employed i for the coleliralfd iihered (larrii-k, the ilteiintentUMl llie ar- ; to the sexton, was rely and hustling." outline down Sliak- ) he hutl a morsel in )vei'eii;n(iuickenerof two worthy wijjlili tent ilaine who shows \ii;$e shook his head lie and inexhnustible her remains of the ton even expresstda m been born in her he looked upon btr a rival to the poet's Iratively but few visi- [IS differ at the very the stream of truth even at the fountaio lirough the avenue o( |c porch highly orna- nassiveoak. The in- lecture and cmbiHislh \t country cimrclies. Iments of nohility aiid funeral esciiichcom, from the walls, 'itn [lancel. The place iJ llms wave before the IwhichrunsatasliMt _ up a low perpetiul ! [e spot where the baid insciilwd on it, sad [, and which have ia 11. Iftheyareindcri Vie about the (juielot d to line sensibilili« nood frlonil, for Jdhw' Mkn, Airltoarv TimIIk (he (liMl rnrliMcil lirrc. Dli'MTil Im^ III- lliiit niwin'ii lliciw' ntiiiliil, AikI cunt he, lir tli.it iikivcr my iMino '. Just over the i^ravc, in a niche of the wall, is n bust ofSliakspcare, put up shortly after his death, and con- sideretl as a reseinhlaiire. The aspect is pleasant and serene, with a linely-archod forehead; and I Ihouftht I c«Hihl read in it clear indiralioiis of that cheerful, social <lisposition, by which he was as much charac- tcri/t'tl anioii}]; his coiileniporarics as by the vastness of his genius. The inscription mentions his a^c at the time of his decease — lifty-three years; an nn- liinely death for the world : for what fruit nii^lit not liave Iteeii expected from the fi^oKlen aiituiiiii uf such a inintl, slieltertHi as it was from the stormy vicissi- liuirs of life, and iloiirishing in the sunshine of \m- piiiar and royal favour ! The inscription on the tonihslnne hasnotlieen with- out its effect. It has preveiiletl the removal of his remains from the bosom «)f his native place to West- minster Ablwy, which was at one time conleniplated. A few years since also, as some lalxxirers were <iij;;;in$r to make an adjoining; vault, the earth caved in, so as to leave a vacant space almost like an arch, llii-ou{;h which one might have reached into his grave. No one, however, presumed to meddle with his remains so awfully guarded by a malediction ; and lest any of the idle or the curious, or any collector of relics, should he tempted to commit depredations, the old sexton kept watch over the place for two days, until the vault was iinished and the aperture closed a!j;ain. I He told me tliat he had made lK>ld to look in at the hole, but could see neither coflin nor bones; nothing butdust. It was something, I thought, to have 8<,cn jtlie dust of Shakspearc. Next to this grave are those of his wife , his fa- Ivourite {laughter, Mi's Hall, and others of his family. lOn a tomb close by, also, is a full length cfligy of his lold friend John Combe, of usurious memory; on |whoin he is said to have written a ludicrous epitaph. flierc are other monuments around, but the mind I'criisos to dwell on any thing that is not connected lilh Shakspeare. His idea pervades the place; the A'hole pile seems but as his mausoleum. The fecl- |n!», no longer checked and thwarted by doubt, here Indidge in perfect conlidence : other traces of biin Inay he false or dubious, but here is palpable evidence [nd absolute certainly. As I trod the sounding pave- lent, there was something intense and thrilling in ^le idea, that, in very truth, the remains of Shak- peare were mouldering beneath my feet. It was a )ng time before I could prevail upon myself to leave be place; and as T pas>i<ed through the churchyard, I lucked a branch from one of the yew trees, the only elicthat I have brought from Stratford. I had now visited the usual object of a pilgrim's de- tlion, bat I had a desire to see the old family seat the Lucys, at Cbarlecot, and to ramble through the >i'k where Shakspeare, in company with some of the roysters of Stratford, committed Ids yotillifid offence of deer-stealing. In Ibis hare-brained exploit we are told that he was taken priscmcr, ami carried to the keeper's lodge, where he remained all night in ihilcful captivity. When brought into the presence of Sir Thomas l.iicy, his treatment must have hern g.dling and humiliating; for it so wrought np<m his spirit an to produce a roiigli pas«|uiiiudc, which was affixed to the park gate at Cbarlecot.' This tlagitioiis attack upon the dignity of the knight so incensed him, that he applied to a lawyer at War- wick lo put the severity of the laws in force against the rhyming deer-stalker. Shakspeare did not wait to brave the united puissance of a knight of the shiro and a country attorney. He rortbwilh aliandoned the pleasant hanks of the Avon and his paternal trade ; wandered away to London; liecame a hanger-im lo the theatres; then an actor; and, linally, wrote for the stage; and thus, through the persecution of Sir Thomas Lucy, Stratford lost an indifferent wool-conilH er, and the world gained an immortal poet, lie re- tained, however, for a long time, a sense of the harsh treatment of the Lord of Chaiiecol, and revenged himself in his writings; but in the sportive way of a gmHl-natnied mind. Sir Thomas is said to l)c the original of Justice Shallow, and the satire is slily fixed upon him by the justice's armorial bearings, which, like tbase of the knight, had white luces' in the quat- terings. Various attempts have been made by his biogra- phfs to soften and explain away this early transgres- sion of the poet ; but I look upon it as one of those thoughtless exploits natural to his situation and turn of mind. Shakspeare, when young, had doubtless all the wildness and irregularity of an ardent, undisci- plined, and undirected genius. The poetic tempera- ment has naturally something in it of the vagabond. When left to itself it runs loosely and wildly, and de- lights in every thing eccentric and licentious. It is often n turn-np of a die, in the gambling freaks of fate, whether a natural genius shall turn out a great rogue or a great poet; and had not Sliakspeare's mind fortunately taken a literary bias, be might have as daringly transcended all civil, as he has all dramatic laws. I have little doubt that, in early life, when running, like an unbroken colt, about the ncighlwurhooti of Stratford, he was lo be found in the company of all kinds of odd anomalous characters; that he associated > The following i« the only olanza extant of this lampoon 1— A (farlinmcnt mcmlKir, a justice of peace, At liomc a |>ooi' scarecrow, at London an aue : ir lowbic is Lucy, as some volkc iniscalle it, Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever bebU it. He thinks liinisclf great ; Yet an assc in Ills stale, Wc allow by his ears but with asses to mate. If Lucy is lowsie, as some volkc miscalle it, Then sing lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. > The hicc is a pike or Jack, and abounds In the Avon about Charlecot. f 308 THE SKETCH BOOK. h'1 with all the madcaps of the pinoe, and was one of ihase unlucky urchins, at mention of whom old men shake their heads, and predict that they will one day come to the gallows. To him the ponchinp^ in Sir Thomas Lucy's park was douhlless like a foray to a Scottish knight, and struck his eager, and as yet un- tamed, imagination, as somethmg delightfully ad- venturous.' The old mansion of Gharlecot and it', surrounding park still remain in the possession of the Lucy family, and are peculiarly interesting, from being connected with this whimsical but eventful circumstance in the scanty history of the bard. As the house stood at little more than three miles distance from Stratford, I resolved to pay it a pedestrian visit, that >' might stroll leisurely through some of those scenes from which Shakspeare must have derived his earliest ideas of rural imagery. The country was yet naked and leafless; but Eng- lish scenery is always verdant, and the sudden change in the temperature of the weather was sur- prising in its quickening effects upon the landscape. It was inspiring and animating to witness this first awakening of spring; to feel its warm breath stealing over the senses ; to see the moist mellow earth begin- ning to put forth the green sprout and the tender blade : and the trees and shrubs, in their teviving tints and bursting buds, giving the promise of returning foliage and flower. The cold snowdrop, that little borderer on the skirts of winter, was to be seen with its chaste white blossoms in the small gardens before the cot- tages. The bleating of the new-dropt lambs was faintly heard from tlie fields. The sparrow twitter- ed about the thatched eaves and budding hedges ; the robin threw a livelier note into his late querulous > A proof of Shakst)c,ire'8 random liabilsand associates in liis youthful days may be found in a traditionary anecdote, piclicd up at Stratford by the elder Ireland, and nieutioncd in his " Pictures- que Views on the Avon." About seven miles from Stratford lies the thirsty little market town of Bedford, famous for its ale. Two societies of the village yeomanry used to meet, under the appellation of the Bedford to- pers, and to challenge the lovers of good ale of the neighbouring villages to a conletit of drinking. Among others, the people of Stratford were called out to prove the strength of their heads; and in the number of the champions was Shakspean;, who, in spite of Ihft proverb, that "they who drink Iwer will think beer," was as true to his ale as Falstaff to his sack. The chivalry of Stratford was staggered at tbe lirst onset, and sounded a retreat while they had yet legs to carry them off the Odd. They had scarcely march- ed a mile when, their legs failing tliem, they were forced to lie down under a crab-tree, where they passed the night. It is still ctanding, and gmis by the name of Shakspcare's tree. In the morning his companions awaked the bard, and proposed returning to B(>dford, but he declined, saying he had had enough, liaving drank with I'iping Pcbworth, Dancing Marston, Haunted llilbro'. Hungry Grafton, nudging Exhall, Papist Wicksfoitl, Beggarly Broom, and Drunken Bedford. "The villages here alluded to," says Irelaml, "still bear the epithets thus given them i the people of Pebworth arc still famed r(H- their skill on Uio pipe and l.ibor ; Ililborough is now called Haunted Hittwrough ; aud Grafton is famotu fur the poverty of its soil." wintry strain; and the lark, springing up from i|,e reeking bosom of the meadow, towered away into the bright fleecy cloud, pouring forth torrents of melody, As I watched the liltle songster, mounting up high^p and higher, until his Iwdy was a mere speck on the white bosom of the cloud, while the ear was still fi||. ed with his music, it called to mind Shakspeare's ex- quisite little song in Cymbeline : Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. And Phtrbus 'gins arise. His steeds to water at those springs, On chaliced llowcrs that lies. And winking mary-buds l)egin To ope their golden eyes ; With every thing that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise ! Indeed, the whole country about here is poetic ground : every thing is associated with the idea of Shakspeare. Every old cottage that I saw, I fancieil into some resort of his boyhood, where he had ac- quired his intiiTiate knowledge of rustic life and man- ners, and heard those legendary tales and wild super- 1 stitions which he has woven like witchcraft inio hit dramas. For in his time, we are told, it was a po- pular amusement in winter evenings "to sit round the fire, and tell merry tales of errant knighis, queens, lovers, lords, ladies, giants, dwarfs, thieves,. cheaters, witches, fairies, goblins, and friars." My route for a part of the way lay in sighlofthe| Avon, which made a variety of the most fanciful dou- blings and windings through a wide and fertile valley; I sometimes glittering from among willows, which fringed its borders; sometimes disappearing amoo; groves, or beneath green banks; and someliines ram- bling out into full view, and making an azure sveq) round a slope of meadow land. This bepuliriilbosooi of country is called the Vale of the Red Horse. A distant line of undulating blue hills seems to be ill boundary, whilst all the soft intervening landscape lies in a manner enchained in the silver links of liiej Avon. After pursuing the road for almut three miles, II turned off into a foot-path, which led along the bord-l ers of fields and under hedge-rows to a private galel of the park ; there was a stile, however, fur thel)e-| nefit of the pedestrian; there being a public ri|;liti way through the grounds. I delight in these liuspil- able estates, in Avhich every one has a kind of iirO'l perty — at least as far as the foot-path is concerneiL| It in some measure reconciles a poor man to his lol,| and, what is more, to the better lot of his neighlxHiri thus to have parks and pleasure grounds thrown opHl for his recreation. He breathes the pure uiras freelT,[ > Scot, in bis " Discoverie of Witchcraft," enumcMlMaliodil these flrc-side fancies. "And they have so fraid us witli liuU' gars, spirits, witches, urchins, elves, hags, fairies, Mlyrs, | faunes, syrens, kit with the can sticke, tritons, centaurs, liiwt glantes, imps, calcars, conjurors, nymphes, changclini^s, innitftl Robin-goodfellow, the siMorne, the mare, the man In lheole,ilil hell-waine, the flcr drake, the pucklu, Tom Tliombc, lioligolitaj Tom Tumbler, boneless, and such other bugs, that wu were a of our o^n shadowes." ry Coi 1 have now larj^e building tliegoiliicstyli Iniill ill the fit mains very n wnsidered a wealthy coun gateway opem THE SKETCH BOOR. 309 iren'8 gate sings. ind lolls as Inxuriously under the shade, as the lord of the soil; and if he has not the privilege of calling all that he sees his own, he has not, at the same I time, the trouble of paying fur it, and keeping it in onler. I now found myself among noble avenues of oaks and elms, whose vast size bespoke the growth of cen- turies. The wind sounded solemnly among their branches, and the rooks cawed from their hereditary nesls in the tree tops. The eye ranged through a long lessening vista, with nothing to interrupt the view but a distant statue; and a vagrant deer stalking like a shadow across the opening. There is something about these stately old avenues that has the effect of golhic architecture, not merely from the pretended similarity of form, but from their bearing the evi<lence of long duration, and of having had their origin in a period of time with which we associate ideas of romantic grandeur. They betoken also the long-settled dignity, and proudly-concentrat- ed independence of an ancient family; and I have heard a worthy but aristocratic old friend observe, when speaking of the sumptuous palaces of modern gentry, liiat " money could do much with stone and mortar, bill, thank Heaven, there was no such thing as sud- denly building up an avenue of oaks." It was from wandering in early life among this rich scenery, and about the romantic solitudes of the ad- joining park of Fullbroke, which then formed a part of the Lucy estate, that some of Shakspeare's com- mentators liave supposed he derived bis noble forest meditations of Jacques, and the enchanting woodland pictures in "As you like it." It is in lonely wanderings through such scenes, that the mind drinks deep but quiet draughts of inspiration, and becomes intensely sensible of the beauty and majesty of nature. The imagination kindles into reverie and rapture; vague but exquisite images and ideas keep breaking upon it; and we revel in a mule and almost incommuni- cable luxury of thought. It was in some such moud, and perhaps under one of those very trees before me, wliich threw Iheir broad shades over the grassy banks and quivering waters of the Avon, that the poet's fancy may have sallied forth into that little song which breathes the very soul of a rural voluptuary : Under the green wood tree, Wlio loves to lie with me, And tune his merry Uiroat, Unto the sweet bird's note, Come hither, come hither, come hilliert Here shall he see No enemy. But winter and rongh weather. 1 have now come in sight of the house. It is a I large building of brick, with stone quoins, and is in the golhic style of Queen Elizabeth's day, having been built in the first year of her reign. The exterior re- mains very nearly in its original state, and may he considered a fair specimen of the residence of a wealthy country gentleman of those days. A great gateway opens from the park into a kind of courtyard in front of the house, ornamented with a grass-plot, shrubs, and flower-beds. The gateway is in imita- tion of the ancient barbacan; being a kind of out-post, and flanked by towers; though evidently for mere or- nament, instead of defence. The front of the house is completely in the old style ; with stone-shafted case- ments, a great bow-window of heavy stone-work, and a portal with armorial l)earings over it, carved in stone. At each corner of the building is an octagon tower, surmounted by a gilt ball and weathercock. The Avon, which winds through the park, makes al)end justat the foot of a gently-sloping bank, which swee|)8down from the rear of the house. Large herds of deer were feeding or reposing upon its bord- ers, and swans were sailing majestically upon its bo- som. As I contemplated the venerable old mansion, I called to mind FalstafTs encomium on Justice Shal- low's abode, and the affected indifference and real vanity of the latter : Falstnff. Tou have here a goodly dwelling and a rich. Shallow. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beggars all. Sir John :— marry, good air. Whatever may have been the joviality of the old mansion in the days of Shakspeare, it had now an air of stillness and solitude. The great iron gateway that opened into the courtyard was locked ; there was no show of servants bustling about the place ; the deer gazed quietly at me as I passed, being no longer harried by the moss-troopers of Stratford. The only sign of domestic life that I met with was a white cat stealing with wary look and stealthy pace towards the stables, as if on some nefarious expedition. I must not omit to mention the carcass of a scoundrel crow which I saw suspended against the barn wall, as it shows that the Lucys still inherit that lordly ab- horrence of poachers, and maintain that rigorous exercise of territorial power which was so strenuously manifested in the case of the bard. After prowling about for some time, I at length found my way to a lateral portal, which was the every-tlay entrance to the mansion. I was court- eously received by a worthy old hotise-kecper, v bo, with the civility and communicativeness of her order, showed me the interior of the house. The greater part has undergone alteralions, and been adapted to modern tastes and inmles of living : there is a line old oaken staircase : and the great hall, that noble feature in an ancient manor-house, si ill retains much of the appearance itnnisthave Iwd in the days of Shakspeare. The ceiling is arched and lofty; and at one end is a gallery, in which stands an organ. The weapons and trophies of the chase, which formerly adorned the hall of a country gentleman, have made way for fa- mily portraits. Tltere is a wide hospitable lire-place, calculated for an ample old-fashioned wood lire, for- merly the rallying place of winter festivity. On the opposite side of the hall is the huge gothiclww-win- dow, with stone shafts, which looks out upon thecourt- yard. Here are emblazoned in stained glass the armorial bearings of the Lucy family for many genera- 310 THE SKETCH BOOK. i tions, some being dated in 1558. I was delighted to observe in the quarterings the three white luces, by -which the character of Sir Thomas was first identified with that of Justice Shailow. They are mentioned in the first scene of the Merry Wives of Windsor, where the Justice is in a rage with Falstaff for having " beaten his men, killed his deer, and broken into his loilge." The poet had no doubt the offences of himself and his comrades in mind at the time, and we may suppose the family pride and vindictive threats of the puissant Shallow to be a caricature of the pomp- ous indignation of Sir Thomas. shallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not : I \rill make a Star- Chaml)er matter of it ; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, Esq. Slender. In thecounty of Glosler,justiceot peace, and coram. Shallow. Ay, cousin Slender, and custalorum. Slender. Ay, and ratatorum too, and a gentleman born, master parson; who writes himsclf^rmigieroinauy bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, Armigero. Shallow. Ay, that I do ; and have done any time these three hundred years. Slender, All his successors gone before him have done't, and all his ancestors that come after him may ; they may give the dozen white luces in their coat. • * • • • Shallow. The council shall hear ; it is a riot. Evutis. It is not meet the council hear of a riot; there is no fear of Got in a riot ; the council, hear you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot ; tal(c your vizameuts in that. Shallow. Ua! o' my life, if 1 were young again, the sword should end it! Near the window thus emblazoned hung a portrait, by Sir Peter Lely, of one of the Lucy family, a great beauty of the time of Charles the Second : the old housekee|)er shook her head as she pointed to the picture, and informed me that this lady had been sadly addicted to cards, and had gambled away a great portion of the faiiiUy estate, among which was that part of the park where Shakspeare and his com- rades had killed the deer. The lands thus lost had not been entirely regained by the family even at the present day. It is but justice to this recreant dame to confess that she had a surpassingly fine hand and arm. The picture which most attracted my attention, was a great painting over the fire-place, containing likenesses of Sir Thomas Lucy and his family, who inhabited the hall in the latter part of Sliakspeare's life-time. I at first thought that it was the vindictive knight himself, but the housekeeper assured me that it was his son ; the only likeness extant of the former being an effigy upon his tomb jn the church of the neighbouring hamlet of Charlecot. The picture gives a lively idea of the costume and manners of the time. Sir Thomas is dressed in ruff and doublet; white shoes with roses in them ; and has a peaked yellow, or, as Master Slender would say, " a cane-coloured beard. " His lady is seated on the opposite side of the picture, in wide ruff and long stomacher, and the children have a most venerable stiffness and formality of dress. Hounds and spaniels are mingled in the family group ; a hawk is seated on his perch in the foreground, ond one of the children holds a bow ;— all intimating the knight's skill in hunting, ha\vking,i and archery— so indispensable to an accomplished I gentleman in those days. ' I regretted to find lliat the ancient furniture of thel hall had disappeared ; for I had hoped tomeetviihl the state'y elbow-chair of carved oak, in which the I country Squire of former days was wont to sway the I sceptre of empire over his rural domains ; and in which I it might be presumed the redoubted Sir Thomas sail enthroned in awful state when the recreant SliakJ speare was brought before him. As I like to deck! out pictures for my own entertainment, I pie myself with the idea that this very hall had been the] scene of the unlucky bard's examination on the morn- ing after his captivity in the lodge. I fancied tomyselfl the rural potentate, surrounded by his body-guai^l of butler, pages, and blue-coated serving-men wiih I their badges; while the luckless culprit was brought I in, forlorn and chapfallen, in the custody of ga^l^( keepers, huntsmen, and whippers-in, and followedl by a rabble rout of country clowns. I fancied bright I faces of curious housemaids peeping from the half-| opened doors ; while from the gallery the fair daugh-l ters of the knight leaned gracefully forward, eyeing I the youthful prisoner with that pity" that (Ivrells in | womanhood." — Who would have thought that i poor varlet, thus trembling before the brief authority I of a country squire, and the sport of rustics boors, vm I soon to become the delight of princes ; the theme of I all tongues and ages ; the dictator to the human mind; [ and was to confer immortality on his oppressor by a I caricature and a lampoon ! I was now invited by the butler to walk into the I garden, and I felt inclined to visit the orchard and arlwur where the justice treated Sir John FalstalTand Cousin Silence " to a last year's pippin of his ovn | grafting, with a dish of carraways ; " but I had af ready spent so much of the day in my ramblings Ihi^ I was obliged to give up any further investigations. When about to take my leave, I was gratified by the I civil entreaties of the housekeeper and butler, that I would take some refreshment : an instance of good | old hospitality, which I grieve to say we castle-hunt- ers seldom meet with in modern days. I make no I doubt it is a virtue which the present representative | of the Lucys inherits from his ancestors ; for Shak- s[)eare, even in his caricature, makes Justice Shallov I importunate in this respect, as witness his pressing | instances to Falstaff. > Bishop Earlc, spcaliing of the country gentleman of his time, oltservcs, " his housekeeping is seen much in the dlfTcrenl familin I of dogs, an<lserving-nicn attendant on Uieir kcni. Is; and llic deep- ness of llieir throats is the depth of his discoui'sc. A liawli be esteems llic true burden of nobility, and is exceedingly ainl)itiow loscem delighted with the spurt, and have his list gloved nilhlili | jesses." And Gilpin, In his description of a Mr Hastings, rcnurki. " he kept all sorts of hounds that run buck, fox, hare, oltrr, and I badger; and had hawks of all kinds both long and ahorl wln^. His great hall was commonly strewed with marrowbones, .iihI till of hawk |)eruhes, hounds, spaniels, and terriers. On a hmtil hearth, paved with brick, luy some of tlie choicest tcrrlen, hounds | and spaniels." THE SKETCH BOOK. 511 n hunting, hawking,] to an accomplished! cient furniture of the I i hoped tomeetwiihl d oak, in wliich thel ras wont to sway the! )mains;an(linwhichl bted Sir Thomas satl I tlie recreant Sliak-j . As I like to deckl rtainment, I pleased! ery hall had been the | lination on the tnorn- ;e. I faiicieii to myself I d by his body-guard! ed serving-men with) 3 culprit was brought I he custody of game- )ers-in, and followed! rns. I fancied bright! ;eping from the half- gallery the fair daugh* fully forward, eyeing I t pity "that dwells in ave thought that this I tre the brief authority! rtof rustics boors, was I [trinces ; the theme o(| tr to the human mind; on bis oppressor by 1 itler to walk into the visit the orchard and I Sir John Falslaff and s pippin of his o\m | vays ; " but I had i^ ill my ramblings tlih urther investigations. was gratifleil by the I )er and butler, that 1 1 an instance of good say we castle-liunt- rn days. I make no I iresent represenlatire ancestors ; for Sliak- lakes Justice Shallov witness his pressing try gentleman of his linw. icIilnlhnditreiTntfamilin leir kern. Is; and the deep- discoiii-sc. A hawk tw .isexcecdinslyainbitiow ive Ills fl«t Riovcd nilhhh if a BIr Hastings, rcnuib luck, fox, hare, ollor, and .. Ions and ihorl winpd. Utiiiiarrowbone«,iiiHlMI id terriers. On « hnwl choicest terriers, houndt ,. By cock and pye, Sir, you (hall not away to-night *••••! I not excuse you ; you shall not be excused ; excuses shall not (idiDltted ; there is no excuse shall serve ; you shall not be exciu- *. Some pigeons, Uavy; a couple of short-legged a; a joint of mutton ; and any pretty little tiny kick-sliaws, tell If jlliam Cook." I now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall, ly mind had become so completely possessed by the aginary scenes and characters connected with it, jial I seemed to be actually living among them. Every thing brought them as it were before my eyes ; ind as the door of the dining-room opened, I almost spected to hear the feeble voice of Master Silence lavering forth his favourite ditty : "'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all, And welcome merry Shrovc-tide!" On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect on e singular gift of the poet ; to be able thus to spread Ihe magic of his mind over the very face of nature ; to ^ve to things and places a charm and character not leirown, and to turn this" working-day world" L a perfect fairy land. He is indeed the true en- nter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, at upon the imagination and the heart. Under the aid influence of Shakspeare, I had been walking h day in a complete delusion. I had surveyed the iidscape through the prism of poetry, which tinged kery object with the hues of the rainbow. I bad en surrounded with fancied beings : with mere airy jotliings, conjured up by poetic power; yet which, to le, had all tlie charm of reality. I had heard Jac- lues soliloquize beneath his oak ; had beheld the fair losalind and her companion adventuring through the loodlands; and, above all, had been once more pre- Int in spirit with fat Jack Falstaff and bis conleni- praries, from the august Justice Shallow, down to ! gentle Master Slender and the sweet Anne Page. |en thousand honours and blessings on the bard who i thus gilded the dull realities of life with innocent lusions; who has spread exquisite and unbought leasures in my chequered path ; and beguiled my lint in many a lonely hour, with all the cordial and ieerful sympathies of social life ! I As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, oused to contemplate the distant church in which ! poet lies buried, and could not but exult in the ^lediclion, which has kepi his ashes undisturbed in [quiet and hallowed vaults. What honour could s name have derived from being mingled in dusty mpanionship with the epitaphs and escutcheons and nal eulogiums of a titled multitude ? What would |:rowded corner in Westminster Abbey have been, npared with this reverend pile, which seems to knd in beautiful loneliness as his sole mausoleum ! he solicitude about the grave may be hut the offspring Ian over-wrought sensibility ; but human nature is ^de up of foibles and prejudices ; and its best and ^ierest affections are mingled with these factitious 8. He who has sought renown about the Md, and has reaped a full harvest of worldly fa- vour, will And, after all, that there b no love, no ad- miration, no applause, so sweet to the soul as tliat which springs up in his native place. It is there that he seeks to be gathered in peace and honour among his kindred and his early friends. And when the weary heart and failing head begin to warn him that the evening of life is drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the infant to the mother's arms, :o suik to sleep in the bosom of the scene of his childhood. How would it have cheered the spirit of the youth- ful bard, when, wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he cast back a heavy look upon his paternal home, could he have foreseen that, before many years, he should return to it covered with re- nown ; that his name should l)ecome the boast and glory of his native place ; that his ashes should be re- ligiously guarded as its most precious treasure ; and that its lessening spire, on which his eyes were fixed in tearful contemplation, should one day become the beacon, towering amidst the gentle landscape, to guide the literary pilgrim of every nation to his tomb ! TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. "I appeal to any white man it ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him nut to eat ; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not." Speech of an Indun Chief. There is something in the character and habits of the North American savage, taken in connexion with the scenery over which he is accustomed to range, its vast lakes, boundless forests, majestic ri- vers, and trackless plains, that is, to my mind, won- derfully striking and sublime. He is formed for the wilderness, as the Arab is for the desert. His nature is stern, simple, and enduring; fitted to grapple with difficulties, and to support privations. There seems but little soil in his heart for the growth of the kindly virtues; and yet, if we would but take ihe trouble to penetrate through that proud stoicism and habitual taciturnity, which lock up his character from casual observation, we should find him linked to his fellow- man of civilized life by more of those sympathies and affections than are usually ascribed to him. It has been the lot of the unfortunate aborigines of America, in the early periods of colonization, to be doubly wronged by the while men. They have been dispossessed of their hereditary possessions by merce- nary and frequently wanton warfare : and their cha- racters have been traduced by bigoted and interested writers. The colonist has often treated them like beasts of the forest; and the author has endeavoured to justify him in his outrages. The former found it easier to exterminate than to civilize; the latter to vi- lify than to discriminate. The appellations of savage and pagan were deemed sufficient to sanctioit the hostilities of lioth ; and Ihus the poor wanderers of the :f i i- n 313 THE SKETCH BOOK. % forest were persecuted and defamed, not because tliey were guilty, but because they were ignorant. The rights of the savage have seldom been properly appreciated or respected by the white man. In peace he has, too, been often tlie dupe of artful traflic ; in war he has been regarded as a ferocious animal, whose life or death was a question of mere precaution and convenience. Man is cruelly wasteful of life when his own safety is endangered, and he is sheltered by impunity ; and little mercy is to be expected from him, when he feels the sting of the reptile, and is conscious of the power to destroy. The same prejudices, which were indulged thus early, exist in common circulation at the present day. Certain learned societies have, it is true, with laudable diligence, endeavoured to investigate and record the real characters and manners of (he Indian tribes; the American government, too, has wisely and humanely exerted itself to inculcate a friendly and forbearing spiiit towards them, and to protect them from fraud and injustice. ' The current opinion of the Indian character, however, is too apt to be formed from the miserable hordes which infest the frontiers, and hang on the skirts of the settlements. These are too com- monly composed of degenerate beings, corrupted and enfeebled by the vices of society, without being bene- fited by its civilization. That proud independence, which formed the main pillar of savage virtue, has been shaken down, and tiie whole moral fabric lies in ruin. Their spirits are humiliated and debased by a sense of inferiority, and their native courage cowed and daunted by the superior knowledge and power of their enlightened neighbours. Society has advanced upon (hem like one of those withering airs that will sometimes breathe desolation over a whole region of fertility. It has enervated their strength, multiplied their diseases, and superinduced upon their original barbarity the low vices of artificial life. It has given them a thousand supertluous wants, whilst it has di- minished their means of mere existence. It has driven before it the animals of the chase, who fly from the Kound of the axe and the smoke of the settlement, and seek refuge in the depths of remoter forests and yet untrodden wilds. Thus do we too often lind the Indians on oiu" frontiers to be mere wrecks and rem- nants of once powerful tribes, who have lingered in the vicinity of the settlements, and sunk into precarious and vagabond existence. Poverty, repining and hope- less poverty, a canker of the mhid unknown iu savage life, corrodes their spirits and blights every free and noble quality of their natures. They become dnuik- en, indolent, feeble, thievish and pusillanimous. They loiter like vagrants about the settlements, among I Tlie American Rovcinmcnt lias liccn iiulcfallgalile in its exer- tions to aiueliurale (lie sltiialiiui of Uic liitliaiis, ami t(i intruduoc among lliem (lie arts orcivllizalion, ami civil and religions Idiow- ledgc. To |iro(cc( (liein from (lie frauds of tliu while traders, no purcliase of land from (lieiii by individuals Is iiermitted ; nor is any {icrson allowed to receive laiiils from (hem as a present, without Ihe express sancdon of goveriuncn(. These pivcauUons arc vlrlfllly ciiforcwi. spacious u'^ellings replete with elaborate coinrurtj which only render them sensible of the comparative wretchedness of their own condition. Luxury spreads I its ample board before their eyes ; but they are % I eluded from the banquet. Plenty revels overthel fields; but they are starving in the midst of its abuD-l dance : the whole wilderness has blossomed into a I garden ; hut they feel as reptiles that infest it. How different was their state while yet the undis- 1 puled lords of the soil ! Their wants were few, and I the means of gratification within their reach. They I saw every one round them sharing the same lot, en- during the same hardships, feeding on the same ali-l menls, arrayed in the same rude garments. No roofl then rose, but was open to the homeless stranger; do| smoke curled among the trees, but he was welcumel to sit down by its fire and join the hunter in liis re-| past. " For," says an old historian of New England [ " their life is so void of care, and they are so lovingl also, that they make use of those things they enjoy ul common goods, and are therein so compassiouaie I that rather than one should starve through want, tit would starve all ; thus they pass their time meiriljJ not regarding our pomp, but are better content ffiU their own, which some men esteem so meanly ol"| Such were the Indians whilst in the pride and enen of their primitive natures; they resembled* hose wji plants, which thrive best in the shades of the fures but shrink from the hand of cultivation, and peri beneath the influence of (he sun. In discussing the savage character, writers havij been too prone to indulge in vulgar prejndiee ; passionate exaggeration, instead of (he caniliii leDipi of true philosophy. They have not sufliciendy ( sidered (he peculiar circums(ances in which tlie I diaiis have been placed, and the peculiar principy under which they have been educated. No 1 acts more rigidly from rule than the Indian. whole conduct is regulated according to soinegenen maxims early implanted in his mind. The nion laws that govern him are , to be sure , but fevj but then he conforms to them all ; — the white nn abour.ds in laws of religion, morals, and inannei'!i,b how many does he violate ! A frequent ground of accusation against (he India is their disregard of treaties, and the treachery i wantonness with which, in lime of apparent peai they will suddenly fly to hos(iii(ies. The inleicoui of (lie white men with the I.idians, however, is t apt to be cold, distrustful, oppressive, nnil insullin They seldom treat them with that candilence i frankness which are uidispensable to real friendsiiii nor is sufficient caution observed not to ulTend ajaiii those feelings of pride or superstition, which ( prompt the Indian to hostility quicker than considerations of interest. The solitary savage fed silently, but acutely. His sensibilities arc noldiHia over so wide a surface as those of the while i but they run in steadier and deeper channels. pride, his afTeclions, his superstitions, are all din THE SKETCH BOOK. 315 elaborate comforts, 5 of the comparative on. Luxury spreads I «; but they are 'x- nty revels over the lie midst of its aban-l las blossomed intot| that uifest it. while yettheundis-l A'ants were few, and! n their reach. Tlieyl ing the same lot, en-l [liiig on the same all- 1 e garments. No roof! Iiomelcss stranger; noj hut he was welcome the hunter in liis re- >rian of New England,! md they are so loTiiij| se things they enjoy ein so compassionate,! •ve through want, thejj iss their lime meirilyj re better content wii jsteem so meanly of." in the pride and ener y resembled 'hose will le shades of the fore cultivation, and peris m. iharacter, writers havej 1 vulgar prejudice ar id of the candid tcni| e not suflicienlly ances in whicli the the peculiar princij educated. No than the Indian, cording to some genei lis mind. The mot to be sure, but fewj n all ; — the while m orals, and maimei's, ition against the Indi and the treachery time of apparent pes ities. Tlie intercoi rdians, however, is ipressive, and insullii Ih that caidiilence sable to real friendshi| ed not to offend a] iperslition, which lily quicker than I'he solitary savage tf isihilitiesarenoltiilfi lose of the while [l deeper channels. •stltioiw, are all i towards fewer objects; but the wounds inflicted or. Itliem are proportionably severe, and furnish motives lK)stility which we cannot sufficiently appreciate. /here a community is also limited in number, and one great patriarchal family, as in an Indian >, the injury of an individual is the injury of the rbole; and the sentiment of vengeance is almost in- untaneously diffused. One council fire is sufficient the discussion and arrangement of a plan of hosti- ities. Here all the fighting men and sages assemble. loquence and superstition combine to inflame the Binds of the warriors. The orator awakens their irtial ardour, and they are wrought up to a kind 'religious desperation, by the visions of the prophet the dreamer. An iaslance of one of those sudden exasperations, rising from a motive peculiar to the Indian character, 1 extant in an old record of the early settlement of ichusets. The planters of Plymouth had de- the monuments of the dead at Passonage.ssit, had plnndered the grave of the Sachem's mother [some skins with which it had been decorated. The lians are remarkable for the reverence which they iterlain for the sepulchres of their kindred. Tribes at have passed generations exiled from the abodes tlieir ancestors, when by chance they have been ivelling in the vicinity, have been known to turn ie from the highway, and, guided by wonderfully irate tradition, have crossed the country for miles some tumulus, buried perhaps in woods, where ^e bones of their tribe were anciently deposited; and ere have passed hours in silent meditation. In- jienced by this sublime and holy feeling, the Sa- [em, whose mother's tomb had been violated, ga- cred his men together, and addressed them in the |lovring beautifully simple and pathetic harangue; irious specimen of Indian eloquence, and an affect- instance of filial piety in a savage. I" When last the glorious light of all the sky was lemeath this globe, and birds grew silent, I began [settle, as my custom is, to take repose. Before le eyes were fast closed, methought I saw a vision, tliich my spirit was much troubled ; and trembling I that doleful sight, a spirit cried aloud, ' Behold, son, whom I have cherished, see the breasts that re thee suck, the hands that lapped thee warm, fed thee oft. Canst thou forget to lake revenge [those wild people, who have defaced my monu- U in a despiteful manner, disdaining our anil- ities and honourable customs? See, now, the Sa- l's grave lies liKe Ihe common people, defaced Ian ignoble race. Thy mother doth complain, and lilores thy aid against this thievish people, who |e newly intruded on our land. If this be suffer- I shall not rest quiet in my everlasting habita- This said, the spirit vanished, and I, all in a |at, not able scarce to speak, began to get some Ih, and recollect my spirits that were fled, determined to demand your counsel and as- Inee." I have adduced this anecdote at some length, as it tends to show how these sudden acts of hostility, which have been atlrib'.ited to caprice and perfidy, may often arise from deep and generous motives, which our inattention to Indian character and customs prevents our properly appreciating. Another ground of violent outcry against the In- dians is their barbarity to the vanquished. This had its origin partly in policy and partly in superstition. The tribes, I'lough sometimes called nations, were never so formidable in their numbers, but that the loss of several warriors was sensibly felt; this was particularly the case when they had been frequently engaged in warfare; and many an instance occurs in Indian history, where a tribe, that had long been formidable to its neighbours, has been broken up and driven away, by the capture and massacre of its prin- cipal fighting men. There was a strong temptation, therefore, to the victor to be merciless ; not so much to gratify any cruel revenge, as to provide for future security. The Indians had also the superstitious belief, frequent among barbarous nations, and preva- lent also among the ancients, that the manes of their friends who had fallen in battle were soothed by the blood of the captives. The prisoners, however, who are not thus sacrificed, are adopted into their families in the place of the slain, and are treated with the confidence and affection of relatives and friends; nay, so hospitable and tender is their entertainment, that when the alternative is offered them, they will often prefer to remain with their adopted brethren, rather than return to the home and the friends of their youth. The cruelty of the Indians towards their prisoners has been heightened since the colonization of the whites. What was formerly a compliance with po- licy and superslitioki, has been exasperated into a gra- tification of vengeance. They cannot but be sensible that the white men are the usurpers of their ancient dominion, the cause of their degradation, and the gradual destroyers of their race. They go forth to battle, smarting with injuries and indignities which they have individuaUy suffered, and they are driven to madness and despair by the wide-spreading deso- lation, and the overwhelming ruin of European war- fare. The whites have too frequently set them an example of violence, by burning their villages and laying waste their slender means of subsistence : and yet they wonder that savages do not show moderation and magnanimity towards those who have left them nothing but mere existence and wretchedness. We stigmatize the Indians, also, as cowardly and treacherous, because they use stratagem in warfare, in preference to open force; but in this they are fully justified by their rude code of honour. They are early taught that stratagem is praiseworthy; the bravest warrior thinks it no disgrace to lurk in si- lence, and take every advantage of his foe : he triumphs in the superior craft and sagacity by which he has been enabled to surprise and destroy an ener 4U I- : ll ■::l':,;: ; ■ '1", ■ -^' 314 THE SKETCH BOOK. ! my. Indeed, man is naturally more prone to subtilty than open valour, owing to his physical weakness in comparison with other animals. They are endowed with natural weapons of defence : with horns, with tusks, with hoofs, and talons ; but man has to depend on his superior sagacity. In all his encounters with these, his proper enemies, he resorts to stratagem ; and when he perversely turns his hostility against his fellow-man, he at first continues the same subtle mode of warfare. The natural principle of war is to do the most harm to our enemy with the least harm to ourselves; and this of course is to be effected by stratagem. That chivalrous courage which induces us to despise the suggestions of prudence, and to nish in the face of certain danger, is the oftspring of society, and pro- duced by education. It is honourable, because it is in fact (he triumph of lofty sentiment over an instinct- ive repugnance to pain, and over those yearnings after personal ease and security, which society has condemned as ignoble. It is kept alive by pride and the fear of shame ; and thus the dread of real evil is overcome by the superior dread of an evil which exists but in the imagination. It has been cherished and stimulated also by various means. It has been the theme of spirit-stirring song and chivalrous story. The poet and minstrel have delighted to shed round it the splendours of fiction; and even the historian has forgotten the sober gravity of narration, and broken forth into enthusiasm and rhapsody in its praise. Triumphs and gorgeous pageants have been its re- ward : monuments, on which art has exhausted its skill, and opulence its treasures, have been erected to perpetuate a nation's gratitude and admiration. Thus arliiicially excited, courage has risen to an extraor- dinary and factitious degree of heroism ; and, arrayed in all the glorious " pomp and circumstance of war," this turbulent quality has even been able to eclipse many of those quiet, but invaluable virtues, which silently ennoble the human character, and swell the tide of human happiness. But if courage intrinsically consists in the deflance of danger and pain, the life of the Indian is a conti- nual exhibition of it. He lives in a state of perpetual hostility and risk. Peril and adventure are congenial to his nature ; or rather seem necessary to mouse his faculties and to give an interest to his existence. Surrounded by hostile tribes, whose mode of warfare is by ambush and surprisal, he is always prepared for fight, and lives with his weapons in his hands. As the ship careers in fearful singleness through the soli- tude of ocean;— as the bird mingles among clouds and storms, and wings its way, a mere speck, across the pathless fields of air; — so the Indian holds his course, silent, solitary, but undaunted, through the boundless bosom of the wilderness. His expeditions may vie in distance and danger with the pilgrimage of the devotee, or the crusade of the knight-errant. He traverses vast forests, exposed to the hazards of lonely sickness, of lurking enemies, and pining fa- mine. Stormy lakes, those great inland seas, aret obstacles to his wanderings : in his light canoe ofbari he sports, like a feather, on their waves, and darts] with the swiftness of an arrow, down the roari rapids of the rivers. His very subsistence is snatcl^ ed from the midst of toil and peril. He gains his fo« by the hardships and dangers of the chase : he wran himself in the spoils of the bear, the panther, andtb buffalo, and sleeps among the thunders of the cati^ ract. No hero of ancient or modern days can sor the Indian in his lofty contempt of death, and i fortitude with which he sustaiiis its cruellest affli(. tion. Indeed, we here behold him rising superior t the white man, in consequence of his peculiar educs tion. The latter rushes to glorious death at the ( non's mouth ; the former calmly contemplates its gn. proach, and triumphantly endures it, amidst the tii ried torments of surrounding foes and the protractei agonies of fire. He even takes a pride in taunting h persecutors, and provoking their ingenuity of tortnn and as the devouring flames prey on his very vital and the flesh shrinks from the sinews, he raises bj last song of triumph, breathing the defiance of ana conquered heart, and invoking the spirits of his fall to witness that he dies without a groan. Notwithstanding the obloquy with which the« historians have overshadowed the characters of t unfortunate natives, some bright gleams occasm break through, which throw a degree of melanci* lustre on their memories. Facts are occasionally i be met with in the rude annals of the eastern | vinces, which, though recorded with the colouring of prejudice and bigoti7, yet speak for themselva and will be dwelt on with applause and $ynipalli]r| when prejudice shall have passed away. In one of the homely narratives of the Indian ] in New England, there is a touching account of ti desolation carried into the tribe of the Pequod Indiai Humanity shrinks from the cold-blooded detail of ol discriminate butchery. In one place we read oflkj surprisal of an Indian fort in the night, when I wigwams were wrapped in flames, and the misen inhabitants shot down and slain in attempting too cape, "all bemg dispatched and ended in tliecoi of an hour." After a series of similar transactioi "our soldiers," as the historian piously oh "being resolved by God's assistance to makeafi destruction of them," the unhappy savages I hunted from their homes and fortresses, andpnn with lire and sword, a scanty but galland band,! sad remnant of the Pequod warriors, withtheirwitj and children, took refuge in a swamp. Burning with indignation, and rendered suHnil despair; with hearts bursting with grief at thel struction of their tribe, and spirits galled and sor I the fancied ignominy of their defeat, they refusedj ask their lives at the hands of an insulting foe, I preferred death to submission. As the night drew on, they were surronmWl THE SKETCH BOOK. 315 KJr dismal retreat, so as to render escape impracti- l)le. Thus situated, their enemy "plied tliem with tall the time, by wiiich means many were killed llmried in the mire." In the darkness and fog ut preceded the dawn of day, some few broke ugh the besiegers and escaped into the woods : flhe rest were left to the conquerors, of which many irere killed in the swamp, like sullen dogs who would [ather, in their self-willedness and madness, sit still I be shot through, or cut to pieces," than implore : mercy. When the day broke upon this handful fforlom but dauntless spirits, the soldiers, we are old, entering the swamp, "saw several heaps of lemsitting close together, upon whom they discharg- 1 their pieces, laden with ten or twelve pistol bullets |t a time; putting the muzzles of the pieces under the s, withui a few yards of them; so as, besides I that were found dead, many more were killed Isunk into the mire, and never were minded more jfriendorfoe." Can any one read this plain unvarnisheil tale, with- gt admiring the stern resolution, the unbending de, the loftiness of spirit, that seemed to nerve the l^tis of these self-taught heroes, and to raise them ore tiic instinctive feelings of human nature? When •Gauls laid waste the city of Rome, they found the knators clothed in their rol)es and seated with stern nqaillity in tlieircurule chairs ; in this manner they lilTered death without resistance or even supplication, ch conduct was, in them, applauded as noble and gnanimous ; in the hapless Indians it was reviled k obstinate and sullen. IIow truly are we the dupes I sbow and circumstance ! How different is virtue, )thed in purple and enthroned in state, from virtue, ^ked and destitute, and perishing obscurely in a Oderness ! [But I forbear to dwell on these gloomy pictures. pe eastern tribes have long since disappeared; the sis that sheltered them have been laid low, and [tree any traces remain of them in the tbickly-set- I states of New England, excepting here and there an name of a village or a stream. And such ist sooner or later be the fate of those other tribes hicii skirl the frontiers, and have occasionally been |(eigled from their forests to mingle in the wars of nite men. In a little while, and they will go the py that their brethren have gone before. The few des which still linger about the shores of Huron and |perior, and the tributary streams of the Mississipi, I share the fate of those tribes that once spread ter Massachusetts and Connecticut, and lorded it |ing the proud banks of the Hudson ; of that gigantic i said to have existed .on the borders of the Sus- ehanna; and of those various nations that flourished ^ut the Patowmac and the Rappahanoc, and that pled the forests of the vast valley of Shemandoah. key will vanish like a vapour from the face of the I'lh; their very history will be lost in forgetfulness ; 1 "the places that now know them will know them I more for ever." Or if, perchance, some dubious memorial of them should survive, it may be in the ro- mantic di-eams of the poet, topeople in imagination his glades and groves, like the fauns and satyrs and sylvan deities of antiquity. But should he venture upon the dark story of their wrongs and wretchedness; should he tell how they were invaded, corrupted, despoiled; driven from their native abodes and the sepulchres of their fathers; hunted like wild beasts about the earth; and sent down with violence and butchery to the grave; posterity will either turn with honor and in- credulity from the tale, or blush with indignation at the inhumanity of their forefathers.—" We are driven back," said an old warrior, "until we can retreat no farther — our hatchets are broken, our bows are snap- ped, our fires are nearly extinguished— a little longer, and the white man will cease to persecute us — for we shall cease to exist!" PHILIP OF POKANOKET, AN INDIAN MEMOIR. As monumental bronze unchang'd his look : A soul tliat pity touch'd, but never shook : u ;', ,^ Train'd, rroin his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier, The llcrce extremes of good and ill to brook Impassive— fearing but the shame of fear— '/ A stoic of the woods— a man without a tear. Cutrmih. It is to be regretted that those early writers, who treated of the discovery and settlement of America, have not given us more particular and oandid accounts of the remarkable characters that flourished in savage life. The scanty anecdotes which have reached us are full of peculiarity and interest; they furnish us with nearer glimpses of human nature, and show what man is in a comparatively primitive state, and what he owes to civilization. There is something of the charm of discovery in ligliting upon these wild and unexplored tracks of human nature ; in witness- ing, as it were, the native growth of moral sentiment, and perceiving those generous and romantic qualities which have been artiflcially cultivated by society, vegetating in spontaneous hardihood and rude mag- nificence. In civilized life, where the happiness, and indeed almost the existence, of man depends so much upon the opinion of his fellow-men, he is constantly acting a studied part. The bold and peculiar traits of native character are reflned away, or softened down by the levelling influence of what is termed good-breeding ; and he practises so many petty deceptions, and af- fects so many generous sentiments, for the purposes of |)opularity, that it is difficult to distinguish his real from his artificial character. The Indian, on the con- trary, free from the restraints and refinements of po- lished life, and, in a great degree, a solitary and independent l)eing, obeys the impulses of his inclina- tion or the dictates of his judgment; and thus the at- 316 THE siu-:tch book. m tributes ot liis nature, being freely indulged, grow singly great and striliing. Society is like a lawn, where every roughness is smoothed, every bramble eradicated, and where (he eye is delighted by the smiling verdure of a velvet surface; he, however, who would study nature in its wildness and variety, must plunge into the forest, must explore the glen, must stem the torrent, and dare the precipice. These reflections arose on casually looking through a volume of early colonial history, wherein are re- corded, with great bitterness, the outrages of the Indians, and their wars with the settlers of New England. It is painful to perceive, even from these partial narratives, how the footsteps of civilization may be traced in the blood of the aborigines ; how easily the colonists were moved to hostility by the lust of conquest; how merciless and exterminating was their warfare. The imagination shrinks at the idea, how many intellectual beings were hunted from the earth, how many brave and noble hearts, of na~ ture's sterling coinage, were broken down and trampled in the dust ! Such was the fate of Philip of Pokanoket, an Indian warrior, whose name was once a terror throughout Massachusetts and Connecticut. He was the most distinguished of a number of contemporary Sachems who reigned over the Pequods, the Narrha- gansets, the Wampanoags, and the other Eastern tribes, at the time of the firet settlement of New Eng- land ; a band of native untaught heroes, who made the most generous struggle of which human nature is capable; lighting to the last gasp in the cause of their country, w^ithout a hope of victory or a thought of renown. Worthy of an age of poetry, and fit sub- jects for local story and romantic fiction, they have left scarcely any authentic traces on the page of his- tory, but stalk, like gigantic shadows, in the dun twilight of tradition.' When the pilgrims, as the Plymouth settlers are called by their descendants, first took refuge on the shores of the New World, from the religious perse- cutions of the Old, their situation was to the last degree gloomy and disheartening. Few in number, and that number rapidly perishing away through sickness and hardships; surrounded by a howling wilderness and savage tribes ; exposed to the rigours of an almost arctic winter and the vicissitudes of an ever-shifting climate ; their minds were filled with doleful forebodings, and nothing preserved them from sinking into despondency but the strong excite- ment of religious enthusiasm. In (his forlorn situa- tion they were visited by Massasoit, chief Sagamore of Wampanoags, a powerful chief who reigned over a great extent of country. Instead of taking ad- vantage of the scanty number of the strangers, and expelling them from his territories into which they had intruded, he seemed at once to conceive for them • Wliile cori-ectlng tlip proof sheets of tliis article, llie author is iuibrined that a celebrated English poet has nearly finished an heroic poem on the story of Philip of Pokanoket., a generous friendship, and extended towards theij the rites of primitive hospitality. He came early ii,l the spring to their settlement of New Plymouth atT tended by a mere handful of followers ; entered ir.|J a solemn league of peace and amity ; sold them portion of the soil, and promised to secure fortliem the good- will of his savage allies. Whatever inavj be said of Indian perfidy, it is certain (hat the ioie! grity and good faith of Massasoit have never beeJ impeached. He continued a firm and magnanimou] friend of (he white men ; suffering them to extent their possessions and to strengthen themselves in ibJ land; and betraying no jealousy of their increasing power and prosperity. Shortly before his death lid came once more to New Plymouth, with Iii$ sod Alexander, for the purpose of renewing the covenant of peace, and of securing it to his posterity. At this conference he endeavoured to protect ihej religion of his forefathers from the encroaching z« of the missionaries; and stipulated that no fuiliierat] tempt should be made to draw off his people froi their ancient faith; but, finding the English oIk^ nately opposed to any such condition, he mildly i linquished the demand. Almost the last act of b'J life was to bring his two sons, Alexander and (as (hey had been named by the English), to ther sidence of a principal settler, recommending mutuj kindness and confidence ; and entreating that ihi same love and amity which had existed l)etweentlH white men and himself might be continued aflemanl with his children. The good old Sachem died i peace, and was happily gathered to his fathers beSir^ sorrow came upon his tribe; his children remaim behind to experience the ingratitude of white men. His eldest son, Alexander, succeeded him. 9 was of a quick and impetuous temper, and proudi tenacious of his hereditary rights and dignity. Tlx intrusive policy and dictatorial conduct of (he siranjj ers excited his indignation; and he beheld wiliiiKi' easiness their exterminating wars with the neiglij bouring tribes. He was doomed soon to incur ti hostility, being accused of plotting with the Narrlu gansets to rise against the English and drive themfro the land. It is impossible to say whether this ao sation waswarrai ed by ff^ts, or was grounded i mere suspicions. It is evident, however, by the t lent and ovcrliearing measures of the settlers, (hey had by this time begun to feel conscious of U rapid increase of their power, and to grow harsii a inconsiderate in their neatmentof the natives, dispatched an armed force to seize upon Alexander| and to bring him l)efore their courts. He was tract to his woodland haunts, and surprised at a huntinj house, where he was reposing, with a band of I followers, unarmed, after the toils of the chase. IN suddenness of his arrest, and the outrage olTeredli his sovereign dignity, so preyed upon the irasc feelings of (his proud savage, as to throw him inlo^ raging fever : he was permitted to return home, condition of sending his son as a pledge for his f TIIE SKETCH BOOK. 3n Us and dignity. Thi appearance; but the blow he had received was fatal, and before lie reached his home befell a victim to the agonies of a wounded spirit. Tlie successor of Alexander was Metamocet, or King Philip, as he was called by the settlers, on account ofhislofly spirit and ambitious temper. These, to- gether with his well-known energy and enterprize, had rendered him an object of great jealousy and ap- preiiension, and he was accused of having always che- rished a secret and implacable hostility towards the whites. Such may very probably, and very natu- rally, have been the case. He considered them as originally but mere intruders into the country, who had presumed upon indulgence, and were extending an iniluence baneful to savage life. He saw the whole race of his countrymen melting before them from the foce of the earth ; their territories slipping from their hands, and their tribes becoming feeble, scattered, and dependent. It may be said that the soil was ori- ginally purchased by the settlers; but who does not know the nature of Indian purchases, in the early pe- riods of colonization ? The Europeans always made thrifly bargains through their superior adroitness in traffic ; and they gained vast accessions of territory, by easily provoked hostilities. An uncultivated sa- vage is never a nice inquirer into the refinements of law, by which an injury may be gradually and le- gally inflicted. Leading facts are all by which he judges ; and it was enough for Philip to know that before the intrusion of the Europeans his countrymen were lords of the soil, ant that now they were becom- ing vagabonds in the land of their fathers. But whatever may have been his feelings of gene- ral hostility, and bis particular indignation at the treatment of his brother, he suppressed them for the present ; renewed the contract with the settlers ; and resided peaceably for many years at Pokanoket, or, as it was called by the English, Mount Hope, ■ the ancient seat of dominion of bis tribe. Suspicions, however, which were at first but vague and indefinite, began to acquire form and substance ; and he was at length charged with attempting to instigate the va- rious Eastern tribes to rise at once, and, by a simul- taneous effort, to throw off the yoke of their oppress- ors. It is difficult at this distant period to assign the proper credit due to these early accusations against the Indians. There was a proneness to suspicion, and an aptness to acts of violence, on the part of the whites, that gave weight and importance to every idle tale. Informers abounded where tale-bearing met with countenance and reward; and the sword was readily unsheathed when its success was certain, and it carv- ed out empire. The only positive evidence on record against Phi- lip is the accusation of one Sausaman, a renegado In- dian, whose natural cunning had been quickened by a partial education which he had received among the settlers. He changed his faith and his allegiance two I or three limes, with a facility that evinced the loose- > Now Bristol, RlHNle bland. ness of his principles. He had acted for some time s Philip's confidential secretary and counsellor, and 1 i enjoyed his bounty and protection. Finding:, ho^. - ever, that the clouds of adversity were gathering round his patron, he abandoned his service and went over to the whites ; and, in order to gain their favour, charged his foimer benefactor with plotting against their safely. A rigorous investigation took place. Philip and several of his subjects submitted to be exa- mined, but nothing was proved against them. The settlers, however, had now gone loo far to retract ; they had previously determined that Philip was a dan- gerous neighbour ; they had publicly evinced their dis- trust, and had done enough to ensure bis hostility ; according, therefore, to the usual mode of reasoning in these cases, his destruction had become necessary to their security. Sausaman, the ireacherous inform- er, was shortly after found dead, in a pond, having fallen a victim to the vengeance of his tribe. Three Indians, one of whom was a friend and counsellor of Philip, were apprehended and tried, and, on the testi- mony of one very questionable witness, were condemn- ed and executed as murderers. This treatment of his subjects, and ignominious pu- nishment of his friend, outraged the pride and exas- perated the passions of Philip. The bolt which had fallen thus at his very feet awakened him to the ga- thering storm, and be determined to trust himself no longer in the power of the white men. The fate of his insulted and broken-hearted brother still rankled in his mind ; and be had a further warning in the tragical story of Miantonimo, a great Sachem of the . Narrbagansets, who, after manfully facing his accu- sers before a tribunal of the colonists, exculpating himself from a charge of conspiracy, and receiving assurances of amity, had been perfidiously dispatched at their instigation. Philip, therefore, gathered his fighting men about him ; persuaded all strangers that he could, to join his cause ; sent the women and chil- dren to the Narrbagansets for safety ; and wherever he appeared, was continually surrounded by armed warriors. When the two parties were thus in a state of distrust and irritation, the least spark was sufficient to set them in a flame. The Indians, having weapons in their hands, grew mischievous, and committed various petty depredations. In one of their maraud- ings, a warrior was fired upon and killed by a settler. This was the signal for open hostilities ; the Indians pressed to revenge the death of their comrade, and the alarm of war resounded through the Plymouth colony. In the early chronicles of these dark and melan- choly times, we meet with many indications of the diseased stale of the public mind. The gloom of re- ligious abstraction, and the wildness of their situa- tion, among trackless forests and savage tribes, bad disposed the colonists to sujierstilious fancies, and had filled their imaginations with the frightftil chimeras of witchcraft and speclrology. They were much 318 THE SKETCH BOOK. \i i given also to a belief in omens. The troubles with Philip and his Indians were preceded, we are told, by a variety of those awful warnings which forerun great and public calamities. The perfect form of an Indian bow appeared in the air at New Plymouth, trhich was looked upon by the inhabitants as a " pro- digious apparition." At Hadley, Northampton, and other towns in their neighbourhood, " was heard the report of a great piece of ordnance, with a shaking of the earth and a considerable echo ■." Others were alarmed on a still sunshiny morning by the dis- charge of guns and muskets; bullets seemed to whistle past them, and the noise of drums resounded in the air, seeming to pass away to the westward ; others fancied that they heard the galloping of horses over their heads; and certain monstrous births, which took place about the time, filled the superstitious in some towns with doleful forebodings. Many of tliese portentous sights and sounds may be ascribed to natural phenomena : to the northern lights which occur vividly in those latitudes; the meteors which explode in the air; the casual rushing of a blast through the top branches of the forest; the crash of fallen trees or disruptured rocks; and to those other uncouth sounds and echoes which will sometimes strike the ear so strangely amidst the profound still- ness of woodland solitudes. These may have startled some melancholy imaginations, may have been exag- gerated by the love for the marvellous, and listened to with that avidity with which we devour whatever is fearful and mysterious. The universal currency of these superstitious fancies, and the grave record made of them by one of the learned men of the day, are strongly characteristic of the times. The nature of the contest that ensued was such as too often distinguishes the warfare between civilized men and savagrs. On the part of the whites it was conducted with superior skill and success; but with a wastefulness of the blood, and a disregard of the natu- ral rights of their antagonists : on the part of the In- dians it was waged with the desperation of men fearless of death, and who had nothing to expect from peace, but humiliation, dependence, and decay. The events of the war are transmitted to us by a worthy clergyman of the time ; who dwells with horror and indignation on every hostile act of the Indians, however justifiable, whilst he mentions with applause the most sanguinary atrocities of the whites. Philip is reviled as a murderer and a traitor; without considering that he was a true-born prince, gallantly fighting at the head of his subjects te avenge the wrongs of his family, to retrieve the tottering power of his line, and to deliver his native land from the oppression of usurping strangers. The project of a wide and simultaneous revolt, if such had really been formed, was worthy of a capa- cious mind, and, had it not been prematurely disco- vered, might have been overwhelming in its conse- quences. The war that actually broke out was but < The nev. Increaw Mather's History, a war of detail, a mere succession of casual expioji^ and unconnected enterprizes. Still it sets forth the military genius and daring prowess of Philip : and wherever, in the prejudiced and passionate narrationii that have been given of it, we can arrive at simple facts, we find him displaying a vigorous mind, a fertility of expedients, a contempt of suffering and hardship, and an unconquerable resolution, that com- mand our sympathy and applause. Driven from his paternal domains at Mount Hope, he threw himself into the depths of those vast and trackless forests that skirted the settlements, and were almost impervious to any thing but a wild beast, or an Indian. Here he gathered together his forces, like the storm accumulating its stores of mischief In the bosom of the thunder cloud, and would suddenly emerge at a time and place least expected, carrying havoc and dismay into the villages. There were now and then indications of these impending ravages, that filled the minds of the colonists with awe aiui apprehension. The report of a distant gun would perhaps be heard from the solitary woodland, wlieio there was known to be no while man ; the cattle which had been wandering in the woods would some- times return home wounded ; or an Indian or two would be seen lurking about the skirts of the foresls, and suddenly disappearing; as the lightning willsom^ times be seen playing silently about the edge of tbe cloud that is brewing up the tempest. Though sometimes pursued and even surrounded by the settlers, yet Philip as often escaped almost miraculously from their toils, and, plunging into the wilderness, would be lost to all search or inquiry, until he again emerged at some far distant quarter, laying the country desolate. Among his strong holds, were the great swamps or morasses, which extend in some parts of New England; composed of loose bogs of deep black mud; perplexed with thickets, bram- bles, rank weeds, the shattered and mouldering trunks of fallen trees, overshadowed by lugubrious hemlocks. The uncertain footing and the tangled mazes of these shaggy wilds, rendered them almost impracticable to the white man, though the Indian could thrid their labyrhiths with the agility of a deer. Into one of these, the great swamp of Pocasset Neck, was Philip once driven with a band of his followers. The English did not dare to pursue him, fearing lo venture into these dark and frighttul recesses, where they might perish in fens and miry pits, or be shot down by lurking foes. They therefore invested the entrance to the Neck, and began to build a fort, with the thought of starving out the foe; but Philip and his warriors wafted themselves on a raft over an arm of the sea, in the dead of night, leaving the women and children behind; and escaped away lo the west- ward, kindling the flames of war among the tribes of Massachusetts and the Nipmuck country, and threat- ening the colony of Connecticut. In this way Philip became a theme of universal apprehension. The mystery in which he was erne- THE SKETCH BOOK. 319 of sufferinf^ aiid Dlution, that com- loped exaggerated his real terrors. He was an evil that walked in darkness; wlinse coming none could foresee, and against which none knew when to be on the alert. The whole country alionnded with ru- mours and alarms. Philip seemed almost possessed of ubiquity; for, in whatever part of the widely- extended frontier an irruption from the forest took place, Philip was said to be its leader. Many super- stitious notions also were circulated concerning him. He was said to deal in necromancy, and to be attended by an old Indian witch or pronhetess, whom he con- sulted, and who assisted him by her charms and in- cantations. This indeed was frequently the case with Indian chiefs; either through their own credu- lity, or to act upon that of their followers : and the influence of the prophet and the dreamer over Indian superstition has been fully evidenced in recent in- stances of savage warfare. At the time that Philip effected his escape from Pocasset, his fortunes were in a desperate condition. His forces had been thinned by repealetl fights, and he had lost almost the whole of his resources. In this time of adversity he found a faithful friend in Canon- chet, chief Sachem of all the Narrhagansets. He was the son and heir of Miantoninio, the great Sachem, vbo, as already mentioned, after an honourable acquittal of the charge of conspiracy, had been pri- vately put to death at the perfidious instigations of the settlk^rs. " He was the heir," says the old chro- nicler, " of all his father's pride and insolence, as well as of bis nalitc towards the English : " — he certainly was the heir of his i.isults and injuries, and the legitimate avenger of his murder. Though he had forborne to take an active part in this hopeless war, yet he received Philip and his broken forces with open arms; and gave them the most generous countenance and support. This at once drew upon him the hostility of the English; and it was determin- ed to strike a signal blow that should uivolve both the Sachems in one common ruin. A great force was, therefore, gathered together from Massachusetts, Plymouth, and Connecticut, and was sent into the Narrhaganset country in the depth of winter, when the swamps, being frozen and leafless, could be tra- versed with comparative facility, and would no longer afford dark and impenetrable fastnesses to the Indians. Apprehensive of attack, Canonchet had conveyed the greater part of his stores, together with the old, the infirm, the women and children of his tribe, to a strong fortress; where he and Philip had likewise drawn up the flower of their forces. This fortress, deemed by the Indians impregnable, was situated upon a rising mound or kind of island, of five or six acres, in the midst of a swamp; it was constructed with a degree of judgment and skill vastly superior to what is usually displayed in Indian fortification, and indicative of the martial genius of these two chieftains. Guided by a renegado Indian, the English pene- trated, dirough December snows, (o this strong hold, and came upon the garrison by surprise. The fight was fierce and tumultuous. The assailants were re- pulsed in their first attack, and several of their bravest officers were shot down in the act of storming the fortress sword in hand. The assault was renewed with greater success. A lodgment was effected. The Indians were driven from one post to another. They disputed their ground inch by inch, fighting with the fury of despair. Most of tiieir veterans were cut to pieces; and after a long and bloody battle, Philip and Canonchet, with a handful of surviving warriors, retreated from the fort, and took refuge in the thickets of the surrounding forest. The victors set fire to the wigwams and the fort ; the whole was soon in a blaze ; many of the old men, the women, and the children, perished in the flames. This last outrage overcame even the stoicism of the savage. The neighbouring woods resounded with the yells of rage and despair, uttered by the fugitive warriors, as they beheld the destruction of their dwell- ings, and heard the agonizing cries of their wives and offspring. ''The burning of the wigwams," says a contemporary writer, " the shrieks and cries of the women and children, and the yelling of the warriors, exhibited a most horrible and affecting scene, so that it greatly moved some of the soldiers." The same writer cautiously adds, "they were in much doubt then, and afterwards seriously inquired, whether burning their enemies alive could be consistent Avilh humanity, and the benevolent principles of the gos- pel."- The fate of the brave and generous Canonchet is worthy of particular mention : the last scene of his life is one of the noblest instances on record of Indian magnanimity. Broken down in his power and resources by this signal defeat, yet faithful to his ally, and to the hapless cause which he had espoused, he rejected all over- tures of peace, offered on condition of betraying Philip and his followers, and declared that "he would fight it out to the last man, rather than become a servant to the English." His home being destroyed ; his country harassed and laid waste by the incursions of the conquerors; he was obliged to wander away to the banks of the Connecticut; where he formed a ral- lying point to the whole hotly of western Indians, and laid waste several of the English settlements. Early in the spring he departed on a hazardous ex- pedition, with only thirty chosen men, to penetrate to Seaconck, in the vicinity of Mount Hope, and to procure seed-corn to plant for the sustenance of his troops. This little band of adventurers had passed safely through the Pequod country, and were in the centre of the Narrhaganset, resting at some wigwams near Pautucket river, when an alarm was given of an approaching enemy. — Having bnt seven men by him at the time, Canonchet dispatched two of them to the top of a neighbourmg hill, to bring intelligence of the foe. < MS. of the llRV. W. Rugfflcs. 5i0 niE SKETCH BOOK. Panic-stnick by the appearance of a troop of Eng- liah and Indians rapidly advancing, tliey lied in breathless terror past their chieftain, without stopping to inform him of the danger. Canonchet sent an- other scout, who did the same. He tlien sent two more, one of whom, hurrying back in confusion and affright, (old him that the whole British army was at hand. Canonchet saw there was no choice but im- mediate flight. He attempted to escape round the hill, but was perceived and hotly pursued by the hos- tile Indians and a few of the fleetest of the English. Finding the swiftest pursuer close upon his heels, he threw off, first his blanket, then his silver-laced coat and belt of peag, by which his enemies knew him to be Canonchet, and redoubled the eagerness of pursuit. At length, in dashing through the river, his foot slipped upon a stone, and he fell so deep as to wet his gun. This accident so struck him with despair, that, as he afterwards confessed, " his heart and iiis bowels turned wilhin him, and he became like a rolten stick, void of strength." To such a degree was he unnerved, that, being seiz- ed by a Pequoil Indian within a short distance of the river, he made no resistance, though a man of great vigour of body and boldness of heart. But on being made prisoner, the whole pride of his spirit arose wilhin him ; and from that moment, we find, in the anecdotes given by his enemies, nothing but repeated flashes of elevated and prince-like heroism. Being questioned by one of the English who first came up with him, and who had not attained his twenty-second year, the proud-hearted warrior, looking with lofty contempt upon his youthful countenance, replied, *' You are a child — you cannot understand matters of war — let your brother or your chief come — him will I answer." Though repeated offers were made to bim cf his life, on condition of submitting with his nation to the English, yet he rejected them with disdain, and re- fused to send any proposals of the kind to the great iMMlyof his subjects; saying, that he knew none of them would comply. Being reproached with his breach of faith towards the whites ; his boast that he would not deliver up a Wampaiioag, nor the paring of a Wampanoag's nail ; and his threat that he would burn the English alive in their houses ; he disdained to justify himself, haughtily answering that others were as forward for the war as himself, and " he de- sired to hear no more thereof. " So noble and unshaken a spirit, so true a fidelity to his cause and his friend, might have touched the feelings of the generous and the brave ; but Canonchet was an Indian ; a being towards whom war had no courtesy, humanity no law, religion no compassion — he was condemned to die. The last words of his that are recorded, are worthy the greatness of his soul. When sentence of death was passed upon him, he observed '' that he liked it well, for he should die be- fore his heart was soft, or he had spoken any thing unworthy of himself. " His enemies gave him the death of a soldier, for he was shot at Stoningham, by three young Sachiims of his own rank The defeat at the Narrhaganset fortress, and the death of Canonchet, were fatal blows to the fortunes of King Philip. He made an ineffectual attempt to raise a head of war, by stirring up the Mohawks to take arms ; but though possessed of the native talents of a statesman, his arts were counteracted by the su. perior arts of his enlightened enemies, and the terror of their warlike skill began to subdue the resolution of the neighbouring tribes. The unfortunate chief. tain saw liiniself daily stripped of power, and his ranks rapidly thinning around him. Some were su- borned by the wliites; others fell victims to hunger and fatigue, and to the frequent attacks by which ihey were harassed. His stores were all captured; hjj chosen friends were swept away from before his eyes- l:is uncle was shot down by his side ; his sister was carried into captivity ; and in one of his narrow es- capes he was compelled to leave his beloved wife and only son to the mercy of the enemy. " His ruin," says the historian, " being thus gradually carriedon his misery was not prevented, but augmented there- by; being himself made acquauited with the sense and experimental feeling of (he captivity of his chil- dren, loss of his friends, slaughter of his sui)jects, bereavement of all family relations, and being stripped of all outward comforts, before his own life sliouid be taken away. " To fill up the measure of his misfortunes, his own followers began to plot against his life, that by sacri- ficing him they miglit piircliasc dishonourable safety. Through (reachery, a number of bis faithful adlie- rents, the subjects of Wetanioe, an Indian princess of Pocasset, a near kinswoman and confederate of Philip, were betrayed into the hands of the enemy. VVetamoe was among them at the time, and attempt- ed to make her escape by crossinga neighbouring river: either exhausted by swimming, or starved with cold and hunger, she was found dead and naked near the water side. But persecution ceased not at the grave. Even death, the refuge of the wretched, wliere llie wicked commonly cease from troubling, was no pro- tection to this outcast female, wiiose great crime was affectionate fidelity to her kinsman and her friend. Her corpse was the object of unmanly and dastardly vengeance ; (he head was severed from the body and set upon a pole, and was thus exposed at Taimton, to the view of her captive subjects. They immediately recognized the features of their unfortunate queen, and were so affected at this barbarous si>ectacle, that we are told they broke forth into the " most horrid and diabolical lamentations. " However Philip had borne up against the complicat- ed miseries and misfortunes that surrounded him, the treachery of his followers seemed to wring his heart and reduce him to despondency. It is said that " lie never rejoiced afterwards, nor had success in any of his designs. " The spring of hope was broken-the ardour of enterprize was extinguished— he looked | IIFE SKETCH BOOK. ."Ml iround, and all was danger and darkness ; there was uoeje to pity, nor any arm that conid bring deliver- ance. AVith a scanty band of followers, who still gainst the complicat- surrounded him, the d to wring his heart It is said dial "he ad success in any of ,pe was broken-the iguished-he loolied rtfliained true to his desperate fortunes, the n.^:i?nny Pliilip wandered back to the vicinity of Mount Hope, the ancient dwelling of his fathers. Here he lurked aboat, ■•■ e a spectre, among the scenes of former power and prosperity, now bereft of home, of family, and friend. There needs no better picture of his des- titute and piteons situation, than that umished by the homely pen of the chronicler, who is unwarily enlisting the feelings of the reader in favour of the hapless warrior whom he reviles. "Philip, "he I says, " like a savage wild beast, having lieen hunted I by the English forces through the woods, alwve a hundred miles backward and forward, at last was I driven to his own den upon Mount Hope, where he 1 retired, with a few of his best friends, into a swamp, I which proved but a prison to keep him fast till the licesseiigers of death came by divine permission to exe- Icule vengeance upon him. " F-ven in this last refuge of desperation and despair, la sullen grandeur gathers round his memory. We ||)icliire him to ourselves seated among his care-worn Ifollowers, brooding in silence over his blasted fortunes, land acquiring a savage sublimity from the wildness land dreariness of his lurking-place. Defeated, but not dismayed— crushed to the earth, but not humiliated -he seemed to grow more haughty beneath disaster, jindto experience a fierce satisfaction in draining the last dregs of bitterness. Little minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune ; but great minds rise alrave It. The very idea of submission awakened the fury }f Philip, and he smote to death one of bis followers, Kho projwsed an expedient of peace. The brother bribe victim made his escape, and in revenge betray- 1 the retreat of his chieftain. A body of white men |nd Indians were immediately dispatched to the wamp where Philip lay crouched, glaring with fury nd despair. Before be was aware of their approach, hey had begun to surround him. In a little while lie saw five of his trustiest followers laid dead at his jeet ; all resistance was vain ; he rushed forth from ks covert, and made a headlong attempt to escape, Vit was shot through the heart by a renegado Indian |f his own nation. Sucii is the scanty story of the brave, but unfurlu- laleKing Philip; persecuted while living, slandered kd dishonoured when dead. If, however, we con- Idereven the prejudiced anecdotes furnished us by lis enemies, we may perceive in them traces of amiable lid lofty character, sufficient to awaken sympathy for |s fate, and respect for his memory. We (ind that, nidst all the harassing cares and ferocious passions f constant warfare, be was alive to the softer feelings iconnubial love and paternal tenderness, and to the fnerous sentiment of friendship. The captivity of i " beloved wife and only son " are mentioned with (Sultation as causing him poignant misery : the death liny near friend is triumphantly recorded as a new blow on his sensibilities; but the treachery and de- sertion of many of his followers, in whose affections he had confided, is said to have desolated his heart, and to have bereaved him of all further comfort. He was a patriot attached to his native soil— a prince true to his subjects, and indignant of their wrongs— a sol- dier, daring in battle, firm in adversity, patient of fa- tigue, of hunger, of every variety of bodily suffering, and ready to perish in the cause he had espoused. Proud of heart, and with an untameable love of natural liberty, he preferred to enjoy it among the beasts of the forests or in the dismal and famished recesses of swamps and morasses, rather than bow his haughty spirit to submission, and live dependent and despised in the case and luxury of the settlements. With he- roic (]ualilies and l)old achievements that would have graced a civilized warrior, and have rendered him the theme of the poet and the historian, he lived a wan- derer and a fugitive in his native land, and went down like a lonely bark foundering amid darkness and tem- pest — without a pitying eye to weep his fall, or a friendly band to record his struggle. JOHN BULL. An old song, made by an aged old pale, Of un old w'oi-shiprul guiitlcnian who had a great cststo, That kept a brave old house at a bounlirul rate. And an old {Mrler to relieve the poor at Ills gale. ' -' ''' With an old study lill'd full ot learned old book«. With an old reverend chaplain, you might know lilm by his looks. With an old buttery-hatch worn quite ofT the hooks. And an old kitchen that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks. Like an old courtier, etc. Old Somu. There is no species of humour in which the Eng- lish more excel, than that which consists in caricatur- ing and giving ludicrous appellations, or nicknames. In this way they have whimsically designated, not merely individuals, but nations; and in their fondness fur pushing a joke, they have not spared even them- selves. 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 bat, red waistcoat, leather breeches, and stout oaken cudgel. Thus they have taken a singular delight in exhibiting their most private foibles in a laughable point of view ; and have been so successful in their de- lineations, that there is scarcely a being in actua! existence more absolutely present to the public minf' than that eccentric personage, John Bull. Perhaps the continual contemplation of tb'. -^La; uui- thus drawn of them, has contributed to fir ii. up iii the nation; and thus to give reality to «:.;■; ;it i]v<t il :m niE SKETCH BOOK. may have been painted in a great measure from the hnagination. Men are apt to acqnire peculiarities that are continually ascribed to them. Tiie common onlers of English seem wonderRilly captivated with the beau idial which they have formed of John Bull, and endeavour to act up to tlie broad caricature that is perpetually before their eyes. Unluckily, they sometimes make their boasted bull-ism an apology for their prejudice or grossness; and this I have especially noticed among those truly home-bred and genuine sons of the soil wlio 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 lie is a real John Bull, and always «peaks his mind. If he now and then Hies into an un- reasonable burst of passion about tritles, 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 Itetraysa coarseness of taste, and an insensibility to foreign relinements, he thanks heaven fur his igno- rance-^lie 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 ab- surdities, is excused under the plea of niuniliceuce^- for Joint is always more generous than wise. Thus, under the name of John Bull, he will con- trive to argue every fault into a merit, aud will frankly convict himself of being the honestest fellow in existence. However little, therefore, the character may have suited in the first instance, it lias gradually adapted itself to the nation, or rather they have adapted them- selves 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 yhops. Still, however, he is one of those fertile hu- mourists, that are continually throwing out new por- traits, and presenting different aspects from different points of view ; and, often as he has been 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 matter-of-fact fellow, with nuich 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 mure than in wit; is jully rather than gay; melancholy rather than morose; can easily be moved to a sudden tear, or surprised into a broad laugh; but he loathes sentiment, and has no turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon companion, if you al- low him to have his humour, and to talk about him- self; and he will stand by a friend in a quarrel, with life and purse, huwcver soundly he may be cudgelled. In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a pro- pensity to be somewhat too ready. He is a busy- minded personage, who thinks not merely fur himself and family, but for all the country round, and is most generously dlsposeil to be every body's champion. He is continually volunteering his services to settle lijg neiglibour's affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon if they engage in any matter of consequence without asking his advice; though he seldom engages in any friendly office of the kind without finishing by get- ting into a squabble with all parties, and then railim; bitterly at their ingratitude. He unluckily took les- sons in his youth in the noble science of defence, and having accomplished himself in the use of his limiu 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 be- tween the most distant of his neighbours, but he be- gins incuntinenlly to flimble with the head of his cudgel, and consider whether his interest or liouour does not require that he should meddle in the broil. Indeed he has extended his relations of pride and po- licy so completely over the whole country, that no event can take place, without infringing some ofhb finely-spun riglits and dignities. Couched in his little domain, with these filaments stretching forth in every direction, he is like some choleric, bollle-bellied old spider, who has woven his web over a whole chamber, so that a tly cannot buzz, nor a breeze blow without startling his repose, and causing him lo sally forth wrathfully from his den. Though really a good-hearted, good-tempered old fellow at bottom, yet he is singularly fond of bein^in the midst of contention. It is one of his peculiarities, however, that he only relishes the beginning of an affray; he always goes into a fight with alacrily, Lni comes out of it grumbling even when victorious; and though no one fights with more obstinacy to carrya contested point, yet, when the battle is over, and lie comes to the reconciliation, 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 quarrel- ling about. It isnot, therefore, lighting that he ouglitl so much to be on his guard against, as making friends,! It is difficult to cudgel him out of a farthing; butpotl him in a goud humour, and you may bargain hunoutl of all the money in his pocket. He is like a sMI ship, which will weather the roughest storm uniD-f jured, but roll its masts overlward in the succeediii;| calm. He is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroadjl of pulling out a long purse; Hinging his money brave-l ly about at boxing matches, horse races, cock rights,! and carrying a high head among "gentlemen of tbcl fancy;" but immediately after one of these fits of ei-| Iravagance, he will be taken with violent qualms o ecuuoniy ; stop short at the most trivial expenditure;! talk desperately of being ruined and brouglit upon di<| parish; and in such moods, will not pay the siuallei tradesman's bifi, without violent allercatiun, lleiil in fact the most punctual and discontented puymasl in the world; drawing his coin out of his breechi pocket with infinite reluctance; paying to tiietillef most farthing, but accompanying every guinea wiilj n growl. With all Inantiful pr His economy teing to devi Ibrhe will b port one day. a hogshead ol neil. His domesi sive-'notso i as from thegi ding; the va: dolhes; and I llbr small servii master, and, p lliarilies, flatter not peculati ly manage I lives on him s luse servants i itiletodo. Hi biy before h leep quietly ab house-breaker His family >r< use, grey with eather-beaten regular plan, tedin variou 'ident traces ol ponderous stoi ike all the relii ages, intrical ugh these ha< irn days, yet th k'll grope in the le original edifi( ilions have taki ve been erecte lilt in time of | ices run up ace different gener il spacious, ra Hire wing is lak iifl pile, that 'US, and indeec iplilled at varit igious pomp, iiiments of Jol Willi soft ciisli I" of his fumilj ly doze comfort keep up this lie is staunch from the pels liave been is neighbours, strong papists, odothedutic eeipensc,api THE SKETCH BOOK. 525 services to settle hit in greal dudgeon if I msequence williout lom engages in any | ut finishing by get- es, and then railing I unluckily took b- ! ince of defence, and I the use of liis limlM a perfect master at had a troublesome liear of a quarrel be- ighbours, butliebe-l ilh the head of his I s interest or liouotir | meddle in the broil. ions of pride and po- 1 ole country, that no I ifringing some of his es. Couched in his I nts stretching forth in I iholeric, boUle-btlliedl J web over a whole I zz, nor a breeze blow, I d causing him to sally I d, good-tempered ularly fondofbein^in oneofhispeculiarilies, IS the beginning of an ight with alacrity, boll [ when victorious; and •e obstinacy to carry a ! battle is over, and Ik I e is so much taken up I Js, that he isaptloletl ley have been (luanrel- lighting that he oiigbl inst, as making friends, of a farthing; but pat u may bargain bun out lie is like a stonl| roughest storm unin- loard in the succeedin;| the magniftco abroad; iging his money brav^| orse races, cock lim )ng "gentlemen of IW . one of these fits of ei with violent qualms lost trivial expenditure; d and brought upon Ill- ill not pay the sinalii ent altercation. He discontented paymasl tin out of his brcticl e; paying to tlienlH ing every guinea wii With all his talk of economy, however, he is a tnontiful provider, and a hospitable house-keeper. His economy is of a whimsical kind, its chief object |)eiDg to devise how he may afford to he extravagant : Hirhe will begnidge himself a beefsteak and pint of port one day, that he may roast an ox whole, broach abogsheadof ale, and treat all his neighbours on the next. His domestic establishment is enormoisly expen- sive : not so much from any great outward parade, as from the great consumption of solid beef and pud- ding; the vast number of followers he feeds and clothes; and his singular disposition to pay hugely for small services. He is a most kind and indulgent master, and, provided his servants humour his pecu- [jiarities, flatter his vanity a little now and then, and not peculate grossly on him before his face, they ly manage him to perfection. Every thing that lives on him seems to thrive and grow fat. His luseservants are well paid, and pampered, and have iltle to do. His horses are sleek and lazy, and prance lowly before his state carriage; and his house dogs leep quietly al)out the door, and will hardly bark at house-breaker. His family iT?ansion is an old castellated manor- ise, grey with age, and of a most venerable, though eatlier-bealen appearance. It has been built upon regular plan, but is a vast accumulation of parts, led in various tastes and ages. The centre bears ident traces of Saxon architecture, and is as solid ponderous stone and old English oak can make it. ike all the relics of that style, it is full of obscure iges, intricate mazes, and dusky chambers; and lougli these have been partially lighted up in mo- irndays, yet there are many places where you must |ill grope in the dark. Additions have been made to le original edifice from time to time, and great alte- ilions have taken place; towers and battlements ive been erected during wars and tumults ; wings lilt in time of peace ; and out-houses, lodges, and ices run up according to the whim or convenience different generations, until it has become one of the t spacious, rambling tenements imaginable. An itire wing is taken up with the family chapel ; a re- nd pile, that must have been exceedingly suinp- lus, and indeed, in spite of having been altered and iplifled at various periods, has still a look of solemn gious pomp. Its walls within are storied with the inuments of John's ancestors; anuil is snugly fitted with soft cushions and well-lined chairs, where :hof his family as are inclined to church services, y doze comfortably in the discharge of their duties. keep up this chapel has cost John much money ; he is staunch in his religion, and piqued in his , from the circumstance that many dissenting ipels have been erected in his vicinity, and several lis neighbours, with whom he has had quarrels, strung papists. odo the duties of the chapel he maintains, at a eexpensc, a pious and portly family chaplain. He is a most learned and decorous personage, nnd a truly well-bred Christian, who always backs the old gen- tleman in his opinions, winks discreetly at his Hitle peccadilloes, rebukes the children when refractory, and is of great use in exhorting the tenants to read their bibles, say (heir prayers, and, alwve all, lo 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 limes ; fitted up with rich, though faded tapestry, unwieldy furni- ture, and loads of massy gorgeous old plate. The vast fire-places, ample kitchens, extensive cellai-s, and sumptuous banqueting halls, all speak of the roaring hospitality of days of yore, of which the modern festi- vity at the manor-house is but a shadow. There are, however, complete suites of rooms apparently desert- ed and time-worn ; and lowers and turrets that are tottering to decay; so that in high winds there is danger of their tumbling about the ears of the house- hold. John has frequently Iieen advised to have the old edifice thoroughly overhauled ; and to have some of the useless parts pulled down, and the others strengthen- ed with their materials ; but the old gentleman al- ways grows testy on this subject. lie swears the house is an excellent house — that it is tight and wea- ther proof, and not to be shaken by tempest — 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 incon- veniences, and would not be comfortable without them — that as to its unwieldy size and irregular con- struction, these result from its being the growth of centuries, nnd 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 lo 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 aliout your ears. The secret of the matter is, that John has a great disposition to protect and patronize. He thinks it in- dispensable lo the dignity of an ancient and honour- able family, to be bounteous in its appointments, and to be eaten up by dependants; nnd so, jiiu-tly from pride, and partly from kind-heartedness, lie makes it a rule always to give shelter and maintenance to his superannuated servants. The consequence is, that, like many other vene- rable family establishments, his manor is incumbered by old retainers whom he cannot turn off, and an old style which he cannot lay down. His mansion is like a great hospital of invalids, and, with all its m";;ni- tude, is not a whit loo large for its inhabilanls. Nut a nook or corner but is of use in housing some useless S24 niE SKETCH BOOK. W personage. Grou|» nr veteran iieef eaters, gouty pensioners^ and retired heroes of the buttery and the larder, are seen lolling about its walls, crawling over its lawns, dozing under ils trees, or sunning them- selves u[)on the benches at its doors. Every office and out-house is garrisoned by these supernumeraries and their families ; for they are amazingly prolific, and when they die ofl', are sure to leave John a legacy of iiungry mouths to be provided for. A mattock cannot be struck against the most mouldering tum- ble-down tower, but out pops, fiom some cranny or loop-hole, the grey pate of some superannuated hang- er-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 bead of a worn-out ser- vant of the family. This is an appeal that John's honest heart never can withstand ; 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 pad- docks, where his broken-down chargers are turned loose to graze undisturbed for the remainder of their existence — a worthy example of grateful recollecliou, which if some of his neighbours were to imitate, would not be to their discredit. Indeed, it is one of his great pleasures to point out these old steeds to his visitors, to dwell on their good qualities, extol their past ser- vices, and boast, with some little vainglory, of the perilous adventures and hardy exploits through which they have carried him. He is given, however, to indulge his veneration for family usages, and family incumbrances, to a whim- sical extent. His manor is infested by gangs of gip- sies ; yet he will not suffer them to be driven off, be- cause they have infested Ihe place time out of mind, and been regular poachers upon every generation of the family. He will scarcely permit a dry branch to ]>e lopped from the great trees that surround the bouse, lest it should molest the rooks, that have bred there for centuries. Owls have taken possession of the dovecote; but they are hereditary owls, and must not be disturbed. Swallows have nearly choked up every chimney with their nests; martins build in every frieze and cornice ; crows Hotter about the towers, and perch on every weathercock; and old grey-headed rats may lie seen in every quarter of the house, run- ning in and out of their holes undauntedly in broad day-light. In short, John has such a reverence for every thing that has l)een 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 pinse; and as he prides himself on punctuality in money matters, and wishes to maintain liis credit in the neighbourhood, they have caused him great perplexity in meeting his en- gagements. 'J'his, too, has been increased by the altercations and heartburnings which are continually taking place in his family. His children have l)eeri brought up to different callings, and are of different ways of thinking; and as they have always been allowed to speak their minds freely, they do not fjji to exercise the privilege most clamorously in the pre- sent posture of his affairs. Some stand up for %i honour of the race, and are clear that the old esta- blishment should be kept up in all its state, wltaterer may be the cost; others, who are more prudent and considerate, entreat the old gentleman to retrench his expenses, and to put his whole system of house- keeping on a more moderate footing. He has, indeed, at times, seemed inclined to listen to their opinions, but their wholesome advice has been completely de- feated by the obstreperous conduct of one of his sons. This is a noisy rattle-pated fellow, of rather low habits, who neglects his business to frequent ale- houses — is the orator of village clubs, and a complete j oracle among the poorest of his father's tenants. M\ sooner does he hear any of his brothers menlion reform or retrenchment, than up he jumps, takes the words out of their mouths, and roars out for anl overturn. When his tongue is once goiug, nothing can slop it. He rants about the room; hectors ijiel old man about his spendthrift practices; ridicules LisI tastes and pursuits; insists that he shall turn the oldl servants out of doors ; give the broken-down horses to the hounds; send the fat chaplain packing; audi lake a lield-preacher in his place— nay, that iii«[ whole family mansion shall be levelled with liiel groiuul, and a plain one of brick and ntortar built inl its place. He rails at every social entertainment audi family festivity, and skulks away growling to thtl alehouse whenever an equipage drives up ic m door. Though constantly complaining of the empli-l ness of his purse, yet he scruples not to spend all liis| pocket-money in these tavern convocations, andete runs up scores for the liquor over which he preacb about his father's extravagance. It may readily be imagined how little such IhwartJ ing agrees with the old cavalier's fiery teni|ierameiit| He has become so irritable, from repeated crossin* that the mere menlion of retrenchment or reform i a signal for a brawl between him and tlu* lave oracle. As the latter is too sturdy and refracloryl paternal discipline, having grown out of all feari the cudgel, they have frequent scenes of wordy wi fare, which at times run so high, that John is fain I call in the aid of his son Tom, an oflicer who served abroad, hut is at present living at home, half pay. This last is sure to stand by the i tieman, right or wrong; likes nothing so iniicli 3s| racketing roystering life; and is ready, at a wiHi nod, to out sabre, and flourish it over the oralor'| head, if he dares to array himself against pater authority. These family dissensions, as usual, have gotalir and are rare food for scandal in .John's urighbuuriio I'eople begin to look wise, and shake their lifi whenever his aflairs are mentioned. They all "I that matters are not so bad with him as reprcsenu cuniary en on the pool corporatioi present, h shrunk as s waistcoat, sperous da hangs loose His leather and apparel that yawn ( Instead ( three-corne and bringir thump upoi in the face, drinking sot fully to bin cudgel tuck to the bottoi dently empt Such is ll yet for all tl gallant as ev sympathy o swears that the country his house or swagger am to have anot Though t in all this, situation wi all his odd li sleriing-lieai derfully fine least twice a His virtues « unaffected, his good qua generosity; credulity of and his blun redundanciei like his own williin; wht proportion to and whose THE SKETCH BOOK. 52^i as usual, liavo got ata in John's iioigliboiiiliM ami shake llieir N Uioned. They all "li whhhimasicprcseiii" but when a man's own children begin to rail at his extravagance, things must be badly managed.— Tliey 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 loo fast; indeed, they never knew any good come of this fondness for hunting, racing, revelling, and prize-fighlina:. In short, Mr Bull's estate is a very line 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 pe- cuniary embarrassments and domestic feuds have had on the poor man himself. Instead of that jolly round corporation, and smug rosy face, which be used to present, he has of late become as shrivelled and shrunk as a frost-bitten apple. His scarlet gold-laced waistcoat, which bellied out so bravely in those pro- sperous 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 liave much ado to hold up the boots that yawn on both sides of his once sturdy legs. Instead of strutting about as formerly, with his three-cornered bat 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 thought- fully to hims'^if, with his head drooping down, his cudgel tucked under bis arm, and his hands thrust to the bottom of his breeches pockets, which are evi- dently empty. Such is the plight of honest John Bull at present ; yet for all this the old fellow's spirit is as tall and as gallant as ever. If you drop the least expression of sympathy or concern, be takes fire in an instant; swears tliat he is the richest and stoutest fellow in the country; talks of laying out large sums to adorn his house or buy another estate; and with a valiant swagger and grasping of his cudgel, longs exceedingly to have another bout at quarter-staff. Though there may be something rather whimsical in all this, yet I confess I cannot look upon John's situation without strong feelings of interest. With all his odd humours and obstinate prejudices, he is a sterling-hearted old blade. He may not be so won- derfully fine a fellow as he thinks himself, but he is at least twice as good as his neighbours represent him. His virtues are all his own; all plain, homebred, and unaffected. His very faults smack of the raciness of his good qualities. His extravagance savours of his generosity; his quarrelsomeness of his courage; his credulity of his open faith; his vanity of his pride; and his hluntness of his sincerity. Hiey are all the redundancies of a rich and liberal character. He is like his own oak ; rough without, but sound and solid within; whose bark alrounds with excrescences in proportion to the growth and grandeur of the limber; and whose branches make a feurfid groaning and murmuring in the least storm, from their very mag- nitude and luxuriance. There is something, too, in the appearance of his old family mansion, that is extremely poetical and picturesque; and, as long as it can be rendered comfortably habitable, I should almost tremble to see it meddled with, during the present conflict of tastes and opinions. Some of his advisers are no doubt good architects, that might be of service; but many I fear are mere levellers, who, when they had once got to work with their mattocks on this venerable edifice, would never slop until they had brought it to the ground, and perhaps buried themselves among the ruins. All that I wish is, that John's present troubles may teach him more pru- dence in future. That he may cease to distress his mind about other people's affairs; that he may give up the fruitless attempt to promote the good of his neighbours, and the peace and happiness of the world, by dint of the cudgel ; that he may remain quietly at home; gradually get his house into rep"'' ; cultivate his rich estate according to his fancy ; . -shand his income— if he thinks proper; bring his unruly chil- dren into order — if he can ; renew the jovial scenes of ancient prosperity ; and long enjoy, on his pa- ternal lands, a green, an honourable, and a merry old age. THE PRIDE OF THE VU.LAGE. May no wolfe tiowlc ; no screech owie stir A winp; almul thy sepulchre ! Ko lioystcixMis winds or slomics come hltlier. To starve or wither Thy soft sweet earth ! but, like a spring. Love kept it ever tlourishins. HERRICK. L\ the course of an excursion tbro igh one of the remote counties of England, I hair struck into one of those cross roads that lead Ihrr igli the more secluded parts of the country, and stopped one afternoon at a village, the situation of which was beautifully rural and retired. There was an air of primitive simplicity about its inhabitants, not to be found in the vil- lages which lie on the great coach roads. I determin- ed to pass the night there, and having token 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 di- stance from the village. Indeed, it was an object of some curiosity, its old tower being completely overrun with ivy, so that only here and there a jutting buttress, an angle of grey wall, or a fantastically carved orna- ment, peered through the verdant covering. It was n lovely evening. I'he early part of the day had been dark and showery, but in the afternoon it had cleared up; and though sullen clouds still hung over head, yet there was a broad tract of gulden sky in the west, -^N. sm THE SKETCH BOOK. rrom which the setting sun gleamed through the dripping leaves, and lit up all nature into a melancho- ly smile. It seemed like the parting 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- Ihoughted 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, chim- ed in with my feelings ; and it was some time before I recollected that it must be tolling 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 ofthe hedges, until it passed the place where I was silting. The pall was supported by young girls, dressed in white ; and another, about the age of seventeen, walked before,, bearing a chaplet of white flowers ; a token that the deceasetl was a young and unmarried female. The corpse was followed by the parents. They were a ve- nerable couple of the better order of peasantry'. The father seemed to repress his feelings ; but his fixed eye, contracted brow, and deeply - furrowed face, showed the struggle that was passing within. His wife hung on his arm, and wept aloud with the con- vulsive 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 bad occupied. Every one knows the soul-subduing pathos of the 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 so- lemn consignment of the body to the grave—" Earth to earth— ashes to ashes— dust to dust ! " — the tears of the young companions of the deceased flowed un- restrained. The father still seemed to struggle with his feelings, and to comfort himself with the assu- rance, 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. It was a simple one, and such as has often been i%d. She had been the beauty and pride of the village. Her father had once been an 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 hern the pupil of the village pastor, the favourite lamb of his little flock. The good man watched over her (>du- cation with paternal care ; it was limited, and suitable to the sphere in which she was to move; for he sought only to make her an ornament to her station in life, not to raise her above it. The tenderness and in- dulgence of her parents, and the exemption from all ordinary occupations, had fostered a natural grace and delicacy of character, that accorded with tlie fragile loveliness of her form. She appeared like some tender plant of the gavden, blooming accident- ally amid the hardier natives of the fields. The superiority of her charms was felt and ac- knowledged 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 Hic prcUicst low-born lass, lliat ever Ran on the grcen-sward : nothing slie does or seems. But smacks of sometliin,^ greater than liersclft Too noble for tliis piacc." The village was one of those sequestered spois, which still retain some vestiges of old English cus- toms. It had its rural festivals and holiday pastime!:, and still kept up some faint observance ofthe once popular rites of May. Tliese, indeed, had been pro- moted by its present pastor, who was a lover of old customs, and one of those simple Christians (hat think their mission fulfilled by promoting joy on earth and good-will among mankind. Under his auspices the May-pole stood from year to year in the centre of liie village green : on Mayday it was decorated with gar- lands and streamers ; and .1 queen or lady ofthe May was appointed, as in former limes, to preside at (lie sports, and distribute the prizes and rewards. The pictures(|ue situation of tlie village, and the fanci- fulnessof its rustics ft^tcs, would often attract the no- tice of casual visitors. Among these, on one May- day, was a young officer, whose regiment had been recently quartered in the neighbourhood. He was charmed with the native taste that (lervaded this vil- lage pageant; btit, al)ove <ill, with the dawning loveli- ness ofthe queen of May. It was the village favourite, who was crowned with flowers, and bltishing ami smiling in all the beautiful confusion of girlish difii- dence and delight. The artlessness of rural haliils enabled him readily to make her actpiaintance ; he gradually won his way into her intimacy, and paid his court to her in that unthinking way in wliidi young officers are too apt to trifle with rustic sim- plicity. 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 convey it subtilely and irresistibly to (lie hearl, The beam ofthe eye, the lone of voice, the tliousaiHl tendernesses which emanate from every word, aiid look, and action— these form the true elo(|uence ol love, and can always be tdt and understood, Iml THE SKETCH BOOK. 327 e. She had htn favourite lamb of :hed over her edu- nited, and suitable lOve; for he sought ler station in life, endemess and in- xemption from all d a natural grace accorded with the She appeared like blooming accldent- e fields. was felt and ac- but without envy; ning gentleness and , It might be truly liat evor le (loos or seems, an lieraolf; sequestered spols, )f old English ciis- ^d holiday pastimes, ervance of the once leed, had been pro- was a lover of old Christians that think ing joy on earth and der his auspices the in the centre of the decorated with gar- n or lady of the May PS. to preside at the and rewards. The 3ge, and the fanci- often attract the no- Ihese, on one May- regiment had been bourhood. lie was at pervaded this vii- the dawning loveli- |lhe village favourile, and blushing and lislon of girlish difli- kness of rural haliils 5r ac(piaintance ; be intimacy, and paid Iking way in which lie with rustic sini- Ivaiices lo startle or 'love: hut there are |l than language, and psislibly to the bear!, 'voice, the tliousunil lin every word, niKJ te true eloquence o( [nd understood, W never described. Can we wonder that they should readily win a heart, young, guileless, and susceptible? As to her, she loved almost unconsciously ; she scarce- ly inquired what was the growing passion that was absorbing every thought and feeling, or what were to be its consequences. She, indeed, looked not to liie future. When present, his looks and words oc- cupied her whole attention; when absent, she thought bill of w'.iat had passed at their recent inteniew. She would wander with him through the green lanes and rural scenes of the vicinity. He taught her to see new beauties in nature ; he talked in the language of polite and cultivated life, and breathed into her ear Ibe witcbsries of romance and poetry. Perhaps there could not have been a passion be- tween the sexes, more pure than this innocent girl's. The gallant figure of her youthful admirer and the splendour of his military attire, might at Itrst have charmed her eye ; but it was not these that had cap- tivated her heart. Her altachinent had something in it of idolatry. She looked up to him as lo a being of a sii|ierior order. She felt in his society the enthusiasm uf a mind naturally delicate and poetical, and now lirst 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, ofdemeanour, of manners, from those of the rustic society to which she had been accustomed, that elevated him in her opinion. She would listen lo him with charmed ear and downcast look of mute delight, I and her cheek would mantle with enthusiasm ; or if ever she ventured a shy glance of timid admiration, it was as quickly withdrawn, and she would sigh and I blush at the idea of her comparative unworthiness. Her lover was equally impassioned ; but his passion i was mingled with feelings of a coarser nature. He had begun the connexion in levity ; for he had often heai-d his brother officers boast of their village con- I quests, and thought some triumph of the kind neces- Isary lo his reputation as a man of spirit. But he was Itoo full of youthful fervour. His heart had not yet [been rendered sufficiently cold and selfish by a waii- Ideriag and a dissipated lite : it caught fire fi'm the Iverytlame it sought to kindle; and before he was ■aware of the nature of his situation, he became really |in love. What was he to do ? There were the old obstacles Iwhich so incessantly occur in these heedless altacli- Inenls. His rank in life — the prejudices of titled con- iiexions— his dependence upon a proud and unyielding |allier— all forbad him to think of matrimony : — but vhcn he looked down upon this innocent being, so lender and confiding, there was a purity in her man- lei's, a hiamelessness in her life, and a beseeching [iHMlesty in her looks, thai, awed down every licentious Ming, In vain did he try lo fortify himself by a |liousand heartless examples of men of fashion ; and • chill (he glow of generous sentiment, wilh that old dorisive levity wilh which he had heard them lulk of female virtue : whenever he came into her presence, she was still surrounded by that mysterious but impassive charm of virgin purity, in whose hal- lowed 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 irresolution; he hesitated to communi- cate the tidings, until the day for marching was at hand; when he gave her the inleUigence in tlie course uf an evening ramble. Tlse idea of parting had never before occurred to her. It broke in at once upon her dream of felicity; she looke<l 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 soil cheek ; nor did he meet with a repulse, for there arc moments of mingled sorrow and tenderness, which hallow the caresses of affection. He was na- turally impetuous; and the sight of beauty, appa- rently yielding in his arms, the confidence of his power over I er, 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 pro- posal 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 to his very soul ; and, clasp- ing her hands in agony, fled, as if for refuge, to her fallier's cottage. The oflicer retircu, confounded, humiliated, and repentant. 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 ten- derness ; 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 scenes of rural quiet and village simplicity — the white cottage— the footpath along the silver brook and up the hawthorn hedge, and the little village maid loitering along it, leaning on his arm, and listening to him wilh eyes beaming with unconscious afTection. 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 melancholy. She had beheld from her win- dow liie march of the departing troops. She had seen her faithless lover born off, as if in triumph, amidst the sound of drum and trumpet, and the fiomp of arms . She strained a last aching guzc after him, as thpmorn- 328 THE SKETCH BOOK. ing 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, melan- choly. 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 loneliness, and brood over the barbed sorrow that rankled in her soul. Sometimes she would be seen late of an evening silting in the porch of the vil- lage church ; and the milkmaids, returning from the fields, would now and then overhear her singing some plaintive ditty in the hawthorn walk. She be- came 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 something spiritual, and, looking after her, would shake their heads in gloomy fore- boding. She felt a conviction that she was hastening to the tomb, but looked forward to it as a place of rest. The 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 re- sentment against her lover, it was extinguished. She was incapable of angry passions; and, in a mo- ment of saddened tenderness, she penned him a fare- well letter. It was couched 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 experienced ; but con- cluded with saying, that she could not die in peace, until she had sent him her forgiveness and her bless- ing. By degrees her strength declined, that she could no longer leave the cottage. She could only totter to the window, where, propped up in her chair, it was her enjoyment to sit all day and look out upon the landscape. Still she uttered no complaint, nor im- parted to any one the malady that was preying on her heart. She never even mentioned her lover's name ; but would lay her head on her mother's bo- som 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 unearthly bloom which sometimes Hushed 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 cluster- ing honeysuckle which her own hands had trained round the window. Her father had just been reading a chapter in the liiblc : it spoke of the vanity of worldly things, and of the joys of heaven : it seemed to have dilTused comfort and serenity through her bosom. Her ere was fixed on the distant village church ; the bell had tolled for the evening service; the last villager vas lagging into the porch, and every thing had sunk into that hallowed stillness peculiar to the day of rest. Her parents were gazing on her with yeani- ing hearts. Sickness and sorrow, which pass so roughly over some faces, had given to hers the ex- pression of a seraph's. A tear trembled in her sofi blue eye. — Was she thinking of her faithless lover? —or were her thoughts wandering to that distant churchyard, into whose bosom she might soon he "a- thered ? Suddenly the clang of hoofs was heard— a horse- man galloped to the cottage— he dismounted before the window— the poor girl gave a faint excianiaiioii and sunk back in her chair : it was her repentant lover ! He rushed into the house, and flew to clasp her to his bosom ; but her wasted form — her death- like coinitenance— so wan, yet so lovely in its desola- tion, — smote him to the soul, and he threw himself ill 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 arlicu- laled— she looked down upon him with a smile of unutterable tenderness, — and closed her eyes fur ever ! Such are the particulars which I gathered of this village stoi7. They are but scanty, and I am con- scious have little novelty to recommend them. In the present rage, also, for strange incident and high- seasoned narrative, they may appear trite and insi- gnificant, but they interested me strongly at the lime; and, taken in connexion with the affecting ceremony which I had just witnessed, left a deeper inipressiou on my mind tlian many circumstances of a mure strik- ing nature. I have passed through the place since, and visited thechurch again, from a better motive than mere cariosity. It was a wintry evening; the trees were sti ipped of their foliage , the churchyard looked naked and mournful, and the wind rustled coldlf through the dry grass. Evergreens, however, liad been planted about the grave of the village tavourile, and osiers were bent over it to keep the turf un- injured. The chuk'ch-doorwasopen, and I stepped in. There hung the cliaplet '>f flowers and the gloves, as on Hie day of the funeral . the flowers were withered, it u true, butcai\ •^'>med to have been taken tliatnoduil | should soil ''leif whiteness. I have seen many mo- 1 numents, where art has exhausted its powers, to a waken the sympathy of the spectator ; but I have M | with none that spoke more touchingly to my heart, than this simple but delicate memento of departed | innocence. 1 n T A "« dimpling, ' 8nd smiling THE SKETCH BOOK. 31^) bosom. Her eye irch ; the bell had i last villager was y thing had sank iar to the day of n her wilh yearn- gv, which pass so !n to hers the ex- embled in her son her faithless lover? ing to thai distant ; might soon be ga- as heard— a hovs^ dismounted before a faint exclamation, was her repentant e, and flew to clasp id form— her death- ) lovely in its dcsola- nd he threw himself as too faint to vise- remWing hand-lier 10 word was arlicu- him with a smile of closed her eyes fur ;h 1 gathered of this ■anty, and I am con- icommend them. In ge incident and high- appear trite and insi- stronglyatlhetinie; je affecting ceremony ft a deeper impression lances of a more strili- ough the place since, in a better motive than ry evening; the trees le churchyard loolied wind ruslletl coldly ;reens, however, lad the village favourite, to keep the turf un- id I stepped in. There the gloves, as on llie s were withereil,ilii )een taken that no duil have seen many mo- lausled its powers, to :clator;butIhavenie! uchingly tomyheitt, memento of departed THE ANGLER. This day dame Nature seem'd in love. Tlie lusty sap Itegan to move. Fresh juice did stir th' embracing; vines, And birds had drawn Ihcir valentines. Thejealoas trout that low did lie, Rose at a well-disscinbled file. There stood my flriend, with patient skill, Attending of his trembling quill. SiBH. WOTTorr. It is said that many an imlucky urchin is induced j to run away from his family, and beU.Ke himself to a I seafaring life, from reading the history of Robinson Crusoe; and I su^ect that, in like manner, many of those worthy gentlemen, who are given to haunt the [sides of pastoral streams with angle rods in hand, I nay trace the origin of their passion to the seductive [pages of honest Izaak Walton. I recollect studying Iliis "Complete Angler" several years since, in com- [pany with a knot of friends in America, and more- lover that we were all completely bitten with tlie langling mania. It was early in the year; but as on as the weather was auspicious, and that the Lpring began to melt into the verge of summer, we [look rod in hand and sallied into the country, as stark ad as was ever Don Quixote from reading books of hivalry. One of our party had equalled the Don in the hiness of his equipments : being attired cap-a-pie br the enterprize. He w^ore a broad-skirted fustian oat, perplexed wilh half a hundred pockets; a pair |f stout shoes, and leathern gaiters, a basket slung ) one side for fish; a patent rod, a landing net, and [score of other inconveniences, only to be found in |ie true angler's armoury. Thus harnessed for the 1, he was as great a mailer of stare and wonder- jient among the country folk, who had never seen a gular angler, as was the steel-clad hero of La {laneha among the goatherds of the Sierra Morena. I Our first essay was along a mountain brook, among Be highlands of the Hudson; a most unfortunate lace for the execution of those piscatory tactics which pd been invented along the velvet margins of quiet nglish rivulets. It was one of those wild streams |ot lavish, among our romantic solitudes, unheeded anties, enough to fill the sketch book of a hunter [the picturesque. Sometimes it would leap down cky shelves, making small cascades, over which the es threw their broad balancing sprays, and long neless weeds hung in fringes from the impending nks, dripping with diamond drops. Sometimes it brawl and fret along a ravine in the malted de of a forest, lilling it wilh murmurs, and, after termagant career, would steal forth into open 'With the most placid demure face imaginable; as pave seen some pestilent shrew of a housewife, r filling her home wilh uproar and ill-humour, lie dimpling out of doors, swimming and courlsey- , and smiling upon ail the world. How smoothly would this vagrant brook glide, at such times, through some bosom of green meadow- land among the mountains; where the quiet was only interrupted by the occasional tinkling of a bell from the lazy cattle among the clover, or the sound of a woodcutter's axe from the neighbouring forest! For my part, I was always a bungler at all kinds of sport that required either patience or adroitness, and had not angled above half an hour before I had completely "satisfied the sentiment," and convinced myself of the truth of Izaak Walton's opinion, that angling is something like {Metry— a man must be born to it. I hooked myself instead of the fish ; tangled my line in every tree; lost my bait; broke my rod; until I gave up the attempt in despair, and passed the day under the trees, reading old Izaak ; satisfied that it was his fascinating vein of honest sim- plicity and rural feeling that had bewitched me, and not the passion for angling. My companions, how- ever, were more persevering in their delusion. I have them at this moment before my eyes, stealing along the border of the brook, where it lay open to the day, or was merely fringed by shrubs and bushes. I see the bittern rising with hollow scream as they break in upon his rarely-invaded haunt; the king- fisher watching them suspiciously from his dry tree that overhangs the d^&p black mill-pond, in the gorge of the bills; the tortoise letting himself slip sideways from off the stone or log on which he is sunning him- self; and the panic-struck frog plumping in headlong as they approach, and spreading an alarm throughout the watery world around. I recollect also, that, after toiling and watching and creeping about for tlie greater part of a day, wilh scarcely any success, in spite of all our admirable apparatus, a lubberly country urchin came down from the hills with a rod made from a branch of a tree, a few yards of twine, and, as Heaven shall help me! I believe, a crooked pin for a hook, baited with a vile earth-worm — and in half an hour caught more fish than we had nibbles throughout the day! But, above all, I recollect the "good, honest, wholesome, hungry " repast, which we made under a beech-tree, just by a spring of pure sweet water that stole out of the side of a hill; and how, when it was over, one of the parly read old Izaak Walton's scene will) the milkmaid, while I lay on the grass and built castles in a bright pile of clouds, until I fell asleep. All this may appear like mere egotism; yet I cannot refrain from uttering these recollections, which are passing like a strain of music over my mind, and have been called up by an agreeable scene which I witnessed not long since. In a morning's stroll along the banks of the Alun, a beautiful little stream which flows down from the Welsh hills and throws itself into the Dee, my atleit- tion was attracted to a group seated on tlie margin. On approaching, I found it to consist of a veteran angler and two rustic disciples. The former was an old fellow wilh a wooden leg, with clothes very much but 4a 330 THE SKETCH BOOK. very carefully patched, betokening poverty, lionefilly come by, and decently maintained. His foce bore the marks of former storms, but present fair weather; its furrows had been worn into an habitual smile; his iron-grey locks hung about his ears, and he had altogether the good-humoured air of a constitutional philosopher who was disposed to take (he world as it went. One of his companions was a ragged wight, with the skulking look of an arrant poacher, and I'll warrant could find his way to any gentleman's fish- pond ui the neighbourhood in the darkest night. The other was a tall, awkward, country lad, with a loung- ing gait, and apparently somewhat of a rustic beau. The old man was busy in examining the maw of a tront which he had just killed, to discover by its contents what insects were seasonable for Imit ; and was lecturing en the subject to his companions, who appeared to listen with infinite deference. I have a kind feeling towards all ''brothers of the angle," ever since I read Izaak Walton. They are men, lie aflirms, of a "mild, sweet, and peaceable spirit;" and my esteem for them has been increased since I met with an old " Tretyse of fishing with the Angle," in which are set forth many of the maxims of their inoffensive fraternity. " Take good hede," jayetii this honest little tretyse, " that in going about your disportes ye open no man's gates but that ye shet them again. Also ye shall not use this forsayd crafty disport for no covetousness to the encreasing and sparing of your money only, but principally for your solace, and to cause the helth of your body and spe- cyally of your soule '." I tliooght that I could perceive in the veteran angler before me an exemplification of what I had read ; and there was a cheerful contentedness in his looks that quite drew me towards him. I could not but re- mark the gallant manner in which he stumped from one part of the brook to another ; waving his rod in the air, to keep the line from dragging on the ground, or catching among the bushes; and the adroitness with which he would throw his fly to any particular place; sometimes skimming it lightly along a lillle rapid; sometimes casting it into one of those dark holes made by a twisted root or overhanging bank, in which the large trout are apt to lurk. In the mean while, he was giving instructions to his two disciples ; showing them the manner in which they should handle their rods, fix their flies, and play them along the surface of the stream. The scene brought to my mind the instructions of the sage Piscator to his scholar. The country around was of that pastcral kind which Walton is fond of describing. It was a ' From this same treatise , it would appearthat angling \s a more industrious and (ievout employment than it i8g<-ncrally consider- ed.— "For when ye purpose to go on your disportes in fishyngc ye will not dcsyrc grcallye many persons with you, which might let you of your game. And that ye may serve God devoutly in sayingc effectually your cuttomaMe prayers. And thus doying, ye shall eschew and also avoydc many vices, as ydeliies, which is principall cause to induce man to many other vices, as it is right well known." part of the great plain of Cheshire, close by the bean- tiftd vale of Gessford, and just where the inferior Welsh hills begin to swell up from among fresh. smelling meadows. The day, too, like that recnriled ill his work, was mild and sunsliiny, with now ami then a soft-dropping shower, that sowed the whole earth with diamonils. I soon fell into conversation with the old angler, and was so much entertained that, under pretext of receiving instructions in his art, I kept company \riih him almost the whole day ; wandering along the banks of the stream, and listening to his talk. He was ven communicative, having all the easy garrulity of cheer- ful old age; and I fancy was a little flattered by hav- ing an opportunity of displaying his piscatory lore- for who does not like now and then to play the sage' He had been much of a rambler in his day, ami had passed some years of his youth in America, par- ticulai'ly in Savannah, where he had entered inioj trade and had been ruined by the indiscretion of j partner. He had afterwards experienced many up and downs in life, until he got into the navy, w||<>r, his leg was carried away by a cannon-ball, at iIk| battle of Camperdown. This was the only stroke real good fortune he had ever experienced, foritg«| him a pensioti, which, together with some small in- ternal properly, brought him in a revenue of nearljl forty pounds. On this he retired to his native vil- lage, where he lived (piietly and independently, ami devoted the remainder of Ids life to the "noble aril of angling." I found that he had read Izaak Walton attenlivdjj and he seemed to have imbibed all his simple frant ness and prevalent good humour. Tlioiigii he been sorely buffeted alwut the world, he wassatisft that the world, in ilself, was good and beaiiliri Though he had been as roughly used in dilTei countries as a poor sheep that is fleeced by ev( hedge and thicket, yet he spoke of every nation ml candour and kindness, appearing to look only on good side of things : and, above all, he was all the only man I had ever met with who liad been unfortunate adventurer in America, and had hoi and magnanimity enough to take the fatdt to his door, and not to curse the country. The lad ll was receiving his instructions, I learnt, was the and heir apparent of a lat old widow who kept village inn, and of course a youth of some ex| tion, and much courted by the idle genllemaifii personages of the place. In taking him under care, therefore, the old man had prolwbly an ejt a privileged corner in the tap-room, and an occasii cup of cheerful ale free of expense. There is certainly something in angling, if we forget, which anglers are apt to do, the cruellies tortures inflicted on worms and insects, that leiAl produce a gentleness of spirit, and a pure sereniiti mind. As the English are methodical even in ' recreations, and are the most scientific of sporl! it has been reduced among (hem to perfect niie U't me livi Of Trent Wlierelm With eag And on the Whilst so Aim] others Ofwiiie, 1^1 lliern tli And on SI 'Sollhctieli And daily -Uiiong the Red hyaci |0u parting \ loe of abode rliood of liu the curiosit in a small c rfect curiof nas on the si iUie back froi t, iitoclted w flowers, mm with a a weatherco lly nautical st ice having ] i-flf-war. J \i wiiicli, in ( V THE SKETCH BOOK. .)5i ire, close by the bean- 8t where the inferior I » from among freslw too, like that recnnled ishiny, with now ami iJiat sowed tl>e whole | with the old angler, that, under pretext oil t, I kept company with [idering along the bants I his talk. Hewasvm 1 easy garrulity of cheer- j little flattered by hav- ing his piscatory lore; dthen to play the sage' imbler in his day, anlj youth in America, par- re he had entered intol by the indiscretion ot a 5 experienced many up] ;ot into the navy. wh»rt[ )y a cannon-ball, at the lis was the only stroke er experienced, foritg(il| iher with some small pa- in in a revenue of nearly] retired to his native # j' and independently, ami his life to the "noble art Izaak Walton atlentivelyJ ibed all his simple frankf umour. Though he 1 je world, hewassatisft was good and beautifiil •oughly used in dilfen that is fleeced by ever poke of every nation mtl| ;aring to look only onti jbove all, he was ata et with who had beeni America, and had lioiK take the fault tohisfl coimtry. Tlielailitt ms, I learnt, was the! old widow who kept I youth of some espi y the idle gentleman' In taking him under II in had proliaWy an ejelj ip-room, andanoccaaf expense. dug in angling, if w«« apt to do, the cruellies" [sand insects, that leiAj lirit, and a pure sereniiyl methodical even in r lostscientilic of sports" them to perfect nile I .>vslem. Indeed, it is an amusement peculiarly adapt- led to the wild and highly-cultivated scenery of Eng- land where every roughness has lieen softened away I from the landscape. It is delightful to saunter along those limpid streams which wanc'er, like veins of sil- ver through the bosom of this beautiful country ; leading one through a diversity of small I lome scenery ; sometimes winding through ornamented grounds; Lmelimes brimming along through rich pasturage, Iwhere the fresh green is mingled with sweet-smelling llowers; sometimes venturing in sight of villages and Ihamlets, and then running capricioitaly away into liady retirements. The sweetness and serenity of kiature, and the quiet watchfulness of tV<e sp«)rt, gra- iually bring on pleasant tits of musmg ; which are iiovk- and then agreeably interrupted by the song of a ird, the distant whistle of the peas.mt, or perhaps Jie vagary of some fish, leaping out of tii2 still water, id skimming transiently about its glassy surface. When I would beget content," says Izaak Walton, and increase confidence in the power and wisdom id providence of Almighty God, I will walk the ueadows by some gliding stream, and there contem- ilate the lilies that take no care, and those very many (her little living creatures that are not oidy created, ^ut fed (man knows not how) by the goodness of the ;od of nature; and therefore trust in him." I cannot forbear to give another quotation from one r those ancient champions of angling, which breathes liesame iimocent and happy spirit : Lot me live liaritilessty, and near llie brink of Trent or Avon liavc a dwcllini;-|jlace. Where 1 may liCC my quill, or cork, down sink. With eager l)itc of pike, or bleak, or dauu ; And on (tie world and my Creator think : Whilst some men strive ill-go((en rooiIs V euibrace ; And olhcrs spend their time in base excess Ofwiiic, or worse, in war, or wantimness. Let tliem that will, tlicsc pastimes still pursue, And on such pleasing fancies feed Uieir till ; Sol the lields and meadows green may view. And daily by fresh rivers walk at will, >\niong the daisies and the violets blue, Red hyacinth and yellow daffodil. ■ lOu parting with the old angler I inquired after his pee of abode, and happening to be in the iieigh- urhood of the village a few evenings afterwards, I Ithe curiosity to seek him out. I found him liv- ;ina small cottage, containing only one room, but effect curiosity in its method and arrangement, tas on the skirt of the village, on a green bank, little back from the road, with a small garden in nt, litocked with kitchen herbs, and adorned with few flowers. The whole front of the cottage was pnn with a honeysuckle. On the top was a ship la weathercock. The interior was fitted up in a |ly nautical style, his ideas of comfort and conve- nce having been acquired on the birth-deck of a In-of-war. A hammock was slung from the ceil- |, which, in the day-lime, "as lashed up so as to ■ J. Davors. lake 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 wall were stuck up naval ballads, such as Admiral Ho- sier's Cihost, All in the Downs, ai:d Tom Bowling, intermingled with pictures of sea-fighls, among which the battle of Camperdown held a distinguished place. The mantel-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 angling were carefully disposed on nails and hooks about the room. On a shelf was ar- ranged his library, containing a work on angling, much worn, a Bible covered with canvass, an old vo- lume or two of voyages, a nautical almanac, and a book of songs. Ilis family consisted of a large black cat with one eye, and a parrot which he had caught and tamed, and educated himself, in the course of one of his voyages; and which uttered a variety of sea [dirases with the hoarse brattling lone of a veteran boatswain. The establishment reminded me of that of the renown- ed Ilobinson Crusoe ; it was ke[>t in neat order, every thing l)eing "slowed away" with the regularity of a ship of war : and he informed me that he "scoured the deck every morning, and swept it between meals." I found him seated on a bench before the door, smoking his pipe in the soft evening sunshine. His cat was purring soberly on the threshold, and bis parrot describing 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 minuteness as a general would talk over a campaign ; being particularly animatal in relating the manner in which he had taken a large trout, which had completely tasked all his skill and wariness, and which he had sent as a trophy to inuie hostess of the inn. How comforting it is to see a cheerful and content- ed old age ; and to behold a poor fellow, like this, af- ter being tempest-tost through life, safely moored in a snug and quiet harbour in the evening of his days ! His happiness, however, sprung fromwilhin himself, and was independent of external circumstances ; for he had that inexhaustible good-nature, which is the most precious gill of Heaven ; spreading itself like oil over the troubled .sea of thought, and keeping the mind smooth and equable in the roughest weather. On inquiring further about him, I learnt that he was a universal favourite in the village, and the oracle of the tap-room; where he delighted the rustics with bis songs, and, like Sinbad, astonished them with his stories ofstrange lands, and shipwrecks, a.id sea-fights. He was much noticed too by gentlemen sportsmen of the neighbourhood ; had taught several of them the art of angling; and was a privileged visitor to their kitchens. The whole tenor of liis life was ((uiet and inoffensive, being principally passed alraut the neigh- THE SKETCH BOOK. .<i bouring streams, when the weather and season were favourable; and at other times he employetl himself at home, preparing his fishing tackle for the next campaign, or manubcturing rods, nets, and flies fi)r his patrons and pnpils 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 in 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. I have done, for I fear that my reader is growing weary ; but I could not reft-ain from drawing the pic- ture of this worthy " brother of the angle; " who has made me more than ever in love with the theory, tliongh I fear I shall never be adroit in the practice of his art : and I will conclude this rambling sketch in the words of honest Izaak Walton, by craving the blessing of St Peter's master upon my reader, "and upon all that are true lovers of virtue; and dare trust tu his providence ; and be quiet ; and go a angling." THE LEGEND >' 0» SLEEPY HOLLOW. C FUIIKD AXCfG Till! PAPEBS OP THE LKJIi UIKDUIUK KNICKEBBUCKER. ) A pleasing land o( drowsy head it was, Ofdreaias tlial wave before the Iialf-shut eye ; Aud of gay castles in tlie clouds that pass, For ever flushing round a summer sky. CASTLE OP Indolence. I.\ 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 Tappaan Zee , and where they always prudently shortened 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 gene- rally and properly known by the name of Tari-y Town. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, tvom 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 occa- sional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a wood-pecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity. I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit I in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut irec) | that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noon-time, when all nature is peculiariT quiet, and was started by the roar of my own gun, aj it broke the sabbath stillness around, and was pro- longed and reverberated by the angry echoes, if I ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might I steal from the world and its distractions, and dream I quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know I of none more promising than this little valley. From the listless repose of the place, and the pe- culiar character of its inhabitants, who are descend- ants from the original Dutch settlers, this seques-l tered glen has long been known by the name ofl Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads are called ihel Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neighl)Ottriiig| country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems tohanel over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.! Some say that the place was bewitched by a highl German doctor, during the early days of the $e(ll^| ment ; others that an old Indian chief, the prophtti or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there beforel the country was discovered by Master Hendrickl Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues uniier| the sway of some witching power, that lioklsaspell| over the minds of the good people, causing them lol walk in a continual reverie. They are given to alll kinds of marvellous beliefs; are subject tu trances aiHl| visions ' and frecpiently see strange sights, and hearl music and voices in the air. The whole neighbonrl hood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, andl twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glirel oflcner across the valley than in any other partoribel country, and the nightmare, with her whole niiw-1 fold, seems to make it the favourite scene uf herl gambols. The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this eo-| chanted region, and seems to be coinmaiKler in chid of al! the powers of the air, is the ap|>arilion of a fi-l gure on horseback without a head. It is said bysoul to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose iieady| lieeti carried away by a cannon-ball, in somenai less battle during the revolutionary Avar; andwh is ever and anon seen by the country folk, liun along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings ofll wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, li extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especuild to the vicinity of a church that is at no great dislaiMJ Indeed , certain of the most authentic historiansofllt parts, who have been careful in collecting and eoUali the floating facts concerning thisspectre, allege! body of the t rooper, having been buried in the chuit yard, tiie ghost rides forth to the scene of balllei nightly quest of his head; and that the rushing s with which he sometimes passes along the IIoUo'l like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belau*! THE SKETCH BOOK. 335 )ing of a wood-pecker, ler breaks in upon iht iling, my first exploit ove of tall walnut trefs ley. I had wandered II nature is peculiar); oar of my own gun, « ironnd, and was pro- 1 the angry echoes, ill eat, whither I might iislractions, and dream 1 troubled life, I know | his little valley, the place, and the pe- ants, who are descend- h settlers, this seques-l nown by the name oil islic lads are called the I lut all the neighbouring! influence seems tohan;! e the very atmosphere.! as bewitched by a high! early days of the setll^| dian chief, the prophetl is powwows there betorel d by Master Hendrickl lace still continues under I tower, that holds a spelll people, causing them lol They are given to liil ire subject to trances andl strange sights, and hear! The whole neighhonr-l lies, haunted spots, audi shoot and meteors glare! n in any other part of ikl with her whole niM-l favourite scene uf hetl lever, that haunts this »■ jo be couimauder inchir is the apparition of s 6- 1 .head. Ilissaidbysoiiel trooper, whose head Ul [non-ball, insomenai lutionary war; and' [e country folk, hurrjim as if on the wings oftl mfined to the valley,' int roads, and espect >atisatnogreatdisiance| ithentichistoriaiisotllH [in collecting and collalini hisspectre, allege tliatll [een buried in the chiird to the scene of balllei id that the rushing s asses along the lloU«»| Lg to his being belaif and in a harry to get back to the churchyard before day-break. Such is the general purport of this legendary su- perstition, 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 inhabit- ants 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 influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative — to dream dreams, and see appa- ritioas. I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud; for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there emiiosomed in the great state of New- York, that population, manners, and customs, remain fixed; while the great torrent of migration and im- provement, which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless 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 harbour, 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 vege- tating in its sheltered bosom. In this by-place of nature, there abode, in a remote 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, " tar- ried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. He was a native of Con- necticut; a state which supplies the Union with pio- neers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of fionticr woodmen and coun- try sciioolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceed- ingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet thai might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely Jjung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the prolile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descend- ing upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from I a corn-field. His school-house was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copy- I 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 wonid find some embarrassment in getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eel-pot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, 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 the tone of menace or command ; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some lardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscien- tious man, that ever bore in mind the golden maxim, " Sparc the rod and spoil the child." — Icha- bod Crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled. I would not have it imagined, however, that he was 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 the parents; " and he never in- flicted a diastisement without following it by the as- surance, 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 companion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday 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. Indeed it behoved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. 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 mainte- nance, he was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farm- ers, whose cliikhen he instructeil. With these he lived successively a week at a time; thus going the rounds of the neighbourhood, with all his worldly ef- fects 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 burthen, and school- masters as mere drones, he had various ways of ren- dering himself both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labours of their 831 THE SKETCH BOOK. i farnu ; helped lu make li«y ; riwnded the Teiices; took the horses to water ; drove the cows from pasture ; aitd cut wood for the winter lire, lie laid aside, loo, all the dominant dignity and alwolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire, the school, and Im- came wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He found favour in the eyes of the mothers, hy petting the chil- dren, [Nirticularly the youngest; and like (he linn Itold, which whiiome so magnanimously the lanih did hoitl, he would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together. In addition to his other vocations, he was the sing- ing-master of the neighhourluMHl, and picked up many bright shillings hy 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 lund of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded fui- alH)ve all the rest of the coni^regation ; and there are peculiar quavers slill to be heard in that church, and which may even lie heard half a mile oil', (piile to Ihe opposite side of Ihe mill-pond, on a slill Sunday morn- ing, which are said to lie legilunately descended from the nose of Ichahod ("rane. 'J'hus, by divers little inakeshifls, in that ingenious way which is conmionly 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 head- work, to have a woiulerfid easy life of it. The schoolmaster is generally a man of some im- portance in the female circle of a rural neighliour- hood ; being considered a kind of idle gentleman-like personage, of vastly su|)erior laste and acconiplisb- menls to the rough country swains, and, indeed, in- ferior in learning only to the parson. Ills appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the tea-table of a farm-house, and the addition of a super- numerary dish of cakes or sweetmeaiji, or, perad- venture, the parade of a silver teapot. Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country damsels. How he would ligure among them in the churchyard, between services on Sundays ! gathering grapes for them from the wild vines that overrun the surrounding trees ; reciting for their amusement all ihe epitaphs on the tomb- stones; or satmlering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent mill-pond; while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying bis superior elegance and address. From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to bouse ; so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, more- over, esteemed by the women as a man of great eru- dition, for be had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's History of New-England Witchcraft, in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. He was, in foot, an odd mixture of small shrewd- ness and simple credulity. His appetite for the mar- vellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and iMtth had l>een increased hy iijs residence in this spell-bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his ca[)acious swallow. It was often his delight, after his s«;liool was dismissed iuihe afterno«)n, to stretch himself on the rich l)ed of clover, Imrdering the little brook that whimpered by lijs school-house, and there con over old Mather's direril tales, until the gathering dusk of the evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and stream an<l awful w(NMlland, to the farm-house where he happen- ed to be (piartered, every sound of nature, at thai witching hour, llutlered his excited imaginution ; the moan of Ihe whip-[H)or-will ■ from the hill side; the lioding cry of the Iree-toad, that harbinger of storm; Ihe dreary hooting of the screech-owl ; or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. 'J'he lire-llies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled liini, ,is one of unconnnon briglilness would stream .icrosti his [talh; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a l)eelle came winging his blundering lliglit against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with (lie idea that he was struck with a witch's token. Iljs only resource on such occasions, either to dronii thought, or drive away evil spirits, was to sing |)saiiii tunes ; — and the gooti people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often iilied with awe, at hearing his nasal melody, " in linked sweetness long drawn out," lloating from thedistanl hill, or along the dusky road. Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was lo pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the lire, with a row of apples roasting and sputtering along Ihe hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and liaunleil bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of lliu headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hol- low, as they sometimes calle<l him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of wilchcraft, and ol Ihe direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times ol' Con- necticut; and would frighten them wofully wilhsp^ culations upon comets and shooting stars; and with Ihe alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsyturvy! but if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling in the chimney corner of a chaml)er that was all of a ruddy glow from the crackling wood lire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards. What fearful shap and shadows beset bis path amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night!— With what wislfiil ■ The whip-poor-will is a ItirJ wliicli i« only licani at iii!;lil' It receives its name fruia its note, which is tliuught tu rcstmli' those words. TIIE SKETCH BOOK. 33:; tini; ftuni the dislaiil cli is only liM"' »' ""'!''''• ilch i» Uiouglit to rweml*: look did he eye every trembling ray ofliitht glreaming •icroM the waste liclds froni some distant window ! —How ofleii was lie appalled by some slinib covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path !— How often did he shrink with curdlinj; awe at llie sound of his own steps on the fn)sty crust beneath his Feet; ami dread to look over his shoulder, lest he shouhl liehold some uncouth \w'mf^ tramping close behind him ! —and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling amoni; the trees, in the idea that il was the (lalloping Hessian on one of liis nightly sconrings ! All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he bad seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once lieset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils ; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if Ills path had not Iteen crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and lliat was— a woman. Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his inslructi(ms in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen ; plump as a partritlge; ripe and melting and rosy -cheeked as one of her fa- ther's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and mo- dem fashions, as most suited to set off her cbanus. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmotber had brought over from Saardam ; the tempting stomacher of the olden time ; and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the cotmtry round. Ichabod Crane bad a soft and foolish heart toward the sex ; and it is not to lie wondered at, that so tempting a morsel soon found favour in his eyes ; more especially after he bad visited her in her paternal man- sion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture ofa thriving, contented liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either bis eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm ; but within those every thing was snug, happy, and well-con- ditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth, but not proud of it ; and piqued himself upon the hearty abun- dance, rather than the style in which he lived. His strong hold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, I in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks, in which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A great I elm-tree spread its broad branches over it ; at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweet- est water, in a little well, fcrmed of a barrel ; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a neigh- bouring brook, tliat babbled along among alders and I dwarf willows. Hard by the ferm-honse was a vast liam, that might have served for a church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with tlie treasures of the farm ; the flail was busily resounding within it from movning tonight ; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turntnl 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 p«)rkers were grunting in the repose and •ibundance of their |iens; from whence sallied forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately scpiadron of snowy geese were rid- ing in an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks ; regiments of turkeys were gobbling through th<> ijirm-yard, and guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish dis- conlentetl cry. licfure the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husltand, a warrior, and a line gentleman, clapping his burnished wings, and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart — somelinies tearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family 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 Ills devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting pig running aliout with a pudding in its belly, and an apple in its mouth; the pigeims were snugly put to bed i.i a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust ; the geese were swimming in their own gravy; and (!>.'> ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent com- petency of union sauce. In the porkers he saw carv- ed out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relish- ing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, Avith its gizzard under its wing, and, pcradventure, a necklace of savoury sausages ; and even bright chan- ticleer himself lay sprawling on his l)ack, in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if craviikg that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained 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 fieldsof wheat, of rye, of buck-wheat, and Indian 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 imagina- tion expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top of a waggon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her 336 THE SKETCH BOOK. In heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee, or the Lord knows where. When he entered the house the conquest of his heart was complete. It was one of those spacious farm-houses, with high-ridged, but lowly-sloping roofs, built in the style handed down from the first Dutch settlers ; the low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighbouring river. Benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great spinning- wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, show- ed the various uses to which this important porch might be devoted. From this piazza the wonder- ing Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the centre of the mansion and the place of usual resi- dence. Here, rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled Iiis eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag of wool ready to be spun ; in an- other a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, min- gled with the gaud of red peppers ; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlour, where the claw-fooled chairs, and daik mahogany tables, shone like mirrors ; andirons, with their accompanying sho- vel and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops ; mock oranges and conch shells decorated the mantel-piece ; strings of various-coloured birds' eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cup- board, knowingly left open, displayed immense trea- sures of old silver and well-mended china. From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and bis only study was how to gain the affec- tions of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprize, however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell *o the lot of a knight errant of yore, who seldom had any thing but giants, enchant- ers, fiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend with ; and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass, and wails of adamant, to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was confined ; all which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie ; and then the lady gave him her hand as a matter of coui-se. Ichabod, on the con- trary, had to win his way to the heart of a country co<|uette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and ca- prices, which were for ever presenting new diffi- culties and impediments ; and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart ; keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but ready to fly cut in the common cause against any new competitor. 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 slinrt curly black hair, and a bluff, but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arro- gance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he had received the nickname of Baom BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength always acquires in rustic lite, was the umpire in all disputes, setlin» 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 composilion- and, with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humour at bottom. He had three or four boon companions of his own stamp, who regarded hini 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, surmount- ed with a flaunting fox's tail ; and when the folks at a country gathering described this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farm- houses at midnight, with hoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks ; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the huny- scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay. there goes Brom Bones and his gang ! " The neigh- bours looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admi- ration, and good-will; and when any madcap 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 uncoutb gallantries, and though his amorous toyings v.'ere something like the gentle caresses and endearments of a l)ear, yet it was whispered that she did not al- together discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his ad- vances were signals for rival candidates to retire, wiio felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours ; inso- much, that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tas- sel'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 car- ried the war into other quarters. Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had, however, 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 THE SKETCH BOOK. 357 ialion, Brom Van lund, which rung rdihood. lie was nted, with short lit not unpleasant r of fun and arro- ! and great powers lickname of Bhom ly known. lie was 11 in horsemanship, as a Tartar. He k-fights; and, with gth always acqnires ill disputes, selQng s decisions with an gainsay or appeal. a fight or a frolic; in his composition; ^hness, there was a lour at bottom. He IS of his own stamp, !l,andat theheadof Itending every scene ;s round. In cold a fur cap, surmount- nd when the folks at his well-known crest nong a squad of hard a squall. Sometimes ; along past the farm- mi halloo, like a troop lames, startled out of oment till the hurry- len exclaim, "Ay, ;ang!" Theneigli- lixture of awe, admi- any madcap prank, iricinity, always shook )m Bones was at the ime time singled out >bject of his uncouth norous toyings vere scs and endearments that she did not al- Certain it is, his ad- didales to retire, who in his amours; inso- seen tied to Van Tas- a sure sign that liis termed, "sparking" )y in despair, and car- with whom Ichahod sidering all things, a ■ive shrunk from the -rould have despaired. ture of pliahility m\ ivas in form and spirit ut tough; though lie bent he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was away —jerk !— he was as erect, and carried his liead as high as ever. To have taken the Held openly against his rival would have been madness; fur he was nut a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more than that stormy lover Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances |in a quiet and gently insinuating manner. Under )verofhis character of singing master, he made frequent visits al the farm-house; not that he hud any |tbiii£ to apprehend from the meddlesome interfe- rence of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Bait Van Tassel was an easy indulgent soul ; he loved his daughter better even than lis pipe, and like a reasonable man and an excellent [father, let her have her way in every thing. His no- table little wife, too, bad enough to do to attend to her loiisekeeping and manage the poultry; for, as she igelyol)served,ducksand geese are foolish things, and lust be looked after, but girls can take care of thein- lelves. Thus while the busy dame bustled about the louse, or plied her spinning wheel at one end of the liazza, honest Bait would sit smoking his evening lipe at the other, watching the achievemenlsof a little fooden warrior, who, armed with a sword in each land, was most valiantly lighting the wind on the iinnacle of the barn. In the mean lime, Ichabod ,-ould carry on his suit with the daughter by the side the spring under the great elm, or sauntering along the twilight, that hour so favourable to the lover's loquence. I profess not to know how women's hearts are fooed and won. To me they have always been lalteni of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have It one vulnerable point, or door of access; while liters have a thousand avenues, and may be cap- iied in a thousand different ways. It is a great [iunipli of skill to gain the former, but a still great- proof of generalship to maintain possession of the jller, for a man must battle for his fortress at every ir and window. He that wins a thousand common Mils is therefore entitled to some renown; but who keeps undisputed sway over the heai i of a jiiette, is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this was ^t the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and )ni the moment Ichabod Crane made bis advances, interests of the former evidently declined; his Irse was no longer seen tied al the palings on Sun- |y nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow. |Biom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his lure, would fain have carried matters to open lifare, and have settled their pretensions to the ly, according to the mode of those most concise and ppie reasoners, the knights-errant of yore— by sin- combat; but Ichabod was too conscious of the :rior :night of his adversary to enter the lists linst him : he had overheard the boast of Bones, hnvould "doid)le liie schoolmaster up, and put him on a shelf; " and he was loo wary to give him an opportunity. There was something extremely pro- voking in this obstmately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off l)oorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones, and his gang of rough riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains ; smoked out his singing school, by stopping up the chimney ; broke into the school-house at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and win- dow 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 slill more annoying, Brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom lie taught to whine in Ihe most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's to instruct her in psalmody. In this way matters went on for some time, with- out producing any material effect on the relative si- tuation of the contending powers. On a flue au- tumnal afternoon, Iclialjod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. In bis hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails, behind the throne, a constart terror to evil doers; while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited wea- pons, detected upon the persons of idle urchins; such as half-munchedapples, popguns, whirligigs, tly-cages^ and whole legions of rampant little paper gamecocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of jus- tice recently inilicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon Ihe master; and n kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the school- room. It was suddenly interrupted by the appear- ance of a negro in tow-cloth jackal and Irowscrs, u 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 au invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry- making, or "quilting frolick," to be held that even- ing 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 lo display on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering av ay up the hohow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission. All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quirt school-room. The scholars were hurried through their lessons, without slopping al trifles; those who were nimble skipped 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 w ith- i'-y Tk-JS THE SKETCH BOOK. out being put away on the shelves; inkstands were overturned; benches thrown down; and (he whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time; bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about the green, in joy at their early eman- cipation. The gallant Ichabod now^ spent at least an extra Iialf hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arrang- ing his looks by a bit of broken looking-glass, that hung up in the school-house. That he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman, of the name of Uans Van Kipper, and thus gallantly mounted, issued forth, like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should , in the true spirit of romantic story , give some account of the locks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The ani- mal he bestrode was a broken-down plough horse , that had outlived almost every thing but his vicious- ness. He was gaunt and shagged , with a ewe neck and a bead like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs ; one eye had lost its pupil , and was glaring and spectral ; but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day , if we may Judge from his name, which was (iunpowder. lie had, in fact, been a favourite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper , who was a furious rider , and had infused , very probably , some of his own spi- rit into the animal ; for , old and broken down as he looked , there was more of the lurking devd in him than in any young filly in the country. Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pummel of the saddle; his sharp el- liows stuck out like grasshoppers ; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and, as liis horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not imlike the Happing of a pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the lop of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called ; and the skirls of his black coat fluttered out almost to the horse's tail. Such was the appearance of Ichahod and his steed, as tJiey shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Hipper, and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight. It was as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober hrown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks Iwgan to n)akc their a|)pearance high in the air; the hark of the «(jiiirrel might he heard from the groves of beech and hickory nuts, and the pen- sive whistle of the qjail at intervals IVom (he neigh- Iwuiring stubble field. The small birds were taking their farewell ban. quels. In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered chirping and frolicking, from bush to bush, and trer to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them. There was the honest cock-robin, ihf I favourite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flyini. in sable clouds ; and the golden-winged woodpecker, i with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage ; and the cedar bird, with its red tjpt wings and yellow (ipt tail, and its little monteiro cap I of feathers ; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light blue coat and white under dollies; screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing awl I bowing, and pretending to be on go<xl terms with | every songster of the grove. As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever I open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged I with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On I all sides he beheld vast store of apples ; some hanging I in oppressive opulence on the trees; some galhereill into baskets and barrels for the market; others iieapedl up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on hel beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its goldenl ears peeping from their leafy coverts, and lioldingoinl the promise of cakes and hasty pudding; and ll:(l yellow pumpkinslyins beneath them, turning up their I fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample proj spects of (he most luxurious of pies; and anon hepass-l ed the fragrant buck wheal fields, breathing the odourj of the bee-hive, and as he beheld them, soft anlieipaT tions stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, weilbul-l tered, and garnished witii honey or treacle, by tli(| delicate liltle dimpled hcid of Katrina Van Tassel, Thus feeding his mind >vilh many sweet tliougblj| and "sugared suppositions," he journeyed alongll sides of a range of hills which look out upon somed the goodliest scenes of (he mighty Hudson. The s gradually wheeled his broad disk down into liievei 'J he wide bosom of (he Tappaan Zee lay molionles and f?lassy, excepting that here and there a jonllea dulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow oflh distant mountain. A few amber clouds floated inll sky withoni a breath of air to move tlieni. Tiieb rizon was ol' a fine golden tint, changing gradual into a pure apple green, and from that into lliede^ blue of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray Jingeredj the woody crests of the precipices that overlinngsi parts of the river, giving greater depth to tliedark^ and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop wiiJoiLtj ing in the distance, dropping slowly down wil tide, her .sail hanging uselessly against the ir.astiiiij as (he reflection of the sky gleamed along water, it seemed as if the vef«i,el was suspended inll air. It was toward evening (hat Ichahod arrived alllj castle of the Heer Van Tassej^ which liP found I ed with (he pride and flower of the adjaccm counli] Old farmers, a spare leathern-laced race, in honifsf t;oats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoev THE SKETCH BOOK. 3.7) their farewell ban- irelry,lheyflnUered, sh to bush, and tree )rofusion and variety I onest cock-robin, ihf Lsinen, wilh its loud | ing blackbirds flylnj; 1 winged woodpecker, (ad black gorget, and I bird, wilh its red tipi I its lilUe monteiro ca[i that noisy coxcomb, ] white under clothes; ding andlwbbingaiKll 5 on go<xl terms with j his way, liis eye, ever iry abundance, ranged , of jolly autumn. On F apples; some hanginj; trees ; some gathered market; others heaped •press. Farther on he corn, wilh its goldai coverts, and holding out isty pudding; and te li them, turning up their and giving ample pro- pies; ami anon he pass- ■Ids, breathing the odom leld Ihem, soft anlicipi- iinty slapjacks, well bat- loney or treacle, hy the Katrina Van Tassel, Ih many sweet lhougliU| he journeyed along look out upon some ^hly Hudson. The isk down into the w paan Zee lay molionh re and there a j-nlie d the blue shadow olll nber clouds floated in .0 move thfin. Tiie lint, changing gradui from that into the d( slanting ray lingered pices thai overhung ler depth to the dark les. Asloopwi^loiw ig slowly down wiib ly against the niasl; II gleamed along die ' l^sel was suspended ii ;ii latlchabod arrived al II k which lipfo"'"'"" roftheadjaccmcoiini Llacedrace,inhonirt ll(.ckings,hiigeslioo^ magnificent pewter buckles. Their brisk, withered, little dames in close crimped caps, long-waisted short eavtts, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pin- iishiuns, and gay calico pockets hanging on the out- jde. Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their [Others, excepting where a straw hat, a line riband, ir perhaps a while frock, gave symptoms of city in- lovalion. The sons, in short square-skirted coats wilh ffs of stupendous brass buttons, and their hair ge- lerally queued in the fashion of the limes, especially lliey could procure an eel- skin for the purpose, it in" esteemed, throughout ihe country, as a potent urisher and slrenglhener of Ihe hair. Broin Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, laving come to the gathering on his favourite steed laredevil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and lischief, and which no one but himself could manage. e was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, liven to all kinds of tricks which kept Ihe rider in instant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable well- oken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit. Fain would I piiuse to dwell upon llie world of arms that burst upon the enraptined gaze of my ro, as he entered the slate parlour of Van 'J'assel's lansion. \ot those of the bevy of buxom lasses, ith their luxurious display of red and white; but the iiple charms of a genuine Dutch country lea-table, Ihe sumptuous lime of autumn. Such heaped-up tallers of cakes of various and almost indescribable inds, knnwu only to experienced IJulcli housewives ! ere was the doughty dough-inil, the tenderer oly ek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet ikes and short cakes, ginger t kes and honey cakes, id the whole family of cakes. And then there were lie pies and peach pies and pumpkin pies; besides :cs of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delecl- lle dishes of preserved plums, aird peaches, and (ars, and quinces ; not to mention broiled shad and led chickens; together wilh bowls of milk and lam, all mingled higgledy-piggled/. pretty much as lave enumerated Ihcni, with the niolheiiy teapot ding up its clouds of vapour from (lie inidsl — aven blevs the mark! I want breath and time to iiss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager get on with my story. Hap|)ily, Ichabod (]raric IS not in so great a hurry as his historian, but diil iple justice to every dainty, lewasa ,vni\ and thankful creature, who.se heart ted ill proportion as his skin was tilled v\ith good ler; ami .vhose spirits rose with eating as some in's til drink, lie could not help, too, rolling large t;yes round him as he ale, and chuckling hlliepossihilily that i.i might one day he lord of |lhis scene of almost Hnim..giriahlc luxury and sjilcn- r. Thou, he thought, bow soon he'd turn his k npmi the old school-house; snap bis lingers in face of Hans Van llipjier, and every other nig- illy patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogifc out iwr- Ihal should dare to call him comrade I d llalliis Van Tassel moved nboiil among his guests with a face dilated with content and good hu- mour, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His hospitable atlenlions were brief, but expressive, being coniined to a shakeof the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to " fall to, and help ther selves." And now the sound of the nuisic from the common room, or hall, summoned to the dance. J he musi- cian was an old grey-headed negro, who had been llie itinerant orchestra of the neighbourhood for more than half a century. His instrumenl was as old and batleieil as himself. The greater pari of ihe lime he scraped on two or three strings, accompanying every movement of the bow with a motion of the head ; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping wilh his fool whenever a fresh couple were to start. Ichabod prided himself upon bis dincing 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 elaltering about Ihe room, you would have thought Saint Vitus himself, that blessed patron of Iho dance, was liguring before you in person. He was the admiration of all the negroes ; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from Ihe farm and the neiglibourliood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces al every door and window ; gazing with delight at the scene, rolling their white eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How could the tlogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous P the lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling gra- ciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while Biom Bones, sorely smitten wilh love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner. When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was at- tracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, wilh old Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and drawing out long stories about the war. This neighlwurhomi, al the time of which I am speaking, was one of those highly favoured places which abound with chronicle and great men. The Ih'ilish and American hue had run near it during the war ; it had, therefore, Keen Ihe scene of marauding, and infested v^-ith refugees, cow boys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just snflicienl time had elapsed to enable each sinry-'eller to dress up his tale with a little becoming lictu •', and, in the indistinctness of his recollection, to make himself the lieru of every exploit. There was the story of Doffue ftlartling, a large blue-bearded Dutchman, who had nearly taken a Bri- tish frigate wilh an old iron ninepounder from a muddy breastwork, only thai his gun burst al the sixth dis- charge. And there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being loo rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of Whileplains, being an excellent master of defence, parried a musket bail with a small sword, insomuch thai he absolutely felt it whiz rotmd the blade, and glance oflal Ihe hilt ■ in THE SKETCH BOOK. proof of wiiicii, he was ready at any time to show llie sword, with tlie hilt a tittle bent. Tliere were several more tliat had been equally great in the field, not one of wliom but was persuaded tliat he liad a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy terminal ion. But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded. The neighbourhood is rich in legendary treasures of the kind. Local lales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered long- sellled retreats; but are trampled under fool by the shifling throng that forms the population of most of our country places. Besides, lliere is no encourage- ment for ghosis in most of our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their first nnp, and turn themselves in their graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from the neighbourhood ; 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 ghosis except in our long-established Dutch commu- nities. The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing lo the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the very air tliat blew from that haunt- ed region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their wild and won- derful legends. Many dismal talcs were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and waitings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in t!\e neighbourhood. Some mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at Ha- ven Rock, and was often beard to shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief pari of the stories, however, turn- ed upon the favourite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard several limes of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nighJy among the graves in the churchyard. 'Jhe sequestered situation of this ohurch seems al- ways (o have made it a favourite haunt of Iroidiled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surroimded by locust trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent, whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Chris- lian purity, beaming through the shades of retire- ment. A gentle slope descends fioni it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which peeps may be caught ai the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. ( )n 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 I'iU' from the churoh, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were tliickly shaded by overhang- ing trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the day-time ; but occasioned a fearful darkness ai ni<>ht. Such was one of the favourite haunts of the hei'diess horseman, and the place where lie was moi^i fre. quently encountered. The tale was told cf old IJrouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in gl;obl, how he met the horseman returning from his foraj into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up beliii:d him; how they galloped over hush and brake, over 'till and swamp, until ihey reached the bridge; when the horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the L" lok, and sprang away over the tree tops with a clap of thunder. 'J'his story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of Brom Bones, who madeli4t of the galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. Ileal- firmed, that on returning one night from the neigh- bouring villiige of Sing-Sing, he had been ovprtaiien by this midnight trooper; that he had offered to race | with him for a howl of punch, and should have von it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hoik but just as they came to the church bridge, the Hes- sian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire. All these tales, told in that drowsy under-toncmin which men talk in the dark, the counteniincesofllie listeners only now and then receiving a casnal fleam from the glare of a pipe, sunk deep in the mini! of Ichahod. He repaid them in kind with large exlraclsi from his invaluable author, Cotton Mather, andadiM many marvellous events that had taken place iiiiiijj native state of Connecticut, and fearful sights whicli he had seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy llolloir, The revel now gradually broke up. The old farm ers gathered together their families in their \va»-| gons, and were heard for some time rattling alonjj the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. SodkJ of the damsels mounted on pillions behind their li' vourile swains, and their light-hearted laiighternw gling with (he clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silei woodlands, soimding fainter and fainter nnlilliu gradually died away — and the late scene of noise ai frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod onlylii gered behind, according lo the custom of lovers, to have a tCle-i-l^te with ihe heiress; fill convinced that he was now on the high road tosii cess. What passed at Ibis interview I will not tend lo say, for in fact I do not know. LSoinelhii however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for cerlairdy sallied forth, after no very great inlen with an air quite desolale and chopfallen— Oii tin women! these women! Could that girl have I playing off any of her coquettish tricks '—Was iw encouragement of the poor pedagogue all .i ni« sham to secure her conquest of his rival'— Itavej only knows, not I!— Let it suffice lo say, hliah stole forth with the air of one who had been sackid a hen-roost, raUier than a fair lady's heart. Will out looking to the riyhl or left to noli''e Ihf ««< over, appr( soenes of centre of the towered like neighhourho limlis were form Irtinks to the earl connected w Andre, who was universs tree. Theco of respect ai for the fate of the tales of j lold concern i A.« Ichahot lo whistle : ii was hilt n hi lii'aiiches. As 'ic saw somet "■w; he pans more narrow "'e tree had wood laid h; 'fill rhallcr THE SKETCH BOOK. Sii n.'ral wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty calfs and kiclcs, ronsed his steed most nncc<Meously f;om the comfortable quarters in which lie was sonndly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oals, and whole valleys of timothy and clover. It was the very witching time of night that Icliabod, lieavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he bad traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as iiimself. Far below him, the Tappaan Zee spread ;L« dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the lall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead bush of midnight, be could even bear the barking of the watch-dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson]; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man. Kow 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 bis ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a btill-fiog, from a neighbouring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in bis bed. All the stories of ghosts and goblins that be bad heard in the afternoon, now came crowding upon bis recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driv- ini; clouds occasionally bid them from his sight, lie had never felt so lonely an;l dismal. He was, more- over, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories bad been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip tree, which lowered like a giant above all the other trees of the nei^hlwurbood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its iiralw were knarled, 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 unfortunate Andre, who had been taken prisoner hard by ; and was universally known by the name of INIajor Andre's tree. The common people regarded il with a mixture I of respect and superstition, naitly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly fiom the tales of strange sights, and doleful lamentations )ld concerning it. As Idiabod approached this fearful tree, be began to wiiislle : he thought bis whistle was answered ; it I was hut a blast sweeping sharply through the dry blanches. As he approached a little nearer, be thought ho saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree; lie paused and ceased whistling ; but on looking iiiore narrowly, perceived lliit it was a place where Hie tree had been scathed l)v li,ilitning, and the while wood laid liare. Suddenly he heard a groan-his ipcili cliaiiered. and his knees smote against the Isiiildlf it was but the rubbing of one huge Imugh upon another, as they were swayed about by lh« breeze. He 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 wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the ";ood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, malted thick with wild grape vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this iden- tical spot that the unfortunate Andre was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who unprised 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 resolu- tion, gave bis horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and atlempi«l to dash briskly across the bridge ; but instead of starling forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on Ihe other side, and kicked lustily with Ihe contrary foot : it was all in vain j his steed started, il is true, but it was only to plunge to Ihe opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder hushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snort- ing, 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, misshapen, black, and towering. Il stirred not, but seemed gathered up in llic gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. 'J'lie hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and liy was now loo late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, \\ liicb could rule upon Uie wings of the wind ? Sum- moning up, therefore, a show of courage, be demand- ed in stammering accents— "Who are you?" He re- ceived nor,, ply. He repealed bis demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the intlexible (iunpowder, and, shutting bis eyes, broke forthwith ^nvuluntary fervour into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy ob- ject of alarm put itself in motion, and, wMth a scramble and a botmd, stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet Ihe form of the unknowi. might now in some degree be ascer- tained. He appeared to be a horseman of large di- mensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful hamc. He made no offer of molestation or sociabi- 8ift> THE SKETCH BOOK. lity, but kept aloof on one side of Uie road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness. Ichabod, who had no relish for (his strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of tlie adventure of Brom Bones with the galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving hint behind. T' e stranger, however, quickened his horse to an f ^ual pace. Ichnbod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind — (he other did (he same. His heart began (o sink within him; he endeavoured to resume his psalm (une, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in (he moody and dogged silence of tiiis 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 htiglit, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-slruck, on perceiving that he was headless! — but his hurrur was still more in- creased, 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 des- peration ; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping, by a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip — but the spectre starteil full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and thin; stones Hying, and sparks Hashing, at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in (he air, as he slre(ched his long lank body away over his horse's head, in (he eagerness of his flight. They had now reached liie road which (urns off (o Sleepy Hollow , but Gunpowder, who seemed possess- ed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposi(e turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow, shad- ed by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous 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 nnskilful rider an apparent advantage in the chase ; but just as lie had got half 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 saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For ; moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath passed across his mind— for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; (he goblin was liard on his haunches, and (unskilful rider that he was! ) he had nnich ado to maintain his scat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolled on the high ridge of his horse's back bone, with a vio- lence that he verily fei rr J -vould cleave him asunder. An openin:j:in the (iccs now cheered him with the linpos that the chinch bridge wafl at hand. 'J'lie wa- vering 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 competitor had disappeared. "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and blow- ing close behind him ; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprung upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side ; and now Ichabod 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 luiiiing his head at him. Ichabod endeavoured lo dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encoun- tered his cranium with a tremendous crash— lie 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 master's gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast — dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The Doys assembled at the school-house, and strolled idly almut 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 investigation tliey came upon his traces. In one par( of the road leading to the ciiHrch was found the saddle trampled in the dirt : the trackii of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evi- dently 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 sciiool- master was not to be discovered. Hans Van Hipper, as executor ot Ms estate, examined the bundle wiiidi contained 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 pilch-pipe. As lo llie books and furniture of the school-house, they belong- ed to the community, excepting Cotton Matlier's His- tory of Witchcraft, a New-England Almiinac, ami a book of dreams and fortune-telling : in w liicli 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, 'i'hese niagii' books and the poetic scrawl were forthwitli consign- ed to the (lames by Hans Van Ripper; who iVoni liial time forward determined to send his children no mm to school ; observing, that he never knew any ffooil come of this same reading anil writing. Whalevn money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had recei* THE SKETCH BOOK. 34o the bosom of tlie ken. He saw the under the trees tiere Brom Bones' 1. "If I can but h1, "I am safe." aniing and blow- icied that he felt e kick in the ribs, 1 the bridge; lie iks; he gained (he it a look behind to icording lo rule, in it then he saw the in the very act of )d endeavoured lo ) late. It encoun- lous crash — lie was td Gunpowder, the ', passed by like a I was found without ier his feet, soberly sale. Ichabod did ikfast— dinner-hour ys assembled at the out the banks of the ins Van Hipper now out the fate of poor uiry was set on foot, hey came upon his >ading to the cliiircli the dirt : the tracks the road, and evi- •aced lo iVie bridge, broad part of the lep and black, was Ichabod, and close lebodyoftheschool- ilans Van Ripper, ed the bundle which They consisted of for the neck ; a pair old pair of corduroy flok of psalm tunes, )itch-pipe. Aslollie house, they belon?- Cotton Mather's Ilis- ;land Almanac, aini ■lling : in which lasi ibbled and blotted in e a copy of verses in 'assel. 'I'hese masio •e forlhwilli consi^'ii- pper who from llial ed his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must have had about his person at the tune of bio disap- pearance. The mysterious event caused much speculation at the church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the churchyard, 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 ; aud when they had diligently considered them all, and compared them with the symptoms of the pre- sent case, they shook their heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by the galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in noltody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him : the school was removed to a different quarter of (he Hollow, and another pedagogue reign- ed 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 re- ceived, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighbour- hood, partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress ; that he had chang- ed 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, eleciion- ecred, 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 conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to llie altar, was observed lo look exceedingly knowing when- ever the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the puni|)- kin ; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose lo tell. The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means ; and it is a favourite story otlen told alMut the nei;:li- bourhooil round Ihe winter evening lire. The bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious awe, and that may be the reason why the road has been j altered of late years, so as to approach the chinch by I the bonier of the mill-pond. The school-house being d^erted, soon fell lo decay, and was reported to be iiaunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue ; I and the plough-lwy, h>itering homewanl of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a di- stance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the I tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow. POSTSCRIPT, POUND n THE BAriDWBITIXC OP BIB IllCKEBBOCUR. J| his children no more [ever knew any gtwl 1 writing. Whalcvii Id, and ho had mw The preceding Tale is given, almost in the precise words in which I heard it related at a Corporalioit meeting of the ancient city of the Manhatloes, ■ at which were present many of its sagest and most illus- trious burghers. The narrator was a pleasant, shabby, gentlemanly old fellow, in pepper-and-salt clothes, with a sadly humorous face ; and one whom 1 strongly suspected of being poor, — he made such effoils to he entertaining. When his story was concluded, there was much laughter and approbation, particularly from two or three deputy aldermen, who had been asleep the greater pait of the time. There was, however, one tall, dry-looking, old gentleman, with beetling eye-hrows, who maintained a grave and ralher severe face throughout : now and then folding his arms, inclining his head, and looking down upon the floor, as if turning a doubt over in his mind. He was one of your wary men, who never laugh, but upon good grounds, — when they have reason and the law on their side. When the mirth of the rest of (he company had subsided, and silence was restored, he leaned one arm on the elbow of his chair, and, stick- ing the other a-kimlw, demanded, with a slight but exceedingly sage motion of Ihe head, and contraction of the brow, what was the moral of the story, and what it went to prove i' The story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to his lips, as a refreshment after his toils, paused for a moment, looked at his inquirer with an air of infinite deference, and, lowering the glass slowly to the table, observed, that the story was intended most logically to prove : — " That lliere is no situation in life but has its advan- tages and pleasures — provided we will but take a joke as we find it : " That, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers is likely to have rough riding of it. '* Ergo, for .i country schoolmaster lo be refused the hand of a Dutch heiress, is a certain step to high prelermenl in the state." The cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer after this explanation, being sorely puzzled by the ratiocination of the syllogism; while, melhoughl, the one in pepper-and-salt eyed him with something of a triumphant leer. At length, he observed, that all this was very well, but still he thought the story a liltle on the extravagant— there were one or two points on which he had his doubts. " Faith, sir," replied the story-teller, "as to that matter, I don't believe one half of it myself." I). K. ■ New-Vm-k. 544 TJIE SKETCH BOOK. I ^1 LENVOY. Co, little booke, God wnd thee good puuge, And specially let tlil« be thy |ir<iycre, Unto Ihcin all that Ihce will read or hear, Where thou art wrunf;, after their help to call. Thee to correct in any part or all. CBkvcu'a Belle Dame sana Mtrcie. In concluding a second volume of the Sketch Book, the Author cannot but express his deep sense of llie indulgence with which his tirst has been received, and of the liberal disposition thai has been evinced to treat him with kindness as a stranger. Even the cri- tics, whatever may be said of them by others, he has found to be a singularly gentle and good-natured race; it is true that each has in turn objected to some one or two articles, and that these individual excep- tions, taken in the aggregate, would amount almost to a total condemnation of his work; but then he has been consoled by observing, that what one has parti- cularly censured, another has particularly praised : and thus, Ihe encomiums being set ofT against the ob- jections, he liiids his work, upon the whole, com- mended far beyond its deserts. He is aware that he runs a risk of forfeiting much of this kind favour by not following the counsel that has been liberally bestowed upon him ; for where abun- dance of valuable advice is given gratis, it may seem a man's own fault if he should go astray. He only can say, in his vindication, that he faithfully determined, for a lime, to govern himself in his second volume by the opinions passed upon his first; but he was soon brought to a stand by the contrariety of excellent counsel. One kindly advised him to avoid the ludi- crous; another to shun the pathetic; a third assured him that he was tolerable at description, but caution- ed him to leave narrative alone; while a fourth de- clared that he had a very pretty knack at turning a story, and was really entertaining wlien in a pensive mood, but was grievously mistaken if he imagined himsci '0 possess a spark of humour. Thus perplexed by the advice of his friends, who each in turn (closed some particular path, but left him all the world beside to range in, he found that to fol- low all their connsels would, in fact, be to stand «ii|). He remained for a time sadly embarrassed ; when all at once, the thought struck him to ramble on as he had begun ; that his work being miscellaneous, am! writlen for different hiunoiirs, it could not be expected that any one would be pleased with the whole; but that if it should contain something to suit each reiiiicr his end would be completely answered. I'fw guesLt sit down to a varied table with an e(|ual appetite Tor every dish. Une has an elegant horror of u loaiietl pig; another holds a curry or a devil in ultcralx)- minatitm; a third cannot tolerate the ancient Ha- vour of venison and wild fowl ; and a fourth, of truly masculine stomach, looks with sovereign cunlenipi on those knick-knucks, here and there dished up for tiie ladies. Thus each article is condemned in its turn; and yet, amidst this variety of appetites, seldom (lueis a dish go away from the table without being lusted and relished by some one or other of the guests. With these considerations he ventures to serve up this second vuliiine in the same heterogeneous war with his iirsl; simply requesting the reader, if he should find here and there somelliing to please him, to rest assured that it was written expressly fur in- telligent readers like himself; but entreating: lijn? should he find any thing to dislike, to tolerate il, as one of those articles which the author has been oblig- ed to write for readers of a less refined taste. To be serious. — The author is conscious of the ".ii- merous faults and imperfections of his work; and well aware how little he is disciplined and accom- plished in the arts of authorship. His delicienees are also increased by a tlillidence arising from his pecn- liar situation. He finds himself writing in a strange land, appearing before a public which he has been accustomed, from childhood, to regard with ihe highest feelings of awe and reverence. He is full of solicitude to deserve their approbation, yet linds that very solicitude continually embarrnssin; his |K)wers, and depriving him of that ease and confidence which are necessary to succe$:>ful exertion. Still Ihe kindness with which he is treated encourages liimlo go on, hoping that in time he may acquire a steadier fooling; and thus he proceeds, half venturing, half | shrinking, surprised at his own good fortune, and wondering at his own temerity. END OF TIIE SKETCH BOOK. L, be to stand still, rrassed; when, all ) ramble on as lie miscellaneous, ami iilil not bo expected Ih Ibe whole; but lu suit each reader, erecl. I'ew guests I e(|ual appelite Tor horror of a loailed devil ill ullcralM)- ile the anciini Ha- nd a fonrlh, of truly vereign contempt on e dished up for the demned in its turn; letiles, seldom duesa lOUt being tasted and he guests, .enturcs to serve up heterogeneous way (ig the reader, if he ^tiling to please liim, ten expressly fur in- but entreating: liitr like, to tolerate it, as luthor has been oblig- relined taste. s conscious of the -.u- (IS of his work; and sciplined and accom- llis delicicnces are rising from his pecu- jf writing in a strange ic which he has ken to regard with the verence. He is full approbation, yet finds lly embarrassing liis lat ease and coiilidence \a\ exertion. Still the ,ed encourages liim to Inay acquire a steadier I, half venluring, balf ] n good forliine, and BRA€EBRIDG£ HALL; OR, THE HUMORISTS. 0}) ^go(iv(^ Crajfoiij ^tnt. Uiidor till)) cloud I walk, Rcntlcmcn ; pardon my nido assault. I am a traveller, who, having surveyed most of the terrestrial angles ot this glubc, am hither arrived to [icruse this little s|)ot. CUHISTMAS UHDINARY. Tin: AUTHOR. woHTtiv header! O.N again taking pen in hand, I would fain make a jjew observations at the outset, by way of bespeaking la I if hi understanding. The volumes which I have al- Irc'idy published have met with a reception far beyond (my most sanguine expectations. I would willingly attribute this to their hUrinsic merits; but, in spite of lliie vanity of authorship, I cannot but be sensible that jllieir success has, in a great measure, been owing to I less Haltering cause. It has been a matter of mar- kei, that a man from the wilds of America should ex- press himself in tolerable English. I was k ^ked bpoii as something new and strange in literature ; a jdudofdemi-savage, with a feather in bis hand, in- j^teadofonhishead; and there was a curiosity to hear nhat such a l)eing had to say about civilized society. This novelty is now at an end, and of course the jeeling of indulgence which it produced. I must now fspecl to bear the scrutiny of sterner criticism, and I be measured by the same standard with contem- lorary writers ; and the very favour which has been Jiown to my previous writings, will cause these to be pealed with tlie greater rigour; as there is nothing p whieh the world is apt to punish a man more se- jerely, than for having been over-praised. On this |ead, therefore, I wish to forestal the censoriousness rilie reader; and I entreat he will not think the jrorse of me for the many injudicious things that may lave been said in my commendation. I am aware that I oflon travel over beaten ground, pd treat of subjects that have already been discussed ' abler pens. Indeed, various authors have been Icntioiied as my models, to whom I should feel Hat- |rfd if I thought I bore the slightest resemblance ; I in truth I write after no model that I am con- Nsof, and I write with no idea of imitation or Impctilion. In venturing occasionally an topics that |ve already been almost exhausted by English au- thors, I do it, not with the presumption of challeng- ing a comparison, but with the hope that some new interest may be given to such topics, when discussed by the pen of a stranger. If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwell- ing with fondness on subjects that are trite and com- mon-place with the reader, I beg the circumstances under which I write may be kept in recollection. Having been born and brought up in a new country, yet educated from infancy in the literature of an old one, my mind was early filled with historical and poetical associations, connected with places, and man- ners, and customs of Europe; but wltich could rarely be applied to those of my own country. To a mind thus peculiarly prepareil, the most ordinai7 objects and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange matter and interesting novelty. England is as classic ground to an American as Italy is to an Englishman ; and old London teems with as much historical asso- ciation as mighty Rome. Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical medley of ideas that throng upon his mind on landing among English scenes. He for the first lime sees a world about which he has been reading and thinking in every stage of his existence. The recollected ideas of infancy, youth, and manhood ; of the nursery, the school, and the study, come swarming at once upon him; and his at tenlion is distracted between great and little objects; each of which, perhaps, awakens an equally delightful tram of remembrances. Dut what more especially attracts his notice are those peculiarities which distinguish an old country and an old stale of society from a new one. I have never yet grown familiar enough willi the crumbling nionuuients of past ages, to blunl the intense interest with which I at iirst beheld Ihein. Accustomed al- ways to scenes where history was, in a manner, in anticipation; where every thing in art was new and progressive, and pointed to the future rather than to the past; where, in short, the works of man gave no ideas but those of young existence, and prospective H « 34(> BRACEBRIDGE HALL. improvement; there was something inexpressibly lonchingin the si^htofenormous piles of arclUlecture, grey with antiquity, and sinking to decay. I cannot describe ihc mute but deep-felt enthusiasm with which I have contemplated a vast monastic ruin, like Tintcrn Abbey, bnried in the bosom ofa quiet valley, and sill It up from the world, as though it had existed merely for itself; or a warrior pile, like Conway Castle, standing in stern lonelinesson its rocky height, a mere hollow yet threatening phantom of departed power. They spread a grand, and melancholy, and, to me, an unusual charm over the landscajte ; I for the first time beheld signs of national old age, and em- pire's decay, and proofs of the transient and perishing glories of art, amidst the ever-springing and reviving fertility of nature. But, in fact, to me every thing was full of mtitter ; the footsteps of history were everywhere to be trac- ed ; and poetry hud breathed over and sanctified the land. I experienced the delightful freshness of feel- ing of a child, to whom every thing is new. I pictur- ed to myself a set of inhabitants, and a mode of life for every habitation that I saw, from the aristocratical mansion, amidst the lordly repose of stalely groves and solitary parks, to the straw-thatched cottage, with its scanty garden and its cherishetl woodbine. I thought I never could be sateil with the sweetness and fresimess of a country so completely carpeted witli verdure; where every air breathed of the balmy pasture, and the honeysuckled hedge. I was conli- nually coming upon some little document of poetry in the blossomed hawthorn, the daisy, the cowslip, the primrose, or some other simple object, that has re- ceived a supernatural value from the muse. The first time that I heard the song of the nightingale, I was intoxicated more by the delicious crowd of remem- bered associations than by the melody of its notes ; and I shall never forget the thrill of ecstasy with which I first saw the lark rise, almost from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight up into the morn- ing sky. In this way I traversed England, a grown-up child, delighted by every object great and small ; and be- traying a wondering ignorance, and simpleenjoyment, that provoked many a stare and a smile from my wiser and more experienced fellow-travellers. Such too was the odd confusion of associations that kept break- ing upon me as I first approached London. One of my earliest wishes had been to see this great metro- polis. I had read so much about it in the earliest books that had been put into my infant hands ; and I had heard so much about it from those around me who had come from the " old countries. " I was familiar with the names of its streets and squares, and public places, before I knew those of my native city. It was to me the great centre of the world, round which every thing seemed to revolve. I recollect contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a paltry little print of the Thames, and London Bridge, and St Paul's, that was in front of an old magazine ; and a picture of Kensing- ton Gardens, with gentlemen in three-cornered hais and broad skirts, and ladies in hoops and lappets, that hung up in my bed-room ; even the venerable cut of St John's Gnle, that has stood, time out of mind in front of the (lentleman's Magazine, was not withoiii its charms to me ; and I envied the odd-looking little men lliat appeared to Im; loitering about its arches. How then did my heart warm when the towers of Wostniinster Abbey were pointed out to me, risiiii; alx)ve the rich groves of St James's Park, with a (hin blue huze about their grey pinnacles ! I could not behold (his great mausoleum of what is most iljus- trious in our paternal history, without feeling my en- thusiasm in a glow. With what eagerness did lex- I ire every part of the metropolis I I was not content with those matters which occupy the tlignified re- search of the learned traveller ; I delighted to call up all the feelings of ehildhood, and to seek after tlioseob- jeets which had been the wonders of my infancy, London Bridge, so famous in imrsery song; the far- famed Monument ; Gog and Magog, and the Lions in the Tower, all brought back many a recollection of infantine delight, and of good old beings, now no more, who had gossiped about them to my wonderin; ear. Nor was it without a recurrence of childish in- terest that I first peeped into Mr Newberry's shop, In St Paid's Churchyard, that fountain-head of litera- ture. Mr Newbei-ry was the first that ever (illed my infant mind with the idea of a great and good man. He published all the picture books of the day; and, out of his abundant love for children, he charged "no- thing for either paper or print, and only a penny-half penny for the binding ! " I have mentioned these circumstances, worthT reader, to show you the whimsical crowd of associa- tions that are apt to beset my mind on mingling amon; English scenes. I hope they may, in some measure, plead my apology, should I be found harping upoi stale and trivial themes, or indulging an over-fond- ness for any thing antique and obsolete. Iknowil is the humour, not to say cant of the day, to mn riot about old times, old books, old customs, and old buildings ; with myself, however, as far as I hau| caught the contagion, the feeling is genuine. Toil man from a young country all old things areinij manner new ; and he may surely be excused in a little curious about antiquities, whose n^iiive laiHl,| unfortunately, cannot boast of a single ruin. Having been brought up, also, in the coinparalii simplicity of a republic, I am apt to be struck even the ordinary circumstances incident to an arii cratical stale of society. If, however, I should any time amuse myself by pointing out some of eccentricities, and some of the political cliaracterisi of the latter, I would not be understood as pretend! to decide upon its political merits. My only aim to paint characters and manners. I am no polilici The more I have considered the study of politics, more I have found it full of perplexity ; and I hai contented myself, as I have in my religion, with Tlic Mcientes I cuuiiry or (he ne 1 Iviiiiw HO loixl li » The readei Sketch Rook, llie Hraccbrid Christmas. Iiaving been i lake place. s|)iriled young raamedtohis A gathering ol famed, to ce Igenlleman is "There is no| )«iing couple iliore; a good i Before proce I'e squire mig ard-riding, fe I and, in fact lliis rural title 'ion (hroiigho use it saves n hicli is one liieii F renchni The squire is W English com i^'i'ig almost en liiimouWsl, i«y liave an op '"'6 liis hobby hrce-<»rneredhat< )8 and lappets, that le venerable cut ot ne out of mind, in e, was not wilhom e odd-looking liiUe about lis arches, wlien the towers of I out to me, risiiic ,'s Park, with a thin lacles ! I could not what is most illus- ithout feeling my en- I eagerness didlex- 1 ! I was not content py the dignified re- [ delighted to call up lo seek after those ob- ders of my infancy. ursery song; the far- rrog, and the Lions in lany a recollection o( old beings, now no lieni to my wonderiiK urrence of childish in- r Newberry's shop, in | untain-head of lilera- irst that ever tilled my | p;reat and good man, ,ooks of the day ; and, I UUen, be charged" no- and only a penny-hall I ;ircum9tances, worth; jsical crowd of assoda- [lind on mingling amonjj [may, in some measure,! 16 found harping upoa] idulging an over-fowl- id obsolete. I know ill |t of the day, to mn rim old customs, and oM rever, as far as I hfil [ling is genuine. Toi all old things areinil ■ely be excused in beii^l [ies, whose nfiive laiii| a single ruin, dso, in the comparati* apt to be struck "' fees incident to an aris however, I should ■ linting out some of , political characteristii inderstoodaspretendit ,eritiJ. Myonlyaimi lers. I am no pohiicii the study of politics. perplexity ; and I M in my religion, with '" BKAC£BIUDG£ ilALL. lyiT faith in which 1 was brought up ; regulating my own conduct by its prece[>ts, but leaving to abler heads the task of making converts. I shall continue on, therefore, in the course I have liilherto pursuefl; looking at things poetically, rather than politically ; describing them as they arc, rather than pretending tu point out liuw they sliuuld be ; iind endeavouring to see the >vorld in as pleasant a li^ht as circumstani'es will permit. I have always had an opinion that much good iiiiifiit he done by keeping mankind in good humour with one another. I may be wrong in my philo- sophy, but I shall continue to practise it until con- vinced of its fallacy. When I iliscover the world to be all that it has been represented by sreering cynics and whining poets, I will turn to and abuse it also ; in the mean while, worthy reader, I hope yon will mil think lightly of me, because 1 camiot b<'lieve this to be so very bad a world as it is represented. Thine truly, GEOFFREY CRAYON. THE HALL. Tlic :incienlesl house, ami the Ijest for hoiisekcfiijing iu this I county or llie next ; anil Uiuusli Hie master of it write- liiit siiuirc, I kiKiw uo lord like him. MEaav Bkggaus. The reader, if he has peru.sed the volumes of the [sketch Book, will probably recollect something of the Bracebridge family, with which I once passed a I Christmas. I am now on another visit at the Hall, 1 having been invited to a wedding which is shortly to Itake place. The squire's second son, Guy, a fine, Ispirited young captain in the army, is about to be linanriedto his father's ward, the fair Julia Templeton. JA gathering of relations and friends has already com- [uienced, to celebrate the joyfnl occasion; for the old jgentleman is an eneniy to qtiiet, private weddings. I" There is nothing," he says, "like launchuig a lyoung couple gaily, .ind cheering them from the phore; a good outset is half the voyage." Before proceeding any farther, I would beg that kite squire might nut be confounded with that class of pard-riding, fox-hunting gentlemen so often describ- , and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. I use litis rural title partly because it is his universal appel- lation throughout the neighbourhood, and partly be- ause it saves me the fretpient repetition of bis name, ^hich is one of those rough old English names at ^liicii Frenchmen exclaim in despair. The squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the Jld English eoiuitry gentleman; rusticated ;i little by iving almost entirely on his estate, and something of |h«mourist, as Englishmen are apt to become when pcyhave an opiwrlunity of living in their own way. like his hobby passing well, however, which is, a bigoted devotion to old English manners and customs; it jumps a little with my own humour, having as yet a lively and imsated curiosity about the ancient and genuine cliaracteri.stics of my " father land." There are some traits about the sipiire's family also, which appear to me to l)e national. It is one of those old arislocratical families, which, I believe, are jHiculiar to England, and scarcely understood in other countries; that is to say, families of the an- cient gentry, who, though destitute of titled rank, maintain a high ancestral pride ; who look down u|H)n all nobility of recent creation, and would consider it a sacrifice of dignity to merge the vener.d)le name of their house in a muilern title. This feeling is very much fostered by the import- ance which they enjoy on their hereditary domains. 'J'he fanuly mansion is an old manor-house, standing in a retired and beautiful part of York.shire. Its in- habitants have Iwen always regarded through the surrounding country, as " the great ones of the earth;" and the little village near the Hall looks up tu the squire with almost feudal homage. An old manor-house, and an old family of this kind, are rarely to be met with at the present day; and it is probably the peculiar humour of the squire that lias retained this secluded specimen of English house- keeping in somethmg like the genuine old style. I am again quartered in the pannelled chamber, In the antique wing of the house. The prospect from my window, however, has quite a different aspect from that which it wore on my winter visit. 1'hough early in the month of April, yet a few warm, sunshiny days have drawn forth the beauties of the spiing, which, I think, are always most captivating on their first opening. The parterres of the old-fashioned garden are gay with llowers; and ll«! gardener has brought out his exotics, and placed them along the stone balustrades. The trees are clothed with green buds and tender leaves; when I throw opeiv my jingling casement, I smell the odour of mignionelte, and hear the hum of the bees from the flowers against the sunny wall, with the varied song of the throstle, and the cheerful notes of the tuneful little wren. While sojourning in this strong hold of old fashions, it is my intention to make occasional sketches of the scenes and characters before me. I would have it understood, however, that I am not writing a novel, and have nothing of intricate plot, or marvellous ad- venture, to promise the reader. The llall of which I treat, has, for aught I know, neither trap-door, nor sliding-pannel, nor donjon-keep; and indeed appears to have no mystery abotit it. The family is a worthy well-meaning family, that, in all probability, will eat and drink, and go to bed, and get up regtdarly, from one end of my work to the other; and the sqtiire is so kind-hearted an old gentleman, that I see no likelihood of his throwing any kind of distress in the way of the a[>proaching nuptials. In a word, I cannot foresee a single extraordinary event that is likely to occur in the whole term of my sojoin^ at the llall. iMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) C; 1.0 1.1 11.25 Hi 125 2.2 i£ 12.0 m t ■luu U ii.6 - 6" I PhotDgraphic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STRUT WnSTIR.N.Y. 14SM (716) •72-4503 '4^ 348 BRACEBUIDGE HALL. I lell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he iinds me dallying along, through every-day English scenes, he may hurry a-head in hopes of meeting with some marvellous adventure farther on. I invite him, on the contrary, to ramble gently on with me, as he would saunter out into the fields, stopping occa- sionally to gather a flower, or listen to a bird, or admire a prospect, without any anxiety to arrive at the end of his career. Should I, however, in the course of my loiterings about this old mansion, see or hear any thing curious, that might serve to vary the monotony of this every-day life, I shall not fail to report it for the reader's entertainment. For freshest wits I know will soon be wcarle Of any book, how grave soc'cr it be. Except it have odd matter, strange and merrle, Well sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee. < THE BUSY MAN. A decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and my master's means, and much good do liim with it. He docs hold my master up witli his stories, and songs, and catches, and ;iuch tricks ani' ji.^, you would admire— be is with him now. Jovial Cbew. By no one has my return to the Hall been more heartily greeted than by Mr Simon Bracebridge, or Master Simon, as the squire most commonly calls him. I encountered him just as I entered the park, where be was breaking a pointer, and he received me with all the hospitable cordiality with which a man welcomes a friend to another one's house. I have already introduced him to the reader as a brisk old bachelor-looking little man; the wit and superan- nuated beau of a large family connexion, and the squire's factotum. I found him, as usual, full of buslle; with a thousand petty things to do, and per- sons to attend to, and in chirping good humour; for there are few happier beings than a busy idler; that is to say, a man who is eternally busy about nothing. I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his chamber, Avhich is in a remote corner of the mansion, as he says he likes to be to himself, and out of the way. He has fitted it up in his own taste, so that it is a perfect epitome of an old bachelor's notions of convenience and arrangement. The furniture is made up of odd pieces from all parts of the house, chosen on account of their suiting his notions, or fit- ting some corner of his apartment; and he is very elotjuent in praise of an ancient elbow-chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into a censure on modern chairs, as having degenerated from the di- gnity and comfort of high-backed antiquity. Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he calls his study. Here are some hanging shelves, of his own construction, on which are several old works ' 4Iirror for Magistrates. on hawking, hunting, and farriery, and a collection or two of poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeih. which he studies out of compliment to the squire; together with the Novelists' Magazine, the S[iorlii)» Magazine, tlie Racing Calendar, a volume or two uf tlie Newgate Calendar, a book of peerage, and an- other of heraldry. His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closel; and about the walls of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and a favourite fowl- ing-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he in- lierits from his grandfather. He has also a couple of old single-keyed flutes, and a fiddle, which he has repeatedly patched and mended himself, aflirniing it to be a veritable Cremona : though I have never heard him extract a single note from it that was not enough to make one's blood run cold. From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the stillness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune; for he prides himself on having a choice collection of good old English music, and will scarcely have any thing to do with modern com- posers. The time, however, at which his musical powers are of most use, is now and then of an even- ing, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall, and he passes among them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus. His chamber also bears evidence of his various avo- cations; there are half-copied sheets of music; designs j for needlework; sketches of landscapes very indif- ferently executed ; a camera lucida ; a magic lantern, j for which he is endeavouring to paint glasses; in a | word, it is the cabinet of a man of many accoinplish- menls, who knows a little of every thing, and does | nothing well. After I had spent some time in his apartment, ad- miring the ingenuity of his small inventions, lie took | me about the establishment, to visit the stables, i%- kennel, and other dependencies, in which he appear- 1 ed like a general visiting the different quarters of his I camp; as the squire leaves the control of all tliesel matters to him, when lie is at the Hall. He inquired I into the state of the horses; examined their feel; I prescribed a drench for one, and bleeding for an-l other; and then took me to look at his own liorse,! on the merits of which he dwelt with great prolixilf,! and which, I noticed, had the best stall in (lie staUeJ After this I was taken to a new toy of his and iIkI f )uire's, which he termed the falconry, where thertl were several unhappy birds in durance, completiif I their education. ^ mong the number was a line lalT con, which Master Simon had in especial training,! and he told me that he would show me, in a few I days, some rare sport of the good old-fashioned kind.! Ill the course of our round, I noticed that the groomsl game-keeper, whippers-in, and other retainers, seem- j ed all to be on somewhat of a familiar fooling v'm Master Simon, and fond of having a juke with liimi though it was evident they had great deference t)t| his opinion in mutters relating to their fiinclions. BRACEBRIDGE HALL. .149 riery, and a collection the reign of Elizabelh, ipliment to the squire; lagazine, the Sponing lar, a volume or two of )k of peerage, and an- n pegs in a small closet ; rtment are boolis to hold rs, and a favourite fowl- and inlaid, which he in- He has also a couple of a fiddle, which he has ded himself, aflirming it : though I have never ote from it that was not run cold. idle will often be heard, , drowsily sawing some prides himself on having d English music, and will ) do with modern com- er, at which his musical low and then of an even- ; children to dance in the Ihem and the servants tor vidence ofhis various avo- »d sheets of music; designs of landscapes very indif- [■alucida;amagiclanlem, •ing to paint glasses; in a I man of many accomplish- of every thing, and does ime in his apartment, ad- } small inventions, he took t, to visit the stables, dog- ncies, in which he appear- he different quarters of his [s the control of all tlwse at the Hall. He inquired [rses; examined their feel; me, and bleeding for an- 10 look at his own horse, dwelt with great prolixity, the best stall in the suUe, anew toy of his and the the falconry, where there Js in durance, completiaj [the number was a fine bl- bad in especial iraininj, Ivould show me, in a few le good old-fashioned kiirf. I noticed that the grooiw> f, and other relaineis,8eer»- of a familiar footing «il» ^f having a joke with luni, y had great deference m ting to their functions Tliere was one exception, however. In a testy old huntsman, as hot as a pepper-corn; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a thread-bare velvet jockey-cap, and a pau" of leather breeches, that, from much wear, shone as though they had been japanned, lie was very contradictory and pragmatical, and apt, as I thought, to dilTer from Master Simon now and then, out of mere captiousness. This was particularly the case with respect to the treatment of the hawk, which the old man seemed to have under his peculiar care, and, according to Master Simon, was in a fair way to ruin; tlie latter had a vast deal to say about casting, and impiiuj, and gleaming, and enseaming, and giving the liawk the rangle, which I saw was all heathen Greek to old Christy; but he maintained his point notwith- standing, and seemed to hold all this technical lore ia utter disrespect. I was surprised at the good humour with which Master Simon bore his contradictions till he explain- ed tlie matter to me afterwards. Old Christy is the most ancient servant in the place, having lived among dogs and horses the greater part of a century, and been in tlie service of Mr Bracebridge's father. lie knows the pedigree of every horse on the place, and has bestrode the great great grandsires of most of them. He can give a circumstantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or seventy years, and has a history of every stag's head about the house, and every hunting trophy nailed to the door of the dog- kennel. All tlie present race have grown up under his eye, and humour him in his old age. He once attended the squire to Oxford, when he was a student there, and enlightened the whole university with his hunt- hig lore. All this is enough to make the old man opinionated, since he finds on all these matters of first- rate importance, he knows more than the rest of tlie world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges that he derived his first knowledge in hunting from the instructions of Christy; and I much question whether the old man does not still look upon him as rather a greenhorn. On our return homewards, as we were crossing the lawn in front of the house, we heard the porter's bell ring at the lodge, and shortly afterwards, a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the avenue. At sight of it my companion paused, considered it for a mo- ment, and then making a sudden exclamation, hurried away to meet it. As it approached I discovered a fair, fresh-looking elderly lady, dressed in an old- fashioned riding-habit, with a broad-brimmed white |l)eaver hat such as may be seen in Sir Joshua Rey- I Holds' paintings. She rode a sleek while pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on an over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the rear fame an ancient cumbrous chariot, drawn by two hery corpulent horses, driven by as corpulent a coach- iiian, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fanciful Rim livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched piini personage, with a look somewhat between a lady's companion and a lady's maid, and two pam- pered ciu's, tliat showed their ugly faces and barked out of each window. There was a general turning out of the garrison to receive this new comer. The squire assisted her to alight, and saluted her affectionately; Uie fair Julia flew into her arms, and they embraced with the ro- mantic fervour of boarding-school friends; she was escorted into the liouse by Julia's lover, towards whom slie showed distinguished favour; and a line of the old servants, who had collected in the hall, bow- ed most profoundly as she passed. I oltserved that Master Simon was most assiduous and devout in his attentions upon this old lady. He walked by tlie side of her pony up the avenue; and, while she was receiving the salutations of the rest of the family, he took occasion to notice the fat coach- man, to pat the sleek carriage horses, and, above all, to say a civil word to my lady's gentlewoman, the prim, sour-looking vestal in the chariot. I bad no more of his company for the rest of the morning. He was swept off in the vortex that fol- lowed in the wake of this lady. Once indeed he paused for a moment, as he was hurrying on some errand of the good lady's, to let me know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the sijuire's, of large fortune, which the captain would inherit, and that her estate lay in one of the best sporlmg counties in all England. FAMILY SERVANTS. Verily old servants are (lie vouchers of worthy housekeeping. They are Wte rats in a mansion, or mites in a cliecse, bespeaking tlic antiquity and fatness of their aliode. In my casual anecdotes of the Halt, I may often be tempted to dwell on circumstances of a trite and or- dinai7 nature, from their appearing to me illustrative of genuine national character. It seems to be the study of tlie squire to .idhere, as much as possible, to what he considers the old landmarks of English manners. His servants all understand his ways, and for the most part have been accustomed to them from infancy ; so that, upon the whole, his household pre- sents one of the few tolerable specimens that can now I)e met with, of the establishment of an English coun- try gentleman of the old school. By the bye, the servants are not the least character- istic part of the household : the housekeeper, for in- stance, has been born and brought up at the Hall, and has never been twenty miles from it; yet she has a stately air that would not disgrace a lady that had (I- gured at the court of Queen Elizabeth. I am half inclineil to think that she has caught it from living so much among the old family pictures. It may, however, be owing to a consciousness of her importance in the sphere in wliich she has always 590 BRAGEBIUDGE HALL. I- moved; for she is greatly respecled in the neighbour- ing village, and among tlie farmers' wives, and has high authority in tlie household, ruling over the ser- vants with quiet, but undisputed sway. She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose and chin. Her dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small, well-slarched rufT, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festooned and open in front, which, on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the family, or an inheritance from her mother, who was housekeeper before her. I have a reverence for these old garments, as I make no doubt they have figured about these apartments in days long past, when they have setofTthe charms of some peerless family beauty ; and I have sometimes looked from the old housekeeper to the neighbouring portraits, to see whether I could not recognize her antiquated biooade in the dress of some one of those long-waisted dames that smile on me from the walls. Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzled out in front, and she wears over it a small cap, nicely plait- ed, and brought down under the chin. Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a proper dignity of station. The Hall is her world, and the history of the fa- mily the only history she knows, excepting that which she has read in the Bible. She can give a biography of every portrait in the picture-gallery, and is a com- plete family chronicle. She is treated with great consideration by the squire. Indeed, Master Simon tells me that there is a tradi- tional anecdote current among the servants, of the squire's having been seen kissing her in the picture- gallery, when they were both young. As, however, nothing further was ever noticed between them, the circumstance caused no great scandal ; only she was observed to take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused the hand of the village innkeeper, whom she had previously smiled on. The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a rejected admirer of hers, used to tell the anecdote now and then, at those little cabals that will occasionally take place among the most orderly servants, arising from the common propensity of the governed to talk against administration ; but he I'as left it off, of late years, since he has risen into place, and shakes his head rebukingly when it is mentioneil. It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell on the looks of the squire when he was a young man at college; and she maintains that none of his sons can compare with their father when he was of Iheir age, and was dressed out in his full suit of scarlet, with his hair craped and powdered, and his three-cornered hat. She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted bag- gage, name<l Plia<l)e Wilkins, who has been trans- planted to the Hall within a year or two, and been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is a kind of attendant and rom|)anion of the fair Julia's ; and from loitering about the young lady's aparlniem). reading scraps of novels, and inheriting second-hand finery, has become something between a waiting- maid and a slip-shod fine lady. She is considered a kind of heiress among the ser- vants, as she will inherit all her aunt's property; which, if report be true, must l)e a round sum nf good golden guineas, the accumulated weallhoftwu housekeepers' savings ; not to mention the hereditary wardrobe, and the many Hide valuables and knick- knacks treasured up in the housekeeper's room, in- deed the old housekeeper has the reputation amuiii; the servants and the villagers of being passing rich; and there is a japanned chest of drawers and a lar^'u ir(>n-lK)und cofTcr in her room, which are supposed, by the housemaids, to hold treasures of wealth. The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, indeed, pays a little court to her, as to a persuii high in authority; and they have many discussions on points of family history, in which, nolwillistanding iiis extensive information, and pride of knowledge, lie commonly admits her superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the Hall, alter one of his visits to the odiei branches of the family, without bringing Mrs \Yilkin» some remembrance from the ladies of the house where he has been staying. Indeed all the children of the house look up to the old lady with habitual respect and attachment, and she seems almost to consider them as her own, from their having grown up under her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her favourite, probably from being the youngest, though he is the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks upon her from boyhood. I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, which, I believe, is peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is removed at dinner, the old housekeeper sails into the room and stands behind the squire's chair, when he fills her a glass of wine with his own haiuls, in which she drinks the health of the company in a truly respectful yet dignified manner, and then re- tires. The squire received the custom from his fa- ther, and has always continued it. Tliere is a peculiar character about the servants of I old English families that reside principally in the country. They have a quiet, orderly, respeclfnl mode of doing their duties. They are always neat in their persons, and appropriately, and, if I may use the phrase, technically dressed ; they move about the house without hurry or noise; there is nothing of tlie bustle of employment, or the voice of conimand; nothing of that obtrusive housewifery that amonnlslo a torment, lou are not persecuted by the process ol making you comfortable; yet every thing is done, and is done well. The work of the house is performed as if by magic, hut it is the magic of system. No- 1 thing is done by fits and starts, nor at awkward sea- sons; the whole goes on like well-oiled clock-work, where there is no noise nor jarring in its operations. Knglish servants, in general, are not treated with I great indulgence, nor rewarded l)y many comniendj- BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ^:u ig lady's aparlnienu. nheriting second-liand ; between a wailing- heiress amon^ the ser her aunt's properly; ist 1)6 a round sum oi iinulated wealth of two mention tlie hereditary e valuables and knick- usekeeper's room. In- s the reputation amoiw; i of being passing rich; t of drawers and a hrp: whicb are supposed, by ires of wealth, fiend of Master Simon, rt to her, as to a person ave many discussion!) oii lich, nolwillistandingliis pride of knowledge, lie »r accuracy. He seldom of his visits to the other (ut bringing MrsWilkins ladies of the house wbere fthe house look up to tiie lect and attachment, awl ir Ihem as her own, from r her eye. The Oxonian. brobably from being tiic nost mischievous, and has ler from boyhood. g one little ceremony, to the Hall. Afterliie he old housekeeper sails lind the squire's chair, wine with his own hands, thofthe company in a d manner, and tlien re the custom from his ta lied it. Eter about the servants of •eside principally in the uiet, orderly, respeclW They are always neat in itely, and, if I may use ied; they move about the e; there is nothing of the the voice of commaiMi; jsewifery that amounts to rsecuted by the process ol every thing is done, and the house is performed magic of system. No- rts, nor at awkward sea- „ well-oiled clock-work. I jarring in its operations. •al, are not treated wilh •dcdbyinauyromnieiida t tions: for the Englbh are laconic and reserved to- wards their domestics; but an approving nod and kind word from master or mistress, goes as Ear here, as an excess of praise or indulgence elsewhere. Neither do servants exhibit any animated marks of affection 10 their employers ; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their attachments; and the reciprocal regard of masters and servants, though not ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in old English families. ' The title of " an old family servant" carries with it a thousand kind associations in all parts of the world; and there is no claim upon the home-bred charities of the heart more irresistible than that of havin<' been " born in the house." It is common to see grey-headed domestics of this kind attached to an English family of the " old school," who continue in it to the day of their death, in the enjoyment of steady unaffected kindness, and the performance of faithful, onofficious duty. I think such instances of attach- ment speak well for master and servant, and the fre- quency of them speaks well for national character. These observations, however, hold good only with (amilies of the description I have mentioned ; and vilh such as are somewhat retired, and pass the greater part of their time in the country. As to tlie powdered menials that throng the walls of fashion- laMe town residences, they equally reflect the charac- ter of the establishments to which they belong : and Iknow no more complete epitomes of dissolute heart- jlessness, and pampered inutility. But the good " old family servant ! "—The one [who has always been linked, in idea, with the home of our heart; who has led us to school in the days of prattling diildhood; who has been the confidant of onrhoyish cares, and schemes, and enterprizes; who has hailed us as we came home at vacations, and been the promoter of all our holiday sports ; who, Iwhen we, in wandering manhood, have left the pa- ternal roof, and only return thither at intervals, will relcome us with a joy inferior only to that of our pa- !nts; who, now grown grey and infirm with age, ilill totters about the house of our fathers in fond and faithful servitude; who claims us, in a manner, as his )wn; and hastens with querulous eagerness to anti- cipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon ns at le; and who, when we retire at night to the cham- that still goes by our name, will linger about the )m to have one more kind look, and one more plea- it word about times that are past — who does not irience towards such a being a feeling of almost lial affection ? I have met with several instances of epitaphs on gravestones of such valuable domestics, recorded lith the simple truth of natural feeling. I have two ifore me at this moment; one copied from a tumb- le of a churchyard in Warwickshire : " Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential irvant to George Birch, Esq. of Hamstead Hall. lis grateful friend and master caused this inscription be written in memory of his discretion, fidelity, diligence, and continence. He died (a bachdor) aged 84, having lived 44 years in the same family." The other was taken firom a tombstone in Elthan churchyard : " Here lie the remains of Mr James Tappy, who departed this life on the 8th of September, 1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of 60 years in one family; by each individual of which he lived respect- ed, and died lamented by the sole survivor." Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have givai me the glow about the lieart that I felt while copying this honest epitaph in the churchyard of Eltham. I sympathized with this " sole survivor " of a family mourning over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, no doubt, a living memento of times and friends that had passed away; and, in considering this record of long and devoted service, I called to mind the touching speech of Old Adam in '' As You Like It," when tottering after the youthful son of his ancient master : " Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp, with love and loyalty ! " NOTE. I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen wmewhere in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late king to the me- mory of a family servant, wtiohad been a faithful attendant of his lamented daughter, the Princess Amelia. George III. possessed much of the strong, domestic feding of the old English country gentleman ; and it is an incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the human heart, a monarch erecting a monu- ment in honour of the humble virtues of a menial. THE WIDOW. She was so charitable and pitious She would weep if that she saw a mous Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled : Of sm.ill hounds had she, that she fed With rosl flesh, miilie, and wastel bread. But sore wept she it any of them were dead. Or if man smote them with a yard smart. CUAIICEB. Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made by Lady Lillycraft on her arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that I had imagined: but, on the contrary, she has a degree of nature, and simple- heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long waist; she rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzled out, and put up with pins. Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but the delicacy of her features shows that she may once have been beautiful; and she has a very fair and well-shaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain. I have had the curiosity to gather a few particu- lars concerning her. She was a great belle in town between thirty and forty years since, and reigned for BRACEBRIDGE tIALL. two seasons with all the insolence of beauty, refusing several excellent offers; when, unfortunately, she was robbed of her charms and her lovers by an attack of the small-pox. She retired immediately into the country, where she some time after inherited an estate, and married a baronet, a former admirer, whose passion had suddenly revived; "having," as he said, " always loved her mind rather than her person." The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune above six months, and had scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke his neck in a fox-chase, and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remain- ed on her estate in the country ever since, and has never shown any desire to return to town, and revisit the scene of her early triumphs and fatal malady. All her favourite recollections, however, revert to that short period of her youthful beauty. She has no idea of town but as it was at that time; and conti- nually forgets that the place and people must have changed materially in the course of nearly half a century. She will often speak of the toasts of those days as if still reigning; and, until very recently, used to talk with delight of the royal family, and the beauty of the young princes and princesses. She cannot be brought to think of the present king other- wise than as an elegant young man, rather wild, but who danced a mittuet divinely; and before be came to the crown, would often mention him as the "sweet young prince." She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, where the genllemen appeared in gold-laced coats and cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops, and swept so proudly along the grassy avenues; and she thinks the ladies let themselves sadly down in their dignity, when they gave up cushioned head-dresses, and high-heeled shoes. She has much to say too of the officers who were in the train of her admirers ; and speaks familiarly of many wild young blades, that are now, perhaps, hobbling about watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes. Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discouraged her or not, I cannot say; but, though her merits and her riches have attracted many suit- ors, she has never been tempted to venture again into the happy stale. This is singular too, for she seems of a most soft and susceptible heart ; is always talking of love and connubial felicity; and is a great stickler for old-fashioned gallantry, devoted atten- tions, and eternal constancy, on the part of the gen- tlemen. She lives, however, after her own taste. Her house, I am told, must have been built and furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison : every thing about it is somewhat formal and stately ; but has been softened down into a degree of volup- tuousness, characteristic of an old lady very tender- hearted and romantic, and that loves her ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down on them. Flowers of the must rare and delicate kind are placed about the rooms and on little japanned stands; and sweet bags lie about the tables and mantel-pieces. 1\ house is fullof pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing birds who are as carefully waited upon as she is herself. She is dainty in her living, and a little of an qij. cure, living on white meats, and little lady-like dishes though her servants have substantial old Englisli fare as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they are so in- dulged, that they are all spoiled, and when they lose their present place, they will be fit for no other. Her ladyship is one of those easy-tempered beings that are always doomed to be much liked, but ill served by their domestics, and cheated by all the world. Much of her time is past in reading novels, of which she has a most extensive library, and has a constant supply from the pubiishers in town. Her erudition in tills line of liteiaiure is immense : she has kept pace with the press for half a century. Her mind is stuffed with love-tales of all kinds, from the stately amours of the old books of chivalry, down to the last blue- covered romance, reeking from the press : though she evidently gives the preference to those that came out in the days of her youth, and when she was lirst in love. She maintains that there are no novels written i now-a-<lays equal to Pamela and Sir Charles Gran- dison; and she places the Castle of Otranto at the | head of all romances. She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, I and is imposed upon by every beggar in the counly, She is the benefactress of a village adjoining tu her I estate, and takes a special interest in all its love- 1 affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going I on ; every love-lorn damsel is sure to find a patient I listener and a sage adviser in her ladyship. She I takes great pains to reconcile all love-quarrels, and I should any faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, I he is sure to draw on himself the good lady's violent | indignation. I have learned these particulars partly from FrankJ Bracebridge, and partly from Master Simon. 1 1 now able to account for the assiduous attention o(| the latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of hisl favourite resorts, where he is a very important per-l sonage. He makes her a visit of business once i| year, when he looks into all her affairs; which, asshel is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. H(| examines the books of the overseer, and shoots abooll the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with game,! notwithstanding that it is poached by all the vagi-| bonds in the neighbourhood. It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captul will inherit the greater part of her properly, liavinji always been her chief favourite; for, in fact, she ii| partial to a red coat. She has now coine to the Hal to be present at bis nuptials, having a great dispoa-l tion to interest herself in all matters of love and m\ trlmony. BRACEBRIDGE HALL. .>"» japanned stands ; and nd manlel-pieces. The cats, and singing birds, pon as she is lierself. , and a little of an epi- id little lady-like dishes, tantial old English fare. Indeed, they are so in- led, and when they lose ill be fit for no other, e easy-tempered beings be much liked, but ill and cheated by all the THE LOVERS. Rite up, my love, my fair one, and come away : for to! the I ^jgier is past, the rain Is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, tlie time of tlie singing ot birds is come, and llie voice of (he 1 turtle U heard in llie land. SOJia OF SOLOJION. To a man who is a little of a philosopher, and a bachelor to boot ; and who, by dint of some expe- rience in the follies of life, begins to look with a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of woman; to such a man, I say, there is something very enter- taining in noticing the condnct of a pair of young lovers. It may not be as grave and scientific a study as the loves of the plants, but it is certainly as interesting. I have therefore derived much pleasure, since my arrival at the Hall, from observing the fair Julia and her lover. She has all the delightful, blushing con- Iscionsness of an artless girl, inexperienced in coquet- who has made her first conquest : while the iptaln regards her with that mixture of fondness and xidtation, with which a youthful lover is apt to con- mplate so beauteous a prize. I observed them yesterday in the garden, advanc- ig along one of the retired walks. The sun was ihining with delicious warmth, making great masses if bright verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, It " harbinger of spring," was faintly heard from a lislance; the thrush piped from the hawthorn, and lie yellow butterfiies sported, and toyed, and cwjuet- m the air. The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, iis- ning to bis conversation, with her eyes cast down, a ift hlnsh on her cheek, and a quiet smile on her lips, hile in the hand that hung negligently by her side as a bunch of flowers. In this way Ihey were saun- !ring slowly along, and when I considered them, the scene in which they were moving, I could not It think it a thousand pities that the season should erchange, or tliat young people should ever grow ler, or that blossoms should give way to fruit, or It lovers should ever get married. From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I lerstand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a fa- larite college friend of the squire ; who, after leaving ford, had entered the army, and served for many rs in India, where he was mortally wounded in a lish with the natives. In his last moments he , vith a faltering pen, recommended his wife and ighter to the kindness of his early friend. he widow and Iier child returned to England help- and almost hopeless. When Mr Bracebridge ived accounts of their situation, he hastened to if relief. He reached them just in lime to sooth lis "having a great disposi-B last moments of the mother, who was dying of a matters ot love and mi-Bsumption, and to make her happy in the assurance ~t her child should never want a protector. "lie good squire returned with his prattling charge is strong hold, where he had brought her up with reading novels, of which rarv, and has a constant in town. Her erudition mense : she has kept pace ury. Her mind is stuffed from the stately amours J down to the last blue- rom the press: though she jce to those that came out ind when she was lirsl in here are no novels written la and Sir Charles Gran- I Castle of Olranlo at the ood in her neighbourhood, very beggar in the county, a village adjoining tu her al uileresl in all its love- ery courtship that is going 1 is sure to lind a patient ser in her ladyship. Sk ucile all love-quarrels, and persist in his inconstancy, self the good lady's violent rticulars partly from Frank (rom Master Simon. I am Ithe assiduous attention ol Her house is one of liisi ^e is a very important per- _ visit of business once tj 11 her affairs; which, as sliel jo get into confusion. He] 1 overseer, ami shoots abonl| is well stocked with game,! poached by all the vagh| )d j-e hinted, that the captM nt of her properly, \\m lourite;for, infacl,she] thasnowcomelolhellalll a tenderness tnily paternal. As he has taken some pains to superintend her education, and form her taste, she has grown up with many of his notions, and con- siders him the wisest, as well as the best of men. Much of her time, too, has been passed with Lady Lillycrafl, who has instructed her in the manners of the old school, and enriched her mind with all kinds of novels and romances. Indeed, her ladyship has had a great hand in promoting the match between Julia and the captain, having had them together at her country seat, the moment she found there was an attachment growing up between them; the good lady being never so happy as when she has a pair of turtles cooing about her. I have been pleased to see the fondness with which the fair Julia is regarded by the old servants of the Hall. She has been a pet with them from childhood, and every one seems to lay .some claim to her educa- tion ; so that it is no wonder that she should be ex- tremely accomplished. The gardener taught her to rear flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she approaches; and as she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of having taught her to ride ; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon her as a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an insight into the mysteries of the toilet, having been dressing-maid in her young days to the late Mrs Brace- bridge. I am inclined to credit this last claim, as I have noticed that the dress of the young lady had an air of the old school, though managed with native taste, and that her hair was put up very much in the style of Sir Peter Leiy's portraits in the picture-gallery. Her very musical attainments partake of this old- fashioned character, and most of her songs are such as are not at the present day to be found on the piano of a modern performer. I have, however, seen so much of modern fashions, modern accomplishments, and modern fine ladies, that I relish this tinge of an- tiquated style in so young and lovely a girl ; and I have had as much pleasure in hearmg lier warble one of the old songs of Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapt- ed to some simple old melody, as I have had from listening to a lady amateur sky-lark it up and down through the finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart. We have very pretty music in the evenings, occa- sionally, between her and the captain, assisted some- times by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubiously, on his violin ; being very apt to get out and to halt a note or two in the rear. Sometimes he even thrums a little on the piano, and takes a part in a trio, in which his voice can generally be distinguished by a certain quavering tone, and an occasional false note. I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him after one of her songs, when I found he took to him- self the whole credit of having formed her musical taste, assuring me that she was very apt ; j nd, in- deed, summing up her whole character in liis knowing way, by adding, that " she was a very nice girl, and had no nonsense about her." 4S 554 BRACEBRIDGE IIAIX. FAMILY RELIQUES. i:^ Hy Infclicc'8 face, her brow, her eye, The (limplc on her check : ami such nrect skill llath from the cunning workman's pencil flown. These lips look fresh and lively as her own. False colours lait after the Iruc be dead. Of all the roses fo'afted on her checks, or all the graces dancing in her eyes, Of all the music set ui>on her tongue, Of all that was past woman's excellence In her white bmom ; look, a painted board Circumscribes all ! Dekker. An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. It abounds witli illustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes, and humours, and manners of successive generations. The alterations and additions, in different styles of architecture ; the furniture, plate, pictures, hangings; the warlike and sporting implements of different ages and fancies; all furnish food for curious and amusing speculation. As the squire is vei7 careful in collecling and preserving all family reliques, the Hall is full of remembrances of the kind. In looking about the establishment, I can picture to myself the characters and habits that have prevailed at different eras of the family history. I have mentioned on a former occasion the armour of the crusader which hangs up in the Hall. There are also several jack-boots, with enormously thick soles and high heels, that belonged to a set of Cavaliers, who filled the Hall with the din and stir of arms dur- ing the time of the Covenanters. A number of enorm- ous drinking vessels of antique fashion, with huge Venice glasses, and green hock glasses, with the apostles in relief on them, remain as monumentsof a ge- neration or two of hard livers, that led a life of roaring revelry, and first introduced the gout into the family. I shall pass over several more such indications of temporary tastes of the squire's predecessors; but I cannot forbear to notice a pair of antlers in the great hall, which is one of the trophies of a hard-riding squire of foiiner times, who was the Nimrod of these parts. There are many traditions of his wonderful feats in hunting still existing, which are related by old Christy, the huntsman, who gets exceedingly nettled if they are in the least doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a few miles from the Hall, which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap, from his hav- ing cleared it in the ardour of the chase ; there can be no doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows the very dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks on each side of the chasm. Master Simon holds the memory of this squire in great veneration, and has a number of extraordinary stories to tell concerning him, which he repeats at all hunting dinners ; and I am told that they wax more and more marvellous the older they grow. He has also a pair of Rippon spurs which belonged to this mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on particular occasions. The place, however, which almunds most win, mementos of past times, is the picture-gallery; ami there is something strangely pleasing, though hk- lancholy, in considering the long rows of portrait) which compose the greater part of the collection. They furnisli a kind of narrative of the lives of ibe family worthies, which I am enabled to read with the assistance of the venerable housekeeper, who is ijie family chronicler, prompted occasionally by Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine lady, for in. stance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her as a little girl, with a long waist and hoop, lioldiiM n kitten in her arms, and ogling the spectator oDt of the corners of her eyes, as if she could not turn her head. In another we find her in the freshness (( { youthful beauty, when site was a celebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause several unfurlimate gentlemen to run desperate and write bad poetrv. In another she is depicted as a stately dame, in tlie maturity of her charms, next to the portrait of her husband, a gallant colonel in full-bottomed wig ami gold-laced hat, who was killed abroad ; and finallj, her monument is in the church, the spire ofvhidil may be seen from the window, where her effigy ij carved in marble, and represents her as a venerable | dame of seventy-six. In like manner I have followed some of the family I great men through a series of pictures, from early I boyhood to the robe of dignity, or truncheon of com i niand, and so on by degrees, until they were gamer- 1 cd up in the common repository, the neighbouring! church. There is one group that particularly interested me.j It consisted of four sisters of nearly the same ageJ who flourished about a century since, and, iflnuTl judge from their portraits, were extremely beaM liful. I can imagine what a scene of gaiety and ro-| mance this old mansion must have been, when lb were in the hey-day of their charms; when passed like beautiful visions through its halls, or: ped daintily to music in the revels and dances o' i cedar-gallery; or printed, with delicate feet, velvet verdure of these lawns. How must they lian been looked up to with mingled love, and pride,! reverence, by the old family servants ; and follov with almost painful admiration by the aching eyesti rival admirers ! How must melody, anil song, » tender serenade, have breathed about these coud and their echoes whispered to the loitering tread i lovers ! How must these very turrets have madell hearts of the young galliards thrill, as lliey first ( cerned them from afar, rising from among the tr and pictured to themselves the beauties casketedl gems within these walls ! Indeed I have discove about the place several faint records of this reigii love and romance, when the Hall was a kind off of Beauty. Several of the old romances in the 111 have marginal notes expressing sympathy and ap bation, where there are long speeches extolling la charms, or protesting eternal fidelity, or beffaib And close iilveuturoi ibamber ( a BRACEBRIDGE HALL. c\\ almumls most wiih lie picture-gallery; ami ' pleasing, Ihoiigh me- long rows of porlraib part of the collection. »tive of the lives of the enabled to read with the lousekeeper, who is the occasionally hy Master issofafine lady, forin- Mrtraits. One represents g waist and hoop, holding ;ling the spectator out ol if she could not turn her [ her in the freshness (( was a celehraletl belle. cause several unfortunate c and write bad poetry, as a stately dame, in the ext to the portrait of her ill full-bottomed wig and illcd abroad ; and finallj. hurch, the spire of which I idow, where hereffiiiyis (resents her as a venerable jllowed some of the family I ies of pictures, from early j 'nity, or tnmcheon of com f !es, until they were gamer] pository, the neighbourinjl ; particularly interested me. j •s of nearly the same a?e,| ;ntury since, and, iflinayl lis, were extremely beau-j It a scene of gaiety and r iiusthave been, when tl» their charms ; when iIkj rts through its halls, or s lie revels and dances o'l [l, with delicate feet, Iwns. How must they if lingled love, and pride,! lily servants ; and folio* ration by the aching eyeij lust melody, and song, ' [eathed about these court led to the loitering treadi very turrets have madef jrds thrill, as they firstf fsing from among the W 's the beauties casketed I Indeed I have discoffl tint records of this reign ( LheHallwasakimlofCr P old romances in the lin essing sympathy anil f ,ng speeches extollingW [emal fidelity, or bewaiH (he cnielly of some tyraiuiical fair one. The inter- views, and declarations, and (larting scenes of tender lovers, also bear the marks of having been fretpiently I read, and are scored, and ntarked with notes of ad- miration, and have initials written on the margins ; I inostof which annotations have the day of the month and year annexed to them. Several of the windows, too have scraps of poetry engraved on them with diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs Philips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these I seem to have been inscribed by lovers; and others, I in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a little inac- I curate ui the spelling, have evidently been written by I the young ladies themselves, or by female friends, I who have been on visits to tlie Ilall. Mrs Philips I seems to have been their favourite author, and they lliave distributed the names of her heroes and he- Iroines among their circle of intimacy. Sometimes, lin a male liand, the verse bewails the cruelly of beau- Ity, and the sufferings of constant love ; while in a Ifemale hand it prudishly confines itself to lamenting llhe parting of female friends. The bow-vindow of Imy bed-room, which has, doubtless, been iidiabited Iby one of these beauties, has several of these inscrip- Itions. I have one at this moment before my eyes, Icalled" Camilla parting with Leonora : " "How perislicd is Ihc joy that's itost, The present how uiisteaily! What comfort can be great and last. When this is gone already? " |.tud close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some Hiventiirous lover, who had stolen into the lady's kliamber during her absence. "TUEODOSIUS TO CAMILLA. I'd rattier in your favour live, Tlian in a lasting name ; And much a greater rate would give For happiness than fame. TUEODOSIUS. 1700." When I look at these faint records of gallantry and Uderness; when I contemplate the fading portraits (f these beautiful girls, and tliink too that tliey have ng since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, and I away, and with them all their graces, their ^wplis, their rivalries, their admirers; the whole ire of love and pleasure in which they ruled — [all dead, all buried, all forgotten," I <ind a cloud |f melancholy stealing over the present gaieties around «. I was gazing, m a musing mood, this very moru- g, at the portrait of the lady, whose husband was illed abroad, when the fair Julia entered the gallery, ling on the arm of the captain. The sun shone »igl) the row of windows on her as she passed g, and she seemed to beam out each time uito [Tightness, and relapse into shade, until the door at ! bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt a dness of heart at the idea, that this was an emblem ^herlot : a few more years of sunshine and shade, 1 all this life, and loveliness, and enjoyment, will N ceased, and nothing be left to commemorate tliis beautiful being but one more perishable portrait ; to awaken, perliaps, the tritespeculationsof some future loiterer, like myself, when I and my scribblings shall have lived through our brief existence and been for- gotten. AN OLD SOLDIER. I've worn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two; fed this good sword with Ihc Itlacli Uood of [Kigali Chris- tians; converted a few iniidds with it.— But let that |)ass. The Ouoimaby. The Ilall was thrown into some Utile agitation, a few days since, by the arrival of General Ilarbotlle. He had been expected for several days, and had been looked for, rather impalienlly, by several of the fa- mily. Master Sunon assured me that I would like the general hugely, for he was a blade of the old school, and an excellent table companion. Lady Lil- lycraft, also, appeared to be somewhat fluttered, on the morning of the general's arrival, for he had been one of her early admirers; and she recollected him only as a dashing young ensign, just come upon the town. She actually spent an hour longer at her toilet, and made her appearance with her hair uncommonly frizzled and powdered, and an additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little surprised and shock- ed, therefore, at finding the litlle dashing ensign trans- formed into a corpulent old general, with a double chm, though it was a perfect picture to witness their salutations ; the graciousness of her profound curtsy, and the air of the old school with which the general look off his hat, swayed it gently iu his hand, and bowed his powdered iiead. All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study the general with a little more attention than, perhaps, I "'-ould otherwise have done; and the few days that . has already passed at the Hall have enabled me. ' Uiink, to furnish a tolerable likeness of him to the recder. He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old school, with powdered head, side locks, and pig- tail. His face -is shaped like the stern of a Dutch man of war, narrow at top, and wide at bottom, with full ros), cheeks and a double chin; so that, to use the cant of the day, his organs of eating may be said to be powerfully developed. The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active service, except the taking of Seringapalam, which forms an era in his history. He wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger, which he got on that occasion, and whoever is un- lucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve him- self in the whole history of the siege. To judge from the general's conversation, the taking of Seringapalam is the most uni)ortant affair that has occuiTcd for the last century. On the approach of warlike times on the continent 3% BRACEBRIDGE HALL. r ' he was rapidly promoted to get him out of the way of yoangef officers of merit ; until, having been hoist- ed to the rank of general, he was quietly laid on the shelf. Since that time his campaigns have been prin- cipally confined to watering-places ; where he drinks the waters for a slight touch of the liver which he got in India; and plays whist with old dowagers, with whom he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed he talks of all the fine women of the last half century, and, according to hints which he now and then drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of many of them. He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of almost every place famous for good quarters, and where the inhabitants give good dinners. He is a diner out of first-rate currency, when in to wn ; being invited to one place, because he has been seen at an- other. In the same way he is invited about the coun- try seats, and can describe half the seats in the king- dom, from actual observation; nor is any one better versed in court gossip, and the pedigrees and inter- marriages of the nobility. As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, and there are several ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam flame Lady Jocelyne, he is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, there- fore, at his toilet, and takes the field at a late hour every morning, with his hair dressed out and pow- dered, and a rose in his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he walks up and down the terrace in the sunshine, humming an air, and hemming between every stave, carrying one hand behind his back, and with the other touching his cane to the ground, and then raising it up to his shoulder. Should he, in these morning promenades, meet any of the elder ladies of the family, as he frequently does Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, and it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups of ladies and gen- tlemen, in old prints of Windsor-terrace, or Kensing- ton-garden. He talks frequently about "Uie service, "and is fond of humming the old song, Why, soldien, why, Should we be melancholy, boys? Why, soldiers, why, Whose business 'tis to die! I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run any great risk of dying, excepting from an apo- plexy, or an indigestion. He criticizes all the battles on the continent, and discusses the merits of the com- manders, but never fails to bring the conversation, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told that the general was a perfect champion at draw- ing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during the late war, and was looked to with hope and confidence by many an old lady, when labouring under the ter- ror of Bonaparte's invasion. He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on evees when in town. He has treasured up many remarkable sayings of the late king, particularly one which the king made to him on a fleld-day, compli- menting him on the excellence of his horse, lie ej. tols the whole royal family, but especially the prettnt king, whom he pronounces the most perfect gentle- man and best wliist-player in Europe. The genernl swears rather more than is the fashion of the present day ; but it was the mode in the old school. He jj however, very strict in religious matters, and a standi churchman. He repeals the resfionses very loudly in church, and is einpliatical in praying for the king and royal family. At table his loyalty waxes very fervent with lii$ | second bottle, and the song of" God save the King" puts him into a perfect ecstasy. He is amazingly well contented with the present state of things, ami apt lo get a little impatient at any talk about national ruin and agricultural distress. He says he has travelled about the country as much as any man, and has m \ with nothing but prosperity ; and to confess the truth a great part of his time is spent in visiting from one I country seat to another, and riding about liie parksof his friends. " They talk of public distress, " said ilie I general this day to me, at dinner, as he smacked a glass of rich Burgundy, and cast his eyes about the ample board ; " they talk of public distress, but where I do we find it, sir ? I see none. I see no reason an; I one has to complain. Take my word for it, sir, thbl talk about public distress is all humbug ! " IBE WIDOWS RETINUE. Little dogs and all! Leib. In givingan account of the arrival of Lady Lillycralll at the Hall, I ought to have mentioned the enterlauiT ment which I derived from witnessing the uiipackui$| of her carriage, and the disposing of her retinuef There is something extremely amusing to me in tbel number of factitious wants, the loads of imaginiry| conveniences, but real incumbrances, with wliichll luxurious are apt to burthen themselves. I like t watch the whimsical stir and display about one o these petty progresses. The nuniber of robustioi footmen and retainers of all kinds, bustling abootj with looks of infinite gravity and importance, to c almost nothing. The number of heavy trunks, parcels, and bandboxes belonging to my lady;: the solicitude exhibited about some humble, odd-lock'l ing box, by my lady's maid; the cushions piled inlJ carriage to make a soft seat still softer, and to preva the dreaded possibility of a jolt; the smelling-bolll the cordials, the baskets of biscuit and fruit; llien publications; all provided to guard against iiungefJ fatigue, or ennui ; the led-horses to vary themodeif travelling; and all this preparation and parade I move, perhaps, some very good-for-notliing pen age about a little space of earth ! I do not mean to apply the latter part of these c BRACEBRIDGE IIALL. z:n e of his horse. He ex- it especially the present 16 most perfect genlle- Europe. Tlie genend le fasliion of the present the old scliool. He is, lus matters, and a standi resiionses very loudly in praying for the king and s very fervent with Im ttt" God save the King" iy. He is amazingly well tate of tilings, ami apt to talk about national ruin I lie says he has IravelleJ as any man, and has met | • and to confess the truth, pent in visiting from one I 1 riding about the parks of f public distress, " said Ibe dinner, as he smacked j d cast his eyes about the f public distress, but where none. I see no reason any I LC my word for it, sir, thisj 8 all humbug!" rS RETINUE. Leib. <») and all! he arrival of Lady LUlycrall e mentioned the enterlain| witnessing the unpack! disposing of her relittue, jmely amusing to me in ll its, the loads of imagini umbrances, with wWcli hen themselves. I like and display about one llhe number of robustii aU kinds, bustling abonl ity and importance, to iber of heavy trunks,* jlonging to my lady jHtsomehumble,odd.lo*- ,d; the cushions piled in" » still softer, and to prev |a jolt; the smelling-bollli f biscuit and fruit; the ni to guard against iiungaj l-horses to vary themode^ preparation and parade y good-for-nothing pei* earth ! the latter part of these lervatiuns to lady Lillycrafl, for whose simple kind- iiearledness I have a very great respect, and who is really a most amiable and vorthy being. I cannot refrain, however, from mentioning some of the mot- ley retinue she has brought with her; and wliich, indeed, bespeak the overflowing kindness of her na- ture, which requires her to be surrounded with ob- jects on which to lavish it. In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered coachman, with a red face, and cheeks that hang down like dew-laps. He evidently domineers over her a little with respect to the fat horses ; and only drives out when he thinks proper, and when he thinks it will be " good for the cattle. " She has a favourite page to attend upon her person : a handsome boy of about twelve years of age, hut a mischievous varlet, very much spoiled, and in a fair way to be good for nothing. He is dressed in green, with a profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons about bis clotlies. She always has one or two attendants of the kind, who are replaced by otiiers as soon as they grow to fourteen years of age. She has brought two dogs with her also, out of a number of pets which she maintains at home. One is a fat spaniel, called Zephyr— though heaven defend me from such a ze- phyr! He is fed out of all shape and comfort; bis eyes are nearly strained out of his head ; he wheezes with corpulency, and cannot walk without great difTiculty. The other is a little, old, grey- muzzled curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, that kindles like a coal if you only look at jiim ; his nose turns up ; his mouth is drawn into wrinkles, so as to show his teeth ; in short, he has altogether the look of a dog far gone in misanthropy, and totally sick of the world. When he walks, he has his tail curled |ap$o tight that it seems to lift his feet from the ground ; and he seldom makes use of more than three legs at a jtime, keeping the other drawn up as a reserve. This last wretch is called Beauty. These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown to gar dogs; and are petted and nursed by Lady Lil- lycrait with the tenderest kindness. They are pam- and fed with delicacies by their fellow-minion, page; but their stomachs are often weak and out order, so that they cannot eat; though I have now then seen the page give them a mischievous ich, or thwack over the head, when his mistress 'as not by. They have cushions for their express , on which they lie before the lire, and yet are apt shiver and moan if there is the least draught of air. hen any one enters the room, they make a most annical barking that is absolutely deafening. They insolent to all the other dogs of the establishment. here is a noble stag-hound, a great favourite of the inire's, who is a privileged visitor to the parlour; t the moment he makes his appearance, these in- iders fly at him with furious rage ; and I have ad- ired the sovereign indifference and contempt with 'hichhe seems to look down upon his puny assail - lis. When her ladyship drives out, these dogs are generally carried with her to take the atr; when they look out of each window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar pedestrian dogs. These dogs are a conti- nual source of misery to the household : as they arc always in the way, they every now and then get their toes (rod on, and (hen there is a yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation on the part of their mistress, that fills the room with clamour and con- fusion. Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting^gentlewo- man, Mrs Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid; one of the most intolerable and intolerant virgins that ever lived. She has kept her virtue by her until it has turned sour, and now every word and look smacks of verjuice. She is the very opposite to her mistress, for one hates, and the other loves, all man- kind. How they first came together I cannot ima- gine; but they have lived together for many years; and the abigail's temper being tart and encroaching, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has got (he complete upper hand, and tyrannizes over the good lady in secret. Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great confidence, to her friends, but hushes up the subject immediately, if Mrs Hannah makes her appear- ance. Indeed, she has been so accustomed to be at- tended by her, that she thinks she could not do with- out her; though one great study of her life is to keep Mrs Hannah in goo<l humour, by little presents and kindnesses. Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, min- gled with awe, for this ancient spinster. He told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a cursed brimstone — in fact, he added another epithet, which I would not repeat for the world. I have remarked, however, (hat he is always extremely civil to her when they meet. READY-MONEY JACK. My purse. It is my privy wyfe, ' . This song I dare both syng and say, It keepeth men ftY>m grievous slrj-fe When every man for hymself shall pay, As I ryde in ryche array For gold and sylver men wyll me floryshe; By thys matter I dare well saye, Ever gramercy myneowne purse. Book of Huirrmo. On the skirts of the neighbouring village there lives a kind of small potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative of one of the most ancient legitimate lines of the present day; for the empire over which he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind. His territories comprise a considerable number of good fat acres ; and his seat of power is in an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, the stout Oaken Chair of his ancestors. The personage to whom ft 3.% BRACEBRIDGE HALL. I allude is a sturdy old yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or rather Keady-Money Jack Tibbets, as be is called throughout the neighbourlHXid. The first place where he attracted my attention was in the churchyard on Sunday; where he sat on a tombstone after the service, witli bis hat a little on one side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors, and, as I presumed, expounding the law and the pro- phets; until, on drawing a little nearer, 1 found he was only expatiating on the merits of a brown horse. He presented so faithful a picture of a substantial Eng- lish yeoman, such as he is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by some little finery, peculiar to himself, that I could not but take note of his whole appearance. He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, mus- cular frame, and at least six feet high, with a physio- gnomy as grave as a lion's, and set off with sliort, curluig, iron-grey locks. His shirt-collar was turned down, antl displayed a neck covered with the same short, curling, grey hair; and he wore a coloured silk neckcloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste brooch on the knot. His coat was of dark green cloth, with silver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of flgured chintz, between which and his coat was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet garters. His stockings were blue, with white clocks; he wore large silver shoe-buckles; a broad paste buckle in his hatband; his sleeve-butlons were gold seven shilling pieces ; and he bad two or tliree guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain. On making some inquiries almut him, I gathered, that he was descended from a line of farmers that had always lived on the same spot, and owned the same property; and that half of the churchyard was taken up with the toml)stones of his race. He has all his life been an important character in the place. When a youngster, he was one of the most roaring blades of the neiglibourhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pinner of Wakefield, he was the village cliampion ; carried off the prize at all the fairs , and threw his gauntlet at the country round. Even to this day the old people talk of his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all heroes of the green that have succeeded him; nay, they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to take the field even now, there is no one could stand before bim. When Jack's fatlier died, the neighbours shook their heads, and predicted that young hopeful would soon make away with the old homestead ; but Jack falsified all their predictions. The moment he succeeded to the paternal farm he assumed a new character ; took a wife ; attended resolutely to his afMrsv and became on industrious, thrifty farmer. With the family property he inherited a set of old family maxims, to wliicli he steadily adhered. ||), saw to every thing himself; put his own hand (u i|,e plough; worked hard; ate liearlily; slept suiiiidiy paid tor every thing in cash down ; and never (L-iiiitd except he could do it to the music of his own mo- ney in both pockets. He has never been williout a himdred or two pounds in gold by him, and never allows a debt to stand unpaiil. Tliis has gaiiieil him his current name, of which, by the bye, he is a little proud; and has caused him to be looked upon as a very wealthy man by all the village. Notwitlistanding his thrift, however, he has never denied himself the amusements of life, but lias takeu a share in every passing pleasure. It is his niaxun, (hat " he that works hard can afford to play." ||e is, therefore, an attendant at all the country fairs and wakes, and has signalized himself by feats of strength and prowess on every village-green in the slilre. lie often makes his appearance at horse races, and sporlii bis half guinea, and even his guinea at a time; keeps a good burse for his own riding, and to this day is fond of following the hounds, and is generally in ji the death. He keeps up the rustic revels, and lios[ij- talities too, for which his paternal farmhouse Iim I always been noted ; has plenty of good clieer ami dancing at harvest-home, and, above all, keeps tiie { " merry night'," as it is termed, at Christmas. With all his love of amusement, however, Jack is I by no means a boisterous jovial companion. He is seldom known to laugh even in the midst of liis | gaiety; but maintains the same grave, lion-like de- 1 meanour. He is very slow at comprehending a joke; | and is apt to sit puzzling at it, with a perplexed look, while tlie rest of the company is in a roar. This I gravity has, perhaps, grown on him with the grovr-i ing weight of his character; for he is gradually rising | into patriarchal dignity in liis native place. Tliougbl he no longer takes an active part in athletic sports, yel| he always presides at them, and is appealed to on ail I occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace ontliel village-green at lioliday games, and quells all brawbl and quarrels by collaring the parties and siiakin;! them heartily, if refractory. No one ever p to raise a hand against bim, or to contend against liisl decisions; the young men having grown up in liabi-f tual awe of his prowess, and m implicit deference lo| him as the champion and lord of the green. He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, I landlady having been a sweetheart of his in earlyl life, and be having always continued on kind teniii| with her. He seldom, however, drinks any liiin;| but a draught of ale; smokes his pipe, and pays hiil reckoning before leaving the tap -room. Here hel " gives bis little senate laws; " decides bets, whidi| I KlEBBY Night. A rustic merry-making in a farmlioiuci Cliristraag, common in some part« of Yorlisliirc. Tlieru is a dance of liomcly fare, tea, calces, riuil, and ale; variuusfciH^ ai;llity, amusing games, romping, dancing, and kissing wi Tliey ooinmonly bi-eali tip at midni^it. nRACERRIDGE IIAIJ.. 330 liiherilcil a set of old steadily adlierinl. ||e ut liis own liaiul lu i|k learlily; rfepl soiiiully; own ; and never (Lmml music of liis own niu- g never been wilhoula ;old by bim, and never I. Tliis lias gaincil liini by tlie l>ye, be is a lillle to be looked upon as a village. , bowever, be lias never nts of life, but has laken asure. U is bis niaxin\, :.)n afford lo play." lie L all Ibe country fairs and inselfby featsofslrenglh e-i^reeu iu the sliiie. lie at borse races, and sports ig $>;uinea at a liine;kee|K iding, and to tliis day is ds, and is generally in ai le rustic revels, and lioiijii- i paternal farmhouse liai arc very generally referred lo bim; determines upon the diarartem anti (|ualilic8 of borscs; and indeefl plays now and then the part of a judge, in settling nftiy tlLspiilcs between neigbbours, wbicli otherwise mislit have been nursed by country attorneys into tolerable lawsuits. Jack is very canditi and impartial in his decisions, but be has not a bead to carry a long gf^niiient, and is very apt to get perplexeil and out of patience if there is much pleading. He generally lirenks (hrough the argument with a strong voice, and brings matters lo a summary conclusion, by pro- nouncing what be Ciills the " upshot of the business," I or in oilier words, '^ the long and the short of the 1 mailer." Jack once made a jonrney lo London a great many I years since, which has furnished bim with topics of conversation ever since. He saw the old king on the terrace at Windsor, who slopped, and pointed bim out lo one of the princesses, being probably struck Willi Jai'lv's l">'y yeoman-like appearance. This is a favourite anecdote with him, and has no doubt had I a "real effect in making him a most loyal subject ever I since, in spite of taxes and poors' rates. He was also I at Bartholomew-fair, where be bad half the buttons ont off bis coat; and a gang of pickpockets, attracted plenty of good clieer and H|)y Ids external show of gold and silver, made a re- and, above all, keeps die Itrular atlempt to hustle bim as be was gazing at a show; but for once they found that they bad caught alartar; for Jack enacted as great wonders among ermed, at Christmas, iisement, bowever. Jack is I jovial companion, lie is even in the midst of liii e same grave, lion-like de- V at comprehending a joke; it, with a perplexed look, ipany is in a roar. Tliis vn on bim wiih the grow- for he is gradually rising bis native place. Thougli part in athletic sports, yel , and is appealed loon ail maintains the peace on tiK I imes, ai»d quells all hrawb the parties and shaking . No one ever pielendsj , or to contend against having grown up in liabi-l ndin implicit deference lo| ord of the green, ter of the village inn, the iweetheart of his in eariy s continued on kind lenm owever, drinks any Am .es bis pipe, and pays te the tap -room. Here he] iws;" decides bets, whi* Irry-making in a farm-house i rUofYorksliiic. Thewisi fruit, and ale; various laUi fnR, dancing, and kissing wU dnifllU. 1 ■y lllie gang as Samson did among the Philistines. One jof his neiglilmurs, who bad accompanied him to town, land was with him at the fair, brought back an ac- Iconnt of his exploits, which raised the pride of the Ivhole village ; who considered their champion as (having subdued all London, and eclipsed the acbievc- Iments of Friar Tuck, or even the renowned llobin lilood himself. Of late years the old fellow has begun lo take the rorld easily; be works less, and indulges in greater leisure, bis son having grown up, and succeeded to |iim both in the labours of the farm, and the exploits of the green. Like all sons of distinguished men, |iowever, his father's renown is a disadvantage to him, for he can never come up to public expectation. riiough a fine active fellow of three and twenty, and bile the " cock of the walk," yet the old people de- tlare he is nothing like what Ready-Money Jack was M his time of life. The youngster himself acknow- Iges his inferiority, and has a wonderful opinion of the old man, who indeed taught him all his athletic jiccomplisbments, and holds such a sway over bim, hall am told, even to this day, be would have no hesitation to take him in hands, if he rebelled against aternal government. The squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and Dws him to all bis visitors as a specimen of old En- pish "heart of oak." He frequently calls at bis ise, and tastes some of liis homebrewed, which is Jcellent. He made Jack a present of old Tusser's ' Hundred Points of good Husbandrie," which has fnmished him with reading ever since, and is his text Ijook and mannal in all agricoltura! and domestic con- cerns. He has made dog's ears at 'the nnost favourite passages, and knows many of the poetical maxims by heart. Tibbcts, though not a man to be dannted or flutter- ed by high accpiainlances, and though he cherishes a sturdy independence of mind and manner, yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of the squire, whom he has known from Iwybood, and pronounces " a true gentleman every inch of him." He is also on excellent terms with Master Simon, who is a kind of privy counsellor lo the family ; but hb great favour- ite is the Oxonian, whom be taught to wrestle and play at quarter -staff when a boy, and considers the most promising young gentleman m the whole county. • BACHELORS. The Bachelor moat Joyfully In pleasant plight doth pass hia dales, Goodfellowship and companle lie doth maintain and kv|)c alwaiea. Evan's old Ballads. There is no character in the comedy of human life that is more difhcuit to play well, than that of an old bachelor. When a single gentleman, therefore, arrives at that critical period, when he begins to con- sider it an impertinent question to be asked his age, I would advise him to look well to his ways. This pe- riod, it is true, is much later with some men than with others; I have witnessed more than once the meeting of two wrinkled old lads of this kind, who bad not seen each other for several years, and have been amused by the amicable exchange of compliments on each other's appearance that takes place on such occasions. 'J'liere is always one invariable observa- tion; « Why, bless my soul ! yon look younger than when last I saw you ! » Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old. I am led to make Uiese remarks by the conduct of Master Simon and the general, who have become great cronies. As the former is the youngest by many years, he is regarded as quite a youthful gallant by the general, who moreover looks upon bim as a man of great wit and prodigious acquirements. I have already hinted that Master Simon is a family beau, and considered rather a young fellow by all the el- derly ladies of the connexion ; for an old bachelor, in an old family connexion, is something like an actor in a regular dramatic corps, who seems « to flourish in immortal youth, » and will continue to play the Ro- meos and Rangers for half a century together. Master Simon, too, is a little of the camelion, and takes a different hue with every different companion : be is very attentive and officious, and somewhat sen- BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ' m timental, with Lady Llllycraft; copies out little nam- by-pamby ditties and love-songs for her, and draws quivers, and doves, and darts, and Cupids, to be worked on the corners of her pocliet handlcerchiefs. He indulges, however, in very considerable latitude with the other married ladies of the family ; and has many sly pleasantries to whisper to them^ that pro- voke an equivocal laugh and a tap of the fan. But when he gets among young company, such as Frank Bracebridge, the Oxonian, and the general, he is t;pt to put on the mad wag, and lo talk in a very bache- lor-like strain about the sex. In this he has l'3en encouraged by the example of the general, whom he looks up to as a man that has seen the world. The general, in fact, tells shocking stories after dinner, when the ladies have retired, which he gives as some of the choice things that are served up at the MuUigatawney club, a knot of boon companions in London. He also repeats the fat jokes of old Major Pendergast, the wit of the club, and which, though the general can hardly repeat them for laughing, always make Mr Bracebridge look grave, he having a great antipathy to an indecent jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance of the de- clension in gay life, by which a young man of pleasure is apt to cool down into an obscene old gentleman. I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or two since, conversing with a buxom milkma>d in a mea- dow; and from their elbowing each other now and tiien, and the general's shaking his shoulders, blow- ing up bis cheeks, and breaking out into a short fit of irrepressible laughter, I had no doubt they were playing the mischief with the girl. / I looked at them through a hedge, I could not but th'nk they would have made a tolerable group for a modern picture of Susannah and the two elders. It is true, the girl seemed in nowise alarmed at the force of the enemy; and I question, had eitlierof them been alone, whether she would not have been more than they would hc'ive ventured to encounter. Such veteran royslers are daring wags when toge- ther, and will put any female to the blush with their jokes; but they are as quiet as lambs when they fall singly into the clutches of a flne woman. In spite of the general's years, he evidently is a little vain of his person, and ambitious of conquests. I have observed him on Sunday in church, eying the country girls most suspiciously; and have seen him leer upon them with a downright amorous look, even when he has been gallanting Lady Lillycrafl, with great ceremony, through the churchyard. The ge- neral, in fact, is a veteran in the service of Cupid ra- Uier than of Mars, having signalized himself in all the garrison towns and country quarters, and seen ser- vice in every ball-room of England. Not a celebrat- ed beauty but he has laid siege to; and, if his word may be taken in a matter wherein no man is apt to be over veracious, it is incredible the success he has had with the fair. At present he is like a worn-out warrior, retired from service; but who still cocks his beaver with a military air, and talks stoutly of fight- uig whenever he comes within the smell of gun- powder. I have heard him speak his mind very freely over his bottle, about the folly of the captain in taking a wife; as he thinks a young soldier should care for nothing but his ''bottle and kind landlady." Bui in fact, he says, the service on the continent iiaj had a sad effect upon the young men; they hare been ruin^ i by light wines and French quadrilles. " They've nothing," he says, " of the spirit of the old service. There are none of your six-bottle men left that were the souls of a mess-dinner, and used to play the very deuce among the women." As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a free and easy man, with no baggage to take care of but his portmanteau; but, as Major Pendergast says a married man, \ his wife hanging on his arm, al- ways puts him }n mind of a chamber candlestirk, with its extinguis' er hitched to it. I should not mind all this if it were .nerely confined to the general; bat I fear he will be the ruin of my friend, Master Simon, who already begins to echo his heresies, and to talk in the styi«> of a gentleman that has seen life, and lived upon the town. Indeed the general seems to j have taken Ma .^-i Simon in hand, and talks of shov- ing him the lions when he conies to town, and of in- 1 troducinghim to a knot of choice spirits at theMu gatawney club ; which, I understand, is composed of I old nabobs, offic .s in the company's employ, and other " men of md," that have seen service in tlie East, and retu ed home burnt out with curry, and touched with ' i liver complaint. They have their | regular club, /here they eat MuUigatawney soi smoke the h &ah, talk about Tippoo Saib, Serin^- 1 patam, an'' ger-hunting ; and are tediously agreeable | in each r ^r's company. WIVES. Br-IICTe me, man, there is no greater blisse Than is the quiet joy of loving; wife ; Which whoso wants, half of himselfe doth misse; Friend without change, playfellow without strife, Food without fulness, Gounsaile without pride. Is this sweet doubling of our single life. Sib p. Sidney. Thebe is so much talk about matrimony going on I round me, in consequence of the approacliing event I for which we are assembled at the Hall, that I confess | I find my thoughts singularly exercised on the i ject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the esMl>!Iaiin)e<il| seem to be passing through a kind of fiery ordeal : IbrI Lady Lillycraft is one of those tender, romance-read I dames of the old school, whose mind is filled vilhl flames and darts, and who breathe nothing but conl stancy and wedlock. She is for ever immersed in lliel concerns of the heart; and, to use a poetical phras(.r m '. ,(i BRACEBRIDGE HALL. .%( 1 talks stoutly of fight- lin the smell of gan- mind very freely over ;he captain in taking a soldier should care for kind landlady." But, I on the continent has roung men; they have and French quadrilles, "of the spirit of the old your six-bottle men left, dinner, and used to play omen." eral affirms that he is a baggage to take care of i Major Pendergast says, e hanging on his arm, al- a chamber candlestirk, I to it. I should not miod ifined to the general; but my friend, Master Simon, I his heresies, and to talk 1 that has seen life, and >ed the general seems to 1 hand, and talks of shov- comes to town, and of in- ;hoice spirits at the Mulli- 1 nderstand, is composed of ! company's employ, and have seen service in tlie burnt out with curry, and iplaint. They have their eat Mulligatawney soup, >ut Tippoo Saib, Seringa- ,nd are tediously agreeable no greater bllsse »in|!?witc; othimselfedothmisse! iayfcllow willioul strife, nsaile witlioul pride, ur single life. SIR P. SIDKCT. bout matrimony going 00 of the approaching event JattheHall.thatlconfes! [rly exercised on the snb- Ws of the estaMUnmenl fa kind of fiery ordeal; lor ise tender, romance-read those mind is filled villi [breathe nothing but con- Is for ever immersed in llie to use a poetical phrase, is perfectly surrounded by " the purple light of love." The very general seems to feel the influence of this sentimental atmosphere; to melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for the time, to forget all his here- sies about matrimony and the sex. The good lady is generally surrounded by little do- cuments of her prevalent taste; novels of a tender na- ture; richly bound little books of poetry, that are filled with sonnets and love-tales, and perfumed with rose- leaves; and she has always an album at hand, for which she claims the contributions of all her friends. On looking over this last repository the other day, I found a series of poetical extracts, in the squire's hand- writing, which might have been intended as matrimo- nial hints to his ward. I was so much struck with several of them, that I took the liberty of copying them out. Tliey are from the old play of Thomas Daven- port, published in 1661, entitled "The City Night- cap;" in which is drawn out and exemplified, in the part of Abstemia, the character of a patient and faith- ful wife, which, I think, might vie wnth that of the renowned Griselda. I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels should always end at the wedding, and should not give us another act, and another volume, to let us know how the hero and heroine conducted themselves when married. Their main object seems to be mere- ly to instruct young ladies how to get husbands, but not how to keep them : now this last, I speak it with all due diffidence, appears to me to be a desideratum in modern married life. It is appalling to those who have not yet adventured into the holy stale, to see how soon the flame of romantic love burns out, or radier is quenched in matrimony; and how deplorably the passionate, poetic lover declines into the phleg- matic, prosaic husband. I am inclined to attribute this very much to the defect just mentioned in the plays and novels, wisich form so important a branch jflf study of our young ladies; and which teach Ihem [how to be heroines, but leave them totally at a loss when they coine to l)e wives. The play from which [the quotations before me were made, however, is an !xcepli()n to this remark; and I cannot refuse myself he pleasure of adducing some of them for the benefit I the reader, and fur the honour of an old writer, ho has bravely attempted to awaken dramatic in- erest hi favour of a woman, even after she was mar- led. The following is a commendation of Abstemia to T husband Lorenzo : , she's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence i Not that slic wants apt words, (for when she speaks. She innames love with wonder,) but because She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. She's tnily chaste; yet such a foe to coyness. The poorest call her courteous; and, wliich Is excellent, (Though fair and young, ) she shuns to cx\x>ae herself To the opinion of strange eyes. She cither seldom Or never walks abroad but in your company ; And then wltli such sweet bashfuliiess, as if She were venturing on crack d ice, and takes delight To step into the print your fool hath made. And will follow you whole fields ; so she will driT«» Tediousness o ' of time w i th her sweet character. Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia ban the misfortune to incur the unmerited jealousy of her huslKind. Instead, however, of resenting his harsh treatment with clamorous upbraidings, and with the stormy violence of high, windy virtue, by which the sparks of anger are so often blown into a flame ; she endures it with the meekness of conscious, but patient virtue; and makes the following beautiful appeal to n friend who has witnessed her long suffering ; -Hast thou not seen me Bear all his Iqjuries, as (he ocean suffers The angry bark to plough thorough hcrbosom. And yet is presently so smooth, the eye Cannot perceive where the w idt wound was made ? Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representa- tions, at length repudiates her. To the last, however, she maintains her patient sweetness, and her love for him, in spite of his cruelty. She deplores his error, even more than his unkindness; and laments the de- lusion which has turned his very affeclion into a source of bitterness. There is a moving pathos in her part- ing address to Lorenzo, after their divorce : -Farewell, Lorenzo, Whom my soul doth love : if you e'er marry. May you meet a good wife ; so good, that you May not suspect her, nor may she be worlhy Of your suspicion ; and if you hear hereafter That I am dead, inquire but my last wonls. And you shall know that to the last 1 lov'd you. And when you walk forth with your second choice. Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me. Imagine that yon sec me, lean and pale, Strewing your path with flowers. But may she never live to pay my debts : [weeps.] If but in thought she wrong you, may she die In the conception of the injury. Pray make me wealthy with one kiss ; farewell, sir : Let it not grieve you when you shall r<incmber That I was innocent : nor this forget. Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan. She walks but thorough thorns to find a throne. In a short time Lorenzo discovers his error, and the innocence of his uijured wife. In the Ira.nsporls of his repentance, he calls to mind all her feminine ex- cellence ; her gentle, uncomplaining, womanly forti- tude under wrong and sorrows : -Oh, Abstemia! |i' How lovely thou lookest now ! now thou appcarest Chaster than is the morning's modesty. That rises with a blush, over whose Iwsom 1 he western wind creeps softly ; now I remember How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well. Unless it look'd where I look'd : oh, how proud She was, when she could cross herself to please me ! But where now is this fair soul 7 Like a silver cloud She halh wept herself, I fear, into the dead tea, And will bo found no more. It is but doing right by the reader, if interested in the fate of Altstemia by the preceding extracts, to say, that she was restored to the arms and afleclions of her husband, rendered fonder than ever, by thaUlis- TAB BRACEBRIDGE HALL. n |iosition in every good heart, to atone for past injus- tice, by an overflowing measure of returning kind- ness: Thou wcallli worth more than kingdoms ! I am now Cnnfirmed past all suspicion ; thou art far iiwcctci in thy sincere tnilii than a sacrifice ■' Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winds That blow from off the coast, and cheer the sailor With the sweet savour of their spices, want The delight flows in thee. I liave been more affected and interested by this little dramatic picture than by many a popular love tale ; though, as I said before, I do not think it likely either Abstemia or patient Grizzle stand much chance of being taken for a model. Still I like to see poetry now and then extending its views beyond the wed- ding-day, and teaching a lady how to make herself attractive even after marriage. There is no great ^■■fi need of enforcing on an unmarried lady the necessity uf being agreeable ; nor is th^re any great art requisite in a youtliful beauty to enable her to please. Nature has multiplied attractions round her. Youth is in it- self attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needs no foreign aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most on her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman can expect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when he was a lover. Men are always doomed to be duped, not so much by the arts of the sex, as by their own imagination. They are always wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A woman should therefore ascertain what was the charm that rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and endeavour to keep it up when she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly was, the cha- riness of herself and her conduct, which an unmarried female always observes. She should maintain the same niceness and reserve in her person and habits, and endeavour still to preserve a freshness and virgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should re- member that the province of woman is to be wooed, not to woo; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses instead of win- ning him. The secret of a woman's power does not consist so much in giving, as in withholding. A woman may give up too much even to her husband. It is to a thousand little delicacies of conduct that she must trust to keep alive passion, and to protect herself from that dangerous familiarity, that thorough ac- quaintance with every weakness and imperfection incident to matrimony. By these means she may still maintain her power, though she has surrendered her person, and may continue the romance of love even beyond the honey-moon. " She that hath a wise husband, " says Jeremy Taylor, " must entice him to an eternal dearnesse by the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of chastity, the ornament of nieeknesse, and the jewels of failh and charity. She must have no painting but blush. ings ; her brightness must be purity, and she most shine round about with sweetnesses and friendship; and she shall be pleasant while she lives, and desimi when she dies. " I have wandered into a rambling series ofremarlu i on a trite subject, and a dangerous one for a badielor to meddle with. That I may not, however, appear to confine my observations entirely to the wife, I will | conclude with another quotation from Jeremy Taylor in which the duties of both parties are mentioned- 1 while I would recommend his sermon on the marriage ring to all those who, wiser than myself, are ah entering the happy state of wedlock. " There is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns I tliem both alike, and is only distinguished by names and hath its variety by circumstances and liltle acci- dents : and what in one is called love, in the other is I called reverence ; and what in the wife is obedience, ( the same in the man is duty. He provides, and she dispenses ; he gives commandments, and she rules I by them ; he rules her by authority, and she rules him I by love; she ought by all means to please him, and he | must by no means displease her. " STORY-TELLING. A FAVOCHITE evening pastime at the Hall, andontl which the worthy squire is fond of promoting, isstoqfJ telling, " a good old-fashioned lire-side amusement,"! as he terms it. Indeed, I believe he promotes it chieu ly, because it was one of the choice recrealions ii| those days of yore, when ladies and gentlemen ve not much in the habit of reading. Be this as it nMj| he will often, at supper table, when conversation flagi)! call on some one or other of the company for a storyj as it was formerly the custom to call for a song; and! is edifying to see the exemplary patience, and tm satisfaction, with which the good old gentleman vi sit and listen to some hackneyed tale that he hash for at least a hundred times. In this way one evening the current of anecdote and stories ran upon mysterious personages thatliafl figured at different times, and filled the world vitlj doubt and conjecture ; such as tlie Wandering Jew, Ih Man with the Iron Mask, who tormented tliecurio$il]{ of all Europe ; the invisible Girl, and last, tiioughn least, the Pig-faced Lady. At length one of the company was called upon, t had the most unpromising physiognomy for a storyf teller that ever I had seen. He was a thin, pale weazen-faced man, extremely nervous, that had a at one corner of the table shrunk up, as it were, in himself, and almost swallowed up in (he cape of I coat, as a turtle in its shell. The very demand seemed to throw him into a nen| ons agitation, yet he did not refuse. He emer{ BRACEBRIDGE UAI.L. o(m >any was called upon, il physiognomy for a story- I. He was a thin, pal* lely nervous, that had f hrunkup, asitwere.ii wed up in ihe cape ot Us bead out of his shell, made a Tew odd grimaces and gesticulations, before he could get his muscles into order, or his voice under command, and then offered to give some account of a mysterious person- age, that he had recently encountered in the course of bis travels, and one whom he thought fully entitled of being classed with Ihe Man with the Iron Mask. I was so much struck with his extraordinary nar- I rative, that I have written it out to the best of my recollection, for the amusement of the reader. I think it has in it ail Ihe elements of that mysterious and roinanlic narrative, so greedily sought after at the present day. THE STOUT GENTLEMAN; A STACE-COACB IlOMANCE. "Hi cross it, thougli it blast me ! " Hamlet. It was a rainy Sunday, in the gloomy month of iKovember. I had been detained, in the course of a {journey, by a slight indisposition, from which I was iveriiig: 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 ! Fhoever has had the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered against the etnenls; the bells tolled for church with a melan- loly sound. I went to the windows in quest of letliing to amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had •n placed completely out of the reach of all amuse- lent. The windows of my bed-room looked out long tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, while those ^f my sitting-room commanded a full view of the ibie-yard. I know of nothing more calculated to ike a man sick of this world than a stable-yard on rainy day. The place was littered with wet slraw It had been kicked about by travellers and stable- )y8. In one corner was a stagnant pool of water, irrounding an island of muck; there were several If-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, long which was a miserable, crest-fallen cock, inched out of all life and s|>irit : his drooping tail ilted, as it were, into a single feather, along which le water trickled from his back; near the cart was a If-dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing pa- inlly to be rained on, with wreatlis of vapour rising n her reeking hide; a wall-eyed horse, tired of loiu'liiicss of the stable, was poking his spectral tad out of a window, 'svith the rain dripping on it n Ihe eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a dog- Mse hard by, uttered something every now and !n, between a bark and a yelp; a drab of a kitchen inch tramped backwards and forwards through the M in pallens, looking as sulky as the weather itself; ffry thing, in short, was comfortless and forlorn , excepting a crew of bard-drinking ducks, assembled 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 travellers'- room. This is a public room set apart at most inns for the accommodation of a class of wayfarers, called tra- vellers, or riders ; a kind of commercial knights-errant, who are incessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They are the only succes- sors that I know of, at the present day, to the knights- errant of yore. They lead Ihe same kind of roving adventurous life, only changing Ihe lance for a driv- ing-whip, the buckler for a pattern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benjamin. Instead of vindicat- ing the charms of peerless beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and standing of some substantial 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 an- other. As Ihe room of the hostel, in the good old fighting limes, would be hung round at night with the armour of way-worn warriors, such as coals of mail, falchions, and yawning helmets; so the travel- lers'-room is garnished with the harnessing of their successors, with box-coals, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-clolh covered hats. I was in hopes of flnding some of tliese 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 buttoned on a pair of gaiters, with many execrations at Boots for not having clean- ed his shoes well; a third sat drumming on the table with his fingers and looking at the rain as it streamed down Ihe window-glass; they all appeared infected by the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, without exchanging a word. I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the people, picking their way to church, with petticoats hoisted midleg high, and dripping umbrellas. The bell ceased to loll, and Ihe streets became silent. I then amused myself with watching the daughters of a tradesman opposite; who being confined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday linery, played off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, and I had nothing further from without to amuse me. What was-. I to do to pass away the long-lived day ? I was sadly nervous and lonely; and every thing about an 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 baif a dozen times. Good for nothing books, that were worse than rainy weather. I lM)red myself to death with an old volume of the Lady's Magazine. I rea«l all Ihe common-place naincj of nnibilious Iravellers •<<( mt BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 1/ iwrawled on the panes of glass ; the eternal fami- lies of the Smiths and the Browns, and the Jack- 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 driflcHl heavily along; there was no variety even in the rain; it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter, — patter — palter, 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 hackneyed 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, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box- coats and upper Benjamins. I'he sound brought out from their lurking pi "es a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, atn he carroty-headed hostler, and that non-descript am A ycleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race tii.u infest the purlieus of an inn; but the bustle was tran- sient ; the coach again whirled on its way ; and boy and dog, hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes; the street again became silent, and the rain con- tinned to rain on. In fact, there was no hope of its clearing up, the barometer pointed to rainy weather; mine hostess's tortoise-shell cat sat by the (ire wash- ing her face, and rubbing her paws over her ears ; and, on referring to the almanac, I found a direful pre- diction strelching from the lop of the page to the bot- tom through the whole month, "expect — mucii — rain —about— this— lime ! " I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they would never creep by. The very ticking of the clock became irksome. At length the stillness of the house was interrupted by the ringing of a bell. Shortly after I heard Ihe voice of a waiter at the bar ; " The Stout Gentleman in No. 13 wants his break- fast. Tea and bread and butter, with ham and eggs; the eggs not to be too much done." In such a situation as mine every incident is of im- portance. Here was a subject of speculation present- ed to my mind, and ample exercise for my imagina- tion. I am prone to paint pictures to myself, and on this occasion I had some materials to work upon. Had the guest up stairs been mentioned as Mr Smith, or Mr Brown, or Rlr Jackson, or Mr Johnson, or merely as " the gentleman in No. \Z," it would have been a perfect blank to me. I should have thought nothing of it; but "The Stout Gentleman ! "-the very name had something in it of the picturesque. It at once gave the size; it embodied the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did the rest. He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty; in all probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, some people expanding as tiiey grow old. By his break- fasting rather late, and in his own room, he must beg man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the ne- cessity of early rising; no doubt a round, rosy, Iqs(> old gentleman. There was another violent ringing. The Stout Gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He vjj evidently a man of importance; " well to do in tlie world ;" accustomed to be promptly waited upon; of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hunm- " perhaps," thought I, " he may be some London al- derman; or who knows but he may be a member of Parliament?" The breakfast was sent up, and there was a short inter^'al of silence; he was, doubtless, making the tea. Presently there was a violent ringing ; and before it could be answered, another ringing still more violeni, " Bless me ! what a choleric old gentleman ! " The waiter came down in a huff. The butler was rancM the eggs were over-done, the ham was too salt :-(he Stout Gentleman was evidently nice in his eating, one of those who eat and growl, and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state militant with the house- held. The hostess got into a fume. I should observe lliat she was p brisk, coquettish woman, a Utile of a slirew, and something of a slammerkin, but very pretty with- al : with a nincompoop for a husband, as shrews are apt to liave. She rated the servants roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a breakfast, but ^ not a word against the Stout Gentleman; by whicbl clearly perceived that he must be a man of conse- quence, entitled to make a noise and to give lroubleal{ a country inn. Other eggs, and ham, and bread ai butler were sent up. They appeared to be more ciously received; at least there was no further plaint. I had not made many turns about the travellers'- room, when there was another ringing. Shortly al terwards there was a stir and an inquest about t house. The Stout Gentleman wanted the Times the Chronicle newspaper. I set him down, therefc fur a whig, or rather, from his being so alisohite lordly where he had a chance, I suspected him being a radical. Hunt, I had heard, was a lar^^ man; " who knows, thought I, but it is Hunt self?" My curiosity began to be awakened. I inquired Ihe waiter who was this Stout Gentleman that making all this stir; but I could get no itirormatioD{ nobody seemed to know his name. The landlords bustling inns seldom trouble their heads about the mes or occupations of their transient guests. Tlie lour of a coal, the shape or size of the person, isenoi to suggest a travelling name. It is either the tall tieman, or the short genlleman, or the geiitleniin black, or the genlleman in snuff colour; or, as in present instance, the Stout Gentleman. A desig< lion of the kind once hit on answers every pur| and saves all further inquiry. Bain- rain— rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain lierinaid landlady i cross, noi' I had to P'lint him ^'1' one oft BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 363 ir transient guests. Tbeo yiich thing as patting a foot oat of doors, and no oc- cupation nor amnsement within. By and bye I heard some one walliing over head. It was in the Stout Gentleman's room. He evidently was a large man I by the lieaviness of his tread, and an oid man from his wearing such crealiing soles. "He is doubtless," (liought I, " some rich old square-toes of regular ha- bits, and is now taking exercise after breakfast." I now read all the advertisements of coaches and I hotels that were stuck about the mantel-piece. The Lady's Magazine had become an abomination to me ; it vas as tetliuus as the day itself. I wandered out, not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my I room. I had not been there long, when there was a ail from a neighbouring bed-room. A door open- ed and slammed violently; a chambermaid, that I had I remarked fur having a ruddy, good-humoured face, went down stairs in a violent Hurry. The Stout I Gentleman had been rude to her ! This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce j in a moment. This unknown personage could not be an old gentleman ; for old gentlemen are not apt to be so olKlreperous to chambermaids. He could not be a young gentleman ; for young gentlemen arc not apt to inspire such indignation. He must be a middle-aged I man, and confounded ugly into the bargain, or the »ii'l would not have taken the matter in such terrible I dudgeon. I confess I was sorely puzzled. Ill a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. I I caught a glance of her as she came trumping up stairs; her face glowing, her cap daring, her tongue wagging the whole way. "She'd have no such doings in her house, she'd warrant ! If gentlemen did spend money freely, it was no rule. She'd have no servant maids of hers treated in that way, when they were about their work, that's what slie I wouldn't!" As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and I above all with pretty women, I sliuik back into my room, and partly closed the door; but my curiosity was too much excited not to listen. The landlady marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and enter- ed it with a storm; the door closed after her. I I heard her voice in high, windy clamour for a moment or two. Then it gradually subsided, like a gust of wind in a garret ; then there was a laugh; then I I heard nothing more. After a little while my landlady came out with an I odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which was a little on one side. As she went down stairs I heard I liie landlord ask her what was the matter; she said, " Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool."— I was more than ever perplexed what to make of this unaccount- jable personage, who coidd put a good-natured cham- jlKrmaid in a passion, and send away a termagant j landlady in smiles. He could not be so old, nor j cross, nor ugly either. I had to go to work at his picture again, and to Ipfiint him entirely different. I now set him down pjroncofthosc stout gentlemen that are frequently met with, swa^ring aboat the doors of eoantry inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher-handkerdiiels, whose bulk is a little assisted by malt-liquors. Men who have seen the world, and been sworn at Highgate; who are used to tavern life; up to all the tricks of tapsters, and knowing in the ways of sinful public- ans. Free-livers on a small scale; who are pro- digal within the compass of a guinea; who call all the waiters by name, touzle the maids, gossip with the landlady at the bar, and prose over a pint of port, or a glass of negus, after dinner. The morning wore away in forming of these and similar surmises. As fast as I wove one system of belief, some movement of the unknown would com- pletely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts again into confusion. Such are the solitary operations of a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely nervous; and the continual meditation on the con- cerns of this invisible personage began to have its ef- fect : — I was getting a lit of the fidgets. Dinner-time came. I hoped the Stout Gentleman might dine in the travellers' -room, and that I might at length get a view of his person , but no — he had dinner served in his own room. What could be the meaning of this solitude and mystery? He could not be a radical ; there was something too aristocrat- ical in thus keeping himself apart from the rest of the world, and condemning himself to his own dull com- pany throughout a rainy day. And then, too, he lived too well for a discontented politician. He seem- ed to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over his wine like a jolly friend of good-living. Indeed, my doubts on this head were soon at an end; for he could not have finished his first l)ottle before I could faintly hear him humming a tune; and on listening, I found it to be "God save the King." 'Twas plain, then, he was no radical, but a fahhful subject ; one that grew loyal over his bottle, and was ready to stand by king and constitution, when he could stand by nothing else. But who could he be ? My con- jectures began to run wild. Was he not some per- sonage ofdislinclion travelling incog ? " God knows !" said I, at my wit's end; "it may be one of the royal family, for aught I know, for they are all stout gen- tlemen ! " lluj weather continued rainy. The mysterious unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, his chair, for I did not hear him move. In the mean time, as the day advanced, the travellers'-room began to be frequented. Some, who had just arrived, came in buttoned up in box-coats; olliers came home who had been dispersed about the town. Some took their dinners, and some their tea. Had I been in a dif- ferent mood, I should have found entertainment in studying this peculiar class of men. There were two especially, who were regular wags of the road, and versed in all the standing jokes of travellers. They had a thousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and Ethelinda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name every time, and mi BRACEBRIDGE HALL. chuckling amazingly at tlieir own waggery. My mind, however, had become completely engrossed by the Slout Gentleman. He had kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was not now to be diverted from the scent. The evening gradually wore away. The travellers read the papers two or three times over. Some drew round the fire and told long stories alwut their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and breakings-down. They discussed the credits oMif- ferent merchants and different inns; and the two wags told several choice anecdotes of pretty cham- bermaids, and kind landladies. All this passed as they were quietly taking what they called Iheir night- caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind; after which they one after another rang for "Boots" and the chambermaid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into marvellously uncomfortable slip- pers. There was only one man left; a short-legged, long- bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by himself, with a glass of port-wine negus, and a spoon ; sipping and stirring, and medi- tating and sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing before him ; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and dim- med the little light that remained in the chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box-coals of departed travellers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heanl the ticking of the clock, with the deep- drawn breathings of the sleeping toper, and the drip- pings of the rain, drop — drop— drop, from the eaves of the house. The church bells chimed midnight. All at once the Stout Gentleman began to walk over head, pacing slowly backwards and forwards. There was something extremely awful in all Ibis, especially to one in my state of nerves. These ghastly great coals, these gultural brealhings, and Ihe creaking foot- steps of Ibis mysterious being. His steps grew fainter and fainter, and at length died away. I could bear it no longer. I was wound up to the desperation of a hero of romance. " Be he who or what he may," said I to myself, "I'll have a sight of him ! I seized a chamber-candle, and hurried up to number 13. The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered; the room was deserted. There stood a large, broad-bot- tomed elbow-chair at a table, on which was an empty tumbler, and a "Times" newspaper, and the room smelt powerfully of Stilton cheese. The mysterious stranger had evidently but just re- tired. I turned off, sorely disap[)ointed, to my room, which had been changed to Ihe front of Ihe house. As I went along Ihe corridor, I saw a large pair of iMots, with dirty, waxed tops, standing at the door of a beil-chamber. They doubtless belonged to Ihe unknown; but it would not do to disturb so redoubt- able a personage in his den; he might discharge j pistol, or something worse, at my head. I went to | bed, therefore, and lay awake half the night in a ter- ribly nervous state; and even when I fell asleep,! was still haunted in my dreams by the idea of the I Slout Gentleman and his wax-topped boots. I slept rather late the next morning, aiid vas I awakened by some stir and bustle in the house, which I could not at first comprehend; until, getlin;; more awake, I found there was a mail-coach starting froni I the door. Suddenly there was a cry front below " The gentleman has forgot bis umbrella! look for the gentleman's umbrella in No. 43! " I heard an imme<liate scampering of a chambermaid along the passage, and a shrill reply as she ran, " here it b! here's the gentleman's umbrella!" The mysterious stranger then was on the point of I setting off. This was the only chance I should ever [ have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed, scram- bled to the window, snatched aside the curtains, and | just caught a glimpse of the rear of a person gelling in at the coach-door. The skirts of a brown coal parted behind, and gave me a full view of Ihe broad disk of a pair of drab breeches. The door closed- 1 " all right! " was the word — the coach whirled ol —and that was all I ever saw of the Stout Gentleman! I FOREST TREES, "A living gallery ofaged trees." 0>'E of the favourite themes of boasting withlli«| squire is the noble trees on his estate, which, in truth, I has some of the finest that I have seen in England. I There is something august and solemn in the great I avenues of stalely oaks that gather Iheir branches to- 1 gether high in air, and seem to reduce Ihe pedestrians I beneath them to mere pigmies. " An avenue of oaial or elms," the squire observes, " is Ihe true colonnade [ that should lead to a gentleman's house. As to stone I and marble, any one can rear them at once, they are I the work of the day; but commend me to the colon- 1 nades that have grown old and great with tiie family, I and tell by their grandeur how long the family 1«| endured." The squire has great reverence for certain vener-l able trees, grey with moss, which he considers ail Ihe ancient nobility of his domain. There is the rniii j of an enormous oak, which has been so muchbatlered| by time and tempest, that scarce any thing is I though he says Christy recollects when, in his hoy- J hood, it was healthy and flourishing, until il w»| struck by lightning. It is now a mere trunk, Tvitii| one twisted lx)ugb stretching up into the air, leaving j a green branch at the end of il. This sturdy wredl is much valued by the squire; be calls it his stniidanl-j bearer, and compares it lo a veteran warrior bealenl BRACEBRIDGE HALL. .TOT ; lie might discharge a at my head. I wem to i e half the night in a ter- !n when I fell asleep, i ianis by the idea of the I x-topped boots, lext morning, and vas | iistle in the house, which end; until, getting more mail-coach starting from was a cry from below, t his umbrella! look for uNo. <3!" I heard a» chambermaid along tiie as she ran, " here it b! rella!" then was on the point of ] inly chance I should ever ;)rang out of bed, scram- ed aside the curtains, and B rear of a person gelling e skirls of a brown coat le a full view of the broad ches. The door elosed- I — ihe coach whirled oft ; w of the Stout Gentleman! TREES. - y of aged trees." ernes of boasling with the his estate, which, intrulh, have seen in England. and solemn in the great gather their branches to- lo reduce the pedestrians ■nies. "An avenue of oalis es, " is the true colonnade man's house. As lo stone ar them at once, they are oramend me to the coion- and great willi the family, how long the family lus tl irerence for certain vener- which he considers aj omain. Tliere is Ihe ruin has been so much battered scarce any thing is letl; ollects when, in his boy- flourishing, until it w« now a mere trunk, wilh iig up into the air, leavin? of it. This sturdy wred e;hecallsilhisslaiiJanl- a veleran warrior tolf" down in battle, but bearing up his banner to the last. He lias actually bad a fence built round it, to protect it as much as possible from further injury. It is with great difticully that the stiuire can ever he brought to have any tree cut down on his estate. To some he looks with reverence, as having been planted by his ancestors; to others with a kind of pa- ternal affection, as having been planted by himself; and he feels a degree of awe in bringing down with a few strokes of the axe, what it has cost centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but sympathize, in some degree, with the good squire on the subject. Though brought up in a country overrun with forests, where trees are apt to be considered mere incumbrances, and to be laid low without hesitation or remorse, yet I could never sec a fine tree hewn down without con- cern. The poets, who are naturally lovers of trees, as they are of every thing that is beautiful, have art- fully awakened great interest in their favour, by re- presenting Ihem as the habitations of sylvan deities ; insomuch that every great tree had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence was limited to its dura- tion. Evelyn, in bis Sylva, makes several pleasing and fanciful allusions to this superstition. " As the fall," says he, " of a very aged oak, giving a crack like thunder, has often been heard at many miles di- stance; constrained though I often am to fell them with Ireluctancy, I do not at any time remember to have beard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to be dispossessed of their ancient habitations) without some motion and pity." And again, in alluding to a vio- nt storm that had devastated the woodlands, he lys, " Melhinks I still hear, sure I am (hat I still , the dismal groans of our forests ; the late dread- ful hurricane having subverted so many thousands of lly oaks, prostrating the trees, laying them in liastly postures, like whole regiments fallen in battle ly the sword of the conqueror, and crushing all that ew beneath them. The public accounts," he adds, ' reckon no less than three thousand brave oaks in le part only of the forest of Dean blown down." I have paused more than once in the wilderness of merica, to contemplate the traces of some blast of ind, which seemed to have rushed down from the Ms, and ripped its way through the bosom of the oodlands; rooting up, shivering and splintering the loulest trees, and leaving a long track of desolation. here was something awful in the vast havoc made g these gigantic plants; and in considering their gnificent remains, so rudely torn and mangled, id hurled down to perish prematurely on their na- ve soil, I was conscious of a strong movement of the ipathy so feelingly expressed by Evelyn. I re- (llect, also, hearing a traveller, of poetical tempera- nt, expressing the kind of horror which he felt on ilwlding, on the banks of the Missouri, an oak of igious size, which had been, in a manner, over- iwered by an enormous wild grape-vine. The Inehad clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and thence had wound about every branch and twig. until the mighty tree had williered in its embrace. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in (he hideous coils of the monster Python. It was the lion of trees perishing in (he embraces of a vegetable boa. I am fond of listening to the conversation of Eng- lish gentlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and discrimination, and what strong, unaffected interest they will discuss topics, which in other countries are abandoned to mere woodmen, or rustic cul(iva(or8. I have heard a noble eari descant on park and forest scenery with the science and feel- ing of a painter. He dwell on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his estate, with as much pride and technical precision as though he had been dis- cussing the merits of statues in his collection. I found that he had even gone considerable distances to exa- mine trees which were celebrated among rural ama- teurs; for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established points of excellence ; and (hat there are some in England which enjoy veiy extensive celebrity among tree-fanciers, from being perfect in their kind. There Ls something nobly simple and pure in such a taste : it argues, I think, a sweet and generous na- ture, to have this strong relish for the beauties of ve- getation, and this friendship for the hardy and glo- rious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of hus- bandry. It is worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the idea, that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefiting mankind, long after he shall have ceased lo tread his paternal fields. Indeed it is the nature of such occupations to lift the thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said lo absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philanthropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery, that enters into the sotd, and dilates and elevates it, and fills it with noble incUna- lions. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, that embower this island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation among them from the tumult of arms, or the toils of slate, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of Penshursl, where Sidney passed his boyhood ; or can look without fondness upon the tree that is said lo have been planted on his birthday ; or can ramble among Ihe classic bowers of Uagley ; or can pause among the solitudes of Windsor Forest, and look at the oaks around, huge, grey, and time-worn, like the old castle towers, and not feel as if he were surround- r>68 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ed by so many monuments of long-enduring glory ! It is, wlien viewed in this light, that planted groves, and stately avenues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the more luxuriant beauties of un- assisted nature. It is that they teem with moral as- sociations, and keep up the ever-interesting story of human existence. It is incumbent, then, on the high and generous spirits of an ancient nation, to cherisii these sacred groves that surround their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their descendants. Republican as I am by birth, and brought up as I have been in re- publican principles and habits, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence for tilled rank, merely because it is titled ; but I trust that I am neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I can both see and feel how he- reditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of a gene- rous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, extends the existence of the possessor. lie does not feel himself a mere individual link in crea- tion, responsible only for his own brief term of being. He carries back his existence in proud recollecUon, and he extends it forward in honourable anticipation. He lives with his ancestry, and he lives with his pos- terity. To t)oth does he consider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he has received much from those that have gone before, so he feels bound to transmit much to those who are to come after him. His domestic undertakings seem to imply a longer existence than those of ordinary men ; none are so apt to build and plant for future centuries, as noble- spirited men, who have received their heritages from foregone ages. I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and pride with which I have noticed English gentlemen, of generous temperaments, and high aristocratic feelings, contemplating those magnificent trees, which rise like towers and pyramids, from the midst of their paternal lands. There is an aflinily between all great natures, animate and inanimate : the oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and intel- lectual man. With its mighty pillar rising straight and direct towards heaven, bearing up its leafy ho- nours from the impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should be ; a refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a defence for the defenceless ; warding off from them the pelt- ings of the storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is this, is an ornament and a bless- ing to his native land. He who is otherwise, abuses his eminent advantages; abuses the grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn fl'om the bosom of bis country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid pro- strate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the oppressive hand of power, who would munnar at his fate ?— " why cum- bereth he the ground? " A LITERARY ANHQUARY. Printed liookcs he contcmncs, as a novelty of this laiier ]'<;. but a muimscript he pores on everlastingly ; es|)ecially if thecovpr he all niotli-eatcn, awl the dust make a parenthesis lietnceni' etm syllable. Mic(H:osxoguapuie, I6js. The squire receives great sympathy and support j in his anli(iualed humours, from the parson, of wlioig I made some mention on my former visit to the Hall and who acts as a kind of family chaplain, llehaj been cherished by the squire almost constantly since the time that they were fellow students atOxrordl for it is one of the peculiar advantages of these great universities, that they often link the poor scholar lo the rich patron, by early and heart-felt ties, that last I through life, without the usual humiliations of depend- ence and patronage. Under the fostering pioteclionl of the squire, therefore, the little parson lias pursued! bis studies in peace. Having lived almost cnlireirl among books, and those, too, old books, he is quite! ignorant of the world, and his mind is as antiquated! as the garden at the Hall, where the ilowers areaUJ arranged in formal beds, and the yew-trees < into urns and peacocks. His taste for literary antiquities was first imbiMJ in the Bodleian Library at Oxford; where, wlienal student, he past many an hour foraging among ilie| old manuscripts. He has since, at different times, vi sited most of the curious libraries in England, and hi ransacked many of the cathedrals. With all iii quaint and curious learning, he has nothing of ar gance or pedantry; but that unaffected earnesti and guileless simplicity which seem to belong to I literary antiquary. He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dryi his manner : yet, on his favourite theme, he kindid up, and at times is even eloquent. Ko fox-liunlerj recounting his last day's sport, could be inoie anio ed than I have seen the worthy parson, when relitj ing his search after a curious <locument, which had traced from library to library, until he fairly i earthed it in the dusty chapter-house of a catliedr When, too, he describes some venerable manuscrip with its rich illuminations, its thick creamy vellao its glossy ink, and the odour of the cloisters that s ed to exhale from it, he rivals the enthusiasm of a I risian epicure, expatiating on themerilsofaPerig pie, or a pdte de Strasbourg. His brain seems absolutely haunted with love dreams about gorgeous old works in " silk liiiiii triple gold bands, and tinted leather, locked up i wire cases, and secured from the vulgar haiidsofll^ mere reader;" and, to continue the happy eip sions of an ingenious writer, " dazzling one's eyrsi eastei He inlhc belon, in on( strugf glass; from t book-c lion th antiqu( with p temper authors The dilating in whic ous err lions; a great in that Ion and ant oneoftl: coneeriii nay, it is been at I ceives p; I kingdom. ' legible m BRACEBRnXiE HALL. 3G0 hisfale?— "whycum- NnQUARY. i a novelly o( this laller a;e; istingly ; esi>ecially it Ihe covn c a pai-cutliesis liclwccne ct«j lICU-COSMOGUAPUIE, \m. I sympathy and suppotl, rotn the parson, of whom | y former visit to the Hall, family chaplain. He has I re ahnost constantly since I iUow students alOxfoitl;| advantages of lliesegreall n link the poor scholar to I nd heart-felt ties, that last] ual humiliations of depend- 1 ;r the fostering pioleclioii| le little parson lias pureuedl viiig lived almost cnlireltl too, old books, heisquitel I his mind is as antiqualedl where the flowers areal] and the yew-trees ( ntiquities was f»-st ImbiWl It Oxford; where, when jj n hour foraging among llie| since, at different limes, vi jraries in England, and 111 cathedrals. With all ^, he has nothing of ai lat unaffected eaniesUM lich seemtohelougioit itle man, and rather dry favourite theme, he kindle eloquent. No fox-hunl«f| port, could be more anil vorthy parson, when reW jious document, which f D library, until he fairly apter-houseofacalliedti some venerable manuscri| 18, its thick creamy vellui Hur of the cloisters that vals the enthusiasm of a on the merits of a Pel' tely haunted with lov( jld works in "silklini inted leather, locked up rom the vulgar hands of onlinue the happy ex[ r "dazzling one's eyesli eastern beauties, peering through their jealousies." ■ He has a great desire, however, to read such works in the old libraries and chapter-houses to which they belong; for he thinks a black-letter volume reads best in one of those venerable chambers where the light struggles through dusty lancet windows and painted glass; and that it loses half its zest if taken away from the neighbourhood of the quaintly-carved oaken book-case and Gothic reading-desk. At his sugges- tion the squire has had tiie library furnished in this antique taste, and several of the windows glazed with painted glass, that they may throw a properly tempered light upon the pages of their favourite old authors. The parson, I am told, has been for some time me- ditating a commentary on Strult, Brand, and JJouce, in which he means to detect them in sundry danger- ous errors in respect to popular games and supersti- tions; a work to which the scpiire looks forward with great interest. He is, also, a casual contributor to that long-established repository of national customs and anti(iuilies, Ihe Gentleman's Alagazine, and is one of those that every now and then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete customs or rare legend; nay, it is said that several of his communications have been at least six inches in length. lie frequently re- ceives parcels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, containing mouldy volumes and almost il- legible manuscripts ; for it is singular what an active correspondence is kept up among literary antiquaries, and how soon the fame of any rare volume, or unique copy, just discovered among the rubbish of a library, is circulated among them. The parson is more busy than common just now^, being a little flurried by an advertisement of a work, said to be preparing for the press, on the mythology of the middle ages. The little man has long been gathering together all the hobgoblin tales he could collect, illustrative of the su- perstitions of former times; and he is in a complete fever, lest this formidable rival should take the held [before 'mn. SI. Illy after my arrival at the Hall, I called at the irsonage, in company with Mr Bracebridge and the neral. The parson had not been seen for several lays, which was a matter of some surprise, as he was in almost daily visitor at the Hall. We found him in lis study ; a small dusky chamber, lighted by a lattice indow that looketl into the churchyard, and was iversliadowed by a yew-tree. His chair was sur- unded by folios and quartos, piled upon the floor, and table was covered with books and manuscripts. he cause of his seclusion was a work which he had ntly received, and with which he had retired in ipture from the worid, and shut himself up to enjoy a iterary honey-moon undisturbed. Never did board- school girl devour the pages of a sentimental ivd, or Don Quixote a chivalrous romance, with re intense delight than did the little man banquet the pages of this delicious work. It was Dibdin's ' D'braeli. Curiosities ofl.itcratiirc. Bibliographical Toor; a work calculated to have as intoxicating an effect on the imaginations of literary anti(|iiaries, as the adventures of the heroes of the Round Table, on all true knights ; or the tales of the early American voyagers on the ardent spirits of (he age, filling them with dreams of Mexican and Peru- vian mines, and of Ihe golden realm of El Dorado. The good parson had looked forward to this biblio- graphical expedition as of far greater importance than those to Africa, or the North Pole. With w hat ea- gerness had he seized upon the history of the enter- prize ! with what interest had he followed the redoubt- able bibliographer and his graphical squire in their adventurous among Norman castles and cathedrals, and French libraries, and German con- vents and universities; penetrating into the prison houses of vellum manuscripLs, and exquisitely illu- minated missals, and revealing their beauties to Ihe world ! When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy on this most curious and entertaining work, he drew forth from a liil.e drawer a manuscript, lately receiv- ed from a correspondent, which had perplexed him sadly. It was written in Norman French, in very ancient characters, and so faded and mouldered away as to be almost illegible. It was apparently an old Norman drinking song, that might have been brought over by one of William the Conqueror's carousing followers. The writing was just legible enough to keep a keen antiquity-hunter on a doubtful chase ; here and there he would be completely thrown out, and then there would be a few words so plainly written as to put him on the scent again. In this way he had been led on for a whole day, until he had found himself completely at fault. The squire encleavoured to assist him, but was equally baffled. The old general listened for some lime to the discussion, and then asked Ihe parson, if he had read Captain Morris's, or George Stevens's, or Anacreon Moore's bacchanalian songs ; on the oilier replying in the negative, " Oh, then, " said the ge- neral, with a sagacious nod, " if you want a drinking song, I can furnish you with the latest collection — I did not know you had a turn for those kind of things; and I can lend you the Encyclopedia of Wit into the bargain. I never travel without them ; they're ex- cellent reading at an inn. " It would not be easy to describe the odd look of sur- prise and perplexity of the parson, at this proposal ; or the difficulty the squire had in making the general comprehend, that tliough a jovial song of the present day was but a foolish sound in the ears of wisdom, and beneath the notice of a learned man, yet a trowl, written by a tosspot several hundred years since, was a matter worthy of the gravest research, and enough to set whole colleges by the ears. I have since pondered much on this matter, and have figured to myself what may be the fate of our current literature, when retrieved, piecemeal, by fu- ture antiquaries, from among the rubbish of ages, 47 ir 370 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. What a Magnns Apollo, for instance, will Moore be- come, among sober divines and dusty schoolmen! Even his festive and amatory songs, which are now the mere quickeners of our social moments, or the delights of our drawing-i-ooms, will then become matters of laborious research and painful collation. How many a grave professor will then waste his mid- night oil, or worry his brain through a long morn- ing, endeavouring to restore the pure text, or illus- trate the biographical hints of" Come, tell me, says Rosa, as kissing and kissed ; " and how many an arid old book-worm, like the worthy little parson, will give up in despair, after vainly striving to (111 up some fatal hiatus in" Fanny of Timmol ! " Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as Moore that are doomed to consume the oil of future anti- quaries. Many a poor scribbler, who is now, ap- parently, sent to oblivion by pastry-cooks and cheese- mongers, will then rise again in fragments, and flourish in learned immortality. After all, thought I, Time is not such an invariable destroyer as he is represented. If he pulls down, he likewise builds up ; if be impoverishes one, he en- riches another ; his very dilapidations furnish matter for new works of controversy, and his rust is more precious than the most costly gilding. Under his plastic hand trifles rise into importance; the non- sense of one age becomes the wisdom of another; the levity of the wit gravitates into the learning of the pedant, and an ancient farthing moulders into inflnile- ly more value tlian a modern guinea. THE FARM-HOUSE. -"Love and hay Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles." BEAUaONT AND FLETCBSB. I WAS so much pleased with the anecdotes which were told me of Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, that I got Master Simon, a day or two since, to take me to his house. It was an old-fashioned farm-house, built of brick, with curiously twisted chimneys. It stood at a little distance from the road, .with a southern ex- posure, looking upon a soft, green slope of meadow. There was a small garden in front, with a row of beehives humming among beds of sweet herbs and flowers. Well-scowered milking-tubs, with bright copper hoops, hung on the garden paling. Fruit- trees were trained up agamstthe cottage, and pots of flowers stood in the windows. A fat, superannuated mastiff lay in the sunshine at the door; with a sleek cat sleeping peacefully across him. Mr Tibbets was from home at the time of our call- ing, but we were received with hearty and homely welcome by his wife ; a notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for wives ; since, according to Master Simon's acooant, she never contradicts honest Jack, and yet manages to have her own way, and to control him in every thing. She received us in the main room of the house, a kind of parlour and hall with great brown beams of timber across it, vhich Mr Tibbets is apt to point out with some exultation observing, that they don't put such timl)er in houses now-a-<lays. The furniture was old-fashioned, strong, and highly polished; the walls were hung withcoloar- ed prints of the story of the Prodigal Son, wlio vas represented in a red coat and leather breeches. Over the flre-place was a blunderbuss, and a hard-favonr- etl likeness of Ready-Money Jack, taken when he was a young man, by the same artist that painted the ta- vern sign ; his mother having taken a notion that the Tibbets had as much right to have a gallery of familT portraits as the folks at the Hall. The good dame pressed us very much to take some refreshment, and tempted us with a variety of house- hold dainties, so that we were glad to compound bj tasting some of her home-made wines. While we were there, the son and heir-apparent came home; a good-looking young fellow, and something of a rustle beau. He took us over the premises, and showed as the whole establishment. An air of homely but sub- stantial plenty prevailed throughout ; every tiling was j of the best materials, and in the best condition. No- 1 thing was out of place, or ill-made ; and you saw everj'- where the signs of a man that took care to hare the | worth of his money, and that paid as he went. The farm-yard was well stocked ; under a shed | was a taxed cart, in trim order, in which Readj- Money Jack took his wife about the country. His I well-fed horse neigiied from the stable, and when led I out into the yard, to use the words of young Jack,! " he shone like a bottle ; " for he said the old nun I made it a rule that every thing about him should fan| as well as he did himself. I was pleased to see the pride which the yoanf I fellow seemed to have of his father. He gave ns a;-! veral particulars concerning his habits, which werej pretty much to the effect of those I have already men-J tioned. He had never suflered an account to stand gi| his life, always providing the money before he purcbas-I ed any thing; and , if possible, paying in gold and silver.f He had a great dislike to paper money, and seldomj went without a considerable sum in gold about liiiii.[ On my observing that it was a wonder he had neva been waylaid and robbed, the young fellow smiled i the idea of any one venturing upon such an exploa,| for I believe he thinks the old man would be a man for Robin Hood and all his gang. I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goesintt any house without having a world of private with some one or other of the family, being a tindo universal counsellor and confidant. We had not I long at the farm, before the old dame got him into^ corner of her parlour, where they bad a long, whi pering conference together ; in which I saw by t shrugs that there were some dubious matters discus BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 371 iver contradicts honnt her own way, and to Jhe received us in the A of parlonr and liall, imber across it, which witti some exultation, sucli timl)er in houses 18 old-fashioned, strong, were hung withcolonr- Prodigal Son, whovas leallier breeches. Orer uss, and a liard-favour- ack, talienwhenhewas rtisl Uiat painted the U- jlalienanotionthatthe have a gallery of latniW lall. I very much to take some s with a variety of house- re glad to compound by made wines. While we [•-apparent came liome;a and something of a rustic premises, and showed us \n air of homely but sub- •oughout; every thing was n the best condition. No- -made-,andyousaweverj- Ihat took care to have the lat paid as he went. ill stocked ; under a shed 1 order, in which Ready- about the country. His ..the stable, and when led ihe words of young Jack, for he said the old nun hing about him should fare e pride which the young MS father. He gave us se- •r his habits, which were Uhose I have already men- ered an account to stand ffl] money before he purchas- , paying in gold and silver. paper money n and seldoml lie" sum in gold about him. as a wonder he had nevet] [the young fellow smiled Ling upon such an exploil, I old man would be a mat ^ gang. Iter Simon seldom goes IB L a world of private U) the family, being »W ionfidant. We had not to le old dame got bim into lerctheybadalong,«r Er; in which I saw by I dubious matters ed and by his nods that he agreed with every thing gbesaid. After we had come out, the young man accom- panied us a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked and talked tofrelher for nearly half an hour. Master Simon, vho lias the usual propensity of confidants to blab every thing to the next friend they meet with, let me know that there was a love affair in question ; the voung fellow having been smitten with the charms of Plurbe Wilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall. Like most other love concerns it had |)fOught its troubles and perplexities. Dame Tibbets liad long been on intimate, gossiping terms with the housekeeper, who often visited tlie farm-house; but when (he neighbours spoke lo her of the likelihood of a match between her son and Phoebe Wilkins, "Marry come up ! " she scouted the very idea. The I girl had acted as lady's maid, and it was beneath the blood of the Tibbets, who had lived on their own lands time out of mind, and owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a I servant ! These vapourings had faithfully been carried to the I liousekeeper's ear, by one of their mutual go-between {friends. The old housekeeper's blood, if not as an- Icient, was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets. She had been accustomed to carry a high head at I the Hall, and among the villagers; and her faded I brocade rustled with indignation at the slight cast lupon her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer. She Imaintained that her niece had been a companion Iratlier than a wailing-maid to the young ladies. ["Thank heavens, she was not obliged to work for her living, and was as idle as any young lady in the land; 1, when somebody died, would receive something It would be worth the notice of some folks with all ^heir ready-money." A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two rorthy dames, and the young people were forbidden think of one another. As to young Jack, he was much in love to reason upon the matter; and ig a little heady, and not standing in much awe if his mother, was ready to sacriflce the whole dignity if llie Tibbets to his passion. He had lately, how- jver, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, incon- lence of some coquetry on her part, and at pre- ent stood aloof. The politic mother was exerting I her ingenuity to widen this accidental breach; but, is most commonly the case, the more she meddled rith this perverse inclination of her son, the stronger grew. In the mean time old Ready-Money was ept completely in the dark ; both parties were in awe uncertainly as to what might be his way of tak- : the matter, and dreaded lo awaken the sleeping m. Between father and son, therefore, the worthy frs Tibbets was full of business and at her wits' end. is true there was no great danger of honest Ready- honey's finding the thing out, if left to himself; for was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick of apprehension; but there was daily risk of his attention being aroused by those cobwebs which his indefatigable wife was continually spinning about his nose. Such is the distracted state of politics in the domes- tic empire of Ready-Money Jack ; which only shows the intrigues and internal dangers to which the l)e8t regulated governments are liable. In this perplexed situation of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to Master Simon for counsel; and, with all his experience in meddling with other people's con- cerns, he Gnds it an exceedingly diflicult part to play, to agree with both parties, seeing that their opinions and wishes are so diametrically opposite. HORSEMANSHIP. •»•;•« ■.i^. A coacli was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one put both horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great crabsheil brought out of Cliina, and some imagined it to be one of the pagan temples, in which Ihe caimibals adored the divelL TiVLOH, TUB WiTEB POST. I HAVE made casual mention, more than once, of one of the squire's antiquated retainers, old Christy the huntsman. I find that his crabbed humour is a source of much entertainment among the young men of the family; tlie Oxonian, particularly, takes a mis- chievous pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing the old man against the grain, and then smoothing him down again; for the old fellow is as ready to bristle up his back as a porcupuie. He rides a venerable hunter called Pepper, which is a counterpart of him- self, a heady, cross-grained animal, that frets the flesh off its bones; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villanous tricks. He is as tough, and nearly as old as his rider, who has ridden him time out of mind, and is, indeed, the only one that can do any thing with him. Sometimes, however, they have a com- plete quarrel, and a dispute for mastery, and then, I am told, it is as good as a farce to see the heat they both get into, and the wrongheaded contest that en- sues ; for they are quite knowing in each other's ways and in the art of teasing and fretting each other. Notwithstanding these doughty brawls, however, there is nothing that nettles old Christy sooner than to question the merits of his horse; which he upholds as tenaciously as a faithful husband will vindicate the virtues of the termagant spouse, that gives him a cur- tain-lecture every night of his life. The young men call old Cluisty their " professor of equitation," and in accounting for the appellation, they let me into some particulars of the squire's mode of bringing up his children. There is an odd mixture of eccentricity and good sense in all the opinions of my worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, where plain brickwork is set off with pointed arches and quaint tracery. Though the main ground-work .i7a BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ofhuopiniuiis is currevt, yet he lias a thousand little notions, picked up from old books, which stand out whimsically on the surface of his mind. Thus, in educatin;; his boys, he chose Peachem, Markham, and such old English writers, for his ma- nuals. At an early a;^ he took the lads out of their mother's hands, who was disposed, as mothers are apt to be, to make flne, orderly children of them, that should keep out of sun and rain, and never soil their hands, nnr tear their clothes. In place of this, the squire turned them loose to run free and wild about the park, without heeding wind or weather. He was also particularly attentive in making them bold and expert horsemen ; and these were the days when old Christy, the huntsman, en- joyed great importance, as the lads were put under his care to practise them at llie leaping-bars, and to keep an eye upon them in the chase. The squire always objected to their using carriages of any kind, and is still a little tenacious on this poiiit. He often rails against the universal use of carriages, and quotes the words of honest Nashe to that effect. " It was thought," says Nashe, in his Qiinternio, " a kind of solecism, and to savour of effeminacy, for a young gentleman in the flourishing time of his age, to creep into a coach, and to shroud himself from wind and weather : our great delight was to out-brave the blustering Boreas upon a great horse ; to arm and pre- pare ourselves to go with Mars and Bellona into the lield, was our sport and pastime ; coaches and caroches we left unto them for whom they were fust invent- ed, for ladies and gentlemen, and decrepit age and impotent people." The squire insists that the English gentlemen have lost much of their hardiness and manhood since the introiluction of carriages. " Compare," he will say, " the fine gentleman of former times, ever on horse- back, booted and spurred, and travel-stained, but open, frank, manly, and chivalrous, with the line gen- tleman of the present day, full of affectation and effe- minacy, rolling along a turnpike in his voluptuous vehicle. The young men of those days were render- ed brfive, and lofty, and generous, in their notions, by almost living in their saddles, and having their foaming steeds ' like prouu seas under them.' There is something," he adds, '' in bestriding a fine horse that makes a man feel more than mortal. He seems to have doubled his nature, and to have added to his own courage and sagacity the power, the speed, and stateliness of the superb animal on which he is mounted." " It is a great delight," says old Nashe, " to see a young gentleman, with his skill and cuiming, by his voice, rod andspur, better to manage and to command the great Bucephalus, than the strongest Milo, with all his strength ; one while to see him make him tread, trot, and gallop the ring; and one after to see him make him gatiier up roundly; to bear bis head steadily; to run a full career swiftly; to stop a sudden lightly; anon after to see him make him advance, to yorke, to go back and sidelong, to turn on eithrr liand ; to gallop the gallop galliard ; to do the caprioit. the chambetta, and dance the curvetty." In conformity to these ideas, the squire had tlim, all on horseback at an early age, and made tliem ride, slap-dash, aliout the country, without flinclijn;^ a; hedge, or ditch, or stone wall, to the imminent dan- ger of their necks. Even the fair Julia was partially included in this system; and, under the instructions of old Cliristr, has iKTome one oflhebest horsewomen in the countv, The s(]uirc says it is better than all the cosmetics aiitj sweeteners of the breath that ever were inventoi. He extols the } rsemanship of the ladies in former times, when Queen Fiizabelh would scarcely suffer I the rain to slop her accustomed ride. "And ihen think," he will say, " what nobler and sweeter beinys j it made them ! What a difference must there lie, both in mind and body, between a joyous liii^li-spi- riled dame of those days, glowing with heaitli and exercise, freshened by every breeze that blows, seated loftily and gracefully on her saddle, vilh plume on head, and liawk on hand, and her descend- ant of the present day, the pale victim of roiiis and | ball-rooms, sunk languidly in one corner of an enervat- ing carriage!" The s(|uire's equestrian system has been attended I with great success, for his sons, having passed tlirou<;bl the whole coinsc of instruction without breakinfl neck or limb, are now healthful, spirited, andaclive,r and have the true Englishman's love for a horse. Ill their manliness and frankness are praised in their la-[ titer's hearing, he quotes the old Persian ninxim, and! says, they have been taught " to ride, to sliuot, and| to speak the truth." It is true the Oxonian has now and then practis( the old gentleman's doctrines a little in the extreinej He is a gay youngster, rather fonder of his horse t his book, with a little dash of the dandy; tiiough I ladies all declare that he is " the flower of the Hock." The first year that he was sent to Oxford, he hadi tutor appointed to overlook him, a dry cliipof theunij versity. When he returned home in the vacatioi the squire made many inquiries about how he like^ his college, his studies, and his tutor. "Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I've parted with some time since." " You have ; and, pray, why so?" ^ " Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our coliej and I was a little short of funds ; so I discharged i tutor, and took ahorse, you know." "Ah, Iwasnotawareofthat, Tom," said the squiit mildly. When Tom returned to college his allowance n doubled, that he might be enabled to keep bothboi and tutor. BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 573 long, to turn on eiihfr Uiard ; to do the eapnolt, le curvetty." >as, the squire had thfin age, and made them ridt, ry, williout flincliin^ ai all, to the imminent Osn- partially inchidcd in lliij strtictions of old CIIhLsIjt, orsewomen in the counly, Ihan all the cosmelics aiid that ever were iiiveiiletl. p of the ladies in former t'lh would scarcely suffer lomed ride. "Ami then nobler and sweeter bcinjs difference must there lie, jtween a joyous liisli-spi- glowing with health and •very breeze that blows, iilly on her saddle, wilh on hand, and her descend- lie pale victim of routs and in one corner of an cnerral- I system has been attended I sons, having passed through I ilrurlion without hreakingl allhful, spirited, andactivtj iiinau's love for a horse. Ill ness are praised in their b-l the old Persian maxim, and! ;ht " to ride, to shoot, audi las now and then practiscdl ■ines a little in the exlrenie.| ler fonder of his horse til h of the dandy ;tiious;hth "the flower of the Hook.' IS sent to Oxford, lie had i khim, a dry chip of the I ned home in the vacatiw iquiries about how he likei id his tutor, sir, I've parted with , why so?" s all the go at our eollei f funds J so I discharged I ou know." f that, Tom," saidlliesquir to college his allowances enabled to keep both hM LOVE-SYMFfOMS. I «IU tiow begin to iIkIi. read |wcU, look pale, go neaUy, and be I luott ipiKiri'iilly 111 love. Habstun. I siioixn not lie surprised if we should liave an- lullier pair of turtles at the Hall, for Master Simon has linforine«l me, in great conlidence, that he suspects |liiei;eiieral of some design upon the snsceplililc heart lofLady Lillycrafl. I have, indeed, noticed a grow- Ijiii; attention and courtesy in the veteran towards her lladysliip; he softens very much in her company, sits Iby her at table, and entertains her with hiiig .stories |ai)oul Seringapatam, and pleasant anecdotes of the iMulligatawiiey club. I have even seen him present llier with a full-blown rose from the hothouse, in a Istyieof the most captivating gallantry, and it was ac- tpied with great suavity and graciousress; lor her ladyship delights in receiving the homage and atlen- Itionoftliejicx. Indeed, the general was one of the earliest ndnii- Irers that daiig!e<l in her train during her short reign cflwaiily; and they llirled together for half a season Ijn Lomloii, some thirty or forty years since. She re- Iminded him lately, in the course of a conversation ilwut former days, of the lime when he used to ride I white horse, and to canter so gallantly by the side of her carriage in Hyde Park; whereupon I have re- narked that the veteran has regularly escorted her lince, T.-lien she rides out on horseback; and, I siis- lecl, ho almost persuades himself that he makes as |caplivaliiig an appearance as in his youthful days. It would he an interesting and memorable circum- ktance in the chronicles of Cupid, if this spark of the ender passion, after lying dormant for such a length bf time, should again be fanned into a flame, from ^midsl tlie ashes of two burnt out hearls. It would ; an instance of perdurable fidelity, worthy of being blaced lieside those recorded in one of the scpiire's fa- jrourite tomes, commemorating the constancy of the |)ldentime^ : in which times, we are told, " ftlen and ffvinmen coulde love togyders seven yeres, ami no tcours liistcs were belwene them, and Ihenne was ^e, Iroulhe and feyllifulnes ; and lo in like wyse was *d love in Kyng Arthur's dayes." ■ Still, however, this may be nothing but a little ve- kerable flirtation, the general being a veteran dangler, Ind the good lady hahitualed to these kind of alten- fons. Master Simon, on the other band, thinks the eiieral is looking about him with the wary eye of an lid campaigner; and now that be is on the wane, is |esirous of getting into warm winter quarters. Muchallowance, however, must be made for Master Jimon's uneasiness on the subject, for he looks on ^dy Lillycrafl's house as one of the strong holds, ^here he is lord of the ascendant ; and, with all his iliniration of the general, I much doubt whether he • Mort d'Arthur. wouKI like to see hini lurtl of the lady and the enla- blishment. There are certain other symptoms, notwithstand- ing, that give an air of prol)abilily to Master Simon's intimations. Thus, for instance, I have observeti that the general has lieen very assiduous in his atten- tions to her lailyship's dogs, and has several times ex- |M)sed his lingers to imminent jeopardy, in attempting lo pat Beauty on the head. It is lo be hoped his ad- vances to the mistress will be more favourably receiv- ed, as all his overtures towards a caress are greeted by the pestilent little cur with a wary kindling of the eye, and a most venomous growl. He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards my lady's gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs Hannah, whom he used to speak of in a way that I do not choose to mention. Whether she has the same sus- picions with Muster Simon or not, I cannot say ; but she receives his civilities with no better grace than the implacable Beauty ; unscrewing her mouth into a most acid smile, and looking as though she couhl bite a piece out of him. In short, the |H)or general seems to have as formidable foes to contend with as a hero of ancient fairy tale; who had to light his way to his enchanted [irincess through ferocious monsters of every kind, and lo encounter the brimstone terrors of some liery dragon. There is still another circumstance which inclines me to give very considerable credit to Master Simon's suspicions. Lady Lillycraft is very fond of (luoting poetry, and the conversation often turns uiNin it, on which occasions the general is thrown completely out. It happened the other day that Spenser's Fairy Queen was the theme for the great part of the morning, and the poor general sat perfectly silent. I found liim not long after in the library, with spectacles on nose, a book in his hand, and fast asleep. On my approach he awoke, slipt the spectacles into his pocket, and began to read very attentively. After a little while he put a paper in llie place, and laid the volume aside, which I perceived was the Fairy Queen. I have had the curiosity to watch how he got on in his poetical studies; but, though I have repeatedly seen him with the book in his hand, yet I lind the paper has not ad- vanced above three or four pages ; the general being extremely apt to fall asleep when he reads. FALCONRY. Ne is there hawk which mantleth on her perch, Whether high low'ring or accousling low, But I llic measure of tier fliglit doc search, And alt her prey and all her diet know. SprNSBB. There are several grand sources of lamentation furnished to the worthy squire, by the improvement of society, and the grievous advancement of know- ledge ; among which there is none, I believe, that 374 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. " according to causes him more frequent regret than the unfortunate invention of gunpowder. To this he continually traces the decay of some favourite custom, and, indeed, the general downfall of all chivalrous and romantic usages. " English soldiers," he says, " have never been the men they were in the days of the cross-bow and the long-bow; when they depended upon the strength of the arm, and the English archer could draw a cloth- yard shaft to the head. These were the times when at the battles of Gressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt, the French chivalry was completely destroyed by the bowmen of England. The yeomanry, too, have never been what they were, when, in times of peace, they were constantly exercised with the bow, and archery was a favourite holiday pastime." Among the other evils which have followed in the train of this fatal invention of gunpowder, the squire classes the total decline of the noble art of falconry. '' Shooting," he says, " is a skulking, treacherous, solitary sport in comparison; but hawking was a gal- lant, open, sunshiny recreation; it was the generous sport of hunting carried into the skies." " It was, moreover, " he says Braithewate, the stately amusement of ' high and mounting spirits ; ' for, as the old Welsh proverb af- firms, in those times ' You might know a gentleman by his hawk, horse, and greyhound.' Indeed, a cavalier was seldom seen abroad without his hawk on his fist ; and even a lady of rank did not think herself com- pletely equipped, in riding forth, unless she had her tassel-gentel held by jesses on her delicate hand. It was thought in those excellent days, according to an old writer, < quite suflicient for noblemen to winde their horn, and to carry their hawke fair; and leave study and learning to the children of mean people.' " Knowing the good squire's hobby, therefore, I have not been surprised at finding that, among the various recreations of former times which he has endeavoured to revive in the little world in which be rules, he has bestowed great attention on the noble art of falconry. In this he, of course, has been seconded by his inde- fatigable coadjutor. Master Simon; and even the parson has thrown considerable light on their labours, by various hints on the subject, which he has met with in old English works. As to the precious work of that famous dame Juliana Barnes; the Gentleman's Academic, by Markhnm ; and the other well-known treatises that were the manuals of ancient sportsmen, they have them at their fingers' ends ; but they have more especially studied some old tapestry in the house, whereon is represented a parly of cavaliers and stalely dames, witit doublets, caps, and flaunting feathers, mounted on horse with attendants on fool, all in animated pursuit of the game. The squire has discountenanced the killing of any hawks in his neighbourhooil, but gives a liberal bounty for all that are brought him alive; so that the Hall is well stocked with all kinds of birds of prey. On these he and Master Simon have exhausted their patience and ingenuity, enUcavouriiig to '* reclaim" them, as it is termed, and to train them up for the sport; bui they have met with continual checks and disappoint. ments. Their feathered school has turned uutthel most untractable and graceless scholars; nor is it the I least of their trouble to drill the retainers who were to I act as ushers under them, and to take immediate I charge of these refractory birds. Old Christy audi the gamekeeper both, for a time, set their faces against I the whole plan of education; Christy having been I nettled at hearing what he terms a wild-goose eiiase I put on a par with a fox-hunt; and the gamekeeper! having always been accustomed to »ook upon jiaftiil as arrant |)oacheis, wuich it way his duly to sbootl down, and nail, in Urrorem, against the out-houses, [ Christy has at length taken the matter in liandj but has done still more mischief by his intermeddling.l lie is us positive and wrong-headed alwut this, ashel is about hunting. Master Simon has continual dis-l pules with him as to feeding and training the liawksJ He reads to him long passages from the old autliorsij have mentioned ; but Christy, who cannot read, hai| a sovereign contempt for all book-knowledge, andl persists in treating the hawks according to his ovbI notions, which are drawn from his experience, IdI younger days, in the rearing of game-cocks. The consequence is, that, between these jarrin J systems, the poor birds have had a most trying aiKJl unhappy time of it. Many have fallen victims tol Christy's feeding and Master Simon's physicking; rwl the latter has gone to work secundum artem, andliail given them all the vomitings and scourings laiddovnl in the books ; never were poor hawks so fed andpli)[ sicked before. Others have been lost by being lill half" reclaimed, " or tamed : for on being taken into the field, they have " raked" after the game quitij out of hearing of the call, and never returned I school. All these disappointments had been petty, yetsi grievances to the squire, and had made liim to dei pond about success. He has lately, however, made happy by the receipt of a fine Welsh falo which Master Simon terms a stately highflyer. Hi a present from the squire's friend, Sir VValkyn Wil- liams Wynn; and is, no doubt, a descendant of soni ancient line of Welsh princes of the air, that have iooj lorded it over their kingdom of clouds, from Wyniista]j to the very summit of Snowden, or ihe brow ofPeoj manmawr. Ever since the squire received this invaluable]; sent, he has been as impatient to sally forth and lit proof of it, as was Don Quixote to assay his suit of ai mour. There have been some demurs as to wliell the bird was in proper health and training; but tit have been over-ruled by the vehement desire to M with a new toy ; and it has been determined, right* wrong, in season or out of season, to have a dajj sport in hawking to-morrow. The Hall, as usual, whenever the squire is aLoutl make some new sally on his hobby, is all agog wil| the thing. Miss Templeton, who is brought up in r BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 575 n up for the sport; but i checks and disappoint- lool has turned oui \k ss scholars; norisittlie lie retainers who wereio and to take immediate jirds. Old Christy and ne, set their faces against n; Christy having l)een terms a wild-goose chase ml; and the gamekeepei imed to lOok upon liawki it waa his duty to slwol 1, against the out-houses, ken the matter in liand, hief by his intermeddling. -headed alwut this, as be Simon has continual dis- g and training the hawks, i^es from the old authors I isty , who cannot read, has all book-knowledge, and vks according to his own 1 from his experience, in rtg of game-cocks, iiat, between these jarring ive had a most tiding and iny have fallen victims loj iter Simon's physicking;foti •k secundum artem, and ha! i"s and scourings laiddop ^or hawks so fed and phy- ave been lost by being but for on being taken in ked" after the game qui 1. and never returned [Its had been petty, yeti and had made him to las lately, however, lit of a line Welsh falc „ a stately highflyer. M s friend, Sir VVatkynffl Joubt, a descendant of son ces of the air, that have lot ni of clouds, from WymislaJ iwden, or the brow of Pm Iverence for all her guardian's humours, has proposed to be of the party, and Lady Lillycraft has talked also of Ljjngoul to the scene of action and looking en. This has gratified the old gentleman extremely ; he hails iias an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry, ind does not despair but the time will come when it will be again tlie pride of a line lady to carry ibout a noble falcon in preference to a parrot or a I have amused myself with the bustling prepara- tions of that busj :pir!t, Master Simon, and the con- inual thwartings he receives from tha' genuine son ,, a pepper-box, old Christy. They have had half a I'ozen consultations about how the hawk is to be pre- irwl for the morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, js always got in a pet, upon which Master Simon las invariably given up the point, observing in a good- inmoured tone, " Well, well, have it your own way, iristy ; only don't put yourself in a passion ; " a re- ly which always nettles the old man ten times more in ever. IS eceived this invaluable p lient to sally forth and m nxote to assay bis suit oti some demurs as to wlietli nlthandtraHiing;butilie Ihe vehement desire to iJi Is been determined, righli lof season, to have a ^i pw. . , Wever the squire is about ' [his hobby, is a" agog/" Ion, who is brought up in r HAWKING. Tlie soarins hawk, from fist that (lies, Her falconer dolli constrain Sometimes to ransc the ground about To flndher out again; And it by sight, or sound of bell, Hisfalconhemay sec, Wo ho ! he cries, with clieerful voice— The gladdest man is he. HANDEFULL op PLEiSANT DELITES. Iat an early hour this morning the Hall was in a W, preparing for the sport of the day. I heard jster Simon whistling and singing under my window [sunrise, as he was preparing the jesses for the |wk's legs, and could distinguish now and then a 1 of one of his favourite old ditties : "Inpcascod lime, when hound to horn Gives note that buck be kiU'd ; And little boy with pipe of com Is tending sheep a-ficid," etc. I hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was ked up in the great hall. The whole garrison of jainers and hangers-on were in motion, reinforced (volunteer idlers from the village. The horses were 1 up and down before the door ; every body had lelhing to say, and something to do, and hurried lier and thither; there was a direful yelping of ts; some that were to accompany us being eager jet off, and others that were to stay at home being Ipped back to their kennels. In short, for once, I good squire's mansion might have been taken as 1 specimen ofoneof the rantipole establishments he good old feudal times. pakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall Itared to take the fleld. The fair Julia was of the party, in a hunting-dress, with a light plame of fea- thers in her riding-hat. As she mounted her favour- ite galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that old Christy forgot his usual crustiness, and hastened to adjust her saddle and bridle. He touched his cap as she smiled on him and (hanked him ; and then, look- ing round at the other attendants, gave a knowing nod of his head, in which I read pride and exultation at the charming appearance of his pupil. Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to witness the sport. She was dressed in her broad white bea- ver, tied under the chin, and a riding-habit of the last century. She rode iicr sleek, ambling pony, whose motion was as easy as a rocking-chair ; and was gal- lantly escorted by the general, who looked not un- like one of the doughty heroes in the old prints of the battle of Blenheim. The parson, likewise, accompa- nied her on the other side ; for this was a learned amusement in which he took great interest ; and, in- deed, had given much counsel, from his knowledge of old customs. At length every thing was arranged, and off we set from the Hall. The exercise on horseback puts one in fine spirits ; and the scene was gay and animating. The young men of the family accompanied Miss Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in her saddle, her plumes dancing and waving in the air; and the group had a charming effect as they appeared and disappeared among the trees, cantering along, with the bounding animation of youth. The squire and Master Simon rode together, accompanied by old Christy, mounted on Pepper. The latter bore the hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most ac- customed to him. There was a rabble rout on foot, composed of retainers from the Hall, and some idlers from the village, with two or three spaniels, for the purpose of starting the game. A kind of corps tie rHerve came on quietly in the rear, comnosed of Lady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, the parfion, and a fat footman. Her ladyship ambled gently along on her pony, while the general, mount- ed on a tall hunter, looked down upon her with an air of the most protecting gallantry. For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this last party, or rather lagged behind, that I might take in the whole picture; and the parson occasionally slackened his pace and jogged on in company with me. The sport led us at some distance from the Hall, in a soft meadow reeking with the moist verdure of spring. A little river ran through it, Itordered by willows, which had put forth their tender early fo- liage. The sportsmen were in quest of herons which were said to keep about this stream. There was some disputing, already, among the leaders of the sport. The squire. Master Simon, and old Christy, came every now and then to a pause, to consult together, like the field officers in an army ; and I saw, by certain motions of the head, that Chris- ty was as positive as any old wrong-headed German commander. 376 BKACEBRIDGE HALL. I''' in a: As we were prancing up this quiet meadow, every sound we made was answered by a distinct eclio, from th6 sunny-wall of an old building, that lay on the op- posite margin of the stream , and I paused to listen to this " spirit of a sound," which seems to love such quiet and beautiful places. The parson informed me that this was the ruin of an ancient grange, and was supposed, by the country people, to be haunted by a dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, something like Kobin- good-fellow. They often fancied the echo to be the voice of the dobbie answering them, and were rather shy of disturbing it after dark. He added, that the squire was very careful of this ruin, on account of the superstition connected wilii it. As I considered this local habitation of an "airy nothing," I called to mind the fine description of an echo in Webster's Ducliess of Malfy : " 'Yond side o" th' river lies a wall, Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion Gives llie best echo that you have ever heard ; So plain in the distinction of our words, That many hove sup^rased it a spirit That answers." The parson went on to comment on a pleasing and fanciful appellation which the Jews of old gave to the echo, which they called Balh-kool, that is (o say, " the daughter of the voice;" they considered it an oracle, supplying in the second temple the want of the tu'ini and thuinmin, with wiiicli the first was honour- ed '. Tiie little man was just entering very largely and learnedly upon the subject, when we were star- tled by a prodigious bawling, shouting, and yelping. A flight of crows, alarmed by the approach of our forces, had suddenly risen from a meadow; a cry was put up by the rabble rout on foot, "^'ow, Christy ! now is your time, Christy I " The squire and Master Simon, who were beating up the river banks in quest of a heron, called out eagerly to Christy to keep quiet; the old man, vexed and bewildered by the confusion of voices, completely lost his head : in his Hurry he slipped olT the hood, cast off the falcon, and away (lew the crows, and away soared the haw k. I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady Lil- lycraft and her escort, from whence I had a good view of the sport. I was pleased with the appearance of the party in the meadow, riding along in the di- rection that the bird (lew; their bright beaming faces turned up to the bright skies as they watched the game; the attendants on foot scampering along, look- ing up, and calling out, and the dugs bounding and yelping with clamorous sympathy. The hawk had singled out a quarry from among the carrion crew. Il was curious to see the efforts of the two birds to get above each other; one to make the fatal swoop, the other to avoid it. Now they crossed athwart a bright feathery cloud, and now they were against the clear blue sky. I confess, being no sportsman, I was more interested for the poor bird that was striving for its life, than for the liawk that ■ Bekker'i Monde enchants. was playing the part of a mercenary soldier. j\t lengtli the hawk got the upper hand, and made a rushing stoop at her quarry, but the latter made a sudden a siu'ge downwards, and slanting up a^ain evaded the blow, screaming and making the best of his way for a dry tree on the brow of a neiglibourjoj hill; while the hawk, disappointed of her blow, soar. ed up again into the air, and appeared to be " rai;. ing " off. It was in vain old Christy called, and whistled, and endeavoured to lure her down- she paid no regard to him; and, indeed, his calls vrere drown in the shouts and yelps of the army of mjijij, that had followed him into the field. Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillyciart inadel me turn my head. I beheld a complete confusioi among the sportsmen in the little vale below iis] They were galloping and running towards Iheedi of a bank ; and I was shocked to see R*iss Templeion' horse galloping at large without his rider. I rode the place to which the others were hurrying, ai when I reached the bank, which almost overliiin" stream, I saw at the fool of it, the fair Julia, mIi bleeding, and apparently lifeless, supported in arms of her frantic lover. In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes tiirm upward, she had imwarily approached too nearlli hank ; it had given way with her, and she and li horse had been precipitated to the pebbled margin the river. I never saw greater consternation. The capiai was distracted ; Lady Lillycraft faulting: the squii in dismay, and Master Simon at his wits' end. Tl beautiful creature at length showed signs of relui ing life; she opened her eyes; looked mound iii upon the anxious group, and comprehending in a ment the nature of the scene, gave a sweet sniili and putting her hand in her lover's, exclaimed feeiii] " I am not nuich hurt, Guy ! " I could have laiii her to my heart for that single exclamation. It was found, indeed, that she had escaped a! miraculously, with a contusion of the head, aspraii ankle, and some slight bruises. After iter woni was stanched, she was taken to a neighbouring tage, until a carriage could be summoned to cuiiri her home; and when this had arrived, theeavaicai which had issued forth so gaily on this c>:tei'pri returned slowly and pensively to the Hall. I had been charmed by the generous spirit by this young creature, who, amidst pain and danj had been anxious only to relieve the dislre.>is oft around her. I was gratified, therefore, by the versal concern displayed by the domestics on our turn. They o?me crowding down the aveiuie, eager to render assistance. The butler stood with some curiously delicate cordial; the old lioi keeper was provided with half a dozen noslri prepared by her own hands, accoKling to the fai receipt-ljook ; while her niece, the melting Pin having no other way of assisting, stood wringing hands, and weeping aloud. Tli( this a( were( patieni not oti me a I here as enteria Tear quite d ingexp Iiis eidfl very ws Simon f( llie falco lia's disa nodoubl lliehospi and may ! pluming Wynnsta o,tl Or if Tow And, That Wliei SIrivi The con curious tu wypreval 'le present Hark. It< any one ' fe, for th 'clock at n ides oft iirseofth fir iisual Dismal I it was ike the II' one inst tended to oltjeetof raused k her he as IT( leaih-war a sick pers( "liere was |a sullen, ni *'>j?ils, am I when, shortly a in a cold II: BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ?>77 mercenary soldier. All »per hand, and made a I but the latter made ail 5, and slanlmpupagainl and makhig the best otl B brow of a neighbouring! winled of her blow, soar-f il appeared to be "rak-l old Clirisly called, audi I to lure her down; she! I, indeed, his calls \fe«l ;lps of the army of miliiij| the field. from Lady Lillycraft tnadel leld a complete coiifusionf the little >ale below ii$,| running towards the edgi ted to see »*iss Templeton'tl ithout his rider. 1 rodeti thers were hurrying, an which almost overhung U >l of it, the fair Julia, jBlej f lifeless, supported in I along, with her eyes tiirnd ly approached loo near llij with her, and she and hej ted to the pebbled margin (I consternation. The caplaJ illycrafl fainting: the squiif imon at his wit^' end. Tlij trib showed signs of relurr 1- eyes; looked around liJ and comprehending in a nJ scene, gave a sweet sniiM ler lover's, exclaimed feeliil P»y I" I could havetaW single exclamation. that she had escaped all llusionofthehead,aspraii bruises. After her woui iaken to a neighbouring Iildbe summoned toconfl lis had arrived, the cavaieat 1 so gaily on this e.!terpri Isively to the Hall. ty the generous spirit slioi Lho, amidst pain and dan?( [o relieve the distress oft'' jilled, therefore, by the by the domestics on our [ding down the avenue, t Ice The huller stood rei licate cordial; the old Iw L-ith half a dozen noslri nds, accoklinglolhefai [niece, the meliing Pl'« [assisting, stood wringingl id. The most material effect that is likely to follow this accident is a postponement of the nuptials, which were close at hand. Though I commiserate the im- patience of the captain on that account, yet I shall not otherwise be sorry at the delay, as it will give me a better opportunity of studying the characters here assembled, with which I grow more and more entertained. I cannot but perceive that the worthy squire is quite disconcerted at the unlucky result of his hawk- in" experiment, and this unfortunate illustration of his eulogy on female equitation. Old Christy too is very waspish, having been sorely twitted by Master Sinwn for having let his hawk fly at carrion. As to (he falcon, in the confusion occasioned by the fair Ju- jlia's disaster, the bird was totally forgotten. I make I no doubt she has made the best of her way back to (he hospitable Hall of Sir Watkyn Williams Wynn; and may very possibly, at this present writing, be pluming her wings among the breezy bowers of Wynnstay. ST MARKS EVE. 0, 'tis a fearful thing to be no more, Or if to 1)C, lo wander after deadi ; To walk, as spirits ilo, in brakes all day. And, when tlie darkness conies, lo glide in paths That lead to graves ; and in the silent vault, Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, Striving lo enter your forbidden corpse. Dbvden. The conversation this evening at supper-table took |curiousturnon the subject of a superstition, formerly |ery prevalent in this part of the country, relative to he present night of the year, which is the Eve of St llark. It was believed, the parson informed us, that [anyone would watch in the church porch on this ive, for three successive years, from eleven to one fciock at night, he would see, on the third year, the i of those of the parish who were to die in the bnrse of the year, pass by him into church, clad in keir iisnal apparel. I Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured us at it was formerly a frequent thing for persons to ake the necessary vigils. He had known more an one instance in his time. One old woman, who <etended to have seen this phantom procession, was [object of great awe, for the whole year afterwards, caused much uneasiness and mischief. If she ok her head mysteriously at a person, it was like Heath-warrant; and she had nearly caused the death jasick person by looking ruefully in at the window. There was also an old man, not many years since, |a sullen, melancholy temperament, who had kept I vigils, and began to excite some talk in the vil- iWlien, fortunately for the public comfort, he I shortly after his third w.'.tching; very probably |in a coki (hat he had taken, as the night was tem- pestuous. It was reported about the village, how- ever, that he had seen his own phantom pass by him into the church. This led to the mention of another superstition of an equally strange and melancholy kind, wiiich, however, is chiefly confined to Wales. It is respect- ing what are called corpse caudles, little wandering fires of a pale bluish light, that move about like ta- pers in the open air, and are supposed to designate the way some corpse is to go. One was seen at Lany- lar, late at night, hovering up and down, along the bank of the 1st with, and was watched by the neigh- bours until they were tired, and went to bed. Not long afterwards there came a comely counti^ lass, from Montgomeryshire, to see her friends, who dwelt on the opposite side of the river. She thought to ford the stream at the very place where the light had been first seen, but was dissuaded on account of the height of the flood. She walked to and fro along the bank, just where the candle had moved, waiting for the subsiding of the water. She at length endeavoured to cross, but the poor girl was drowned in the attempt.' There was something mournful in this little anec- dote of rural superstition, that seemed to affect all the listeners. Indeed, it is curious to remark how completely a conversation of the kind will absorb the attention of a circle, and sober down its gaiety, how- ever boisterous. By degrees I noticed that every one was leaning forward over the table, with eyes earn- estly fixed upon the parson, and at the mention of corpse candles which had been seen about the cham- ber of a young lady who died on the eve of her wed- ding-day. Lady Lillycraft turned pale. I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the kind into various evening circles; Ihey were often commenced in jest, and listened to with smiles ; but I never knew the most gay or the most enlightened of audiences, that were nut, if the conversation con- timied for any length of time, completely and solemn- ly interested in it. There is, I believe, a degi-i^e of superstition lurking in every mind; and I doubt if any one can thoroughly examine all his secret notions and impulses without detecting it, hidden, perhaps, even from himself. It seems indeed to he a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, and to act independ- ently of our reason. It is often found existing in lofty natures, especially those that are poetical and aspir- ing. A great and extraordinary poet of our day, whose life and writings evince a mind subject to powerful exaltation, is said lo believe in omens and secret intimations. Caesar, it is well known, was greatly under the influence of such belief; and Napo- leon had his good and evil days, and his presiding star. As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that he is strongly inclined to superstition. He is naturally cre- dulous, and passes so much of his time searching out popular traditions and supernatural tales, that his mind has probably become infected by them. He has ' Aubrey's Mlscel. •is o78 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. i: i lately been immersed in the Demonolatria of Nicho- las Remigius concerning supernatural occurrences in Lorraine, and llie writings of Joachimus Camerarius, called by Vossius the Phienix of Germany; and he en- tertains the ladies with stories from tliem, that make them almost afraid to go to bed at niglit. I have been charmed myself with some of the wild lillle supersti- tions which he has adduced from Blefkenius, Schef- fer, and others; such as those of the Laplanders about the domestic spirits which wake them at night, and summon them to go and fish ; of Thor, the deity of tluiQder, who has imwer of life and death, health and sickness, and who, armed with the rainlmw, shoots his arrows at those evil demons that live on the tops of rocks and mountains, and infest the lakes; of the Juhles or Juhlafolket, vagrant troops of spirits, which roam the air, and wander up and down by forests and mountains and the moonlight sides of hills. The parson never openly professes his belief in ghosts, but I have remarked that he has a suspicious way of pressing great names into the defence of su- pernatural doctrines, and making philosophers and saints fight for him. He expatiates at large on the opinions of the ancient philosophers about larves, or nocturnal phantoms, the spirits of the wicked, which wandered like exiles about the earth ; and about those spiritual beings which abode in the air, but descended occasionally to earth, and mingled among mortals, act- ing as agents between them and the gods. He quotes also from Philo the rabbi, the contemporary of the apostles, and, acconling to some, the friend of St Paul, who says that the air is full of spirits of different ranks ; some destined to exist for a time in mortal Imlies, from which, being emancipated, they pass and repass between heaven and earth, as agents or messengers in the service of the deity. Out the worthy little man assumes a bolder tone when he quotes from the fathers of the church; such as St Jerome, who gives it as the opinion of all the doctors, that the air is filled with powers opposefl t'> each other; and Lactantius, who says that corrupt and dangerous spirits wander over the earth, and seek to console themselves for their own fall by effecting the ruin of the human race; and Clemens Alexan- drinus, who is of opinion that the souls of the bless- ed have knowledge of what passes among men, the same as angels have. I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have takien such hold of my imagination, that I cannot sleep. The room in which I sit is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The walls are hung with ta- pestry, the figures of which are faded, and look like unsubstantial shapes melting away from sight. Over the fire-place is the portrait of a lady, who, according to the housekeeper's tradition, pined to death fur the loss of her lover in the battle of hienheim. She has n most pale and plaintive countenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon me. The family have long tiince retired. I have heard their steps die away, and the distant doors clap to after them. The murmur of voices, and the peal of remote langhter, no lon^r reach the ear. The clock from the church, in which so many of the former inhabitants of this house li« buried, has chimed the awful hour of midnight. I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky landscape, watching the lights disappearing, one by one, from the distant village ; and the moon I rising in her silent majesty, and leading up all the j silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed upon these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imperfectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, mv mind has been crowded by " thick-coming fancies" | concerning those spiritual beings which toon tain -walk the eartli Unseen, boHi when we wake and when wc sleep." Are there, indeed, such beings? Is this space be- 1 tween us and the Deity fille<l up by innumerable or- ders of spiritual beings, forming the same gradations I l)etween the human soul and divine perfection, tliji i we see prevailing from humanity downwards to the I meanest insect? It is a sublime and lieautiful doc- 1 trine, inculcated by the early fathers, that there are I guardian angels appointed to watch over cities and] nations; to lake care of the welfare of good men, andi to guard and guide the steps of helpless inrancr.l " Nothing," says St Jerome, " gives us a greater ideal of the dignity of our soul, than that God has givenl each of us, at the moment of our birth, an angei to| have care of it." Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning io| visit the scenes and beings which were dear to thei during the body's existence, though it has been delu ed by the absurd sui)erstitions of the vulgar, in list is awfully solemn and sublime. However lighllyil may be ridiculed, yet the attention involuntarily yield ed to it whenever it is made the subject ofseriousdt cussion ; its prevalence in all ages and countries, i even among newly-discovered nations, that haveli no previous interchange of thought with other [ of the world, prove it to be one of those myslerioi and almost instinctive lieliefs, to which, if left loo selves, we should naturally incline. In spile of all the pride uf reason and philosophy,^ vague doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perl will never be perfectly eradicated; asit isconcen a matter that does not admit of positive demonstralio Every thing connected with our spiritual nature j full of doubt and difficulty. " We are fearfiillya wonderfully made ; " we are surrounded by mysteri and we are mysteries even to ourselves. Who [ has been able to comprehend and describe the nalo of the smU, its connexion with the liody, orini part of the frame it is situated ? We know vmi that it does exist; but whence it came, and ' entered into us, and how it is retained, and wheit| is seated, and how it operates, are all matters ofm speculation, and contradictory theories. If, then,! are thus ignorant of this spiritual essence, fveiiwli it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually ji I BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 579 lote laughter, no longer mi Ihe church, in which nlants of this house lie 1 hour of midnight. \v and mused upon the the lights disappearinj, 1 village ; and tlie hqood , and leading up all the I have gazed upon these | awns, silvered over, and ;s of dewy moonshine, my " ihick-coming fancies" leings which Ik tt\c eartti ke and wlien wc sleep." leings? Is this space be- 1 led up by innumerable or- rming the same gradations I ind divine perfection, tliat imanity downwards to the ;ublime and l)eauliful doc- arly fathers, that there ate 1 to watch over cities and e welfare of good men, and steps of helpless infancy] ne ' ' gives us a greater ideal I, than that God lias givcnl n't of our birth, an angel Kil eparted spirits returning to cs which were dear to llir ;e, though it has been del ilions of the vulgar, in ilsel Liblime. However ligl " attention involuntarily yiel jde the subject of serious di 1 all ages and countries, vered nations, that have of thought with other be one of those mysteri liefs, to which, if left to lly incline. ofreason and philosophy, Irk in the mind, and pe' Udicated;asiti8Concei [nit of positive demonslral with our spiritual nature Ity. "Weave fearfully ■ lare surrounded by mystei ;en to ourselves. Who Ihend and describe the nail In with thel1ody,orin- iiluated? Weknowmei hence it came, and wheti , it is retained, and where rates, are all matters o( lictory theories. If, to' spiritual essence, event! res, and is continually"^ to our consciousness, how can we pretend to ascer- laui or to deny its powers and operations when re- leased from its fleshly prison-house ? It is more the manner, therefore, in which this superstition has lieen degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that has lirought it into contempt. Raise it above the frivo- lous purposes to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror w^ith which it has been surround • (d and there is none of the whole circle of visionary creeds that could more delightfully elevate the ima- gination, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would l)econie a sovereign comfort at the bed of death, sooth- ing the hitler tear wrung from us by the agony of our mortal separation. Wiiat could l)c more consoling than the idea, that the souls of those whom we once loved were permitted to return and watch over our welfare ? That affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows wlien we slept, keeping a vigil over jourmost helpless hours ? That beauty and innocence, which had languished into the tomb, yet smiled un- n around us, revealing themselves in those blest ilreams wlierein we live over again Ihe hours of past endearment? A belief of this kind would, I should link, be a new incentive to virtue; rendering us cir- :uiii»itect even in our most secret laomenlji, from the lea that those we once loved and honoured were in- ible v'itnesses of all our actions. It would take away, too, from that loneliness and lestitution which we are apt to feel more and more we get on in our pilgrimage through the wilder- of this world, and lind that those who set for- ard with us, lovingly and cheerily, on the journey, iveone by one dropped away from our side. Place superstition in this light, and I confess I should e to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that is impatible with the tender and merciful nature of ir religion, nor revolting to Ihe wishes and affections the heart. There are departed beings that I have loved as I ver again shall love in this world ; — that have loved as I never again shall be loved ! If such beings ever retain in their blessed spheres the attachments [bich they felt on earth ; if they take an interest in lepoor concerns of transient mortality, and are per- itted to hold communion with those whom they ive loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour night, in this silence and solitude, I could receive ir visitation with the most solemn, but unalloyed, ilighl. In trnth, such visitations would be too happy for world; they would be incompatible with the na- e of this imperfect state of being. We are here iced in a mere scene of spiritual thraldom and re- inl. Our souls are shut in and limited by bounds barriers; shackled by mortal inflrmities, and sub- to all the gross impediments of matter. In vain old they seek to act independently of the body, and ingle together in spiritual intercourse. They can ly act here through their fleshly organs. Their y loves are made up of transient embraces and long separations. The most intimate friendship, of what brief and scattered portions of time does it con- sist! We take each other by the hand, and we ex- change a few words and looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few short moments, and then days, months, years inter>-ene, and we see and know nothing of each other. Or granting that we dwell together for the full season of this our mortal life, the grave soon closes its gates 'wtween us, and then our spirits are doomed to remain in separation and widow- hood, until they meet again in that more perfect state of being, where soul will dwell with soul in blissful communion, and there will be neither death, nor ab- sence, nor any thing else to interrupt our felicity. *+■*" In the foregoing paper I 'have allnded to the writings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. They abound with wild theories; but among them are many truly poetical flights, and their ideas are often very beautifully expressed. Their speculations on the na- ture of angels are curious and fanciful, though much resembling the doctrines of the ancient philosophers. Ii: Ihe writings of the Rabbi Eleazer is an account of the temptation of our first parents and the fall of the angels, which the parson pointed out to me as having probably furnished some of the groundwork for " Pa- radise Lost." According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said to the Deity, " What is there in man that thou mak- est him of such importance ? Is he any thing else than vanity? for he can scarcely reason a little on terrestrial things." To which God replied, " Do you imagine that I will be exalted and glorifled only by you here above ? I am the same below that I am here. Who is tljere among you that can call all Ihe creatures by their names?" There was none found among them that could do so. A t tliat moment Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their names. Seeing which, the ministering angels said among themselves, " Let us consult together how we may cause Adam to sin against the Creator, otherwise he will nut fail to become our master." Sammael, who was a great prince in the heavens, was present at this council, with the saints of the first order, and the seraphim of six bands. Sammael chose several out of Ihe twelve orders to accompany him, and descended below, for the purpose of visiting all the creatures which God had created. He found none more cunning and more lit to do evil than the serpent. The rabbi then treats of the seduction and the fall of man ; of the consequent fall of the demon, and Ihe punishment which God inflicted on Adam, Eve, and the serpent. " He made them all come before him; pronounced nine maledictions on Adam and Eve, and condemned Uiem to suffer death; and he precipitatal Sannna^l and all his band from heaven. He cut off Ihe feet of the serpent, which iiad before the figure of a camel (Samma<<l having been mounted on him), and ho cursed him among all beasts and animals." 380 URACEBRIDGE HALL. GENTILITY. -Tnie Gentrie standeth In the traik' ;; :::«5f. or virtuous life, not in the lleslily line ; For bloud is knit, but Genlrie is divine. MiRROH FOR U1GISTB4TES. I HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of the squire in the education of his sons; but I would not have it thought that his instructions were directed chiefly to ttieir personal accomplishments. He took great pains also to form their minds, and to inculcate what he calls good old English principles, such as are laid down in the writings of Peachem and his contempora- ries. There is one /luthor of whom lie cannot speak without indignation, which is Chesterfield. He avers that he did much, for a time, to injure the true na- tional character, and to introduce, instead of open manly sincerity, a hollow perfidious courtliness. '^ His maxims," he afTirms, " were calculated to chill the delightful enthusiasm of youth; to make them ashamed of that romance which is the dawn of gene- rous manhooti, and to impart to them a cold polish and a premature wordliness. " Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make a young man a mere man of pleasure; but an English gentleman should not be a mere man of pleasure. He has no right to such selfish indulgence. His ease, liis leisure, his opulence, are debts due to his country, which he must ever stand ready to discharge. He should be a man at all points, simple, frank, court- eous, intelligent, accomplished, and informed; upright, intrepid, and disinterested; one that can mingle among freemen ; that can cope with stales- men ; that can champion lus country and its rights either at home or abroad. In a country like England, where there is such free and unbounded scope for the exertion of intellect, and where opinion and example liave such weight with the people, every gentleman of fortune and leisure should feel himself bound to employ himself in some way towards promoting the prosperity or glory of the nation. In a country where intellect and action are trammelled and restrain- ed, men of rank and fortune may become idlers and tiillers with impunity; but an English coxcomb is inexcusable; and Ihis, perhaps, is the reason why he is the most offensive and insupportable coxcomb in the world." The squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, would often hold forth in this manner to his sous when Ihey were about leaving the paternal roof; one to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and one to the university. He used to liave them with him in the library, which is hung with the portraits of Sydney, Surrey, Raleigh, Wyat, and others. " Look at those models of true English gentlemen, my sons," he would say with enthusiasm; "those were men Ihat Avrealhcd the graces of Ihe most delicate and refined lasle aronnd Ihe stern viilues of Ihe soldier; ihal mingled what was gentle and gracious, with wim was hardy and manly; that possessed the true cbi- valry of spirit, which is the exalted essence of man. hood. They are the lights by which the youth of the countiy should array themselves. They were the patterns and the idols of their country at home- they were the illustrators of its dignity abroad. ' Sur- rey,' says Camden, < was the first nobleman that illus- trated his high birth with the beauty of learnin:;. He was acknowledged to be the gallantest man, die politest lover, and the completest gentleman of his time.' And as to Wyat, his friend Surrey most amiably testifies of him, that his person was majestic and beautiful, his visage 'stern and mild;' ihathe sung, and i)layed the lule with remarkable sweet- ness; spoke foreign languages with grace and fluencr and possessed an inexhaustible fund of wit. And see what a high commendation is passed upon these illus- trious friends : ' They were the two chieftains, vh, having travelled into Italy, and Ihere tasted Ihesveel and stately measures and style of the Italian poetry, greatly polished our rude and homely manner of vul- gar poetry from what it had been before, and tlieie- fore may be justly called the reformers ofourEn"- lish poetry and style.' And Sir Philip Sydney, vlw has left us such monuments of elegant Ihotiglit, and generous sentiment, and who illustrated liisciiivalt«oi{ spirit so gloriously in the field. And Sir Walter h leigh, the elegant courtier, the intrepid soldier, llit| enterprizing discoverer, the enlightened pliilnsoplier, the magnanimous martyr. These are the men Inl English gentlemen to study. Chesterfield, with lii cold and courtly maxims, would have chilled and ii poverislied such spirits. He would have blighted the budding romanceof their temperaments. Sydoej would never have WTitten his Arcadia, nor Sui have challenged the world in vindication of Ihebeai ties of his Geraldine. These are the men, my sum, the squire will continue, " that show to whatonr lional character may be exalted, when its strong powerful qualities are duly wrought up and refini The solidest bodies are capable of the highest polisl!; and there is no character that may be wrought lo more exquisite and unsullied brightness, than tlial the true English gentleman." When Guy was alwul to depart for the army, squire again took him aside, and gave him n longeij horlalion. He warned him against thai affeelali of cool-blooded indifference, which he was told cultivaled by the young British officers, among w it was a study to " sink the soldier" irithehiereni of fashion. " .* soldier," said he, "without and enlhusK '>.: in his profession, is a mere sanji nary hireling. Nothing dislinguis'ies him from mercenary bravo but a spirit of pa' riolism, or a ll for glory. It is the fashion, now-a-days, my said he, "lo laugh at the spirit of chivalry; that spirit is really extinct, the profession ol soldier liecoines a mere Irade of blood." lie H set before him the conduct of Edward the PriDC( neroa when prison inlobi attend nncov( I mount vas m I lieanty Itleman Final [son's hi iiimes, I fray; oi lextract (logy of; Jihe Lak( jthe exec llut! thoi Ihere llu earthly t bight ll lest frii ind thou tver lovei lliatever fiest pers tnlghts. (entlest tl lion were Sver put s EacI AlTui And Tliei Ifwa The As I was lasler Sim m the idely play icnce it c from am lysattrac [good hun ipalli, ar Ige, at 111 m gave U! How him !" proved w or foui ls<iil-clul ;rroiiml. BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 581 nd gracious, with what possessed the true chi- exalted essence of man- , by which tlie youth ol ihemselves. Tliey were f their country at home; its dignity abroad. 'Sur- e first nobleman that illus- tlie beauty of learnin'^, le the gallantest man, tlie npletest gentleman of his , his friend Surrey most at his person was majestic stern and mild;' that he ; with remarkable sweet- res with grace and (luency, lible fund of wit. And see n is passed upon these illus- re the two chieftains, who, and there tasted tliesveel style of the Italian poetry, and liomely manner of vul- lad been before, and there- the reformers ofourEng- \nd Sir Philip Sydney, Tshol nts of elegant thought, and who illustrated his chivalrom field. And Sir Walter Ra- er, the intrepid soUlier, Ik the enliglitened pliilosoplier, rr. These are the men k\ idy. Chesterfield, whh hi , would have chilled and ' He would have hlighlcd lieir temperaments. Syd iten his Arcadia, nor Sui fid in vindication of the hen hese are the men, my sons, "that show to what our exalted, when its strong ily wrought up and refini capable of the highest polish .rthat may he wrought to [dlied brightness, than thai It to depart for the army.W )ide, and gave him a longfl him against that affeclaM ^nce, which he was told iH (British officers, aiiiong win 1 the soldier" in the I'-efen jr," saidhe, "willioutl Vofcssion, is a mere san^ dislinguis'ies him from If Ppiritofpnriotism,orall« Bnon, now-a-<1ays, royf" Ue spirit of chivalry; ' [tinct, the profession ol l I trade of blood." Ho l' tiduct of Kdwavd (he H" Prince, who is his mirror of chivalry; valiant, ge- neioos, affable, humane; gallant in the field : but when he came to dwell on his courtesy towards his prisoner, the king of France; how he received him into bis tent, rather as a conqueror than as a captive; attended on him at table like one of his retinue ; rode uncovered beside him on his entry into London, mounted on a common palfrey, while his prisoner was mounted in state on a white steed of stately beauty; the tears of enthusiasm stood in the old gen- tleman's eyes. Finally, on taking leave, the good squire put in his son's hands, as a manual, one of his favourite old vo- lumes, the Life of the Chevalier Bayai-d, by Gode- froy; on a blank page of which he had written an extract from the Mort d' Arthur, containing the en- logy of Sir Ector over the body of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, which the squire considers as comprising the excellencies of a true soldier. "Ah, Sir Launce- |lot! thou wert head of all Christian knights ; now here thou liest : thou were never matched of none ■arlhly knights'hands. And thou wert the curtiest ;night that ever bare shield. And thou were the lest friend to thy lover that ever best rood horse; ind thou were the truest lover of a sinfuU man that iver loved woman. And thou were the kindest man hat ever strook with sword ; and thou were the gootl- liest person that ever came among the presse of ;nighls. And thou were the meekest man and the kentlest that ever eate in hall among ladies. And Uion were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that Iver put speare in the rest." FORTUNE-TELLING. Eaeli city, eacli town, and every village, AfTurds us oither an alms or i)illngc. And if lliu vt'catlier lie cold and raw, Then ill a barn we tumble on straw. Ifwariii and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock, The Oelds will afford us a hedge or a hay-cock. Mkbhy Beggars. ] As I was walking one evening with (he Oxonian, ■aster Simon, and the general, in a meadow nut far pin the village, we heard the sound of a fiddle, played, and looking in the direction from hence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling I from among the trees. The sound of music is al- lys attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there |guod humour, or good-will. We passed along a Hpath, and had a peep, through a break in the Ige, at the musician and his party, when the Oxo- hn gave us a wink, and told us that if we would llflw him we should have some sport, lit proved lo be a gipsy encampment, consisting of V or four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets fl sjiil-clolh, spread over hoops that were stuck in ' ground. It was on one side of a green lane, close under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad beech-tree spreading above it. A small rill tingled along close by, through the fresh sward, that looked like a carpet. A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of iron, over a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and two old gipsies, in red cloaks, sat crouched on the grass, gossiping over their evening cup of tea; for these creatures, though they live in the open air, have their ideas of fireside comforts. There were two or three children sleeping on the straw with which the tents were littered ; a couple of donkeys were grazing in the lane, and a thievish-looking dog was lying before the fire. Some of the younger gip- sies were dancing to the music of a fiddle, playeil by a tall slender stripling, in .m old frock coat, with a peacock's feather stuck in his hatband. As we approached, a gipsy girl, with a pair of fine roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to tell our fortunes. I could not but admire a certain de- gree of slattern elegance about the baggage. Her lung black silken hair was curiously plaited in nu- merous small braids, and negligently put up in a pic- turesque style that a painter might have been proud to have devised. Her dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over clean, but of a variety of most harmonious and agreeable colours ; for these beings have a singularly fine eye for colours. Her straw hat was in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm. The Oxonian offered at once to have his fortune told, and the girl began with the usual volubility of her race; but he drew her on one side, near the hedge, as he said he had no idea of having his secrets overheard. I saw he was talking to her instead of she to him, and by his glancing towards us now and (hen, that he was giving the baggage some private hints. When they returned to us, he assumed a very serious air. "Zounds!" saidhe, "it's very astonishing how these creatures come by their know- ledge; this girl has told me some things that I thought no one knew but myself! " The girl now assailed the general : "Come, your honour," said she, " I see by your face you're a lucky man ; but you're not happy in your mind ; you're not, indeed, sir : but have a gomi heart, and give me a good piece of silver, and I'll tell you a nice for- tune." The general had received all her approaches with a banter, and had suffered her to gel hold of his hand; but at the mention of the piece of silver, he hemmed, looked grave, and turning to us, asked if we had not better continue our walk. " Come, my master," said the girl, archly, "you'd not be in such a hurry if you knew all that I could tell you about a fair lady that has a notion for you. Come, sir, old love burns strong; there's many a one comes to sec weddings that go away brides themselves ! " — Here f.he girl whispered suincthing in a low voice, at which the general coloureii up, was a liKlu fluttered, and suffered himself to lie ilrawn aside under tlie hedge, 582 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. $ where he appeared to listen to Iter with great earn- estness, and at the end paid her half-a-erown with the air of a man that has got the worth of his money. The girl next made her attack upon Master Simon, who, however, was too old a bird to be caught, kiiow- iug that it would end in an attack upon his purse, about which lie is a little sensitive. As he has a great notion, however, of being considered a royster, he chucked her under the chin, played her off with rather broad jokes, and put on something of tlie rake- helly air, that we see now and then assumed on (he stage, by the sad-boy gentlemen of the old school. ''Ah, your honour," said the girl, with a malicious leer, " you were not in such a tantrum last year, when I told you about tlie widow you know who ; but if you had taken a friend's advice, you'd never have come away irom Doncaster races with a flea in your ear ! " There was a secret sting in this speech that seem- ed quite to disconcert Master Simon. He jerked away his hand in a pet, smacked his whip, wliistled to his dogs, and intimated that it was high time to go home. The girl, however, was determined not to lose her harvest. She now turned upon me, and as I have a weakness of spirit where there is a pretty face concerned, she soon wheedled me out of my money, and, in return, read me a fortune; which, if it prove true, and I am determined to believe it, will make me one of the luckiest men in the chronicles of Cupid. I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all this oracular mystery, and was disposed to amuse himself with the general, whose tender approaches to the widow have attracted the notice of the wag. I was a little curious, however, to know the mean- ing of the dark hints which had so suddenly discon- certed Master Simon ; and took occasion to fall in the rear with the Oxonian on our way home, when he laughed heartily at my questions, and gave me ample information on the subject. The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon has met with a sad rebuff since my Christmas visit to the Hall. He used at that time to be joked about a widow, a fine dashing woman, as he privately in- formed me. I had supposed the pleasure he betrayed on these occasions resulted from the usual fondness of old baclielors for being teased about gelling mar- ried, and about flirting, and being flckle and false- hearted. I am assured, however, that Master Simon had really persuaded himself the widow had a kind- ness for liiui ; in consequence of which he had been at some extraordinary expense in new clothes, and had actually got Frank Bracebridge to order him a coat from Stultz. He began to throw out hints about the importance of a man's settling himself in life be- fore he grew old ; he would look grave whenever the widow and matrimony were mentioned in the same sentence ; and privately asked the opinion of the stpiire and parson about the prudence of marrying a widow with a rich jointure, but who had several children. An important member of a great family connexion cannot harp much upon the theme of matrimonv I without its taking wind ; and it soon got buzzed aboiii that Mr Simon Bracebridge was actually gone to Don. caster races, with a new horse ; but that he meant to return in a curricle with a lady by his side. Master Simon did, indeed, go to the races, and that wiih , new horse ; and the dashing widow did make Iter ap- pearance in her curricle ; but it was unfortunately b; a strapping young Irish Dragoon, with whom even Master Simon's self-complacency" would not allot I him to venture into competition, and to whom she I was married shortly after. It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon I for several months, having never before been fuiul committed. The dullest Iiead in the family had J joke upon him ; and tliere is no one tliat likes le^stoj lie bantered than an absolute joker. He took refuge! for a time at Lady Lillycraft's, until the mailer slioukj I blow over; and occupied himself by looking over her I accounts, regulating the village choir, and inculcat-l ing loyalty into a pet bullfinch, by teaching him io| whistle " God save the King. " He has now pretty nearly recovered from the mor-l tification ; holds up liis head ; and laughs as much ail any one ; again affects to pity married men, and js| particularly facetious about widows, when Lady Lil-[ iycraft is not by. His only time of trial is when I general gels hold of him, who is infinitely heavy amil perseveringin his waggery, and will interweave a dulif joke through the various topics of a whole dinner tinie| Master Simon often parries these attacks by a slan: from his old work of " Cupid's Solicitor for love : " " 'Tis in vain to wooe a widow over long, In once or twice her mind yoii may perceive; Widows are siiI>Ue, be tliey old or youn^, And by their wiles young men they will deceive.' LOVE-CHARMS. -Come, do not weep, my giri, Forget him, pretty pensivcness ; there will Come others, every day, as good as he. Siu J. SUCUIIK, The approach of a wedding in a family is alffaa an event of great importance, but particularly so in j household like this, in a retired part of the counl[|^ Master Simon, who is a pervading spirit, and, ibroii! means of the butler autl housekeeper, knows eT(i| thing that goes forward, tells me that the maid-« vants are continually trying their fortunes, and I the servants' -hall has of late been quite a scene ofij canlation. It Is amusing to notice how the oddities of Ibeb of a family flow down through all the brandies. s(|uire, in the indulgence of his love of every llii that smacks of old times, has hdd so many i BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 58.> conversations with the parson at table, about popular superstitions and traditional rites, that they have been carried from the parlour to the kitchen by the listen- in" domestics, ami, being api»rently sanctioned by sQcli high authority, the wliole house has become in- fected by them. The servants are all versed in the common modes |of trying luck, and the charms to ensure constancy. Tliey read their fortunes by drawing strokes in the MJies, or by repealing a form of words, and looking in a pail of water. Si Mark's eve, I am told, was a busy lime with them ; being an appointed night for certain mystic ceremonies. Several of Ihem sowed jhemp-seed lo be reaped by their true lovers, and they |e>'en ventured upon the solemn and fearful prepa- ilion of the dumb-cake. This must be done fasting, ind in silence. The ingredients are handed down traditional form. " An eggshell full of salt, an t<^heil full of malt, and an eggshell full of barley- leal. " When the cake is ready, it is put upon a mover the (ire, and the future husband will appear, turn the oake and retire; but if a word is spoken, or a St is broken, during this awful ceremony, there is iiiiowing what Iwrrible consequences would ensue! Tiie experiments, in the present instance, came to result; they that sowed the hemp-seed forgot the lagic riiyme that they were to pronounce, so the le lover never appeared ; and as to the dumb-cake, rliat between the awful stillness they had to keep, \dthe awfulness of the midnight hour, their hearts ^iled Ihem when they had put the cake in the pan ; that, on the striking of the great house-clock in the trvants'-liail, they were seized with a sudden panic, id ran out of the room, to which they did not return nil morning, when they found the mystic cake burnt I a cinder. The most persevering at these spells, however, is icebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. As she is kind of privileged personage, and rather idle, she IS more time to occupy herself with these mailers. le lias always had her head full of love and matri- my. She knows the dream-book by heart, and is lite an oracle among the little girls of the family, lio always come to her to interpret tlieir dreams ui Je mornings. |Diiring the present gaiety of the house, however, : poor girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to e the housekeeper's words, "has fallen into a sad stericky way lately. " It seems that she was born i brought up in the village, where her father was Hsii clerk, and she was an early playmate and housekeeper, knows evdMeeiiuaft ^f young Jack Tibbets. Since she has I great family connexion le theme of matrimony 1 it soon got buzzed about I ras actually gone loDoft. 1 )rse ; but that he meant lady by his side. Master e races, and that with a ; widow did n>ake lier ap- It it was unfortunately bj agoon, with whom even acency" would not allow elition, and to whom she I chagrin to Master Simon ; never before l)een fuUj liead in the family liad a is no one tliat likes less to iite joker. He took refuge fl's, until the mailer sliould limself by looking over her village choir, ami inculcat- llinch, by teaching him lo ing." ly recovered from Ihe mot- ad ; and laughs as much a* pily married men, and is jt widows, when Lady lil ily time of trial is when ll who is inlinitely heavy aiiil| y , and will interweave a dull opics of a whole dinner time, •ies these attacks by a slai apid's Solicitor for love: widow over long, mind you may perceive; iiey otd or younR, ung mcu Uiey wiU deceive." CHARMS. Inotweep, mygiri, tnsiveness ; tlierc will lay, as good as lie. ' SIU 1. SBCiUM. Idding in a family is alwaij ance, but particularly so inl I retired part of the counlH lervading spirit, and, ihroif I, tells me that the maid-i linglbeir fortunes, andi [late been quite a scene o( I how the oddities of the ll Irough all Ihe brandies, te of his love of every lli has htild so many i he to live at the Hall, however, her head has l)een little turned. Being very pretty, and naturally bteel, she has been much noticed and indulged ; 1 being the housekeeper's niece, she has held an pocal station between a servant and a companion. hag learnt somethir j of fashions and notions ^ng the young ladies, which have effected quite a lamorphosis ; insomuch that her finery at churah on Sundays has given mortal offence to her former in- tinoates ui the village. This has occasioned Ihe mis- representations which have awakened tiie implacable family pride of Dame Tibbets. But what is worse, Pho-be, having a spice of coquetry In her disposition, showed it on one or two occasions to her lover, which produced a downright quarrel ; and Jack, being very proud and fiery, has absolutely turned his back upon her for several successive Sundays. The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, and would fain make up with her lover; but he feels his security, and stands aloof. In this he is doubtless en- couraged by his mother, who is continually reminding him what he owes to his family; for this same family pride seems doomed to be the eternal bane of lovers. As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, I have felt quite concerned for the luckless Phoebe, ever since I heard her story. It is a sad thing to be thwarted in love at any time, but particularly so at this tender season of the year, when every living thing, even to Ihe very butterfly, is sporting with its male; and (he green fields, and the budding groves, and the singing of the birds, and the sweet smell of the flowers, are enough to turn the head of a love-sick giri. I am told that the coolness of young Ready-Money lies very heavy at poor PhoRbe's heart. Instead of singing alwut the house as formerly, she goes about pale and sighing, and is apt to break into tears when her com- panions are full of merriment. Mrs Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady Lillycraft, has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, up and down the avenue, of an evening; and has en- deavoured to squeeze some of her own verjuice into the other's milky nature. She speaks with contempt and abhorrence of Ihe whole sex, and advises Phflebe to despise all the men as heartily as she does. But Pho'be's loving temper is not to be curdled ; she has no such thing as hatred or contempt for mankind iu her whole composition. She has all the simple fond- ness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman; and her only thoughts at present are, how to conciliate and reclaim her wayward swain. The spells and love-charms, which are matters of sport to the other domestics, are serious concerns with this love-stricken damsel. She is continually trying her fortune in a variety of ways. I am told that she has absolutely fasled for six Wednesdays and three Fridays successively, having understood that it was a sovereign charm to ensure being married to one's liking within the year. She carries about, also, a lock of her sweetheart's hair, and a riband he once gave her, being a mode of producing constancy in her lover. She even went so far as to try her fortune by the moon, which has always had much to do whh lo- vers' dreams and fancies. For this purpose she went out in the night of the full moon, knelt on a stone in the meadow, and repeated the old traditional rhyme -. "All liail to thee, moon, all hail to thee; I pray thee, good moon, now sliow lo mo The youth who my future husband shall bo." 584 BILVCEBRIDGE HAI.L. I«v I. m \H When she came back to the house, she was faint and pale, and went immediately to bed. The next morning she told the porter's wife that she had seen some one close by the hedge in the meadow, which she was sure was young Tibbets; at any rate, she had dreamt of him all night ; both of which, the old dame assured her, were most happy signs. It has since turned out that the person in the meadow was old Christy, the huntsman, who was walking his nightly rounds with the great stag-hound ; so that Phoebe's faith in the charm is completely shaken. THE LIBRARY. Yesterday the fair Julia made her first appearance down stairs since her accident ; and the si;;;ht of her spread an universal cheerfulness through the house- hold. She was extremely pale, however, and could not walk without pain and difficulty. She was as- sisted, therefore, to a sofa in the library, which is pleasant and retired, looking out among trees; and so quiet, that the little birds come hopping upon the windows, and peering curiously into the apartment. Here several of the family gathered round, and devis- ed means to amuse her, and make the day pass plea- santly. Lady Lillycraft lamented the want of some new novel to while away the time; and was almost in a pet, because the "Author of Waverley" had not produced a work for the last three months. There was a motion made to call on the parson for some of his old legends or ghost stories ; but to this Lady Lillycraft objected, as they were apt to give her the vapours. General Ilarbottle gave a minute ac- count, fur the sixth time, of the disaster of a friend in India, who had his leg bitten off by a tiger, whilst he was imnting; and was proceeding to menace the company with a chapter or two about Tippoo Saib. At length the captain bethought himself, and said, he believed he had a manuscript tale lying in one corner of bis campaigning tiunk, which, if he could fmd, and the company were desirous, he would read to them. The offer was eagerly accepted. He re- tired, and soon returned with a roll of blotted ma- nuscript, in a very gentlemanlike, but nearly illegible, hand, and a great part written on cartridge-paper. " It is one of the scribblings," said he, " of my poor friend, Charles Lightly, of the dragoons. He was a curious, romantic, studious, fanciful fellow; the fa- vourite, and often the unconscious butt of his fellow officers, who entertained themselves with his eccen- tricities. He was in some of the hardest service in the peninsula, and distinguished himself by his gal- lantry. When the intervals of duty permitted, he was fond of roving about the country, visiting noted places, and was extremely fond of Moorish ruins. When at his quarters, lie was a great scribbler, and passed much of his leisure with his pen in his hand. ''As I was a much yunngcr officer, and a very young man, he took me, in a manner, under his cartf and we liecame close frienils. He useil often to reail his writings to me, having a great confidence inoiy I taste, for I always praised them. Poor fellow ! he wj, I shot down close by me at Waterloo. We lay wound- ed together fur some lime, during a hard contest ilut took place near at hand. As I was least hurl, I tried to relieve him, and to stanch the blood which flowed from a wound in his breast. He lay with his head in I my lap, and looked up thankfully in my face, but shook I his head faintly, and made a sign that it was all overl with him; and, indeed, he died a few muuilesafler-l wards, just as our men had repulsed the enemy, anjl came to our relief. I have his favonrite dog and his] pistols to this day, and several of his manuscripts,! which he gave to me at different times. The one i| am now going to read, is a tale which he said hel wrote in Spain, during the time that he lay ill of J wound received at Salamanca." We now arranged ourselves to hear the story.l The captain seated himself on the sofa, beside tiieiii(| Julia, who I had noticed to be somewhat affecled bfl the picture he had carelessly drawn of wounds a dangers in a fieid of battle. She now leaned her ami fouifiy on his ^J.ouUler, and her eye glistened asii rested on the iji.?nuscript of the poor literary drago( Lady Lillycrafl uuiied herself in a deep, well-cushi ed elbow-chair. Her dogs were nestled on soft a^ at her feet; and the gallant general took his stalii in an arm-chair, at her side, and toyed with liereit gantly ornamented work-bag. The rest of tlie,cir being all e(iually well accommodated, the captain ii gan his story ; a copy of which I have procured ford iKnetil of the reader. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. what a life doe I IcacI with my master ; nothing l)ut blo«iii;i| iMillowes, beating of spirits, and scratnng of crosleLs ! It isan secret science, for none almost can understand tlic language (<H Sublimation, almigalion, calcination, rubiflcatiun, albiiiu and fermentation; witli as many tcrmes uniwssible tokuiiti as the arte to be compassed. Lilly's GAumu,| OxcE upon a time, in the ancient city of Grani there sojourned a young man of the name of All nio de Castros. He wore the garb of a s Salamanca, and was pursuing a course of readiiijl the library of the university; and, at inlervalsoflT sure, indulging his curiosity by examining liioseij mains of Moorish magniiicence for which Graiiadil renowned. Whilst occupied in his studies, he frequently l ticed an old man of a singular appearance, likewise a visitor to the library. He was leani withered, though apparently more from study i from age. His eyes, though bright and vliioi BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 385 gcr officer, and a very manner, under his care, . He usetl often lo read I great confidence in my !m. Poor fellow ! he va aterloo. AVe lay woimil- uiing a hard conlestlhai si was least hurt, I irieii li the Wood which flowed He lay with his head in fully in my face, buisliook a sign that it was all over s died a few minutes after- 1 repulsed the enemy, and ihis favourite dog and liij everal of his manuscripts, ifferenl times. The one ll s a tale which he said lie le time that he lay ill of i| mca." rselves to hear the story. If on the sofa, beside llieiin] 10 be somewhat affected bji ;ssly drawn of wounds ii e. She now leaned her ani{ and her eye glistened ask of the poor literary drai .iselfinadeep,wdkushk )gs were nestled on soft nut ant general took his stati( side, and toyed with here! i-bag. The rest of lli^ commodated, the captain which I have procured for ' OF SALAMANCA. I my master ; nothing but Uom rtdscraiiiiigofcroslcus: UisJTrt 8i can undentand tlie languaseol' llcination, rubificatioii, albii ny icrracs uiiiwssiWelobeull LlLU'S GALUTBU. ithe ancient city of Grai ig man of the name of Ai lore the garb of a studenlj rsuingacourseofreadinj jrsity;and,atinler«alsol' iosity by examining Hiose ficence for which Giaiwhl ^is stiuVies, he frequemly iingular appearance, wlio k library. He was lean [lently more from study kough bright and visif were sunk in his head, and thrown into shade by overhanging eye-brows. His dress was always the ume: a black doublet, a short black cloak, very rusty and threadbare, a small ruff, and a large over- shadowing hat. His appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable. He voidd pass whole days in the library absorbed in study, consulting a multiplicity of authors, as though he were pursuing some interesting subject through all its rainificaliuns ; so that, in general, when even- in' came, he was almost buried among Iwoka and manuscripts. The curiosity of Antonio was excited, and be in- luired of the attendants concerning the stranger. No ine coidd give him any information, excepting that le had been for some time past a casual frequenter I |i,e library ; that his reading lay chiefly among orks treating of the occult sciences, and that he k'as particularly curious in his impiiries after Ara- lian manuscripts. They added, that he never held mmunication with any one, excepting to ask for iriicniar works ; that, after a fit of studious appli- ition he would disappear for several days, and even eeks, and when he revisited the library, he would ik more withered and haggard than ever. The indent fell inlerestetl by this account; he waslead- z rather a desultory life, and had all that capri- curiosity which springs up in idleness. He ilermined to make himself acquainted with this ik-worm, and find out who and what he was. The next lime that he saw the old man at the li- ary he commenced his approaches, by requesting •mission to look into one of the volumes with which le unknown appeared to have done. The latter rely bowed his head in token of assent. After elending to look through the volume with great ention, he returned it with many acknowledg- inls. The stranger made no reply. " May I ask, senor," said Antonio, with some he- lalion, " may I ask what you are searching after all these books?" The old man raised his head, with an expression surprise, at having his studies interrupted for the ;t time, and by so intrusive a question. He sur- ed the student with a side glance from head to t: "Wisdom, my son," said he, calmly; "and search requires every moment of my attention." then cast his eyes upon his book and resumed studies. But, father," said Antonio, " cannot you spare loment to point out the road to others ? It is to lienced travellers, like you, that we strangers in paths of knowledge nuist look for directions on journey." he stranger looked disturbed : " I have not lime lugli, my son, to learn," said he, " much less to :h. I am ignorant myself of the path of true wledge; how then can I show it to others? " Well, but, father—" Senor," said the old man, mildly, but earnestly, " yoa must see that I have but Tew steps more to the grave. In that short space have I to accomplkh the whole business of my existence. I have no time for words ; every wortl is as one grain of sand of my glass wasted. Suffer me to be alone." There was no replying to so complete a closing of the door of intimacy. The student found himself calmly, hut totally repulsed. Though curious and inquisitive, yet he was naturally moflest, and on after- thoughts he blushed at his own intrusion. His mind soon became occupied by other objects. He passed several days wandering among the mouldering piles of Moorish architecture, those melancholy monuments of an elegant and voluptuous people. He paced the deserted halls of the Alhambra, the paiadise of the Moorish kings. He visited the great court of the lions, famous for the perfidious massacre of the gal- lant Abencerrages. He gazed with admiration at its mosaic cupolas, gorgeously |>ainted in gold and aznre; its basins of marble, its alabaster vase, supported by lions, and storied with inscriptions. His imagination kindled as he wandered among these scenes. They were calculated to awaken all the enthusiasm of a youthful mind. Most of the halls have anciently been beautified by fountains. The fine taste of the Arabs delighted in the sparkling pu- rity and reviving freshness of water, and they erected, as it were, altars on every side, to that delicate ele- ment. Poetry mingles with architecture in the Al- hambra. It breathes along the very walls. Wher- ever Antonio turned his eye, he beheld inscriptions in Arabic, wherein the perpetuity of Moorish power and splendour within these walls was confidently pre- dicted. Alas ! how has the prophecy heen falsified ! Many of the basins, where the fountains had once thrown up their sparkling showers, were dry and dusty. Some of the palaces were turned into gloomy convents, and the bare-foot monk paced through those conrts, which had once glittered with the ar- ray, and echoed to the music of Moorish chivalry. In the course of his rambles, the student more than once encountered the old man of the library. He was always alone, and so full of thought as not to notice any one about him. He appeared to be intent upon studying those half-buried inscriptions, which are found, here and there, among the Moorish ruins, and seem to murmur from the earth the tale of for- mer greatness. The greater part of these have since been translated; but they were supposed by many, at the time, to contain symbolical revelations, and golden maxims of the Arabian sages and astrologers. As Antonio saw the stranger apparently decyphering these inscriptions, he felt an eager longing to make his acquaintance, and to participate in his curious researches; but the repulse he had met with at the library deterred him from making any further ad- vances. He had directed his steps one evening to the sacred mount, which overlooks the beautiful valley watered by the Darro, the fertile plain of the Vega, and all 49 ggR .186 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, •K .!, ,('■'(51 I llutriclidiversltyof valeand mountain, that surrounds Granada wilh an earthly paradise. It was twili^^ht when he found himself at the place, where, at the present day, are situated the cliapels known by the name of tlie Sacred Furnaces. They are so called fram gnittoes, in which some of the primitive saints arc said to have l>cen burnt. At the time of Anto- nio's visit, the place was an object of much curiosity. In an excavation of tliese {grottoes, several manu- 8cri|)t8 had recently been discovered, engraved on plates of lead. They were written in the Arabian language, excepting one, which was in unknown characters. The pope had issued a bull, forbidding any one, under pain of excommunication, to speak of these manuscripts. The prohibition had only ex- cited the greater curiosity; and many reports were whispered about, that these manuscrip(s contained treasures of dark and forbidden knowledge. As Antonio was examining the place from whence these mysterious manuscripts Iiad been drawn, he again observed the old man of the library, wandering among the ruins. His curiosity was now fully awak- ened ; the time and place served to stimulate it. He resolved to watch this groper after secret and forgot- ten lore, and to trace him to his halnlation. There was something like adventure in the thing, that charmed his romantic disposition. He followed the stranger, therefore, at a little distance ; at first cau- tiously, but he soon observed him to be so wrapped in his own thoughts, as to take little heed of external objects. They passed along by the skirts of the mountain, and then by the shady banks of the Darro. They pur- sued (heir way, forsomedistance from Granada, along a lonely road that led among the hills. The gloom of evening was gathering, and it was quite dark when the stranger stopped at the portal of a solitary man- sion. It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined fragment, of what had once been a pile of some consequence. The walls were of great thickness ; tlie windows nar- row, and generally secured by iron bars. The door was of planks, studded with iron spikes, and had been of great strength, though at present it was much de- cayed. At one end of the mansion was a ruinous tower, in the Moorish style of architecture. The edifice had probably been a country retreat, or castle of pleasure, during the occupation of Granada by the Moors, and rendered sufHciently strong to withstand any casual assault in those warlike times. The old man knocked at the portal. A light ap- peared at a small window just above it, and a female head looked out : it might liave served as a model for one of Raphael's saints. The hair was beautifully braided, and gathered in a silken net; and the com- plexion, as well as could be judged from the light, was that soft, rich brunette, so becoming in southern beauty. "It is I, my child," said the old man. The face instantly disappeared, and soon after a wicket-door in the large porta) opened. Antonio, who had ventor- c<] near to the building, caught a transient sight of a delicate female form. A pair of fine black eyes dart- ed a look of surprise at seeing a stranger liovering near, and the door was precipitately closed. There was something in this sudden gleam o( | beauty that wonderfully struck the imagination urtbc j student. It was like a brilliant flashing from its dark casket. He saunteretl about, regarding the jrlooniT pile with increasing interest. A few simple, vU notes, from among some rocks and trees at a little distance, attracted his attention. He found there a group of Gitanas, a vagabond gipsy race, which at that time alwunded in Spain, and lived in hovels anil caves of the hills about the neighbourhood of Ciranada. Some were busy about a fire, and others were listen- ing to the uncouth music which one of their compa- nions, seated on a ledge of the rock, was muking with I a split reed. Antonio endeavoured to obtain some information I of them concerning the old building and its inhabit-f ants. The one who appeared to be their spokestiunl was a gaunt fellow, with a subtle gait, a whisperinfl voice, and a sinister roll of the eye. He shriiggedl his shoulders on the student's inquiries, and said ihatl all was not right in that building. An old man in-| habited it, whom nobody knew, and whose faniiijl appeared to be only a daughter and a female serrantlT He and his companions, he added, lived up among tin neighbouring hills ; and as they had been about a night, they had often seen strange lights, and lieai^ strange sounds from the tower. Some of the counir people, who worked in the vineyards among the hi believed the old man to be one that dealt in thebia art, and were not over-fond of passing near tlie tove^ at night; " but for our parts," said the Gitano, "i are not a people that trouble ourselves much < fears of that kind." The student endeavoured to gain more precise i formation, but they had none to furnish him. l\n l)egan to be solicitous for a compensation for whatthi had already imparted; and recollecting the lonelii of the place, and the vagabond character of his ( panions, he was glad to give them a gratuity, i hasten homewards. He sat down to his studies, but his brain was too II of what he had seen and heard; his eye wasi page, but his fancy still returned to the tower, andlj was continually picturing the little window, withll l>eauliful head peeping out ; or the door half open,* the nymph-like form within. He retired to \xi,i the same objects haunted his dreams. He wasyoi and susceptible ; and the excited state of his feeiii from wandering among the abodes of departed j and gallantry, had predisposed him for a sudden ii pression from female beauty. The next morning he strolled again in the dit< of the tower. It was still more forlorn by the 1 glare of day than in the gloom of evening. Then were crumbling, and weeds and moss wave gro* |cou!ddis pm the ala ntlifiil. iamberof [Presently pie voice jlened. It "gnised ii Tages on i full of J pigliteofej fthel)anks DIIACEBUIDGE HALL. .T87 lonlo, who had venlar- Itt a transient sight of a ■of fine black eyes dari- ng a stranger hovering | [tilately dosed. , titis sudden gleam o( I ck tlic imagination uttbt nl Hashing from its ilarii t, regarding llie ploomj it. A few simple, vU ocks and trees al a little lion, lie found there a I »nd gipsy race, which at I 1 and lived in hovels and I Bi"'hl)ourhowl of Granada. I •e, and others were lislen- I'hich one of their compa- Ihe rock, was making with I ) obtain some information J building and its iiiliabil-l n-ed to be their spokcsniaii| J subtle gait, a \vlilxp«rinf of the eye. He shriigjeill lU's imiuiries, and said thall luilding. An old man in-I y knew, and whose faniilTJ frhter and a female servantj le added, lived up among 111 as they had been about en strange lights, and hean ;ower. Some of die counir le vineyards among the li )e one that dealt in the blJ nd of passing near the lows arts," said the Gitano, "r ■ouble ourselves much red to gain more precise Lione to furnish him. Tl fa compensation for whati id recollectnig Uie loneib Ubond character of his c [give them a gratuity, and i lies, but his brain was too [heard; his eye was upon leturned to the tower, andl Ig the little window, with' ]ut; or the door half open, thin. He retired to bed, [his dreams. Hewasjf K excited state of his fe«l [the abodes of departed lisposed him for a sudden Vuty- ,, ,. IstroUed again m the an Im more forlorn by ihe koom of evening. The feeds and moss were g«" iu evei7 crevice. It had the look of a prison rather llian a dwelling-house. In one angle, liowever, he f Tked a window which seemed an exception to (lie .irrouiHliag sr^ualidness. There was a curtain drawn within i*, and ilowei-s standing onihe window- stone. \Vliilst he was looking at it, Ihe curtain was partially withdrawn, and a delicate while arm, of the most beautiful roundness, was put forth to water the flowers. The student made a noise to attract the attention of the fair florist. He succeeded. The curtain was furllier drawn, and he had a glance of Ihe same lovely face he had seen the evening before : it was but a mere glance; die curtain again fell, and the casement clos- ed. All this was calculated to excite the filings of a romantic youth. Had he seen the unknown under other circumstances, it is probable that he would not have Iwen struck with her beauty ; but this appearance of being shut up and kept aymt gave her ihe value of a treasured gem. He passed and repassed before the [house several times in the course of Ihe day, but saw lOlliing more. He was there again in the evening, he whole aspect of the house was dreary. The nar- iw windows emilled no rays of cheerful light, to in- icate that there was social life within. Anionic itened al the portal, but no sound of voices reached lis ear. Just then he heard the clapping to of a di- nt door, and fearing to be detected in the unworthy ;t of eavesHlropping, he precipitately drew off to Ihe iposite side of lite road, and stood in the shadow of rouied archway. He now remarked a light from a window in the iwer. It was fitful and changeable; commonly !ble and yellowish, as if from a lamp; with an oc- ional glare of some vivid metallic colour followed y a dusky glow. A column of dense smoke would w and then rise in the tiir, and hang like a canopy er Ihe lower. There was altogetl'.er such a lone- lessand seeming mystery about the building and its labitants, that Antonio was half inclined to indulge le country people's notions, and to fancy it the den some powerful sorcerer, and the fair damsel lie id seen to he some spellbound beauty. After some time had elapsed, a light appeared in le window where he had seen the bcaulifid arm. e curtain was down, but it was so thin that he Id perceive the shadow of some one passing and ing between it and the light. He fancied that could distinguish that the form was delicate; and im the alacrity of its movements, it was evidently ithful. He had not a doubt but this was the bed- T of his beautiful unknown. Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and a fe- ile voice singing. Ile^lrew near cautiously, and ened. It was a plaintive Moorish ballad, and he (gnisetl iu it the lamentations of one of the Aben- ages on leaving the walls of lovely Granada. It full of passion and tenderness. It spoke of the ighls of early life; the hours of love it had enjoyed the banks of the Darro, and among the blissful abodes of the Alhainbra. It Ltewailetl Ihe fallen ho- iioi'rs of the A liencerrages, and imprecated vengeance on their oppressors. Antonio was alTecled by the music. It singularly coincided with Ihe place. It was like the voice of past times echoed in the present, a d breathing among Ihe monuments r' '.ts deparle ' glories. The voice ceased ; after a lime the light disappeared, and all wasslill. "She sleeps ! " said Antonio, fomlly. He lingered about the building with the devotion wilii which a lover lingers about the bower of sleeping beauty. The rising moon threw its silver beams on the grey walls, and glitleretl on the casement. The late gloomy landscape gradually became Hooded with its radiance. Finding, therefore, that he could no longer move about in oUscurity, and fearful that his loiterings might be observed, he reluctantly retired. The curiosity which had at (irsl drawn the young man to the tower was now secondeil by feelings of a more romantic kind. His studies were almost enlirely abandoned . He maintained a k ind of blockade of the old II insion; he would take a book with him, and pass a great part of the day under the trees in its vici- nity : keeping a vigilant eye ui>on it, and endeavour- ing to ascertain what were the walks of his mysterious charmer. He found, however, that she never went out except to mass, when she was accompanied by her father. He wailed at the door of Ihe church, and offered her the holy water, in the hopes of touching her hand ; a little oflice of gallantry common in catho- lic countries. She, however, modestly declined, without raising her eyes to see who made the offer, and always took it herself from the font. She was attentive in her devotion ; her eyes were never taken from the altar or the priest; and, on returning home, her countenance was almost entirely concealed by her mantilla. Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for several days, and was hourly getting more and more interest- ed in the chase, but never a step nearer to Ihe game. His lurkings about the house had probably been no- ticed, for he no longer saw the fair lace at the window, nor the white arm put forth to water the flowers. His only consolation was to repair nightly to his post of observation and listen to her warbling, and if by chance he could catch a sight of her shadow, passing and repassing before the window, he thought him- self most fortunate. As he was indulging in one of these evening vi- gils, which were complete revels of the imagination, the sound of approaching footsteps made him withdraw into the deep shadow of the ruined archway, opposite to the tower. A cavalier approached, wrapped in a large Spanish cloak. He paused under the window of the tower, and after a little while began a sere- nade, accompanied by his guitar, iu the usual style of Spanish gallantry. His voice was rich and manly; he touched the instrument with skill, and sang with amorous and impassioned eloquence. The plume of his hat was buckled by jewels that sparkled in the 388 BUAC£BR1DG£ HALL. lii moon-beaim; and, as lie played on tlie guitar, his cloak falling off from one shoulder, showed him to be richly dressed. It was evident that he was a person of rank. The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, that the affections of his unknown beauty might be engag- ed. She was young, and doubtless susceptible; and it was not in the nature of Spanish females to be deaf and insensible to music and admiration. The surmise brought with it a feeling of dreariness. There was a pleasant dream of several days suddenly dispelled. He had never before experienced any thing of the tender passion; and, as its morning dreams are al- ways delightful, he would fain have continued in the delusion. " But what have I to do with her attachments ?" though^ he, " I have no claim on her heart, nor even on her acquaintance. How do I know that she is worthy of affection ? Or if she is, must not so gallant a lover as this, with his jewels, his rank, and his de- testable music, have completely captivated her ? What idle humour is this that I have fallen into ? I must again to my books. Study, study will soon chase away all these idle fancies." The more be thought, however, the more he be- came entangled in the spell which his lively imagina- tion had woven round him; and now that a rival had appeared, in addition to the other obstacles that en- vironed this enchanted beauty, she appeared ten times more lovely and desirable. It was some slight con- solation lo him to perceive that the gallantry of the unknown met with no apparent return from the tower. The light of the window was extinguished. The curtain remained undrawn, and none of the cus- tomary signals were given to intimate tliat the sere- nade was accepted. The cavalier lingered for some time about the place, and sang several other tender airs with a taste and feeling that made Antonio's heartache; at length he slowly retired. The student remained with folded arms, leaning against the ruined arch, endeavouring to summon up resolution enough to depart; but there was a romantic fascination that still enchained him to the place. " It is the last time," said he, willing to compromise between his feelings and his judgment, " it is the last time ; then let me enjoy the dream a few moments longer." As his eye ranged about the old building to take a farewell look, he observed the strange light in the tower, which he had noticed on a former occasion. It kept beaming up and declining as before. A pillar of ^moke rose in the air, and hung in sable volumes. It was evident the old man was busied in some of those operations that had gained him the reputation of a sorcerer throughout the neighbourhood. Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone through the casement, followed by a loud report, and then a flerce and ruddy glow. A figure appeared at the window, uttering cries of agony or alarm, but immediately disappeared ; and a body of smoke and flame whirled out of the narrow ap?rture. Anlonio I rushed to the portal, and knocked at it with violence. He was only answered by loud shrieks, and found that the females were already in helpless consternation, With an exertion of desperate strength he forced Die wicket from its hinges, and rushed into the house. He foimd himself in a small vaulted hall, and in I the light of the moon which entered at the door he! saw a staircase to the left. He hurried up it toa nar-[ row corridor, through which was roiling a volume of | smoke. He found here the two females in a franlicl state of alarm; one of them clasped her hands, < implored him to save her father. The corridor terminated in a spiral flight of stepc I leading up to the tower. He sprang up it to a siiial|| door, through the chinks of which came a glow or| light, and smoke was spuming out. He burst it open I and found himself in an antique vaulted cliamher f furnished with a furnace, and various chemical appa. ratus. A shattered retort lay on the stone floor;)! quantity of combustibles, nearly consumed, wiilni-l rious half-burnt books and papers, were sending npl an expiring flame, and filling the chamber with j fling smoke. Just within the threshold lay tlie re-l puted conjuror. He was bleeding, his clothes wei scorched, and he appeared lifeless. Antonio cangL, him up, and bore him down the stairs to a cbamtii in which there was a light, and laid him on a mJ The female domestic was dispatched for such < pliances as the house afforded; but the daughlt^ threw herself frantically beside her parent, and cool not be reasoned out of her alarm. Her dress vas i in disorder ; her dishevelled hair hung in rich coni sion about her neck and bosom, and never was t beheld a lovelier picture of terror and affliction. The skilful assiduities of the scholar soon produ signsof returning animation in bis patient. Tiiee man's wounds, though severe, were not dangen They had evidently been produced by the burelingij the retort; in his bewilderment he had heenenreliil cd in the stifling metallic vapours, which had ova powered his feeble frame, and had not Antonioarriij ed to his assistance, it is possible he might neveriuij recovered. By slow degrees he came to his senses, lleloolid about with a bewildered air at the chamber, the a tated group around, and the student who was I ing over him. "Where am I?" said he, wildly. At the sound of his voice his daughter ulterai| faint exclamation of delight. " My poor Inez!"s he, embracing her; then putting his hand to his ha and taking it away stained with blood, he seen suddenly to recollect himself, and to be overce with emotion. " Ay ! " cried he, " all is over with me ! all j all vanished I gone in a moment! the labour of ili time lost!" His daughter attempted to soothe him, but be I came slightly delirious, and raved incoherently abi BRACEBRIDGE HALL. S8ij row aperture. Anlonio 9ckcd at it with violence. loud shrieks, and fomid in helpless consternation, ite strength he forced ihe rushed into the house. nail vaulted hall, and b; h entered at the door, ht He hurried up it to a nar- !h was rolling a volume ol ; two females in a fianlic n clasped her hands, and ither. in a spiral flight of steps, [le sprang up it to a suiail of whicli came a glow of ling out. Heburstitopen,! antique vaulted chamber, and various chemical appa- t lay on the stone floor; j nearly consumed, withvj- d papers, were sending dJ ling the diamber willi sti- i the threshold lay the re-j , bleeding, his clothes w id lifeless. Antonio can( )wn the stairs to a chaml rht, and laid him on a bed, as dispatched for such 9[ ifforded; but the daughti beside lier parent, and 001 r alarm. Her dress was lied hair hung in rich coi josom, and never was thi [of terror and affliction, of tlie scholar soon prodi Lion in his patient. Tlie ievere, were not dangen .produced by the buiTiling lermentheliadbeenenvelf ic vapours, wliich had ov B, and had not Antonio ani! ^ssible he might neverto Ime to his senses, llelook^ air at the diamber, the a the student who was lea i he, wildly. , loice his daughter ultewj Ight. "My poorlnezlV fputtingliisbandtohisliei Ined with blood, he seen Imself, and to be ovetcc 111 is over with me! all I nomenl! Ihe labour of all Id to soothe him, but he » land raved incoherently aw malignant demons, and about the habitation of the green lion being destroyed. His wounds being dress- ed and such other remedies administered as his si- tuation required, he sunk into a state of quiet. An- tonio now turned his attention to the daughter, whose snrrerings had been little inferior to those of her fa- ther. Having with great difficulty succeeded in tran- quillizing her fears, he endeavoured to prevail upon her to retire, and seek the repose so necessary to her frame, proffering to remain by her father until morn- ing. "I am a stranger," said he, " it is true, and my offer may appear intrusive; hut I see you are lonely and helpless, and I cannot help venturing over the limits of mere ceremony. Should you feel any scrapie or doubt, however, say but a word, and I vill instantly retire." There was a frankness, a kindness, and a modesty mingled in Antonio's deportment that inspired instant I confidence; and his simple scholar's garb was a re- I commendation in the house of poverty. The females I consented to resign the sufferer to his care, as they k'ould be the belter able to attend to him on the morrow. On retiring, the old domestic was profuse [in her benedictions ; the daughter only looked her jthanks ; but as they shone through the tears that filled jher fine black eyes, the student thought them a thou- jsand times the most eloquent. Here, then, he was, by a singular turn of chance, )mpletely housed within this mysterious mansion. |W'hen left to himr^elf, and the bustle of the scene was Dver, his heart throbbed as he looked round the Ichamber in which he was sitting. It was the daugh- ter's room, the promised land towards which he had asl so many a longing gaze. The furniture was old, ndhad probably belonged to the building in its pro- erousdays; but every thing was arranged with pro- |)riety. The flowers that he had seen her attend I in the window ; a guitar leaned against the table, |in which stood a crucifix, and before it lay a missal nd a rosary. There reigned an air of purity and lerenily about this little nestling place of innocence ; t was the emblem of a chaste and quiet mind . Some |ew articles of female dress lay on the chairs; and ^ere wastlie very bed on which she had slept; the on which her soft cheek had reclined! The or scholar was treading enchanted ground ; for ^hat fairy Innd has more of magic in it than the bed- hamber of innocence and beauty? 1 From various expressions of the old man in his rav- m, and from what he had noticed on a subsequent isit to the tower, to see that the fire was exlinguish- i, Antonio had gathered that his patient was an al- pymist. The philosopher's stone was an object kgerly sought after by visionaries in those days ; but ] consequence of the superstitious prejudices of the nes, and the frecpient persecutions of its votaries, ey were apt to pursue their experiments in secret ; [ lonely houses, in caverns and ruins, or in the pri- ' of cloistered cells. Iln the course of the night the old man had several fits of restlessness and delirium; he would call out upon Theophrastus, and Geber, and Albertus Mag- nus, and other sages of his art ; and anon would mur- muralwut fermentation and projection, until, towards daylight, he once more sunk into a salutary sleep. When the morning sun darted his rays into the case- ment, the fair Inez, attended by the female domestic, came blushing into tlie chaml)er. The student now took his leave, having himself need of repose, but ob- tained ready permission to return and inquire after the sufferer. Whia he called again, he found the alchymist languid and in pain, but apparently suffering more in mind than in body. His delirium had left him, and he had been informed of the particulars of his deli- verance, and of the subsequent attentions of the scho- lar. He could do little more than look his thanks, but Antonio did not require them; his own heart re- paid him for all that he had done, and he almost re- joiced in the disaster that had gained him an entrance into this mysterious habitation. The alchymist was so helpless as to need much assistance; Antonio re- mained with him, therefore, the greater part of the day. He repeated his visit the next day, and the next. Every day his company seemed more pleasing to the invalid ; and every day he felt his interest in the lat- ter increasing. Perhaps the presence of tiie daughter might have been at the bottom of this solicitude. ile had frequent and long conversations with the alchymist. He found him, as men of his pursuits were apt to he, a mixture of enthusiasm and simplici- ty ; of curious and extensive reading on points of little utility, with great inattention to the every-day oc- currences of life, and profound ignorance of the world. He was deeply versed in singular and obscure branch- es of knowledge, and much given to visionary spe- culations. Antonio, whose mind was of a romantic cast, had himself given some attention to the occult sciences, and he entered upon those themes with an ardour that delighted the pliilosopher. 1 iieir conver- sations frequently turned upon astrology, divination, and the great secret. The old man would forget his aches and wounds, rise up like a spectre in his bed, and kindle into eloquence on his favourite topics. When gently admonished of his situation, it would but prompt him to another sally of thought. " Alas, my son ! " he would say, " is not this very decrepitude and sufferinganotherproof of the import- ance of those secrets with which we are surrounded? Why are we trammelled by disease, withered by old age, and our spirits quenched, as it were, within us, but because we have lost those secrets of life and youth which were known to our parents before their fall ? To regain these have philosophers been ever since aspiring; but just as they are on the point of securing the precious secrets for ever, the brief period of life is at an end; they die, and with them all their wisdom and experience. * Nothing, ' as De Nuysment observes, ' nothing is wanting for man's perfection but a longer life, less crossed with sorrows and ma- 390 BUACEBRIDGE UALL. W.i ladies, to tlie attaining of the full and perfect know- ledge of things. ' " At length Antonio so far gained on tlie heart of his patient, as to draw from him the outlines of his story. Felix de Vasquez, the alcliymist, was a native of Castile, and of an ancient and honourable hne. Early in life he had married a beautiful female, a descend- ant from one of the Moorish families. The marriage displeased his father, who considered the pure Spa- nish blood contaminated by this foreign mixture. It is true, the lady traced her descent from one of the Abencerrages, llie most gallant rf ^Joorish cavaliers, who had embraced the Christian taith on being exil- ed from the walls of Granada. The. injured pride of the father, however, was not to be appeased. He never saw his son afterwards ; and on dying left him but a scanty portion of his estate ; bequeathing the residue, in the piety and bitterness of his heart, to the erection of convents, and the performance of masses for souls in purgatory. Don Felix resided for a long time in the neighbourhood of Yalladulid, in a state of embarrassment and obscurity. He devoted himself to intense sludy, having, while at the university of Sa- lamanca, imbibed a taste for the secret sciences. He was enthusiastic and speculative; he , .nt on from one branch of knowledge to another, until he became zealous in the search after the grand Arcanum. He had at first engaged in the pursuit with the hopes of raising himself from his present obscurity, and resuming the rank and dignity to which his birth entitled him; but, as usual, it ended in absorbing every thought, and becoming the business of his exist- ence. He was at length aroused from this mental abstraction by the calamities of his household. A malignant fever swept off his wife and all his children, excepting an infant daughter. These losses for a ti:ne overwhelmed and stupefied him. His home had in a manner died away from around him, and he felt lone- ly and forlorn. When his spirit revived within him, he determined to abandon the scene of his humiliation and disaster ; to bear away the child that was slill left him, beyond the scene of contagion, and never to re- turn to Castile until he should be enabled to reclaim the lionours of his line. He had ever since been wandering and unsettled in his abode. Sometimes the resident of populous cities, at other times of absolute solitudes. He had search- ed libraries, meditated on inscriptions, visited adepts of different countries, and souglitto gather and con- centrate the rays which had been thrown by various minds upon the secrets of alchymy. He had at one time travelled quite to Padua to search for (he manu- scripts of Pietro d'Abano, and to inspect an urn which had been dug up near Este, supposed to have been buried by MaximusOlybius, and to have contained the grand elLvir '. ■ This urn was found in IS33, It contained a lesser one, in wliich was a bnrnin;; tamp lietwixt two small vinls, the nnr uf Kokl, the other of silver, both of them tbil of a very clear ll(|uor. On (he langett wu an inicripUon, statino (hat Maxiinus Olybiui While at Padua he had met with an adept veijieti in Arabian lore, who talked of the invaluable nianii- 1 scripts that must remain in the Spanish libraries, pre. served from the spoils of the Moorish academies and imiversities ; of the probability of meeting with pre. cioHs unpublished writings of Geber, and Alfarabius I and Avicenna, the great physicians of the Arabiaij schools, who, it is well known, had treated much of I Alchymy; but above all, he spoke of the Arabian f tablets of lead, which had recently been dug up j„ the neighbourhood of Granada, and which, it viasj confidently believed among adepts, contained Ibe lost I secrete of the art. The indefatigable alcbymist once more bent 14 1 steps for Spain, full of renovated hope. He had made I his way to Granada : he had wearied himself in the I study of Arabic, in decyphering inscriptions, in rum- 1 maging libraries, and exploring every possible trace] left by the Arabian sages. In all his wanderings he had been accompanied b? I Inez ; through the rougli and the smooth, the ple.isant| and the adverse ; never complaining, but ratberseek-f ing to soothe his cares by her innocent and playfull caresses. Her instruction had been the employnienll and the deliglit of his hours of relaxaliov.. She lie;; grown up while they were wandering, andhadscarce-l ly ever known any home but by his side, lie wasi family, friends, home, every thing to her. He liadi carried her in his arms when they first bpj>an tlieirl wayfaring ; had nestled her, as an eagle does its yoiinjT among the rocky heights of the Sierra Murena ; j had sported about him in childhood in the solitudal of (he Batuecas ; bad followed him, as a lamb doeil (he shepherd, over the rugged Pyrenees, and inlotl fair plains of Languedoc ; and now she was grovtl up to support his feeble steps among the ruin abodes of her maternal ances(ors. His property bad gradually wasted away in lit course of bis travels and his experiments. Still liopi the constant attendant of (he alchymist, had led ii| on ; ever on the point of reaping the reward of I labours, and ever disappointed. W^ith the credniiljl that often attended his art, he attributed many oriii| disappointments to the machinations of the ninlignai spirits that beset the path of the alchymist, and < ment him in his solitary labours. " It is tbeirc slant endeavour, " he observed," to close up evci avenue to tho^e sublime truths, which would cnaU man to rise above the abject state into wliich lieli fallen, and to return to bis original perfection. " lite evil offices of these demons lie allrihuled hislalj disaster. He had been on the very verge of the j shut up in this small vessel elemcnls whicti he had prepared* great toil. There were many diwiuisilions amoiis Hie leaninl^ Itic 8ul)ject. It was the most received opinion, tliat tliis .Ma\iii Olybius was an inhabitant of Padua, that be bad discoveiwH great secret, and that these vessels contained li<|iior, onplolnf mute metals to gold. Uie other to s.ivcr. The peasaiilswliofoo the urn, imagining tids precious liquor to be common watcr.i every drop, so that the art of transmuting metals remains ami a secret as ever. \\- BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 391 I with an adept verseil I )f the invahiable nianu- 1 e Spanish libraries, pre- Moorish academies and | y of meeting with pre- ■ Geher, ajwl Alfarabius, ysicians of tlie Arabian I m, had treated muchol ; spolie of the Arabian I recently been dug lip in I ada, and which, it was! adepts, contained tlwlosll (list once more bent liisi rated hope, lie bad made I d wearied himself in Uie iring inscriptions, in rum- jring every possible trace | had been accompanied bj id the smooth, the pleasant nplaining, but rather seek her innocent and playful bad been the employment irs of relaxatiov.. Slie Ik; wandering, and had scarce- but by his side. He wail ery thing to her. He W ■hen they lirst began their r, as an eagle does its young,] of the Sierra Morena; ' childhood in the soliluda] owed him, as a lainb doa ged Pyrenees, and into the] and now she was grovfi steps among the ruii cestors. ually wasted away in is experiments. Still hope,] Ihe alchymist, had led hi reaping the reward of hi linted. With the crednt t, he attributed many ofhi chinationsofthemalignr of the alchymist, and t( labt)urs. " It is their served, "to close up evi .ruths, which would em ect state into which be li s original perfection." jmons he attributed his n the very verge of the ncnU which he Iw'U'"!'"^* tli«,,r.«lion8 among Ihe loamrf^ bcciveU opinion, tliattliU MM kdua, that lie had aiscovcredl Lcl« contained iMinor, one tow lto8.ivcr. Tl.ci.easaiiU«lw« lis liquor to be commoinvalcM ansmutingmetataremainiiMB' rioiis discovery; never were the indications more completely auspicious ; aH was going on prosperously, when at the critical moment which should have crowned his labours with success, and have placed bun at the very summit of human power and felicity, the bursting of a retort had reduced his laboratory and himself to ruins. "I must now," said he, "give up at the very threshold of success. My books and papers are burnt; niT apparatus is broken. I am loo old to bear up a»ainsl these evils. The ardour that once inspired me is gone ; my poor frame is exhausted by study and watchfulness, and this last misfortune has hur- [ried me towards the grave. " He concluded in a one of deep dejection. Antonio endeavoured tocom- Ttand reassure h'm; but the poor alchymist had [or once awakened to a consciousness of the worldly Is that were gathering around him, and had sunk jiu despondency. After a pause, and some thought- ialnessand perplexity of brow, Antonio ventured to lake a proposal. "I have long," said he, " been fdled with a love r the secret sciences, but have felt too ignorant and Snident to give myself up to them. You have ac- lired experience ; you have amassed the knowledge It a lifetime; it were a pity it should be thrown away. oa say you are too old to renew the toils of the la- iratory, suffer me to undertake them. Add your iffledge to my youth and activity, and what shall enot accomplish? As a probationary fee, and a indon which to proceed, I will bring into the com- n slock a sum of gold, the residue of a legacy, rhich has enabled me to complete my education. A ir scholar cannot boast much ; but I trust we shall input ourselves beyond the reach of want; and if e should fail, why, I uiust depend, like other scho- k upon my brains to car . me through the world." The philosopher's spirits, however, were more de than the student had imagined. This last ick, following in the rear of so many disappoint- |ents,had almost destroyed the reaction of his mind. fee fire of an enthusiast, however, is never so low, ^t that it may be blown again into a flame. By de- i the old man was cheered and reanimated by (buoyancy and ardour of his sanguine companion. tat length agreed to accept of the services of the ^dent, and once more to renew his experiments. B objected, however, lousing the student's gold, |itvrilhstanding that his own was nearly exhausted ; but s objection was soon overcome; the student insist- lon making it a common slock and common cause; land then how absurd was any delicacy about such tritle, with men who looked forward to discovering b philosopher's stone ! hv'hile,tlierefore, the alchymist was slowly recover- |, the student busied himself in getting the labora- once more in order. II was strewed with the icks of retorts and alembics, with old crucibles, ^es and phials of powders and tinctures, and half- nt books and manuscripts. As soon as the old man was sufflciently recovered, the studies and experiments were renewed. Tlie student became a privileged and frequent visitor, and was indefatigable in his toils in the laboratory. The philosopher daily derived new zeal and spirits from the animation of his disciple. He was now enabled to prosecute Ihe enterprize with continued exertion, having so active a coadjutor to divide the U}\\. While he was poring over the writings of Sandivogius, and Philalethes, and Dominus de Nuysment, and endeavouring to comprehend the symbolical language in which they have locked up their mysteries, Antonio would occupy himself among the retorts and crucibles, and keep the furnace in a perpetual glow. With all his zeal, however, for the discovery of the golden art, the feelings of the student had not cooled as to the object that flrst drew him to this ruinous mansion. During the old man's illness, he had fire- quent opportunities of being near the daughter; and every day made him more sensible to her charms. There was a pure simplicity, and an almost passive gentleness in her manners; yet with all this was mingled something, whether mere maiden shyness, or a consciousness of high descent, or a dash of Cas- tilian pride, or perhaps all united, that prevented undue familiarity, and made her difficult of approach. The danger of her father , and the measures to be taken for his relief, had at first overcome this coyness and reserve ; but as he recovered and her alarm sub- sided, she seemed to shrink from the familiarity she had indulged with the youthful stranger, and to be- come every day more shy and silent. Antonio had read many books, but this was the first volume of womankind that he had ever studied. He had been captivated with the very title-page ; hut the farther he read the more he was delighted. She seemed formed to love ; her soft black eye rolled lan- guidly under its long silken lashes, and wherever it turned, it would linger and repose ; there was tender- ness in every beam. To him alone she was reserved and distant. Now that the common cares of the sick, room were at an end, he saw little more of her than before his admission to the house. Sometimes he met her on his way to and from the laboratory, and at such times there was ever a smile and a blush; but, after a simple salutation, she glided on and disap- peared. '"Tis plain," thought Antonio, "my presence is indifferent, if not irksome to her. She has noticed my admiration, and is determined to discourage it ; nothing but a feeling of gratitude prevents her treat- ing me with marked distaste — and then has she not another lover, rich, gallant, splendid, musical ? how can I suppose she would turn her eyes from so bril- liant a cavalier, to a poor obscure student, raking among the cinders of her father's laboratory'?" Indeed, the idea of the amorous serenader conti- nually haunted his mind. He felt convinced that he was a favoured lover; yet, if so, why did he not fre- quent the tower? Why did he not make his ap- 39!2 BRACEBRroGE HALL. ■1^ '1 ill proaches by noon-day? There was mystery in this eaves-dropping and musical courtship. Surely Inez could not bie encouraging a secret intrigue ! Oh, no ! she was loo artless, too pure, too ingenuous ! But then Spanish females were so prone to love and in- trigue ; and music and moonlight were so seductive, and Inez had such a tender soul languishing in every look. — "Oh!" would the poor scholar exclaim, clasp- ing his hands, "Oh that I could but once behold those loving eyes beaming on me with affection !" It is incredible to those who have not experienced it, on what scanty aliment human life and human love may be supported. A dry crust, thrown now and then to a starving man, will give him a new lease of existence; and a faint smile, or a kind look, bestowed at casual intervals, will keep a lover loving on, when a man in his sober senses would despair. When Antonio found himself alone in the labora- tory, his mind would be haunted by one of these looks, or smiles, which he had received in passing. He would set it in every possible light, and argue on it with all the self-pleasing, self-teasing logic of a lover. The country around him was enough to awaken that voluptuousness of feeling so favourable to the growth of passion. The window of the tower rose above the trees of the romantic valley of the Darro, and looked down upon some of the loveliest scenery of the Vega, where groves of citron and orange were refreshed by cool springs and brooks of the purest water. The Xenil and the Darro wound their shin- ing streams along the plain, and gleamed from among its bowers. The surrounding hills were covered with vineyards, and the mountains, crowned with snow, seemed to melt into the blue sky. The delicate aii-s that played about the tower were perfumed by the fragrance of myrtle and orange blossoms, and the ear was charmed with the fond warbling of the night- ingale, which, in these happy regions, sings the whole day long. Sometimes, too, there was the idle song of the muleteer, sauntering along the solitary road ; or the notes of the guitar from some group of peasants dancing in the shade. All these were enough to fill the head of a young lover with poetic fancies; and Antonio would picture to himself how he could loiter among those happy groves, and wander by those gentle rivers, and love away his life with Inez. lie felt at times impatient at his own weakness, and would endeavour to brush away these cobwebs of the mine!. He would turn his thought, with sudden effort, to iiis occult studies, or occupy himself in some perple? ing process; but often, when he had partially succejded in fixing his attention, the sound of Inez' lute, or the soft notes of her voice, would come steal- ing u.ton the stillness of the chamber, and, as it were, floating round the tower. There was no great art in her performance; but Antonio thought he had never heard music comparable to this. It was perfect witchcraft to hear her warble forth some of her na- tional melodies; those little Spanish romances and Moorish ballads that transport tlie hearer, in idea, to the banks of the Guadalquivir, or the walls of the Alhambra, and make him dream of beauties and balconies, and moonlight serenades. Never was poor student more sadly beset than An- tonio. Love is a troublesome companion in a studr at the best of times ; but in the laboratory of an akh- mist his intrusion is terribly disastrous. Instead o( I attending to the retorts and crucibles, and walcliin? I the process of some experiment intrusted to his charoe the student would get entranced in one of these love- dreams, from which be would often be aroused br I some fatal catastrophe. The philosopher, on return- 1 ing from his researches in the libraries, would lind every thing gone wrong, and Antonio in despair ovtr the ruins of the whole day's work. The old nian I however, took all quietly, for his had been a life of I experiment and failure. "We must have patience, my son," would iiesay I "as all the great masters that have gone before us j have had. Errors, and accidents, and delays, are] what we have to contend vilh. Did not Ponlannsl err two hundred times before he could obtain evenl the matter on which to found his experiments? Tliel great Flamel, too, did he not labour four and twentjl years, before he ascertained the first agent ? Whail difficulties and hardships did not Cartilaceos en-l counter, at the very threshold of his discoveries?! And Bernard de Tr'^ves, even after he had allainedJ knowledge of all the requisites, was he not delaycdl full three years ? What you consider accidents, mrl son, are the machinatians of our invisible enemieil The treasures and golden secrets of nature aresiir-| rounded by spirits hostile to man. The air aliontii teems with tliem. They lurk in the fire of tliefm nace, in the bottom of the crucible and llie alembi and are ever on the alert to take advantage of liios moments when our minds are wandering from !» tense meditation on the great truth that wearesedl ing. We must only strive the more to purify on selves from those gross and earthly feelings niii( becloud the soul, and prevent her from piercinginl nature's arcana." " Alas !" thought Antonio, " if to be purilied fra all earthly feeling requires that I should cease loloij Inez, I fear I shall never discover the pliilosophn stone!" In this way matters went on for some lime at ll alchymist's. Day after day was sending the sladenlj gold in vapour up the chimney; every blast of ll furnace made him a ducat the poorer, without i parently helping him a jot nearer to the golden set Still the young man stood by, and saw piece all| piece disappearing without a murmur : he had i an opportunity of seeing Inez, and felt as iflierfavt would be heller than silver or gold, and Ihatevej smile was worth a ducat. Sometimes, in the cool of the evening, whend toils of llie laboratory happened to be suspended,! would walk with the alchymisl in what had onceh a gaixlen belonging to the mansion. There ' BRACEBRIDGE HALL. rm r, or ihe walls of the earn of beauties , and lades. re sadly beset than An- ; companion in a study B laboratory of an alclj- disastrous. Instead ol i crucibles, and walcliing It intrusted to his cliarge, ced in one of these lov^ lid often be aroused by ; philosopher, on return- he libraries, would find I d A ntonio in despair over 's work. The old nun, I i)r bis had been a lifeot] !, my son," would he say, that have gone before m ccidents, and delays, are villi. Did not Ponlanns fore be could obtain e\en iindbis experiments? The not labour four and twenty led the iivst agent? Wliall J did not Carlilaceus en- leshold of his discoveries?' •ven after he had attained [uisites, was be not delayed] you consider accidents, my IS of our invisible enemies.] n secrets of nature are sut' i to man. The air alwnt lurk in the fire of theft fe crucible and tlie aleml to take advantage ofll ds are wandering from reat truth that we are ye the more to purify oi and earthly feelings wli event her from piercing onio, "iftobepuriiiedfra es that I should cease to lofj fer discover the pliilosopha irent on for some timealllj lay was sending tliestudem Ichimney; every blast of l*^ Vat the poorer, without^ lot nearer to the golden se( lood by, and saw piece a« out a murmur: he had M I Inez, and felt as if her favt lilveroi gold, and that ev(( lol of the evening, whenll appened to be suspended,! Iiymistinwhalhadoncel)' ithe mansion. There « still the remains of terraces and balustrades, and here and there a marble urn, or mutilated statue over- turned, and buried, among weeds and flowers run wild. It was the favourite resort of the alchymist in Ills hours of relaxation, where be would give full scope to his visionary flights. His mind was tinctureil with the Uosicrucian doctrines. He believed in ele- mentary beings ; some favourable, others adverse to his pursuits ; and, in the exaltation of his fancy, bad often imagined that be held communion with them in his solitary walks about the whispering groves and echoing walls of this old garden. When accompanied by Antonio, he wouhl prolong these evening recreations. Indeed, be sometimes did It out of consideration for his disciple, fur be feared lest his too close application, and his incessant seclu- lon in the tower, should be injurious to his health, le was delighted and surprised by this extraordinary and perseverance in so young a tyro, and looked ipon him as destined to be one of the great lu- laries of the art. Lest the student should repine it the time lost in these relaxations, the good alchy- lisl would fill them up with wholesome knowledge, matters connected with their pursuits; and would alk up and down the alleys with bis disciple, im- irtingoral instruction, like an ancient philosopher, all his visionary schemes there breathed a spirit of y, though chimerical, philanthropy, that won the niration of the scholar. Nothing sordid, nor sen- al; nothing petty nor selQsh seemed to enter into s views, in respect to the grand discoveries he was jiticipating. On the contrary, his imagination kin- Iwith conceptions of widelydispensated happiness. [ looked forward to the time when he should be ^e to go about the earth relieving the indigent, com- tting the distressed; and, by his unlimited means, |\ising and executing plans for the complete extir- |tion of poverty, and all its attendant sufferings and nes. Never were grander schemes for general d, for the distribution of boundless wealth and uni- lal competence, devised, than by this poor indi- ct alchymist in his ruined tower. \ntonio would attend these peripatetic lectures 1 all Ihe ardour of a devotee ; but there was an- ler circumstance which may have given a secret 1 to them. The garden was the resort also of |z, where she took her walks of recreation; the exercise that her secluded life permitted. As ionio was duleously pacing by the side of bis in- bctor, he would often catch a glimpse of the ghler, walking pensively about the alleys in the [twilight. Sometimes they would meet her un- ctedly, and the heart of the student would throb 1 agitation . A blush too would crimson I he cheek bez, but still she passed on, and never joined them, fe had remained one evening, until rather a late I with the alchymist in this favourite resort. It I a delightful night after a sultry day, and the W air of the garden was peculiarly reviving. old man was seated on a fragment of a pedestal, looking like a part of the niin on which he sat. He was edifying his pupil by long lessons of wisdom from the stars, as they shone out with brilliant lustre in the dark blue vault of a southern sky ; for he was deeply versed in Behmen, and other of the Rosicru- cians, and talked much of the signature of earthly things, and passing events, which may be discerned in the heavens; of the power of the stars over cor- poreal beings, and their influence on the fortunes of the sons of men. By degrees the moon rose, and shed her gleaming light among the groves. Antonio apparently listened with fixed attention to the sage, hut his ear was drinking in the melody of Inez' voice, who was sing- ing to her lute in one of the moonliglit glades of the garden. The old man, having exhausted his Iheme, sat gazing in silent reverie at the heavens. Antonio could not resist an inclination to steal a look at this coy beauty, who was thus playing the part of the nightingale, so seiiuestered and musical. Leaving the alchymist in his celestial reverie, he stole gently along one of the alleys. The music had ceased, and he thought he beard the sound of voices. He came to an angle of a copse that had screened a kind of green recess, ornamented by a marble fountain. The moon shone full upon the place, and by its light, he beheld his unknown serenading rival at the feet of Inez. He was detaining her by the hand, which he covered with kisses ; but at sight of Antonio he started up and half drew his sword, while Inez, disengaged, fled back to the house. All the jealous doubts and fears of Antonio were now confirmed. He did not remain to encounter the resentment of his happy rival at being thus interrupt- ed, but turned from the place in sudden wretched- ness of heart. That Inez should love another would have been misery enough ; but that she should be ca- pable of a dishonourable amour, shocked him to the soul. The idea of deception in so young and appa- rently artless a being, brought with it that sudden distrust in human nature, so sickening to a youthful and ingenuous mind ; but when he thought of the kind simple parent she was deceiving, whose afiections all centered in her, he felt for a moment a sentiment of indignation, and almost of aversion. He found the alchymist still seated in his visionary contemplation of the moon. " Come hither, my son, " said he, with his usual enthusiasm, come, " read with me in this vast volume of wisdom, thus nightly un- . folded fur our perusal. Wisely did the Ciialdean sages affirm, that the heaven is as a mystic page, ut- tering speech to those who can rightly understand ; warning them of good and evil, and instructing them in the secret decrees of fate. " The student's heart ached fur his venerable mas- ter; and, for a moment, he felt the futility of all his occult wisdom. " Alas ! poor old man ! " thought be, " of what avails all thy study ? Little dost thou dream, while busied in airy speculations among the stars, what a treason against thy liappiness is going •3»t BRACEBRIDGE HALL. on under Ihine eyes ; as it were, in thy very bosom ! — Oil Iner ! Inez ! wlicre shall we look for inilh and innocence ; where sliall we re|M)se conlidence in wo- man, if even yon can deceive ? " II was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover makes when he duds his mistress not (piite such a goddess as he had painted her. With the student, however, it sprung from honest anguish of heart. lie returned to his lodgings in pitiable confusion of mind. He now deplored the infatuation that had led him on until his feelings were so thoroughly engaged. He resolved to abandon his pursuiU at the tower, and trust to absence to dispel the fascination by which he had been spell-bound, lie no longer thirsted after the discovery of the grand elixir; the dream of al- chymywas over; for without Inez, what was the value of the philosopher's stone ? He rose, after a sleepless night, with the determi- nation of taking his leave of the alchymist, and tearing himself from Granada. For several days did he rise with the same resolution, and every night saw him mme back to his pillow to repine at his want of reso- lution, and to make fresh determinations for the mor- row. In the mean while he saw less of Inez than ever. She no longer walked in the garden, but re- mained almost entirely in her apartment. When she met him, she blushed more than usual ; a:id once he- sitated, as if she would have spoken ; but after a tem- porary embarrassment, and still deeper blushes, she made some casual observation, and retired. Antonio read in this confusion a consciousness of fault, and of that fault's being discovered. " What could she have ■wished to communicate ? Perhaps to account for the scene in the garden ; — but how can she account for it, or why should she account for it to me ? What am I to her ?— or rather, what is she to me ? " exclaimed he, impatiently; with a new resolution to break through these entanglements of the heart, and ily from this enchanted spot for ever. He was returning that very night to his lodgings, full of this excellent determination, when, in a shadowy part of the road, he passed a person, whom he re- cognised, by his height and form, for his rival : he was going in the direction of ihe tower. If any linger- ing doubts remained, here was an opportunity of set- tling them completely. He determined to follow this unknown cavalier, and under favour of the darkness, observe his movements. If he obtained access to the tower, or in any way a favourable reception, Antonio felt as if it would be a relief to his mind, and would enable him to fix his wavering resolution. The unknown, as he came near the tower, was more cautious and stealthy in his approaches. He was joined under a clump of trees by another person, and they had much whispering together. A light was burning in the chamber of Inez, the curtain was down, but the casement was left open, as the night was warm. After some time, the light was extin- guished. A considerable interval elapsed. The ca- valier and ]m companion remained under cover of the trees, as If keeping watch. At length tliey ^n. proached the tower with silent and cautious steps The cavalier received a dark lantern from Ins coin- panion, and threw off his cloak. The other then I softly brought something from the clump of trm f which Antonio perceived to be a light ladder: he I placed it against the wall, and the serenader genllr I ascended. A sickening sensation came over Antonio [ Here was indeed a confirmation of every fear. j|J was about to leave the place, never to return, flhe„| he heard a stifled shriek from Inez' chamber. In an instant the fellow that stood at the footofi||(| ladder lay prostrate on the ground. Antonio wresiedl a stiletto from his nerveless hand, and hurried up tl ladder. He sprang in at the window, and found Ino struggling in the grasp of his fancied rival : the iatterj disturbed from his prey, caught up his lantern, tun ed its light full -.ipon Antonio, and drawing hissTronjJ made a furious assault; luckily the student sawt light gleam along the blade, and parried the tlin with the stiletto. A fierce, but unequal combat < sued. Antonio fought exposed to the full glare a Ihe light, while his antagonist was in shadow: stiletto, too, was but a poor defence against a rapi He saw that nothing would save him, hulclosingwili his adversary and getting within his weapon : I rushed furiously upon him, and gave him a sera blow with the slilelto ; but received a wound in relni from the shortened sword. At the same moineull blow was inflicted from behind, by the conrederslf who had ascended the ladder; it felled liini to Ij floor, and his antagonists made their escape. By this time the cries of Inez had brought lieri ther and the domestic to the room. Antonio i found weltering in his blood, and senseless. Hei conveyed to the chamber of the alchymist, wlion repaid in kind the attentions which the student li once bestowed upon him. Among his varied km ledge he possessed some skill in surgery, whidij this moment was of more value than even liisc mical lore. He stanched and dressed the woiindil his disciple, which on examination proved lessd perate than he had at first apprehended. Forai days, however, his case was anxious, and alteni with danger. The old man watched over him \ the affection of a parent. He felt a double dditl gratitude t'>wardshim on account ofliisdaugiilerij himself; he loved him too as a faithful and zeali disciple; and he dreaded lest Ihe world shouldl deprived of the promising talents of so aspiring Jij chymisl. An excellent constitution soon medicinedj wounds; and there was a balsam in Ihelonks^ words of Inez, that had a healing effect on still stn wounds which he carried in his heart. She displ the strongest interest in his safety ; she called Jiiis] deliverer, her preserver. It seemed as if her grit disposition sought, in the warmth of its acknowld ments, to repay him for past coldness. But i most contributed to Antonio's recovery, washerl BRACEBltlDGE MALL. Tm ;h. At length ihey ap- lent and cautious steps. [ lantern from Iiis coin- cloak. The other ihen fom the clump of Irew, be a light ladder: he md the serenader genily nation came over Antonio. lation of every fear. He e, never lo return, when] mi Inez' chamber, .hat stood at the foot of ihel ground. Antonio wrested! ;shand, and huvrieil up lie window, and found! his fancied rival : the latter, .aught up his lantern, turn, iiio, and drawing his swoni, luckily the student saw tl ide and parried the tlii ce, but unequal combat exposed to the full glare agonist was in shadow:! mv defence against a ra| dd save him, but closing wil ng within bis weapon ; nm, and gave him a sew ut received a wound in reti )vd. At the same moment » behind, by the confederal ( ladder; it felled him to is made their escape. of Inez had brought her lo the room. Antonio ilootl, and senseless, lie «r of the alchymist, who nlions which the student ira. Among his varied ki (le skill in surgery, whick nore value than even Im ed and dressed the wouiiibl examination proved less' irst apprehended. For a se was anxious, and altei man watched over him nt. He felt a double deiill on account of his daughter loo as a faithful and zei ded lest the world should |ing talents of so aspiring a| litution soon medlcined as a balsam in the loflb a healing effect on still se| lied in his heart. Shedisf lnhis8afety;she called inm It seemed as if Iter p«f he warmth of its acknov.1 for past coldness. W tonic's recovery, >^'«heti |r. nianation concerning his supposed rival. It was some lime since be had first beheld her at church, and he bad ever since persecuted her with bis attritions. lie had beset her in her walks, until she bad been yjjliwed to confine Iierself to the bouse, except when accompanied by her father. He bad besieged her with letters, serenades, and every art by which be could urge a vehement, but clandestine and disho- iourable suit. The scene in the garden was as much 1 3 surprise to her as to Antonio. Her persecutor d been attracted by her voice, and had found bis ay over a ruined part of the wall. He had come ipon her unawares; was detaining her by force, and leading his insulting passion, when the appearance {the student interrupted bim, and enabled her to ike her escape. She had forborne to mention lo ler father the persecution which she suffered ; she islied to spare him unavailing anxiety and distress, ind had determined lo confine herself more rigorously the house; though it appeared that even here she not been safe from his daring enterprize. Antonio inquired whether she knew the name of impetuous admirer? She replied that he bad lade his advances under a fictitious name ; but that le had heard him once calleil by the name of Don ibrosio de Loxa. Antonio knew him by report, fur one of the most itermined and dangerous libertines in all Granada, rtful, accomplished, and, if be chose to be so, insi- iting; but daring and headlong in the pursuit of pleasures; violent and implacable in his resent- !nL<s. He rejoiced to And that Inez had been proof inst his setluctions, and bad been inspired with jersion by his splendid profligacy; but he trembled think of the dangers she bad run, and he felt suli- ide about the dangers that must yet environ her. I present, however, it was probable the enemy a temporary quietus. The traces of blooil had n found for some distance from the ladder, until y were lost among thickets; and as nothing had n heard or seen of him since, it was concluded that bad been seriously wounded. s the student recovered from his wounds, he was bled to join Inez and her father in their domestic rcouise. The chamber in which they usually had probably been a saloon of state in former les. The floor was of marble; the walls partially |ered with the remains of tapestry ; the chairs, iljfcaiVedand gilt, were crazed with age, and co- id with tarnished and tattered brocade. Against wall hung a long rusty rapier, the only relique the old man retained of the chivalry of his nn- lors. There might have been something lo pro- |e a smile in the contrast between the mansion and inhabitants; between present poverty and the of departed grandeur ; but the fancy of the stu- Itliad thrown so much romance about the edifice its inmates, that every thing was clothed with The philosopher, with his broken-down le, and hi« strange pinsuits, seemed to comport with the melancholy ruin be inhabited; and there was a native elegance of spirit about tlie daughter, that showed she would have graced the mansion in its happier days. What delicious moments were these to the student ! Inez was no lunger coy and reserved. She was na- turally artless and confiding; though the kind of per- secution she bad experienced from one admirer bad rendered her, for a lime, suspicious and circumspect toward the other. She now felt an entire confidence in the sincerity and worth of Antonio, mingled with an overflowing gratitude. When her eyes met bis, they beamed with sympathy and kindness; and An- tonio, no longer haunted by the idea of a favoured rival, once more aspired to success. At these domestic meetings, however, he had little opportunity of paying his court, except by looks. The alchymist supposing him, like himself, absorl)ed in the study of alchymy, endeavoured lo cheer the te- diousness of his recovei^ by long conversations on the art. He even brought several of his half-burnt vo- lumes, which the student had once rescued from the flames, and rewarded him for their preservation, by reading copious passages. He would entertain him with the great and good acts ofFlamel, which be efiected through the means of the philosopher's stone, relieving widows and orphans, founding hospitals, building churches, and what not; or with the inter- rogatories of King Kalid, and the answers of Morienus, the Roman hermit of Hierusalem ; or the profound questions which Elardus, a necromancer of the pro- vince of Catalonia, put to the Devil, touching the se- crets of alchymy, and the Devil's replies. All these were couched in occult language, almost unintelligible to the unpractised ear of the disciple. Indeed, the old man delighted in the mystic phrases and symbolical jargon in which the writers that have treated of alchymy have wrapped their communica- tions; rendering them incomprehensible except to the initiated. With what rapture would he elevate bis voice at a triumphant passage, announcing the grand discovery ! " Thou shall see," would he ex- claim in the words of Henry Kulmrade,' " the stone of the philosophers (our king) go forth of the bed- chamber of his glassy sepulchrr into the theatre of this world ; that is to say, regenerated and made per- fect, a shining carbuncle, a most temperate splen- dour, whose most subtle and depurated parts are inseparable, united into one with a concordial mix- ture, exceeding equal, transparent as crystal, shining red like a ruby, permanently colouring or ringing, lixt in all temptations or trials; yea, in the examina- tion of Iht burning sulphur itself, and the devoiu-ing waters, and in the most vehement persecution of the Are, always incombustible and permanent as a sala- mander ! " The student bad a high veneration for the fathers of alchymy, and a profound respect for his instructor ; bill wbat was Ilcnry Kuhnrade, (iebcr, Lully, or ..„.,,' ' AiiipliitlicflliPoftlieKlri'i)*! WImIoiu, 7m BHACEBRIDGE HALL. Hi X «; even Albertus Magnus hiiDsclf, compared to the countenance of Inez, whicli presented such a page of beauty to his perusal ? While, therefore, the good aichymist was doling out knowledge by the hour, his disciple would forget books, alchymy, every thing but the lovely object before him. Inez, too, un- practised in the science of the heart, was gradually becoming fascinated by the silent attentions of her lover. Day by day she seemed more and more per- plexed by the kindling and strangely pleasing emo- tions of her bosom. Her eye was oflen cast down in thought. Blushes stole to her cheek wilhoutany ap' parent cause, and light, half-suppressed sighs, would follow these short (its of musing. Her little ballads, though the same that she had always sung, yet breathed a more tender spirit. Either the tones of her voice were more soft and touching, or some pas- sages were delivered with a feeling which she had never before given them. Antonio, besides his love for the abstruse sciences, had a pretty turn for music; and never did philosopher touch the guitar more taste- fully. As, by degrees, he conquered the mutual em- barrassment that kept them asunder, he ventured to accompany Inez in some of her songs. He had a voice full of fire and .enderness : as he sang, one would have thought, from the kindling blushes of his companion, that he had been pleading his own passion in her ear. Let those who would keep two youthful Iiearls asunder beware of music. Oh ! this leaning over chairs, and conning the same music- book, and entwining the voices, and melting away in harmonies !— the German waltz is nothing to it. The worthy alchynjist saw nothing of all this. His mind could admit of no idea that was not con- nected with the discovery of the grand Arcanum, and he supposed his youthful coadjutor equally devoted. He was a mere child as to human nature ; and, as to the passion of love, whatever he might once have felt of it, he had long since forgotten that there was such an idle passion in existence. But, while he dreamed, the silent amour went on. The very quiet and se- clusion of the place were favourable to the growth of romantic passion. The opening bud of love was able to put forth leaf by leaf, without an adverse wind to check its growth. There was neither offi- cious friendship to chill by its advice, nor insidious envy to wither by its sneers, nor an observing world to look on and stare it out of countenance. There was neither declaration, nor vow, nor any other form of Cupid's canting school. Their hearts mingled to- gether, and understood each other without the aid of language. They lapsed into the fidl current of af- fection, unconscious of its depth, and thoughtless of the rocks that might lurk beneath its surface. Happy lovers I who wanted nothing to make the'r felicity complete, but Ihediscovery ofthe philosopher's stone! At length Antonio's health was sufficiently restored to enable him to return to his lodgings in Granada. He felt uneasy, however, at leaving the tower, while lurking danger might surround its almost defenceless inmates. He dreaded lest Don Ambrosio, recovereij from his wounds, might plot some new attempt, by I secret art, or open violence. From all that he bad I heard, he knew him to be too implacable to suOtrl his defeat to pass unavenged, and too rash and fear- 1 less, when his arts were unavailing, to stopatann daring deed in the accomplishment of his purposes,! He urged his apprehensions to the aichymist and M daughter, and proposed that they should abandon tbel dangerous vicinity of Granada. " I have relations," said he, " in Valencia, poof I indeed, but worthy and affectionate. Among ib(a| you will find friendship and quiet, and we may ^ pursue our labours unmolested." He went on i paint the beauties and delights of Valencia with n\ the fondnesr of a native, and all the eloquence «i| which a lover paints the fields and groves wliichb is picturing as the future scenes of his liappiness.| His eloquence, backed by the apprehensions of Ina was successful with the aichymist, who, indeed,! led too unsettled a life to be particular about (Ik place of his residence ; and it was determined, i as soon as Antonio's health was perfectly restw they should abandon the tower, and seek the deli] cious neighbourhood of Valencia.' To recruit his strength, the student suspended li| toils in the laboratory, and spent the few reniaini days, before departure, in taking a farewell loot a the enchanting environs of Granada. He felt retoi ing health and vigour as he inhaled the pure tei rate breezes that play about its hills ; and the liapi state of his mind contributed to his rapid recova Inez was oflen the companion of his walks. Herd cent, by the mother's side, from one of the am Moorish families, gave her an interest in this oncelj vourite seat of Arabian power. She gazed wilhe thusiasm upon its magnificent monuments, andb memoi7 was filled with the traditional tales andb laus of Moorish chivalry. Indeed the solitary lifeil had led, and the visionary turn of her father's i had produced an effect upon her character, and g it a tinge of what, in modern days, would be t ed romance. All this was called into full Torcebyl^ new passion; for, when a woman first begins toll life is all romance to her. In one of their evening strolls, they had asceni to the mountain ofthe Sun, where is situated theCj neralife, the palace of pleasure in the days of Mo( dominion, but now a gloomy convent of capucli| They had wandered about its garden, among ^ of orange, citron and cypress, where tlie waters,l ' Here are tlie stmngest sillts, tlie sweetest wines, tliecicelk almonds, ttie l>e8t oyLsamI l)cautirull'st reinalcs otall S[)ain. very l)ruit animals snake themselves beds of rosemary, anlij fragrant nowcre licrcaliouts; and when one is at sea, if the » blow from the shore, he may smell this soyi iKfurc he c sight of it many leai;ucs off, by the strong odorifpromsceiitil< As it is the must pleasant, so it is also the leni|)erat'st cliimj Spain, and they commonly call it the second Italy; wliicli n MiKU's, whereof many Uiousands were disterr'd anil I hence to Barbary, to think that I'aradiM! was in thatiartd hcavcnt which hung over this uitlo. )lowiiLi.'fi L"! BRACEBRIDGE ILUX. 307 Don Ambroslo, recovered I jt some new attempt, by I le. From all that he had J too implacable to mh\ :d, and too rash and fear- unavailing, to stopatinj [ilishment of his purpose.! IS to the alchymist and hjil at they should abandon tbel lada. I id he, " in Valencia, p,l iffectionate. Among ilienl id quiet, and wemaylhi jlested." He went on J elights of Valencia with J and all the eloquence wHl fields and groves whichbJ re scenes of his liappine&l f the apprehensions of I alchymist, who, indeed,! to be particular about I ind it was determined, Ih) jlth was perfectly restorM le tower, and seek the det Valencia." \i, the student suspended iJ and spent the few reraainin , in taking a farewell look I } of Granada, lie fell retui s he inhaled the pure tei jbout its hills; and the hapi ibuted to his rapid recova lanion of his walks. Herd side, from one of the anoa her an interest in thisoncefj power. She gazed withe jnificent monuments, andk 1 the traditional tales andh y. Indeed the solitary lite J aryturn of her father's r| upon her character, and gni modern days, would be led was called into full forcebyll 1 a woman first begins lol iT. ing strolls, they had ascei Sun, where is situated tlie( deasure in the days of Mo- gloomy convent of capncl joutils garden, among gr Jj-press, where the waters, Iks, ttieswectcst wines, Ihecicel Tbcautitull'st females of all Sinin, Jcmsclves l)eds of rosemary, ana i; aiul wtien one is at sea, it Hie ' laysmeUthissoylltefuicheix Lytlie strong odoriforonsscentil loitisalsotlielpnnicrat'sicli"* tall it llie second Italy; >vliicl'" lusands were disterrd and 1 that Paradise was inlhali«ti IhiscUio. Uo«ni.'sW Dig in ton-enis or gushing in fountains, or tossed aloft in sparkling jets, fill (he air with music and freshness. 'here is a melancholy mingled with all the beauties ,f this garden, that gradually stole over the feelings if the lovers. The place is full of the sad story of it times. It was the favourite abode of the lovely queen of Granada, where she was surrounded by the delights of a gay and voluptuous court. It was here, too, amidst her own bowers of roses, that her slan- lererslaid the base story of her dishonour, and struck fetal blow to the line of the gallant Abencerrages. The whole garden has a look of ruin and neglect. Ifanyofthe fountains are dry and broken; the streams liave wandered from their marble channels, and are •hoked by weeds and yellow leaves. The reed hislles to the wind where it had once sported among i, and shaken perfume from the orange blossom. he convent bell flings its sullen sound, or the drowsy reaper hymn floats along these solitudes, which once iounded with the song, and the dance, and the iver's serenade. Well may the Moors lament over he loss of this earthly paradise ; well may they re- lemher it in their prayers, and beseech heaven to itoreit to the faithful; m'cII may their ambassadors lite their breasts when they behold these monu- lents of their race, and sit down and weep among 16 fading glories of Granada ! It is ini|)Ossible to wander about these scenes of leparted love and gaiety, and not feel the tenderness II the heart awakened. It was then that Antonio bl ventured to breathe his passion, and to express ly words what his eyes had long since so eloquently ivealed. He made his avowal with fervour, but ith frankness. He had no gay prospects to hold It; he was a poor scholar, dependent on his "good Nrits to feed and lothe him." But a woman in ire is no interested calculator. Inez listened to him ith downcast eyes, but in them was a humid gleam lal showed her heart was with him. She had no prudery in her nature ; and she had not been sufficient- in society to acquire it. ' She loved him with all the lence of worklliness of a genuine woman; and, jmidst timid smiles and bfUshes, he drew from her a ilesl acknowledgment of her affection. They wandered about the garden with that sweet itoxication of the soul which none but happy lovers low. The world about them was all fairy land ; and, leed, it spread forth one of its fairest scenes before leir eyes, as if to fulfil their dream of earthly hap- iness. They looked out from between groves of 'ange upon the towers of Granada below them ; the ignificent plain of the Vega beyond, streaked with ening sunshine, and the distant hills tinted with iy and purple hues; it seemed an emblem of the ippy future that love and hope was decking out for lem. As if to make the scene complete, a group of Anda- iians struck up a dance, in out of the vistas of the inlen, to the guitars of two wandering musicians. leSpanishmusic is wildand plaintive, yet ihepcnple dance to it with spirit and enthusiam. The pictu- resque figures of the dancers ; the girls with their hair in silken nets that hung in knots and tassels down their backs, their mantillas floating round their graceful forms, their slender feet peeping from under their basquinas, their arms tossed up in the air to play the castanets, had a beautiful effect on this airy height, with the rich evening landscape spreading out below them. When the dance was ended, two of the parties approached Antonio and Inez; one of them began a soft and tender Moorish ballad, accompanied by the other on the lute. It alluded to the story of the garden, the wrongs of the fair queen of Granada, and the mis- fortunes of the Abencerrages. It was one of those old ballads that abound in this part of Spain, and live, like echoes, about the ruins of Moorish greatness. The heart of Inez was at that moment open to every tender impression; the tears rose into her eyes as she listened to the tale. The singer approached nearer to her; she was striking in her appearance; young, beautiful, with a mixture of wildness and melancholy in her fine black eyes. She fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, and suddenly varying her manner, sang another ballad, which treated of impend- ing danger and treachery. All this might have [Kiss- ed for a mere accidental caprice of the singer, had there not been something in her look, manner, and gesticulation, that made it pointed and startling. Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evident- ly personal application of the song, when she was in- terrupted by Antonio, who gently drew her from the place. Whilst she had been lost in attention to the music, he had remarked a group of men, in the sha- dows of the trees, whispering together. They were enveloped in the broad hats and great cloaks so much worn by the Spanish, and while they were regarding himself and Inez attentively, seemed anxious to avoid observation. Not knowing what might Ls their cha- racter or intention, he hastened to quit a place where the gathering shadows of evening might expose them to intrusion and insult. On their way down the hill, as they passed through the woods of elms, mingled with poplars and oleanders, that skirt the road lead- ing from the Alhambra, he again saw these men, ap- parently following at a distance; and he afterwards caught sight of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro. He said nothing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would not awaken unnecessary alarm; but he felt at a loss how to ascertain or to avert any machinations that might be devising against the helpless inhabitants of the tower. He took his leave of them late at night, full of this pei-plexity. As he left the dreary old pile, he saw some one lurking in the shadow of the waU, apparent- ly watching his movements. He hastened after the figure, but it glided away, and <1isappeared among some ruins. Shortly after he heard a low whistle, which was answered from a little distance. He had no longer a doubt but that some mischief was on foot, 598 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. nnd turned to liasten back to tiie tower, and put its inmates on their guard.' He had scarcely turnetl, how- ever, before he found himself suddenly seized from behind by some one of Herculean strength. His struggles were in vain ; he was surrounded by arme<l men. One threw a mantle over liim that stilled his cries, and enveloped him in its folds; and he was hurried off with irresistible rapidity. The next day passed without the appearance of Antonio at the alchymist's. Another, and another day succeeded, and yet he did not come ; nor had any thing been lieard of him at his lodgings. His absence caused, at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length alarm. Inez recollected (he singular intimations of the ballad-singer upon the mountain, which seemed to warn her of impending danger, and her mind was full of vague forebodings. She sat listening to every sound at the gate, or footstep on the staii-s. She would take up Iter guitar and strike a few notes, but it would not do; her heart wassickeningwithsuspense and anxiety. She had never before felt what it was to be really lonely. She now was conscious of the force of that attachment which had taken possession of her breast; for never do we know how much we love, never do we know how necessary the object of our love is to our happiness, until we experience the weary void of separation. The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his dis- ciple almost as sensibly as did his daughter. The animating buoyancy of the youth had inspired him with new ardour, and had given to his labours the charm of full companionship. However, he had re- sources and consolations of which his daughter was destitute. His pursuits were of a nature to occupy every thought, and keep the spirits in a state of con- tinual excitement. Certain indications, too, had lately manifested themselves, of the most favourable nature. Forty days and forty nights had the process gone on successfully; the old man's hopes were constantly rising, and he now considered the glorious moment once more at hand, when he should obtain not merely the major lunaria, but likewise the tinc- tura Solaris, the means of multiplying gold, and of prolonging existence. He remained, therefore, con- tinually shut up in his laboratory, watching his furnace ; for a moment's inadvertency might once more defeat all his expectations. He was sitting one evening at one of his solitary vigils, wrapped up in meditation; the hour was late, and his neighbour, the owl, was hooting from the battlement of the tower, when he heard the door open behind him. Supposing it to be his daughter coming to take her leave of him for the night, as was her fre- ((uent practice, he called her by name, but a harsh voice met his ear in reply. He was grasped by the arms, and looking up, perceived three strange men in the chamber. He at'cmpled to shake them off, but in vain. He called fur help, but they scoffed at his cries. "Peace, dotard!" cried one, " think'st thou the servants of lh( most holy inquisition are tobe dauuted by thy clamours? Comrades, away with him !" Without heeding his remonstrances and entreaties they seized upon his books and papers, took some note of llie apartment and the utensils, and then bore liiiu off a prisoner. Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely evening ; seated by a casement which looked into the garden, she had pensively watclieil star after slat sparkle out of the blue depths of the sky, and vas indulging a crowd of anxious thoughts about her lover until the rising tears began to flow. She was sud- denly alarmed by the sound of voices that seemed lo I come from a distant part of the mansion. There was not long after a noise of several persons tlescending the stairs. Surpriseil at these unusual sounds in their lonely habitation, she remained for a few mometnsin a state of trembling, yet indistinct appreiiensiun, when the servant rushed into the room, wilii terror in her countenance, and informed her that her father | was carried off by armed men. Inez did not stop to hear further, but flewdovrol stairs lo overtake them. She had scarcely passed the I threshold, wlien she found herself in the grasp orl strangers. — "Away! —away!" cried she, wildly; [ " do not stop me — let me follow my father." "We come to conduct you to him, senora,"iiaid| one of the men, respectfully. "Where is he, then?" " He is gone to Granada," replied the man; "aal unexpected circumstance requires his presence thetel immediately; but he is among friends." " We have no friends in Granada," said Inez,! drawing back; but then the idea of Antonio rushedl into her mind ; something relating to him might liaTel called her father thither. " Is Senor Antonio del Castros with him ?" demanded she with agitation. " I know not, senora," replied the man. "liis| very possible. I only know that your father is amoaj friends, and is anxious for you to follow him." "Let us go, then," cried she, eagerly. Tiiet led her a little distance lo where a mule was wail and, assisting her to mount, they conducted hersM]| towarils the city. Granada was on that evening a scene of fancirnl revel. It was one of the festivals of the MaeslraimJ an association of the nobility to keep up someoriiH gallant customs of ancient chivalry. There had betd a representation of a tournament inoneofthesquaml the streets would still occasionally resound witht beat of a solitary drum, or the bray ofa trumpet, fro some straggling party of revellers. Sometimes Ibi were met by cavaliers, richly dressed in ancient c tuines, attended by Iheir squires, and at one time Ihi passed in sight of a palace brilliantly illuminated from whence came the mingled sounds of music aii| the dance. Shortly after they came to the sqtiai^ where the mock tournament had been held. In thronged by the populace, recreating lhenisehi| among liooths and stalls where refroslinienls wn BRACEBRIDGE IIALI.. :m lisilion are lobe tlaunied }, away with him'." nstrances and enlrealies, id papers, Uwk some nole ;nsils, and then bore liiiu passed a sad and lonely ent wliich looked inlo the watched star after star pths of the sky, and wa» } lliouglits about her lover, 11 to flow. She was sud- i of voices that seemed lo the mansion . There waj ] everal persons descending ese unusual sounds in their lined for a few momelns la I t indistinct apprehension, nto the room, with terror ifornied lier that lier father | nen. ar further, but flew down I jhe had scarcely passed the nd herself in the crasp o( away!" cried she, wMlj;| follow my father." ; you to him, senora,"aid| lly. ida," replied the man; "aai ! requires his presence there bong friends." s in Granada," said Inez, le idea of Antonio rushed relating to him miglithavel " Is Senor Antonio dtj landed she with agitation. replied the man. "IlisI ow lliat your father is aino:^| you to follow him." ied she, eagerly. The where a nuile was wailin;, lit they conducted her slowl] evening a scene of fancifi festivals of the Macslraiia, bility to keep up some of liii t chivalry. There had' namentinoneofthesquaiesi !casionally resound wiiliU (r the bray of a trumpet, fi ' revellers. Sometimes lli ichly dressed in ancient squires, and at one time II ilace brilliantly illuminati Imingled sounds of musical r they came tothesqim lent had been held, li' ]ace, recreating thenisehi s where refreshments wi 5nl(l, and the glare of torches showed the temporary galleries, and gay-coloured awnings, and armorial iropliies. and other paraphernalia of the show. The conductors of Inez endeavoured to keep out of obser- vation, and to traverse a gloomy part of the scpiare ; hut they were detained at one place by the pressnre ofa crowd surrounding a parly of wandering musi- cians, singing one of those ballads of which the Spa- pIjI, populace are so passionately fond. The torches wliicli were held by some of the crowd, threw a strong mass of light upon Inez, and the sight of so beautiful a being, without mantilla or veil, looking so bewildered, and conducted by men, who seemeil to lake no gratification in the surrounding gaiety, oc- casioned expressions of curiosity. One of the ballad- 5ii,„ers approached, and striking her guitar with pecu- liar earnestness, began to sing a doleful air, full of sinister forebodings. Inez started with surprise. It vas the same ballad-singer that had addressed her in llhe^arden of Generalife. It was the same air that Liie had then sung. It spoke of impending dangers; they seemed, indeed, to be thickening around her. [she was anxious to speak with the girl, and to ascer- lin whether she really had a knowledge of any de- nile evil that was threatening her; but as she at- inipted to address her, the mule, on which she rode, as suddenly seized, and led forcibly through the Ihrong by one of her conductors, while she saw an- tlier addressing menacing words to the ballad-singer. he latter raised her hand with a warning gesture Inez lost sight of her. While she was yet lost in perplexity, caused by lis singular occurrence, they stopped at the gate of large mansion. One of her attendants knocked, le door was opened, and they entered a paved court. Where are we?" demanded Inez, with anxiety. At the house of a friend, senora," replied the man. Ascend this staircase with me, and in a moment lu will meet your father." They ascended a staircase that led to a suite of ilendid apartments. They passed through several lil they came to an inner chamber. The door ;ned, some one approached : but what was her irror at perceiving, not her father, but Don Am- io! The men who had seized upon the alchymist had, least, been more honest in tlieir professions. They Te, indeed, familiars of the inquisition. He was lucted in silence to the gloomy prison of that ible tribunal. It was a mansion whose very as- t withered joy, and almost shut out hope. It was le of those hideous abodes which the bad passions men conjure up in this fair world, to rival the fan- dens of demons and the accursed. ay after day went heavily by without any thing mark the lapse of time, but the decline and re-ap- irance of the light that feebly glimmered through narrow window of the dungeon, in which the fortunate alchymist was buried, rather than con- His mind was harassed with uncertainties and fears about his danghter, so helpless and inexperienc- ed. He endeavoured to gather tidings of her from the man who brought his daily portion of food. The fellow stared, as if astonished, at l)eing asked a qnes- lion in that mansion of silence and mystery, but de- parted without saying a word. Every succeeding attempt was equally fruitless. The poor alchymist was ofipressed by many griefs ; and it was not the least that he had lieen again in- terrupted in his labours on the very point of success. Never was alchymist so near attaining the golden secret — a little longer, and all his hopes would have been realized. The thoughts ofthese disappointments afflicted him more even than the fear of all that he might suffer from the merciless inquisition. His waking thoughts would follow him into his dreams. He would be transported in fancy to his laboratory, busied again among retorts and alembics, and sur- rounded by Lully, by D'Abano, by Olybius, and the other masters of the sublime art. The moment of projection would arrive ; a seraphic form would rise out of the furnace, liolding forth a vessel, containing the precious elixir; but before he could grasp the prize, he would awake, and find himself in a dungeon. All the devices of inquisitorial ingenuity were em- ployed to ensnare the old man, and to draw from him evidence that might be brought against himself, and might corroborate certain secret information that had been given against him. He had been accused of practising necromancy and judicial astrology, and a cloud of evidence had been secretly brought forward to substantiate the charge. It would be tedious to enumerate all the circumstances, apparently corrobo- rative, which had been industriously cited by the se- cret accuser. The silence which prevailed about the tower, its desolateness, the very quiet of its inhabit- ants, had been adduced as proofs that something si- nister was perpetrated within. The alchymist's conversations and soliloquies in the garden had been overheard and misrepresented. The lights and strange appearances at night, in the lower, were given w^ith violent exaggerations. Shrieks and yells were said to have been heard from thence at mid- night, when, it was confidently asserted, the old man raised familiar spirits by his incantations, and even compelled the dead to rise from their graves, and answer to his questionings. The alchymist, according to the custom of the in- quisition, was kept in complete ignorance of his ac- cuser; of the witnesses produced against him; even of the crimes of which he was accused. He was examined generally, whether he knew why he was arrested, and was conscious of any guilt that might deserve the notice of the holy office? He was exa- mined as to his country, his life, liis habits, his pur-^ suits, his actions, and opinions. The old man was. frank and simple in his replies; he was conscious of no guilt, capable of no art, practised in no dissimula- tion. After receiving a general admonition to be- think himself whether he had not committed any act 400 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. deserving of punishment, and to prepare, by confes- sion, tosectn-e llie well-knowiimercy of the tribunal, be was remanded to his cell. He vas now visitetl in bis duni^eon by crafty fami- liars o. the inquisition; who, under pretence of sym- pathy and kindness, came to beguile the tediousness of bis imprisonment with friendly conversation. They casually introduced the subject of nichymy, on wliicli they touchoil with great caution and pretended in- difference. There was no need of such craftiness. The honest enthusiast had no suspicion in his nature : the moment they touched upon his favourite theme , be forgot bis misfortunes and imprisonment, and broke forth inlo rhapsoilies about the divine science. The conversation was artfully turned to the dis- cussion of elementary beings. The alchymist readily avowed his belief in them ; and that there had been instances of their attending upon philosophers, and administering to their wishes. He related many mi- racles said to have been performed by Apollonius Tbyaneus through the aid of spirits or demons ; in- somuch that he was set np by the heathens in oppo- sition to the Messiah, and was even regarded with reverence by many Christians. The familiars eager- ly demanded whether he believed Apollonius to be a true and worthy philosopher. The unaffected piety of the alchymist protected him even in the midst of bis simplicity; for he condemned Apollonius as a sor- cerer and an impostor. No art could draw from him an admission that he had ever employed or invoked spiritual agencies in the prosecution of his pursuits, though he believed himself to have been frequenUy impeded by their invisible interference. The inquisitors were sorely vexed at not lieing able to inveigle bim into a confession of a criminal nature; they attributed their failure to craft, to obstinacy, to every cause but the right one, nanely, that the harm- less visionary had nothing guilty to confess. They had abundant proof of a secret nature against him; but it was the practice of the inquisition to endeavour to procure confession from the prisoners. An auto da fe was at hand; the worthy fathers were eager for ins conviction, for they were always anxious to have a good number of culprits condemned to the stake, to grace these solemn triumphs. He was at length brought to a final examination. The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. At one end was a huge crucifix, the standard of tlie inquisition. A long table extended through the centre of the room, at which sat the inquisitors and their secretary; at the otlier end a stool was placed for the prisoner. He was brought in, according to custom, bare- beaded and bare-legged. He was enfeebled by con- finement and affliction; by constantly brooding over the unknown fate of his child, and the disastrous in- terruption of liis experiments. He sat bowed down and listless; bis head sunk upon his breast; his whole appearance that of one " past hope, abandoned, and by himself given over." The accusation allegetl against bim was now l)roQ»|,t J forward in a specific form ; he was called by narn« Felix dc Vas(|ucz, formerly of Castile, to answer lo I the charges of necromancy and demonology. He q-g, told that the charges were amply subslanliatpcj; ,in(| l was asked whether he was ready, by full coufcssi,,;! lo throw himself upon the well-known mercy of i||i> j holy iu(|uisitiou. 'i'lie philosopher testified some slight surprise at ih« I nature of the accusation, but simply replied, "lam innocent." " What proof have you to give of your innocence?" I "It rather remains for you to prove your ciiarsfs " I said the old man. " I am a stranger and a sojourner 1 in the land, and know no one out of the dnursufmyl dwelling. I can give nothing in my vindication but | the word of a nobleman and a Castilian." The inquisitor shook his head, and went on to re- 1 peat the various inquiries that bad before been made I as to his mode of life and pursuits. The poor alcliv- mist was too feeble and tdC weary at heart to make I any but brief replies. He requested that somenianl of science might examine his laboratory, ami al! iiisj books and papers, by which it would be made abun- dantly evident that he was merely engaged in liie| study of alchymy. To this the inquisitor observed, that alchymy haill become a mere covert for secret and deadly sinsT That the praclisers of it were apt to scruple at nol means to satisfy their inordinate greediness of gnldj Some had been known to use spells and inipious ce-l remonies ; to conjure the ai<l of evil spirits; navT even to sell their souls to the enemy of ninnkiiid, s that they might riot in boundless wealth while liviogj The poor alchymist had heard all palicnily, or.alT least, passively. He had disdained to vindicale m name otherwise than by his word; he had smiled al the accusations of sorcery, when applied merely I himself; but when the sublime art, which had i the study and passion of his life, was assailed, could no longer listen in silence. His head gradid| rose from bis bosom ; a hectic colour came in li\n streaks to his cheek, played about there, disappeared returned, and at length kindled into a burning ^'bj The clammy dampness dried from his forehead; eyes, which had been nearly extinguished, liglilediq again, and burned with their wonted and visioiiar fires. He entered into a vindication of his favourii art. His voice at first was feeble and broken ; I gathered strength as he proceeded, until it rolled ij a deep and sonorous volume. He gradually i from his seat as he rose with his sulvjecl; he tlire back the scanty black mantle which had iiilber wrapped his limbs; the very uncouthnessofliisfot and looks gave an impressive effect to what be i tered; it was as though a corpse had becomes denly animated. He repelled with scorn tlie aspersions cast uponil chymy by the ignorant and vulgar. He anirnieJl to be the mother of all art and science, citing tlieii{ BRACEBRIDGE HALL. KN nslhimwasnowbroo^lu lie was calle«l by name. Df CaslUc, to answer lo lid (leinonoloiiy. He was mply subslaiiliatetl; and ready, by full eoiifessMi, sell-known mercy of lli- 5omeslisht surprise aUhe I III simply replied, "lam ) "ive of your innocence?" ' )U to prove your cliara;es," aslrangerandasojoiirnerl )iie out of die doois of my liiif in my vindication kl | ul a Castilian." . bead, and went on to re- Ibat bad before been made] pursuits. Tbe poor alchy- flC weary at bcart lo make I i requested tbat some man I his laboratory, and al! hisi icb it would be niatie abim-l vas merely engaged in llie (bserved, tbat alcliymyWl for secret and deadly sins.! were apt to scruple al ml ordinate greediness of gnUJ use spells and impious ce-| be aid of evil spirits; n, the enemy of mankind, undlessweallb while liviii;,| d beavd all patiently, or, l disdained lo vindicate liiJ bis word; be bad smiled al| y, wben applied merely Sublime art, wbich had ' of bis life, was assailed, ' silence. His bead gradiiallj beclic colour came iii fail ed about lbere,disapi)care [kindled into a burning glow] Med from bis forehead;' arly extinguished, lighleil" Ibeir wonted and visionni [a vindication of bis favouii , as feeble and broken; but j proceeded, until it rolled i volume. Ue gradually « witb bis subject; he m mantle wbich bad Into very uncoutbnessoflusfot Vessive effect to what be i lb a corpse bad becomes In tlie aspersions cast upon and vulgar. He anirm«i Irt and science, citing the nions of Paracelsns, Sandivugbis, Raymond Lully, and others, in support of his assertions. He main- tained that it was pure and iimocent, and honourable Iwlh in its purposes and means. VVIial were its ol>- jecis? The perpetuation of life and youth, and the production of gold. " The elixir vi(a>," said he, " is 110 cliarnied potion, but merely a concentration of those elements of vitality which nature has scattered through her works. The philosopher's stone, or linc- liire, or |>owder, as it is variously called, is no necro- mantic talisman, but consists siniply of those particles whieli gold contains within itself for its reproduction; for gold, like other things, has its seed within itself, tliougli bound up with inconceivable firmness, from tlie vigour of innate fixed salts and sulphurs. In seeking lo discover the elixi:- of life, then," continued he, " we seek only lo apply some of nature's own specifics against the disease and decay to which our bodies are subjected; and what else does the physi- cian, when he tasks bis art, and uses subtle com- pounds and cunning distillations to revive our lan- guishing powers, and avert the stroke of death for a season? " In seeking to multiply tbe precious metals, also, ve seek but to germinate and multiply, by natural means, a particular species of nature's productions ; and what else does the husbandman, who consults times and seasons, and, by what might be deemed a natural magic, from the mere scattering of his hand, covers a whole plain with golden vegetation? The mysteries of our art, it is true, are deeply and darkly {hidden; hut it requires so much the more innocence and purity of tbougbl lo penetrate unto them. No, faiher ! the true alchymist must be pure in mind and body: he must be temperate, patient, chaste, watch- jful, meek, humble, devout. 'My son,' says Hermes rismegisles, the great master of our art, 'My son, recommend you above all things to fear Go<l.' And ideed it is only by devout castigalion of the senses ind pnriGcati'jn of tbe soul, that tbe alchymist is Enabled to enter into the sacred chambers of truth. Labour, pray, and read,' is the motto of our science. isDeNuysmentwell obsei-ves, * these high and sin- nlar favours are granted unto none, save only unto he sons of Gwl, (that is to say, Ihe virtuous and de- [out,) who, under bis paternal benediction, have ol)- lined the opening of the same, by the helping hand Ihe queen of arts, divine Philosophy.' Indeed, so :red has the nature of this knowledge been consi- ired, that we are told it has four times been ex- communicated by God to man, having made part of that cabalislical wisdom wliieh was revealed Adam to console him for the loss of Paradise, and Moses in the bush, and to Solomon in a dream, and Esdras by the angel. "So far from demons and malign spirits being tbe and abettors of the alchymist, they are the ilinual foes with which be has to contend. It is Jir constant endeavour to shut up the avenues to Irullis which would enable him lo rise above the abject stale hito which he has fallen, and return to that excellence whicli was Ids original birth right. For what would be the effect of (his length of days, and this abundant wealth, but to enable the possessor to go on from art lo art, froni science lo science, with energies unimpaired by sickness, uninterrupted by death? Fortius have sages and philosophers shut themselves up in cells and solitudes; buried them- selves in caves ami dens of the earlh ; turning from the joys of life, and the pleasance of the world; en- during scorn, poverty, persecution. For this was Raymond Lully stoned lo death in Mauritania. For this did the immortal Pielro D'Abano suffer persecu- tion at Padua, and when be escaped from his oppress- ors by death, was despilefidly burnt in effigy. For this have illustrious men of all nations intrepidly suf- fered martyrdom. For Ibis, if unmolested, have Ihey assiduously employed tbe latest hour of life, the ex- piring throb of existence; hoping to the last that they mighl yet seize upon the prize for which they had slrriggled, and pluck themselves back even from the very jaws of Ihe grave ! " For, when once tbe alchymist shall have attained the object of his toils; when the sublime secret shall be revealed lo his gaze, how glorious will be the change in his condition ! How will he emerge from his solitary retreat, like the sun breaking forth from the darksome chamber of the night, and darting his beams Ihroughoul the earth! Gifted with perpetual youth and boundless riches, lo what heights of wisdom may he attain ! How may he carry on, uninterrupted, the tbi.'ad of knowledge, M'hich has hitherto been snapped al the death of each philosopher! And, as the increase of wisdom is tbe increase of virtue, how may he become the benefactor of his fellow-men; dis- pensing with liberal, but cautious and discriminating nand, that inexhaustible wealth which is at his dis- posal ; banishing poverty, which is the cause of so much sorrow and wickedness; encouraging the arts; promoting discoveries, and enlarging all the means of virtuous enjoyment ! His life will be the connect- ing band of generations. History will live in his re- collection ; distant ages will speak with his tongue. The nations of the earth will look lo him as their pre- ceptor, and kings will sit at his feet and learn wis- dom. Oh glorious! Oh celestial alcbymy ! " — Here be was interrupted by the inquisitor, who had suffered him to go on thus far, in hopes of gathering something from his unguarded enthusiasn; , ' ' Senor," said he, " this is all rambling, visionary talk. You are charged with sorcery, and in defence you give us a rhapswly alrout alcbymy. Have you nothing belter than this to offer in your defence ? " The old man slowly resumed his seal, but did not deign a reply. The fire that had beamed in bis eye gradually expired. His cheek resumed ils wonted paleness; but he did not relapse into inanity. He sat with a steady, serene, patient look, like one pre- pared not to contend but lo suffer. His trial continued for a long lime, with cruel. 51 I. 402 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. ii mockery of justice, fur no witnesses were ever, in this court, confronted witli the accused, and the latter had continually to defend himself in the dark. Some unknown and powerful enemy had alleged charges against the unfortunate alchymist, but who he could not imagine. Stranger and sojourner as he was in the land ; solitaiy and harmless in his pursuits, how could he liave provoked such hostility ? The tide of secret testimony, however, was too strong against him; he was convicted of the crime of ma'^ic, and condemned to expiate his sins at the slake, at (he ap- proaching auto da fi. While the unhappy alchymist was undergoing his trial at the inquisition, his daughter was exposed to trials no less severe. Don Ambrosio, uito whose hands she had fallen, was, as has before been iAl- mated, one of the most daring and lawless profligates in all Granada. He was a man of hot blood and flery passions, who stopped at nothing in the grati- fication of his desires; yet with all this he possessed manners, address and accomplishments, that had made him eminently successful among the sex. From the palace to (he cottage he had extended his amor- ous enterprizes; his serenades harassed the slumbers of half the husbands in Granada ; no balcony was too high for bis adventurous attempts, nor any cot- tage too lowly for bis perfidious seductions. Yet he was as fickle as he was ardent ; success had made him vain and capricious; he had no sentiment to at- tach him to the victim of his arts ; and many a pale cheek and fading eye, languishing amidst the spark- ling of jewels, and many a breaking heart, throbbing under the rustic boddice, bore testimony to his triumplis and his faithlessness. He was sated, however, by easy conquests, and wearied of a life of continual and prompt gratifica- tion. There had been a degree of difficulty and en- terprize in the pursuit of Inez, that he had never before experienced. It bad aroused him from the monotony of mere sensual life, and stimulated him with the charm of adventure. He had become an epicure in pleasure ; and now that he had this coy beauty in his power, he was determined to protract hisenjoyment, by the gradual conquestof her scruples, and downfall of her virtue. lie was vain of his per- son and address, which be thought no woman could long Avithstand; and it was a kind of trial of skill, to endeavour to gain by art and fascination, what he was secure of obtaining at any time by violence. When Inez, therefore, was brought into bis pre- sence by his emissaries, he affected not to notice her terror and suiprise, but received her with formal and stately courtesy. He was too wary a fowler to flut- ter the bird when just entangled in the net. To her eager and wild inquiries about her father, he begged her not to be alarmed ; that he was safe, and bad been there, but was engaged elsewhere in an affair of moment, from which he would soon return; in the mean time he had left word, that she should await his return in patience. After some stately ex- pressions of general civility, Don Ambrosio made a ceremonious bow and retired. The mind of Inez was full of trouble and perplexity. The stately formality of Don Ambrosio was so im- expected as to check the accusations and reproaches that were springing to her lips. Had he had evil designs, would he have treated her with such frigid ceremony when he had her in his power ? But why, then, was she brought to his house ? Was not the mysterious disapfiearance of Antonio connected with this? A thought suddenly darted into her mind, Antonio had again met with Don Ambrosio—ihey had fought— Antonio was wounded— perhaps dyin»! —It was him to whom her father had gone.— Ii vas at his request that Don Ambrosio had sent for ihem to soothe his dying moments ! These, and a llionsand i such horrible suggestions, harassed her mind ; bat she tried in vain to get information from the do- mestics; they knew nothing but that her father had j been there, had gone, and would soon return. Thus passed a night of tumultuous thought and I vague yet cruel apprehensions. She knew not what I to do, or what to l)elieve : whether she oiigiit to fly or to remain ; but if to fly, how was she to extricate I herself? and where was she to seek her father? As I the day dawned without any intelligence of him, hw I alarm increased ; at length a message was brooglit I from him, saying that circumstances prevented hii| return to her, but begging her to hasten (o him widi-| out delay. With an eager and throbbing heart did she set I forth with the men that were to conduct her. She! little thought, however, that she was merely chang-l ing her prison-house. Don Ambrosio had feared iesti she should be traced to his residence in Granada; orl that he might be interrupted there before he coalil| accomplish his plan of seduction. He had her not I conveyed, therefore, to a mansion which he possesscdl in one of the mountain solitudes in the neighbourhoodl of Granada, a lonely, but beautiful retreat. In Taiii,| on her arrival, did she look around fur her father, otl Antonio; none but strange faces met her eye; meniali| profoundly respectful, but who knew nor saw aiij| thing but what their master pleased. She had scarcely arrived before Don Ambn made his appearance, less stately in his manner,! still treating her with the utmost delicacy and i Terence. Inez was too much agitated and alarmed n be baffled by his courtesy, and became vehement iij her demand to be conducted to her father. Don Ambrosio now put on an -appearance ofti greatest embarrassment and emotion. After delay, and much pretended confusion, he at len{ confessed that the seizure of her father wiis alia sin tagem ; a mere false alarm to procure him the pre opiMrtunity of having access to her, and endeavm ing to mitigate that obduracy, and conquer thif ' pugnance, which he declared had almost driven 1 to distraction. He assured her that her fatlier was again at I BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 405 Don Ambrosio made a f trouble and perplexity. I Ambrosio was so \in- jsations and reproacliM lips. Had he had evil ed her wilh such frigid n his power? Rutwliy, s house ? Was not llie Antonio connected with darted into her mind. Lh Don Ambrosio— ihey ounded— perhaps dying! father had gone.— II was ibrosio had sent for them 5 ! These, and a thousand harassed her mind ; but [iformalion from tlie do- g but that her father liad would soon return. tumultuous thought and I ons. She knew not wliat | ■whether she ouglittoily, how was she to extricate I le to seek her father? As ny intelligence of him, lier h a message was brougbtl rcumstances prevented m ' her to hasten to him witlh irobbing heart did slie set tvere to conduct her. She liat slie was merely cliang- on Ambrosio had feared lest is residence in Granada; or ipted there before he could luction. He had hernoi mansion which he possessed itudes in the neighbourhood beautiful retreat. Invaiiv [)k around for her father, ot e faces met her eye; meniak jt who knew nor saw anj ter pleased, ved before Don Ambi 8 stately in his manner, lie utmost delicacy and [uch agitated and alarmed , and became vehement i ^ted to her father, [ut on an appearance of and emotion. After s [\ei\ confusion, he at lei , ofher father was alia 8ii 11 to procure him the pr jess to her, and endeav jracy, and conquer tlidt lared had almost driven lerfiiUier wasngainatl in safety, and occupied in his usual pursuits ; having been fully satisfied that his daughter was in honour- able hands, and would soon be restored to him. It was in vain that she threw herself at his feet, and implored to be set at liberty ; he only replied, by gentle entreaties, that she would pardon the seeming violence he had to use ; and that she would trust a little while to his honour. " You are here, " said he, "absolute mistress of every thing; nothing shall be $aid or done to offend you ; I will not even intrude upon your ear the unhappy passion that is devouring my heart. Should you require it, I will even absent myself from your presence ; but to part with you en- tirely at present, with your mind full of doubts and resentments, would be worse than death to me. No, beautiful Inez, you must first know me a little better, and know by my conduct, that my passion for you is as delicate and respectful as it is vehement. " The assurance of her father's safely had relieved Inez from one cause of torturing anxiety, only to render her fears the more violent on her own ac- count. Don Ambrosio, however, continued to treat her with artful deference, that insensibly lulled her apprehensions. It is true she found herself a captive, [but no advantage appeared to be taken of her help- . She sootiied herself with the idea that a little while would sufiice to convince Don Ambrosio )f the fallacy of his hopes, and that he would be in- luced to restore her to her home. Her transports of error and affliction, therefore, subsided, in a few lys, into a passive, yet anxious melancholy, wilh rhich she awaited the hoped-for event. In the mean whihall those artifices were employed lat are calculated to charm the senses, ensnare the ilings, and dissolve the heart into tenderness. Don Lmbrosio was a master of the subtile arts of seduc- )n. His very mansion breathed an enervating at- sphere of languor and delight. It was here, amidst rilight saloons and dreamy chambers, buried among )ves of orange and myrtle, that he shut himself up times from the prying world, and gave free scope the gratilication of his pleasures. The apartments were furnished in the most sump- |ous and voluptuous manner ; the silken couches relied to the touch, and sunk in downy softness eneath the slightest pressure. The paintings and itues all told some classic tale of love, managed, iwever, wilh an insidious delicacy ; which, while it lished the grossness that might disgust, was the )re calculated to excite the imagination. There the )ming Adunis was seen, not breaking away to [rsue the boisterous chase, butcrowned wilh flowers, iguisl<.ing in the embraces of celestial beauty. lere Acis wooed his Galatea in the shade, with the Hlian sea spreading in halcyon serenity before them. [ere were depicted groups of fauns and dryads, lly rec!inttig in summer bowers, and listening to liquid piping of the reed ; or the wanton satyrs vising some wood-nympli during her noontide iber. There, too, on the storied tapestry, might be seen the chaste Diana, stealing, In the mystery of moonlight, to kiss the sleeping Endymion ; while Cu- pid and Psyche, entwined iu immortal marble, breath- ed on each other's lips the early kiss of love. The ardent rays of the sun were excluded from these balmy halls; soft and tender music from unseen musicians floated around, seeming- to mingle with the perfumec that were exhaled from a thousand flowers. At night, when the moon shed a fairy light over the scene, the tender serenade would rise from among the bowers of the garden, in which the fine voice of Don Ambrosio might often be distinguished ; or. the amorous flute would be heard along the mountain, breathing in its pensive cadences the very soul of a lover's melancholy. Various enterluinmenls were also devised to dispel her loneliness, and to charm away the idea of confine- ment. Groups of Andalusian dancers performed, in the splendid saloons, the various picturesque dances oftlieircounti7;or represented little amorous ballets, which turned upon some pleasing scene of pastoral coquetry and courtship. Sometimes there were bands of singers who, to the romantic guitar, warbled forth ditties full of passion and tenderness. Thus all about her enticed to pleasure and volup- tuousness ; but the heart of Inez turned with distaste from this idle mockery. The tears would rush into her eyes as her thoughts reverted from this scene of profligate splendour, to the humble but virtuous home from whence she had been betrayed ; or if the witch- ing power of music ever soothed her into a tender re- verie, it was to dwell with fondness on the image of Antonio. But if Don Ambrosio, deceived by this transient calm, should attempt at such time to whisper his passion, she would start as from a dream, and recoil from him with involuntary shuddering. She had passed one long daiy of more than ordinary sadness, and in the evening a band of these hired performers were exerting all the animating powers of song and dance to amuse her. But while tlie lofly saloon resounded with their warblings, and the light sound of feet upon its marble pavement kept time to the cadence of the song, poor Inez, with her face bu- ried in the silken couch on which she reclined, was only rendered mure wretched by the sound of gaiety. At length her attention was caught by the voice of one of the singers, that brought wilh it some inde- finite recollections. She raised her head, and cast an anxious look at the performers, who, as usual, were at ihe lower end of the saloon. One of them advanc- ed a little before the others. It was a female, dressed in a fanciful, pastoral garb, suited to the character she was sustaining ; but her countenance was not to be mistaken. It was Ihe same ballad-singer that had twice crossed her path, and given her mysterious in- timations of the lurking mischief that surrounded her. When the rest of the performances were concluded, she seized a tanihuurine, and tossing it aloft, danced alone to the melody of her own voice. In the course of her dancing she approached to where Inez reclined ; 4(>i BRACEBRIDGE HALL. f aiid as she struck the tamhouriiie, contrived, dex- terously, to throw a folded paper on the couch. Inez seized it with avidity, and concealed it in her bosom. The singing and dancing were at an end ; the motley crew retired ; and Inez, left alone, hastened with anxiety to unfold the paper thus mysteriously con- veyed. It was written in an agitated, and almost il- legible, hand-writing; "Be on your guard ! you are surrounded by treachery. Trust not to the forbear- ance of Don Ambrosio; you arc marked out for his prey. An humble victim to his perfidy gives you this warning ; she is encompassed by too many dangers to be more explicit.— Your father is in the dungeons of the inquisition ! " The brain of Inez reeled as she read this dread- ful scroll. She was less tilled with alarm at her own danger, than horror at her father's situation. The moment Don Ambrosio appeared, she rushed and threw herself at his feet, imploring him to save her tialher. Don Ambrosio started with astonishment; but immediately regaining his seif-iwssession, endea- voured to soothe her by his blandishments, and by as- surances that her father was in safety. She was not to be pacified ; her fears were too much aroused to be trilled with. She declared her knowledge of her father's being a prisoner of the inquisition, and reite- rated her frantic supplications that he would save him. Don Ambrosio paused for a moment in perplexity, but was too adroit to be easily confounded. " That your father is a prisoner," replied he, " I have long known. I have concealed it from you, to save you from fruitless anxiety. You now know the real rea- son of the restraint I have put upon your liberty : I have been protecting instead of detaining you. Every exertion has been made inyour father's favour; but I regret to say, the proofs of the offences of which he stands charged have been too strong to be contro- verted. Still," added he, "I have it in my power to save him; I have influence, I have means at my beck; it may involve me, it is true, in diHiculties, perhaps in disgrace ; but what would I not do in the hopes of being rewarded by your favour? Speak, beautiful Inez," said he, his eyes kindling witii sudden eagerness, " it is with you to say the word that seals your father's fate. One kind word, say but you will be mine, and you will behold me at your feel, your father at liberty and in affluence, and we shall all be happy ! " Inez drew back from him with scorn and disbelief. " My father," exclaimed she, "is too innocent and blameless to be convicted of crime ; this is some base, some cruel artifice!" Don Ambrosio repeated his asseverations, and with them also his dishonourable proposals; but his eagerness overshot its mark; her indignation and her incredulity were alike awakened by his base suggestions ; and he retired from her pre- sence checked and awed by the sudden pride and di- gnity of her demeanour. The unfortunate Inez now l)ecame a prey to the most harrowing anxieties. Don Ambrosio saw that the mask had fallen from his face, and that the nature of his machinations was revealed. He had gone too far to retrace his steps, and assume the affectation of tenderness and respect ; indeed he was mortified and incensed at her insensibility to his attractions, anr| now only sought to subdue her through her fears. He daily represented to her the dangers that threaten- ed her father, and that it was in his power alone to avert them. Inez was still incredulous. She was too ignorant of the nature of the inquisition to knov that even innocence was not always a protection from its cruelties ; and she confided too surely in the virtue of her father to believe that any accusation could prevail against him. At length, Don Ambrosio, to give an effectual blow to her confidence, brought her the proclamation of I the approaching auto da fi, in which the prisoner | were enumerated. She glanced her eye over it, and beheld her father's name, condemned to the slake for | sorcery. For a moment she stood transfixed with horror. Don Ambrosio seized upon the transient calm. "Think, now, l)eauliful Inez," said he, with alonel of affected tenderness, " his life is still in your hands; I one word from you, one kind word, and I can yet I save him." " Monster! wretch !" cried she, coming to herself,] and recoiling from him with insuperable abhorrence; " 'tis you that are the cause of this — 'tis you that attl his murderer ! " Then, wringing her hands, sbel broke forth into exclamations of the most franlicagonjr.f The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of lier| soul, and anticipated from it a triumph. He saw I she was in no mood, during her present paroxysm, lol listen to his words ; but he trusted that the horrail of lonely rumination would break down her spiril,! and subdue her to his will. In this, however, lie « disappointed. Many were the vicissitudes ofmindit the wretched Inez ; one time she would embrace li knees with piercing supplications ; at nnollier i would shrink with nervous horror at his very apj proach ; but any intimation of his passion only excM the same emotion of loathing and detestalion. At length the fatal day drew nigh. " To-morroffil said Don Ambrosio, as he left her one evening, "T«| morrow is the auto da /<*. To-morrow you will li* the sound of the bell that tolls your father lo liisdealii You will almost see the smoke that rises from his foj neral pile. I leave you to yourself. It is yet inn power to save him. Think whether you can sla to-morrow's horrors without shrinking. Think win ther you can endure the after-reflection, that ] were the cause of his death, and that mTcly tlm a perversity in refusing proffered happiness." What a night was it to Inez ! Her heart, alit harassed and almost broken by repeated n>ul proin ed anxieties ; her strength wasted and enfeebled, every side liorrors awaited her; her father's dfi her own dishonour; there seemed no esea|)e fni misery or perdition. ' ' Is there no relief IVoui in BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 405 ice, and that the nature lied. He had gone too ssume the affectation of id he was mortined and to his attractions, and her through her fears. le dangers that threaten- IS in his power alone to incredulous. Slie was the inquisition to know lot always a protection 3nfided too surely in the ieve that any accusation , to give an effectual blow her the proclamation of ), in which the prisoners uiced her eye over it, and ondemned to the slake for d transfixed with horror. pon the transient calm. iiez," said he, with a lone I is life is still in your hands; kind word, and I can yet] ried she, coming to herself, Ih insuperahle abhorrence; seof this— 'tis you that are wringing her hands, sIk )nsof the most franlicagony. sio saw the torture of het I it a triumph. He saw Hut] iig her present paroxysm, Ki le trusted that the horron lid hreak down her spirit In this, however, he •e the vicissitudes of mind lime she would embrace •plications ; at another ous horror at his very an of his passion only excit ling and detestation. re w nigh. "To-morrow,' e left her one evening, "T( To-morrow you will li tolls your father 10 his dea imoke that rises from liisti to yourself. It is yd in link whether youcansti hout shrinking. Think «1 le after-retleclion, that jth, and that mnelyth noffered happiness." Lo Inez ! Her heart, alreJ ten hy repeated ami proli h wasted and enfeebled, led her; her father's di ere seemed no escape ft Is there no relief IVom lit! I „o pity In heaven ? " exdabned she. " What— what Lave we done that we should be thus wretched?" j^g llie dawn approached, the fever of her mind ■rose to agony ; a thousand times did she try the doors windows of her apartment, in the desperate hope )f escaping. Alas! with all the splendour of her )rison, it was too faithfully secured for her weak lands to work deliverance. Like a poor bird, that Its its wmgs against its gilded cage, until it sinks inling in despair, so she threw herself on the floor 1 hopeless anguish. Her blood grew hot in her veins, •rlongue was parched, her temples throbbed with liolence, she gasped rather than breathed; it seemed if her brain was on lire. " Blessed Virgin ! " ex- laimed she, clasping her hands and turning up her rained eyes, " look down with pily, and support me this dreadful hour!" Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a key im soflly in the door of her apartment. She dread- lest it should be Don Ambrosio; and the very lought of him gave her a sickening pang. It was a ;niale, clad in a rustic dress, with her face concealed her mantilla. She stepped silently into the room, )ked cautiously round, and then, uncovering her ice, revealed the well-known features of the ballad- inger. Inez uttered an exclamation of surprise, al- itof joy. The unknown slarted back, pressed her |nger on her lips enjoining silence, and beckoned ;r to follow. She hastily wrapped herself in her iiland obeyed. They passed with quick but noise- steps through an anti-chamber, across a spacious ill, and along a corridor; all was silent; the house- )ld was yet locked in sleep. They came to a door, which the unknown applied a key. Inez' heart lisgave her ; she knew not but some new treachery ^as menacing her; she laid her cold hand on the ranger's arm : " Whither are you leading iiie ? " lid she. "To liberty," replied the other, in a [liisper. " Do you know the passages about this mansion?" "But too well!" replied the girl, with a melan- loly shake of the head. There was an expression sad veracity in her countenance that was not to be strusted. The door opened on a small terrace, jhich was over-looked by several wiiulows of the nsion. I" We must move across this (juickly," said the girl, )r we may be observed." iThey glided over it as if scarce touching the ground. iBiglil of steps led down into the garden; a wicket llie bottom was readily unbolted : they passed with taihless velocity along one of the alleys, still in sight the mansion, in which^ however, no person ap- ired to be stirring. At length they came to a low |vale-(loor in the wall, partly hidden by a fig-tree, fas secured by rusly bolls, that refused to yield lo (ir feeble efforts. f'Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the slranger, "what lo be done ? one moment more, and we may be tvered." She seized a stone that lay near by; a few blows, and the bolts flew back; the door grated harshly as they opened it, and the next moment they found themselves in a narrow road. "Now," said the stranger, "for Granada as quickly as possible! The nearer we approach it, the safer we shall be ; for the road will be more fire- quented." The imminent risk they ran of being pursued and taken gave supernatural strength to their limbs ; they flew rather than ran. The day had dawned; the crimson streaks on the edge of the horizon gave tokens of the approaching sunrise : already the light clouds that floated in the western sky were tinged with gold and purple; though the broad plain of the Vega, which now began to open upon their view, was co- vered with the dark haze of morning. As yet they only passed a few straggling peasants on the road, who could have yielded them no assistance in case of their being overtaken. They continued to hurry forward and had gained a considerable distance, when the strength of Inez, which had only been sustained by the fever of her mind, began to yield to fatigue : she slackened her pace, and faltered. " Alas ! " said she, " my limbs fail me ! I can go no farther ! " " Bear up, bear up, " replied her com- panion cheeringly; " a little farther, and we shall be safe : look! yonder is Granada, just showing itself in the valley below us. A little farther, and we shall come to the main road, and then we shall find plenty of passengers to protect us." Inez, encouraged, made fresh efforts to get forward, but her weary limbs were unequal to the eagerness of her mind; her mouth and tbi-oat were parched by agony and terror : she gasped for breath, and leaned for support against a rock. " It is all in vain ! " ex- claimed she ; " I feel as though I should faint. " " Lean on me, " said the other ; " let us get into the shelter of yon thicket, that will conceal us from the view; I hear the sound of water, which will re- fresh you. " With much difficulty they reached the thicket, which overhung a small mountain stream, just where its sparkling waters leaped over the rock and fell into a natural basin. Here Inez sank upon the ground exhausted. Her companion brcught water in the palms of her hands, and bathed her pallid temples. The cooling drops revived her ; she was enabled to get to the margin of the stream, and drink of its crystal current ; then, reclining her head on the bosom of her deliverer, she was first enabled to murmur forth her heartfelt gratitude. " Alas ! " said the oilier, " I deserve no thanks ; I deserve not the good opinion you express. In me you behold a victim of Don Ambrosio's arts. In early years he seduced me from the cottage of my parents : look ! at the foot of yonder blue mountain in the di- stance lies my native village : but it is no longer a home for me. From thence he lured me when I was too young for refiection ; he educated me, taught '^ .-: ?fti 406 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ■1^ 'i. p 'm. me various accomplishments, made me sensible to love, to splendoar, to refinement ; tlien having grown weary of me, he neglected me, and cast me upon tiie world. Happily the accomplishments he taught me have kept me from ulter want ; and the love with which he inspired me has kepi me from further de- gradation. Yes ! I confess my weakness; all his per- fidy and wrongs cannot efface him from my heart. I have been brought up to love him ; I have no other idol : I know him to be base, yet I canuot help ador- ing him. I am content to mingle among the hireling throng that administer to his amusements, that I may still hover about him, and linger in those halls where I once reigned mistress. What merit, then, have I in assisting your escape ? I scai-ce know whether I am acting from sympathy, and a desire to rescue another victim from his power ; or jealousy and an eagerness to remove too powerful a rival ! " While she was yet speaking, the sun rose in all its splendour ; first lighting up the mountain summits, then stealing down height by height, until its rays gilded the domes and towers of Granada, which they could partially see from between the trees, below them. Just then the heavy tones of a bell came sounding from a distance, echoing, in sullen clang, along the mountain. Inez turned pale at the sound. She knew it to be the great bell of the cathedral, rung at sunrise on the day of the auto da p, to give note of funeral preparation. Every stroke beat upon her heart, and inflicted an absolute, corporeal pang. She started up wildly. " Let us be gone ! " cried she ; " there is not a moment for delay ! " " Slop ! " exclaimed the other, " yonder are horse- men coming over the brow of that distant height ; if I mistake not, Don Ambrosio is at llieir head— Alas ! 'tis he; we are lost. Hold! " continued she, " give me your scarf and veil ; wrap yourself in this mantilla. I will fly up yon foot-path that leads to the heights. I will let the veil flutter as I ascend ; perhaps they may mistake me fur you, and they must dismount to follow me. Do you hasten forward : you will soon reach the main road. You have jewels on your fingers : bribe the first muleteer you meet to assist you on your way. " All this was said with hurried and breathless ra- pidity. The exchange uf garments was made in an instant. The giil darted up the mountain-path, her white veil fluttering among the dark shrubbery; while Inez, inspired with new strength, or rather new terror, flew to the road, and trusted to Providence to guide her tottering steps to Granada. All Granada was in agitation on the morning of this dismal day. The heavy bell of the cathedral continued to ulter its clanging tones, that pervaded every part of the city, summoning all persons to the tremendous spectacle that was about to be exhibited. The streets through which the procession was to pass were crowded with the populace. The windows, the roofs, every place that could admit a face or a fooUiold, was alive with spectators. In the great square a spacious scaffolding, like an amphitheatre I was erected, "vhere the sentences of the prisooenl were to be read, and the sermon of faith to be preaeh-f ed; and close by were the stakes prepared, whenl the condemned were to be burnt to death, Seaul were arranged for the great, the gay, the beaotifo|.| for such is the horrible curiosity of human nature I that this cruel sacrifice was attended with more eagerJ ness than a theatre, or even a bull feast. As 'he day advanced, the scaffolds and balcoD<{ were filled with expecting multitudes; the sunshoi brightly upon fair faces and gallant dresses; one woiildl have thought it some scene of elegant festivity, instead! of an exhibition of human agony and death. Bm what a different spectacle and ceremony was from those which Granada exhibited in llie days ( her Moorish splendour ! " Her galas, her tourajJ ments, her sports of the ring, her f^tes of St JohoJ her music, her Zambras, and admirable tilts of canesi Her serenades, her concerts, her songs in Generalirel The costly liveries of the Abencerrages, tiieir ej quisite inventions, the skill and valour of tiie Al« baces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, Mazas, an Gomeles ! " '—AH these were at an end. The dan of chivalry were over. Instead of the prancing ( valcade, with neighing steed and lively trumpet; villi burnished lance, and helm, and buckler ; with i confusion of plume, and scarf, and banner, v,!k purple, and scarlet, and green, and orange, and evei gay colour were mingled with cloth of gold and I embroidery ; instead of this crept on the gloomy | geant of superstition, in cowl and sackcloth; wilhcro and coffin, and frightful symbols of human sufTeri In place of the frank, hardy knight, open and braTej witii his lady's favour in his casque, and amuro motto on his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, towi^ the smile of beauty, came the shaven, unmanly i with downcast eyes, and head and heart hleachedi the cold cloister, secretly exulting in this bi^ triumph. The sound of bells gave notice that the dismal p cession was advancing. It passed slowly through ll principal streets of the city, bearing in advance I awful banner of the holy office. The prisoners val ed singly, attended by confessors, and guarded 1 familiars of the inquisition. They were clad in ( ferent garments according to the nature of tlieir|i nishments; those who were to suffer death worell hideous Samarra, painted with flames and den The procession was swelled by choirs of boys, hyd ferent religious orders and public dignitaries, al)ove all, by the fathers of the faith, moving " slow pace, and profound gravity, truly triumpliiq| as becomes the principal generals of tlial great i lory." ' As the sacred banner of the inquisition advan the ountless throng sunk on their knees before i they bowed their faces to the very earth as it | ' Uodd's civil Wars of Granudu. > GoitNlviuSit). 133. BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 407 , like an amplutheatre, itenccs of Ihe prisonen non of faith to he preach- stakes prepared, where burnt to death, SeaU land then slowly rose again, like a great nndnlating How. A murmur of tongues prevailed as the pri- lers approached, and eager eyes were strained, lingers pointed, to distinguish the different or- rs of penitents, whose habits denoted the degree the gay. ^*»e beautihil'Kf punishment they were to undergo. But as those iosity of human nature'Hrew near whose frightful garb marked them as des- lined to the flames, the noise of the rabble subsided ; ley se«>med almost to hold in their breaths; filled i(b that strange and dismal interest with which we itemplate a human being on the verge of suffering ._ death. It is an awful thing— a voiceless, noiseless multi- ile! The hushed and gazing stillness of the snr- inding thousands, heaped on walls, and gates, and ife, and hanging, as it were, in clusters, heighten- the effect of the pageant that moved drearily on. ,e low murmuring of the priests could now be in prayer and exhortation, with the faint res- of the prisoners, and now and then the voices the choir at a distance, chanting the litanies of Ihe jts. Tiie faces of the prisoners were ghastly and dis- ilale. Even those who had been pardoned, and ire the San-benito, or penitential garment, bore 8 of the horrors they had undergone. Some ire feeble and tottering from long confinement ; le crippled and distorted by various tortures ; iiy countenance was a dismal page, on which jht be read the secrets of their prison-house. But ttie looks of those condemned to death there was lething fierce and eager. They seemed men bar- ed up by the past, and desperate as to the future. y were anticipating, with spirits fevered by des- , and fixed and clenched determination, the vehe- l struggle v'ith agony and death which they were lly to undergo. Some cast now and then a wild anguished look about them upon the shining day, "sun-bright palaces," the gay, the beautiful Id, which they were soon to quit for ever; or a ice of sudden indignation at the thronging tliou- , happy in liberty and life, who seemed, in con- iplaling their frightful situation, to exult in their comparative security. le among the condemned, however, was an ex- lion to these remarks. It was an aged man, some- it bowed down, with a serene, though dejected itenance, and a beaming, melancholy eye. It thealchymist. The populace lookeil upon him a degree of compassion, which they were not 16 to feel towards criminals condemned by the lisition; but when they were told that he was led of the crime of magic, they drew back with and abhorrence. lie procession had reached the grand square. first part had already mounted the scaffolding, llie condemned were approaching. The press populace became excessive, and was repelled, were, in billows by the guards. Just as the mned were entering the square, a shrieking ttended with more eager- a bull feast, e scaffolds and balconi^ nuUiludes; the sun si jallant dresses; one woulil )f elegant festivity, hisleirf| I agony and death, and ceremony was exhibited in the days " Her galas, her toui ing, her ffites of St John id admirable tilts of canes 5, her songs in Generalite J Abencerrages, their ex- ill and valour of the Al of the Zegiies, Mazas, ai svere at an end. The i» nstead of the prancing edand lively trumpet; ml m, and buckler; with scarf, and banner, v'a ;reen, and orange, and ev( I with cloth of gold and his crept on the gloomy )\vland sackcloth; with CI symbols of human sulferii ly knight, open and bravi his casque, and amoi ng, by gallant deeds, to the shaven, unmanly lead and heart bleached ly exulting in this bi notice that the dismal It passed slowly through ly, bearing in advance office. The prisoners vii confessors, and guarded They were clad in i ig to the nature of their ere to suffer death wore id with flames and dei led by choirs of boys, by nd public dignitaries, at of the faith, moving "wl gravity, truly triunipl generals of that great jf the inquisition advai tk on their knees before the very earth as it ll Wars of Granadu. was heard from the crowd. A female, pale, frantic, dishevelled, was seen struggling throngh the multi- tude. " My father ! my father ! " was all Ihe cry she uttered, but it thrilled through every heart. The crowd instinctively drew back, and made way for her as she advanced. The poor alchymist had made his peace with Hea- ven, and, by hard struggle, had closed his heart upon the world ; the voice of bis child called him once more back 10 worldl; thought and agony. He turned towards the wel' known voice; his knees smote to- gether; he endeavoured to stretch forth his pinioned arms, and felt himself clasped in the embraces of his child. The emotions of both were too agonizing for utterance. Convulsive sobs, and broken exclama- tions, and embraces more of ;4nguish than tenderness, were all that passed between them. The procession was interrupted for a moment. Tlie astonis'iied monks and familiars were filled with involuntary respect at this agony of natural affection. Ejacula- tions of pity broke from the crowd, touched by the filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless anguish of so young and beautiful a being. Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her to retire, was unheeded; at length they endeavoured to separate her from her father by force. The move- ment roused her from her temporary abandonment. With a sudden paroxysm of fury, she snatched a sword from one of the familiars. Her late pale coun- tenance was flushed with rage, and fire flashed from her once soft and languishing eyes. The guards shrunk back with awe. There was something in this filial frenzy, this feminine tenderness wrought up to desperation, that touched even their hardened hearts. They endeavoured to pacify her, but in vain. Her eye was eager and quick as the she-wolfs guard- ing her young. With one arm she pressed her fa- ther to her bosom, with the other she menaced every one that approached. The patience of the guards was soon exhausted. They had held back in awe, but not in fear. With all her desperation the weaiwn was soon wrested from her feeble hand, and she was borne shrieking and struggling among the crowd. The rabble mur- mured compassion ; but such was the dread inspired by the inquisition, that no one attempted to interfere. The procession again resumed its march. Inez was ineffectually struggling to release herself from the hands of the familiars that detained her, when sud- denly she saw Don Ambrosio before her. " Wretched girl !" exclaimed he with fury, " why have you fled from your friends ? Deliver her," said he to the fa- miliars, '' to my domestics; she is under my protec- tion." His creatures advanced to seize her. " Oh no ! oh no!" cried she, with new terrors, and clinging to the familiars, "I have fled from no friends. He is not my protector ! He is the murderer of my father ! " The familiars were perplexed ; the crowd pressed on with eager curiosity. " Stand off!" cried the fiery hi ■' 1 408 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. m m Ambrosio, dashing the throng firom around him. Then turning to the familiars, with sudden modera- tion, " My friends," said he, " deliver this poor girl tome. Her distress has turned her brain; she has escaped from her friends and protectors this morning; but a little quiet and kind treatment will restore her to tranqniliity." " I am not mad ! I am not mad !" cried she vehe- mently. " Oh, save me ! — save me from these men ! I have no protector on earth but my father, and him they are murdering!" The familiars shook their heads ; her wildness cor- roborated the assertions of Don Ambrosio, and his apparent rank commanded respect and belief. They relinquished their charge to him, and he was consign- ing the struggling Inez to his creatures. — " Let go your hold, villain !" cried a voice from among the crowd, and Antonio was seen eagerly tearing his way through the press of people. *' Seize him! seize him !" cried Don Ambrosio to the familiars : " 'tis an accomplice of the sorcerer's." '' Liar !" retorted Antonio, as he thrust the mob to the right and left, and forced himself to the spot. The sword of Don Ambrosio flashed in an instant from the scabbard; the student was armed, and equally alert. There was a lierce clash of weapons ; the crowd made way for them as they fought, and closed again, so as to hide them from the view of Inez. All was tumult and confusion for a moment; when there was a kind of shout from the spectators, and the mob again opening, she beheld, as she thought, Antonio welter- ing in his blood. This new shock was too great for her already over- strained intellect. A giddiness seized upon her; every thing seemed to whirl before her eyes; she gasped scire incoherent words, and sunk senseless upon (he ground. Days— weeks elapsed before Inez returned to con- sciousness. At length she opened her eyes, as if out of a troubled sleep. She was lying upon a magni- ficent bed, in a chamber richly furnislied with pier glasses and massive tables inlaid with silver, of ex- quisite workmanship. The walls were covered with tapestry ; the cornices richly gilded ; through the door, which stood open, she perceived a superbsaloon, willi statues and crystal lustres, and a magnificent suite of apartments beyond. The casements of the room were open to admit the soft breath of summer, which stole in, laden with perfumes from a neighbouring garden; from whence, also, the refreshing sound of fountains and the sweet notes of birds came in mingled music to her ear. Female attendants were moving, with noiseless step, about the chamber; but she feared to address them. She doubted whether this were not all delusion, or whether she was not still in the palace of Don Am- brosio, and that her escape, and all its circumstances, had not been but a feverish dream. She closed her eyes again, endeavouring to recall the past, and to separate the real from the imaginary. The last scenes of consciousness, however, rushed too forcibly, vju all their horrors, to her mind to be doubted, and» turned shuddering from the recollection, to gazeom more on the quiet and serene magnificence aronn her. As she again opened her eyes, they rested o an object that at once dispelled every alarm. Attb head of her bed sat a venerable form watching oTa her with a look of fond anxiety— it was her father! I will not attempt todescril)e the scene that ensuedj nor the moments of rapture which more than repaJ all the sufferings that her affectionate heart had undeii gone. As soon as their feelings bad become mon calm, the alchymist stepped out of the room to inli ducc a stranger, to whom he was indebted fori life and liberty. He returned, leading in Antt no longer in his poor scholar's garb, but in the i dress of a nobleman. The feelings of Inez were almost oveipoweredli these sudden reverses, and it was some lime belii she was sufficiently composed to comprehend liiee planation of this seeming romance. It appeared that the lover, who had sought her a fecticns in the lowly guise of a student, was the « son and heir of a powerful grandee of Valencia. had been placed at the university of Salamanca;! a lively curiosity and an eagerness for adventure 1 induced him to abandon the university, without I father's consent, and to visit various parts of Sp; His rambling inclination satisfied, he had remaini incognito for a time at Granada, until, by furthi study and self-regulation, he could prepare iiimselfl return home with credit, and atone for his tran sions against paternal authority. How hard he had studied does not remain on il cord. All that we know is his romantic advenluitl the tower. It was at first a mere youthful capi excited by a glimpse of a beautiful face. Int ing a disciple of the alchymist, he probably tliouj of nothing more than pursuing a light love-afG Further acquaintance, however, had completely fi his affections ; and he had determined to conduct Ii and her father to Valencia, and to trust to hem to secure liis father's consent to their union. In (he mean time he had been traced to liis ' ccalment. His father had received intelligence! his being entangled in the snares of a mysterious j venturer and his daughter, and likely to beconiej dupe of the fascinations of (he la(ter. Tnislye saries had been dispatched to seize upon him byi force, and convey him without delay to the pale home. What eloquence he had used with his convince him of (he innocence, the honour, anii| high descent of (he alchymist, and of (he exalted « of his daughter, does not appear. All that well is, that the father, though a very passionate, i very reasonable man, as appears by his com that his son should retuni to Granada, and i Inez, as his affianced bride, to Valencia. Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, I rnshed too forcibly, win nd to be doabled, and» irecolleclion, togazeon ■ene magnificence aroun her eyes, they rested o ;lled every alarm. Atihi rable fornn waldiingova jjety — it was her father! libe the scene llial ensued! ■e which more than repail ffeclionate liearthad underl feelings had become mo edoutof theroomloinli m he was indebted fori iirned, leading in Anloni olar'sgarb, but in Ihet rere almost ovei-powered nd it was some time bel posed to comprehend the ; romance. »ver, who had sought her se of a student, was the ful grandee of Valencia, university of Salamanca; I eagerness for adventure 1 the university, without ) visit various parts of 8| »n satisfied, he had remai t Granada, until, by futt! in, he could prepare Mmselfl t, and alone for his tra ulhorily. tudied does not remain on sv is his romantic adventuni Fust a mere youthful ca] f a beautiful face. Inlx Ichymist, he probably llioi pursuing a light lovesil however, had completely! lad determined to conduct jcia, and to trust to her jnsent to their union. [e had been traced to his had received intelligence the snares of a mysterious liter, and likely to beconit IS of the latter. Trusty f ;hed to seize upon him by without delay to the pat had used with his fall« Inocence, the honour, ani Tiymist,andofthecxalte(i hot appear. All that we bugh a very passionate, [ as appears by his eoi" Lurn to Granada, and bride, to Valencia. fAntonlo hurried back, BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ii*- 409 joyous anticipations. He still forbore to throw off bis disguise, fondly picturing to :iiniself what would be the surprise of Inez, when, having won her heart and hand as a poor wandering "cholar , he should raise her and her father at once to opultiice and splen- Idour. On his arrival he had been shocked at finding the (ower deserteii by its inhabitants. In vain be sought L intelligence concerning them; a mystery hung iver their disappearance which he could not pene- ■ale, until he was thunderstruck, on accidentally cading a list of the prisoners at the impending atito fi, to find the name of his venerable master among |he condemned. It was the very morning of the execution. The iwession was already on its way to the grand square. >iot a moment was to be lost. The grand inquisitor ras a relation of Don A ntonio, though they had never ;t. His first impulse was to make himself known; exert all his family influence, the weight of his le, and the power of his eloquence, in vindication the alchymist. But the grand inquisitor was al- lady proceeding in all his pomp, to the place where I faUl ceremony was to be performetl. How was 10 lie a;>proached ? Antonio threw himself into I crowd, in a fever of anxiety, and was forcing his lay to the scene of horror, when he arrived just in le to rescue Inez, as has been mentioned. It was Don Ambrosio that fell in their contest. iinj desperately wounded, and thinking his end iproaching, he had confessed, to an attending father the inquisition, that he was the sole cause of the ^iiymist's condemnation, and that tiie evidence on Wh it was grounded was altogether false. The ilimony of Don Antonio came in corroboration of ! avowal; and his relationship to the grand inqui- ir had, in all probability, its proper weight. Thus the poor alchymist saatclied, in a manner, from very flames; and so great had been the sympathy lakened in his case, that for once a populace re- " at being disappointed of an execution. he residue of the story may readily be imagined ivery one versed in this valuable kind of history. Antonio espoused the lovely Inez, and took her her father with him to Valencia. As she had a loving and dutiful daughter, so she proved a and tender wife. It was not long before Don mio succeeded to his father's titles and estates, he and his fair spouse were renowned for being [handsomest and happiest couple in all Valencia. to Don Ambrosio, he partially recovered to the fment of a broken constitution and a blasted I, and hid his remorse and disgraces in a con- wliile the poor victim of his arts, who had as- Inez in her escape, unable to conquer the early •n that he had awakened in her bosom, though ineed of the baseness of the object, retired from wld, and became an humble sister in a nunnery. le worthy alchymist took up his abode with his 'I. A pavilion, in the garden of their palace, was assigned to him as a laboratory, where he re- sumed his researches, with renovated ardour, after the grand secret. He was now and then assisted by his son-in-law : but the latter slackened grievously in his zeal and diligence, after marriage. Still he would listen with profound gravity and attention to the old man's rhapsodies, and his quotations from Paracelsus, Sandivogius, and Pietro D'Abano, which daily grew longer and longer. In this way the good alchymist lived on quietly and comfortably, to what is called a good old age, that is to say, an age that is good for nothing, and, unfortunately for mankind, was hur- ried out of life in his ninetieth year, just as he was on the point of discovering the Philosopher's Stone. Such was the story of the captain's friend, with which we whiled away the morning. The captain was, every now and then, interrupted by questions and remarks, which I have not mentioned, lest I should break the continuity of the tale. He was a little disturbed, also, once or twice, by the genera!, who fell asleep, and breathed rather hard to the great horror and annoyance of Lady Lillycraft. In a long and tender love-scene, also, which was particularly to her ladyship's taste, the imlucky general, having his head a little .sunk upon his breast, kept making a sound at regular intervals, very much like the word })($/{, long drawn out. Atlength he made an odd abrupt guttural sound, that suddenly awoke him; he hem- med, looked about with a slight degree of consterna- tion, and then began to play with her ladyship's work- bag, which, however, she rather pettishly withdrew. The steady sound of the captain's voice was still too potent a soporific for the poor general ; he kept gleam- ing up and sinking in the socket, until the cessation of the tale again roused him, when he started awake, put his foot down upon Lady Lillycrafl's cur, the sleeping Beauty, which yelped, and seized him by the leg, and, in a moment, the whole library resounded with yelpings and exclamations. Never did a man more completely mar his fortunes while he was asleep. Silence being at length restored, the com- pany expressed their thanks to the captain, and gave various opinions of the story. The parson's mind, I found, had been continually running upon the leaden manuscripts, mentioned in the beginning, as dug up at Granada, and he put several eager questions to the captain on the subject. The general could not well make out the drift of the story, but thought it a little confused. "I am glad, however," said he, "that they burnt the old chap of the tower; Ihave no doubt he was a notorious impostor." :.:>9 ,".2 410 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. Iliii certain life, that never can deceive him. Is fult of thousand swecls and rich content ; :' : The smooth-leaved lieeches in the field receive him .^ . With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. His life is neither tost in boisterous seas Or the vexatious world ; or lost in slothful ease. Pleased and (iiUblest he lives when he his God can please. PBINEA8 FLETGHER. I TAKE great pleasure in accompanying the squire in his perambulations about his estate, in which lie is often attended by a kind of cabinet council. His prime minister, the steward, is a very worthy and honest old man, that assumes a right of way ; that is to say, a right to have his own way, from having lived time out of mind on the place. He loves the estate even better than he does the squire; and thwarts the latter sadly in many of his projects of improvement, being a little prone to disapprove of every plan that does not originate with himself. In the course of one of these perambulations, I have known the squire to point out some important alteration which he was contemplatmg, in the dispo- sition or cultivation of the grounds; this of course would be opposed by the steward, and a long argu- ment would ensue over a stile, or on a rising piece of ground, until the squire, who has a high opinion of the other's ability and integrity, would be fain to give up the point. This concession, I observed, would immediately mollify the old man, and, after walking over a field or two in silence, with his hands behind his back, chewing the cud of reflection, he would sud- denly turn to the squire and observe, that " he had been tui*ning the matter over in his mind, and, upon the whole, he believed he would take his honour's advice." Christy, the huntsman, is another of the squire's occasional attendants, to whom he continually refers in all matters of local history, as to a chronicle of the estate, having, in a manner, l)een acquainted with many of the trees, from the very time that they were acorns. Old Nimrod, as has been shown, is rather pragmatical in those points of knowledge on which he values himself; but the squire rarely contradicts him, and is, in fact, one of the most indulgent potentates that ever was hen-pecked by his ministry. He often laughs about it himself, and evidently yields .0 these old men more from the bent of his own humour, than from any want of proper authority. He likes this honest independence of old age, and is well aware that these trusty followers love and honour him in their hearts. He is perfectly at ease about his own dignity and the respect of those around him; nothing disgusts him sooner than any appearance of fiiwning or sycophancy. I really have seen no display of royal state that could compare with one of the squire's progresses about his paternal fields and through his hereditary wood- lands, with several of these faithful adherents alwiit him, and followed by a body-guard of dogs. He en- courages a frankness and manliness of deportment among his dependents, and is the personal friend of his tenants ; in(iuiring into their concerns, and assist. ing them in times of difficulty and hardship. Tliiij has rendered him one of the most popular, and o( course one of the happiest of landlords. Indeed, I do not know a more enviable condiiiogj of life, than that of an English gentleman, of sound judgment and good feelings, who passes the greater! part of his time on an hereditary estate in thecounir;. From the excellence of the roads and the rapidity an] exactness of the public conveyances, he is enabled io| command all the comforts and conveniences, all intelligence and novelties of the capital, while he removed from its hurry and dislraclion. He ample means of occupation and amusement withi his own domains ; he may diversify his time by ninl occupations, by rural sports, by study, and by delights of friendly society collected within his ow hospitable halls. Or if his views and feelings are of a more exlensii and liberal nature, he has it greatly in his |)o\ver do good, and to have Ihat good immediately reflecl back upon himself. He can render essential sei to his country, by assisting in the disinterested ministration of the laws ; by watching over the nions and principles of the lower orders ti-?iind liiia by diffusing among them those lights which niay important to their welfare; by mingling franl among them, gaining their confidence, becoming immediate auditor of their complaints, informiiigi self of their wants, making himself a channel tliri which their grievances may be quietly coramunical to the proper sources of mitigation and relief; or becoming, if need he, the intrepid and incorrupt guardian of their liberties— Ihe enlightened champi of their rights. All tills, it appears to me, can be done without sacrifice of personal dignity, without any degn arts of popularity, without any truckling to vul prejudices, or concurrence in vulgar clamour; by the steady influence of sincere and friendly coi of fair, upright, and generous deporlment. Wl ever may be said of English mobs and English d( gogues, I have never met with a people moreo| reason, more considerate in their tempers, more able by argument in the roughest times, than English. They are remarkably quick at discei and appreciating whatei r is manly and lionoui They are by nature and habit methodical and onli and they feel the value of all that is regular and pectable. They may occasionally be deeeive(|| sophistry, and excited into turbulence by publie tresses and the misrepresentations of designing bnt open their eyes, and they will eventually round the land-n^arks of steady truth anddelil good sense. They are fond of established cu they are fond of long-established names; and Ihill of order and quiet which characterizes the I gives I I ramilie Ifromti It is Iprivileg ■neglect Jfeclions Irighls ol ltd and ognes: alriot is 90t am( lelves, li ningatti ititnted import ing in ad feroneis rich and society w whole i Though BKACEimiDGE HALL. 411 r-giiardofdogs. Hetn- naiiUness of deportment I is the personal friend o( I Ijeir concerns, and assist- [ dty and hardship. T,m\ he most popular, and o|| if landlords. 1 more enviable conditionl i"lish gentleman, of sonndl ^s, who passes the greaterl litary estate in thecounlrjT roads and the rapidity andl iveyances, he is enabled lol s and conveniences, all l of the capital, while he ii and distraction. He lu on and amusement wilhiiJ r diversify his time by nira^ orts, by study, and by t ty collected within his owij lin"« are of a more exlensis ts it greatly inhisiwwerl t good immediately rcilettd can render essential ser iin" in the disinterested i ;; by watching over llie( lie lower orders «-^undliira| 1 those lights which may I ;lfare ; by mingling franll ^eir confidence, becoming l ii- complaints, informinghiii himself a channel thro may be quietly communicaK mitigation and relief; orl he intrepid and incorrupfi es— the enlightened cbainji me, can be done without gnily, without any degri Uoul any truckling to n\ ;nce in vulgar clamour; (fsincere and friendly coi lenerous deportment. W tlish mobs and English let with a people more o| Ite in their tempers, more 11 Ithe roughest times, than ;markably quick at discer T r is manly and honoHi tl habit methodical and onli of all that is regular and occasionally he deceiv«l| into turbulence by pu* resentations of designing - md they will eventually of steady truth and deli le fond of established ci: jtablished names; and Ih* liicb characterizes the " gives a vast influence to the descendants of (he old families, whose forefathers have been lords of (he soil from lime immemorial. It is when the rich and well-educated and highly privileged classes neglect their duties, when (hey neglect to study the interests, and conciliate the af- fections, and instruct the opinions and champion (he rights of the people, (hat the latter become discontenl- |ed and Kirbulent, and fall into the hands ofdcma- iie8:the demagogue always steps in where the itriot is wanting. There is a common high-handed int among the high-fed, and, as they fancy (hem- ilves, high-minded men, alwut putting down the lb; but all true physicians know that it is belter to eelen the blood than attack the tumour, to apply emollient rather than the cautery. It is absurd a country like England, where there is so much lorn, and such a jealousy of right, for any man to iume an aristocratical (one, and to (alk supcrci- msly of the common people. There is no rank It makes him independent of the opinions and af- :tion$ of iiis fellow-men ; there is no rank nor dis- iclion that severs him from his fellow-subject ; and f, by any gradual neglect or assumption on the one le, and discontent and jealousy on the other, the lers of society should really separate, let those who ind on the eminence l)eware that the chasm is not ling at their feet. The orders of society in all well titnted governments are mutually bound together, important to each other; there can be no such ingin a free government as a vacuum ; and wiien- fer one is likely to take place by the drawing off of rich and intelligent from the poor, the bad passions society will rush in to (ill up the space, and rend whole asunder. Though born and brought up in a republic, and ire and more coniirmed in republican principles by !ry year's observation and experience, yet I am not nsible to the excellence that may exist in other of government, nor to the fact that they may more suitable to the situation and circumstinces of countries in which they exist: I have endeavoured ler to look at them as they are, and to observe how !y are calculated (o effect the end which they pro- Considering, therefore, the mixed nature of government of this country, and its representative I have looked with admiration at the manner which the wealth and influence and intelligence spread over its whole surface ; not as in some larchies, drained from the eountiy, and collected towns and cities. I have considered the great rural ilishroents of the nobility, and the lesser establish- itsof the gentry, as so many reservoirs of wealth intelligence distributed about the kingdom, apart the towns, to irrigate, freshen, and fertilize the lunding country. I have looked upon them, too, leaugust retreats of patriots and statesmen, where, Ihe enjoyment of honourable independence and rtl leisure, they might train up their minds to n in those legislative assemblies, whose debates and decisions furui the study and precedents of other nations, and involve the interests of the world. I have been bo(h surprised and disappoin(ed, (here- fore, at finding, that on this subject I was often in- dulging in an Utopian dream, rather than a well- founded opinion. I have been concerned at finding (hat these fine estates were too often involved, and mortgaged, or placed in the hands of creditors, and the owners exiled from their paternal lands. There is an extravagance, I am told, that runs parallel with wealth; a lavish expenditure among the great; a senseless competition among the aspiring; a heedless, joyless dissipation, among all the upper ranks, that oRen beggars even these splendid establishments, breaks down the pride and principles of Iheir pos- sessors, and makes too many of them mere place- himters, or shifting absentees. It is thus (hat so many are thrown into the hands of government; and a court, which ought to be the most pure and ho- nourable in Europe, is so often degraded by noble, but importunate time-servers. It is thus, too, that so many become exiles from their native land, crowd- ing the hotels of foreign countries, and expending upon thankless strangers the wealth so hardly drained from their laborious peasantry. I have looked upon these latter with a mixture of censure and concern. Knowing the almost bigoted fondness of an English- man for his native home, I can conceive what must be their compunction and regret, when, amidst the sunburnt plains of France, they call to mind the green fields of England; (he hereditary groves which they have abandoned, and the hospitable roof of their fa- thers, which they have left desolate, or to be inha- bited by strangers. But retrenchment is no plea for an abandonment of country. They have risen with the prosperity of (he land ; let them abide its fluctua- tions, and conform to its fortunes. It is not for the rich to fly because the country is suffering : let them share, in their relative proportion, the common lot ; they owe it to the land that has elevated them to ho- nour and affluence. When the poor have to diminish their scanty morsel of bread; when they have to com- pound with the cravings of nature, and study with liow little they can do, and not be starved; it is not then for the rich to fly, and diminish still further the resources of the poor, that they themselves may live in splendour in a cheaper country. Let them rather retire to their estates, and there practise retrench- ment. Let them return to that noble simplicity, that practical good sense, that honest pride, which form the foundation of true English character, and from them they may again rear the edifice of fair and ho- nourable prosperity. On the rural habits of the English nobility and gentry; on the manner in which they discharge their duties on their patrimonial possessions, depend great- ly the virtue and welfare of (he nation. So long as tliey pass the greater part of their time in (he quiet and purity of the country; surrounded by (he monu- ments of their illustrious ancestors ; surrounded by *»;* m BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ii'f every thing that can inspire generoas pride, noble emulation^ and amiable and magnanimous sentiment; so long they are safe, and in them the nation may re- pose its interests and its honour. But the moment that they become the servile throngers of court avenues, and give themselves up to the political intrigues and heartless dissipations of the metropolis, that moment they lose the real nobility of their natures, and be- come the mere leeches of the country. That the great majority of nobility and gentry in England are endowed with high notions of honour and independence, I thoroughly believe. They have evidenced it lately on very important questions, and have given an example of adherence to principle, in preference to party and power, that must have asto- nished many of the venal and obsequious courts of Europe. Such are the glorious effects of freedom, when infused into a constitution. But it seems to me that they are apt to forget the positive nature of their duties, and to fancy that their eminent privi- leges are only so many means of self-indulgence. They should recollect that in a constitution like that of England, the tilled orders arc intended to be as useful as they are ornamental, and it is their virtues alone that can render them both. Their duties are divided between the sovereign and the subject ; sur- rounding and giving lustre and dignity to the throne, and at the same time tempering and mitigating its rays, until they are transmitted in mild and genial radiance to the people. Born to leisure and opulence, they owe the exercise of their talenU, and the ex- penditure of their wealth, to their native country. They may be compared to the clouds j which, being drawn up by the sun, and elevated in the heavens, reflect and magnify his splendour; while they repay the earth, from which they derive their sustenance, by returning their treasures to its bosom in fertilizing showers. A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. " I'll live a private, pensive, single life." TlIE COLLIEB OF CBOYDON. I WAS sitting in my room a morning or two since, reading, when some one tapped at the door, and Master Simon entered. He had an unusually fresh appearance; he had put on a bright green ridingTCoat, with a bunch of violets in the bultonThole, and had the air of an old bachelor trying to rejuvenate him- self. He had not, however, his usual briskness and vivacity, but loitered about the room with somewhat of absence of manner, humming Ihe old song,-^" Go, lovely rose, tell her lliat wastes her time and me;" and then, leaning against the window, and looking upon the landscape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not been accustomed to see Master Simon in a pensive mood, I thought there might be woie vexation preying on his mind, and I endeavoured to introduce a cheerful strain of conversation; but he was not in the vein to follow it up, and proposed thii we should lake a walk. It was a beautiful morning, of that soft vernal teiu. perature, that seems to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and to set all nature in a ferment. The very lishes felt its influence; the cautious trout ventured out of his dark hole to seek his mate, the roach and the dace rose up to the surface of the brook to bask in the sunshine, and the amorous frog piped from amon? the rushes. If ever an oyster can really fall in lore as has been said or sung, it must be on such a morn- ing. The weather certainly had its effect even iipoa Master Simon, for he seemed obstinately bent upon the pensive mood. Instead of stepping briskly alon". smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties or telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and talked about the approaching nuptials ; from whence! he made several digressions upon the cliaracler womankind, touched a little upon the tender passion I and made sundry very excellent, though rather trite, observations upon disappointments in love. It v. evident that he had something on his mind which wished to impart, but felt awkward in approacbi it. I was curious to see to what this strain \toi lead; but I was determined not to assist him. deed, I mischievously pretended to turn the conver- sation, and talked of his usual topics, dogs, hoi and hunting ; but he was very brief in his replies, ai invariably got back, by hook or by crook, into sentimental vein. At length we came to a clump of trees ihatow] hung a whispering brook, with a rustic bench at feet. The trees were grievously scored with letl and devices, which had grown out of all siiape size by the growth of the bark ; and it appeared this grove had served as a kind of register of the mily loves from time immemorial. Here Mi Simon made a pause, pulled up a tuft of Oowi threw them one by one into the water, and at Jen;. turning somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me il| had ever been in love. I confess the question slai me a little, as I am not over fond of making fessions of my amorous follies; and above ail si never dream of choosing my friend Master Simon a confldant. He did not wait, however, for a re{ Ihe inquiry was merely a prelude to a confession his own part, and after several circumlocutions whimsical preambles, he fairly disburlhened iii of a very tolerable story of his having been crossedj love. The reader will, very probably, suppose that it lated to the gay widow who jilted him not long at Doncaster races ;— no such thing. It was al sentimental passion that he once had for a most tiful young lady, who wrote poetry and played the harp. He used to serenade her; and indeed! fiRACEBRlDGE HALL. 41^ t there might be some I tieicribed several tender and gallant scenes, in which td, and I endeavoured to I be was evidently picturing himself in his mind's eye of conversation; but he I as some elegant hero of romance, though, unfortu- r it up, and proposed ttut I nately for the tale, I only saw him as he stood before Die, a dapper little old bachelor, with a face like an g, of that soft vernal tem- ■ ,pp|e that has dried with the bloom on it. ,v all the frost out of one'} I What were the particulars of this tender tale I have in a ferment. The very I already forgotten ; indeed I listened to it with a heart J cautious trout ventured I Ic his mate, the roach and I race of the brook to bask iii | BUS frog piped from amonj ster can really fall in love, I , must be on such a morn- had its effect even iipoal ned obstinately bent uponl d of stepping briskly alon;.[ whistling quaint (lillies,or| he leaned on my arm, andl ling nuptials ; from whencel ons upon the character ( Itle upon the tender passionJ :cellent, though rather trite] lointmenls in love. It wi (thing on his mind which 1 'U awkward in approach e to what this strain woa ined not to assist him. retended to turn the comer'] s usual topics, dogs, iior k very brief in his replies, an hook or by crook, into I a clump of trees that otb] i, with a rustic bench alii riievously scored with lei 1 grown out of all shape ebark; and it appeared s a kind of register of the immemorial. Here Mi pulled up a tuft of flow into the water, and allenj ptly upon me, asked me il| I confess the question star"' lot over fond of making follies; and above all si my friend Master Simon it wait, however, for a rer a prelude to a confession several circumlocutions ■ ,e fairly disburlhened M of his having been cvosseil /probably, suppose that itj 'who jilted him not long r such thing. Itwasabr It he once had for a moslb wrote poetry and plajMJ serenade her; and ind««I like a very pebble stone, having hard work to repress a smile while Master Simon was putting on the amorous swain, uttering every now and then a sigh, and endeavouring to look sentimental and melancholy. Ail that I recollect is, that the lady, according to bis account, was certainly a little touched ; for she used to accept all the music that he copied for her ibarp, and all the patterns that he drew for her dresses; md he began to flatter himself, after a long course of lelicate attentions, that he was gradually fanning up gentle flame in her heart, when she suddenly ac- ted the hand of a rich, boisterous, fox-hunting ba- inet, without either music or sentiment, who earried lerhy storm, after a fortnight's courtship. Master Simon could not help concluding by some ibservation about " modest merit," and the power of lid over the sex. As a remembrance of his passion, pointed out a heart carved on the bark of one of le trees ; but which, in the process of time, had iwn out into a large excrescence : and he showed lea lock of her hair, which he wore in a true lover's tot, in a large gold brooch. I have seldom met wi'.'i un old bachelor that had it, at some time oi uiher, his nonsensical moment, hen he would become tender and sentimental, talk ut the concerns of the heart, and have some con- ion of a delicate nature to make. Almost every lan has some little trait of romance in his life, which looks back to with fondness, and about which he apt to grow garrulous occasionally. He recollects If as he was at the time, young and gamesome ; id forgets that his hearers have no other idea of the ro of the tale, but such as he may appear at the le of telling it; peradvenlure, a withered, whim- il, spindle-shanked old gentleman. With married in, it is true, this is not so frequently the case ; their lorous romance is apt to decline after marriage; ly, I cannot for the life of me imagine ; but with a iielor, though it may slumber, it never dies. It is ays liable to break out again in transient flashes, 1 never so much as on a spring morning in the ntry ; or on a winter evening, when seated in his litary chamber, stirring up the fire and talkuig of primony. The moment that Master Simon had gone through [confession, and, to use the common phrase, " had de a clean breast of it," he became quite himself lin. He had settled the point which had been ying his mind, and doubtless considered himself ^blished as a man of sentiment in my opinion. bre we had flriished our morning's stroll, he was ng as blithe as a grasshopper, whistling to his dogs, and telling droll stories; and I reooUect that he was particularly facetious that day at dinner, on the subject of matrimony, and uttered several excellent jokes, not to be found in Joe Miller, that made the bride elect blush and look down; bat set all the old gentlemen at the table in a roar, and absolutely brought tears into the general's eyes. ENGLISH GRAVITY. "Herrle England! Ancient Phiasb. There is nothing so rare as for a man to ride his hobby without molestation. I fmd the squire has not so undisturbed an indulgence in his humours as I had imagined ; but has been repeatedly thwarted of late, and has suffered a kind of well-meaning persecution from a Mr Faddy, an old gentleman of some weight, at least of purse, who has recently moved into the neighbourhood. He is a worthy and substantial ma- nufacturer, who, having accumulated a large fortune by dint of steam-engines and spinning jennies, has retired from business, and setup for a country gentle- man. He has taken an old country seat and refit- ted it; and painted and plastered it, until it looks not unlike his own manufactory. He has been particu- larly careful in mending the walls and hedges, and putting up notices of spring-guns and man-traps in every part of his premises. Indeed he shows great jealousy about his territorial rights, having stopped up a foot-path that led across his fields ; and given warn- ing, in staring letters, that whoever shoud he found trespassing on those grounds would be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law. He has brought into the country with him all the practical maxims of town, and the bustling habits of business ; and is one of those sensible, useful, prosing, troublesome, into- lerable old gentlemen that go about wearying and worrying society with excellent plans for public uti- lity. He is very much disposed to be on intimate terms with the squire, and calls on him every now and then, with some project for the good of the neighbourhood, which happens to run diametrically opposite to some one or other oflhe squire's peculiar notions; but which is " too sensible a measure" to lie openly opposed. He has annoyed him excessively by enforcing the va- grant laws ; persecuting the gipsies, and endeavour- ing to suppress country wakes and holiday games ; which he considers great nuisances, and reprobates as causes of the deadly sin of idleness. There is evidently in all this a little of the ostenta- tion of newly acquired consequence ; the tradesman is gradually swelling into the aristocrat ; and he begins to grow excessively intolerant of every thing that i& not genteel. He has a great deal to say about '' the common people;" talks much of his park, his preserves , 414 UHACEBRIDGE HALL. i ^M-F:f ilt and the necessity of enforcing the game laws more strictly ; and makes frequent use of the phrase, " the gentry of (he neighbourhood. " He came to tiie Hall lately, with a face full of busi- ness, that he and the squire, to use his own words, *' might lay their heads together," to hit upon some mode of putting a stop to the frolicking at the village on the approaeliing May-day. It drew, he said, idle people (ogelher from all parts of tlie neighbourhood, who spent the day fiddling, dancing, and carousing, instead of staying at home to work for their families. Now, as the squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of these May-day revels, it may be supposed that Ihe sug- gestions of the sagacious Mr Faddy were not received with the best grace in the world. It is true, the old gentleman is too courteous to show any temper to a guest in his own house, but no sooner was he gone than the indignation of Ihe squire found vent, at hav- ing his poetical cobwebs invaded by this buzzing, blue-bottle lly of traflic. In his warmth he inveighed against the whole raceof manufacturers, who, I found, were sore disturbers of his comfort. " Sir," said he, with emotion, " it makes my heart bleed to see all our line streams dammed up and bestrode by cotton- mills ; our valleys smoking with steam-engines, and the din of Ihe hammer and the loom scaring away all our rural delights. What's to become of nierry old England, when its manor-houses are all turned into manufactories, and ils sturdy peasantry into pin- makers and stocking-weavers ? I have looked in vain for merry Sherwood, and all the greenwood haunts of Robin Hood ; the whole country is covered with manufacturing towns. I have stood on the ruins of Dudley Castle, and looked round, with an aching heart, on what were once its feudal domains of verdant and beautiful country. Sir, I beheld a mere campus phlegra;; a region of fire ; reeking with coal-pits, and furnaces, and smelting-houses, vomiting forth llames and smoke. The pale and ghastly peo|ne, toiling among vile exhalations, looked more like demons than human beings; the clanking wheels and engines, seen through the murky atmosphere, looked like in- struments of torture in this pandemonium. What is to become of the country with these evils rankling in its very core? Sir, these manufactures will be the ruin of our rural manners; they will destroy the na- tional character; they will not leave materials for a single line of poetry ! " The squire is apt to wax eloquent on such themes; and I could hardly help smiling at this whimsical la- mentation over national industry and public improve- ment. I am told, however, that he really grieves at the growing spirit of t vade, as destroying the charm of life. He considers every new short-hand mode of doing things, as an inroad of snug sordid method ; and thinks that this will soon become a mere matter-of- fact world, where life will be reduced to a mathema- tical calculation of conveniences, and every thing will be done by steam. ' He maintains also, that the nation has declined in its free and joyous spirit in proportion; as it has luruttj its attention to commerce and manufactures; aiMJi that in old times, when England was an idler, it vm \ also a merrier Utile island. In support of this opinion he adduces the fre(|uency and splendour of ancient festivals and merry-makings, and the hearty spiriJ with which they were kept up by all classes of peo|iie, His memory is stored with Ihe accounts given b; I Stow, in his Survey of London, of the holiday reveM at the inns of court, the Christmas mummeries, and the masquings and Iranfires about the streets. |.un. don, he says, in those days, resembled Ihe conlinenlaj cities in it's picturesque manners and aniusemenii. The court used to dance after dinner on public occa- 1 sions. After the coronation-dinner of UiclianI ||. for example, the king, the prelates, the nobles, ibej knights, and the rest of the company danced in Wm- minsler Hall to the music of the minstrels. Thel example of the court was followed by the middling classes, and so down to the lowest, and the wholel nation was a dancing, jovial nation. He quotes]) city-picture of the times, given by Stow, wliicli re- sembles the lively scenes one may often see in tliegajj city of Paris; for he tells us that on holidays, afltrj evening prayers, the maidens in London used to aj. senible before the door, in sight of their masters andl dames, and while one played on a timbrel, Iheoliimj danced for garlands, hanged athwart the street. " Where will we meet with such merry groii|ii| now-a-days ? " the squire will exclaim, shaking hi head mournfully ; — ' ' and then as to the gaiety il prevailed in dress lln-ou;j;lKiut all ranks of society, and made the very streets so fine and picture! ' I have myself, ' says Gervaise Markhani, ' niel ordinary tapster in his silk stockings, garters di fringed with gold lace, Ihe rest of his apparel siiilal with cloak lined witii velvet ! ' Nashe, too, irl wrote in iSHS, exclaims at the finery of the naii ' England, the players' stage of gorgeous allire, ape of all nations superfluities, the continual masqi in outlandish habiliments. ' " Such are a few of the authorities quoted bytti squire by way of contrasting what he supposes have been the former vivacity of Ihe nation willi present monotonous character. "John Bull," will say, " was then a gay cavalier, with a sword his side and a feather in his cap ; but he is now apli ding citizen, in snuff-coloured coat and gaiters." By the bye, there really appears to have been s change in the national character since the days which the squire is so fond of talking; those when this little island acquired its favourite old of" merry England." This may be attributed part to the growing hardships of the times, and necessity of turning the whole allenlion to the of subsistence ; but England's gayest customs pn ed at limes when her common people enjoyed paratively few of the comtbrts and conveniences they do at present. It may be still more altril to the universal spirit of gain, and Ihe calculi habits I fiiiied the lih liixiac Afr I They liieir II jinteresl land to Inualex I tenser more in less |)la] nation ; |mind;l( It is w bught ind lolly ilniost t« ifer occi import !llecl. ] lian Ihe t [ais of laL intere iborioiis. The Fr( 'hy? Pai because inls whji (lib dang( ar ssing pie ave had i I within |nlially c Idegree ( I Ihbi men opie. 'Iial'slhat [feast and i OTIIieyple There"! ii.vcB the led in a m haunti iilive inle ;a"g that lie great yards ofi !yare,h( squire, good ol( BRACERRIDGE HALL. MH •oiiorlioi* 88 U has tunicd and manufactures ; and ;laml wasan idler, il was In support of this opinion »n(l splendour of ancimi i»s, and Uie hearly spirji up by all classes of peojile, h the accounts given by (Ion, of the holiday revels iristmas nuunmeries, and i about the streets, lon- resenibletl the conlinenlal nanners and amusenienls. fter dinner on public occa- ioiMlinner of l\iclianl 11, e prelates, the nobles, lhe| ; company danced in West- ic of the minstrels. The followed by the middlin? he lowest, and llie whole ivial nation. He quotes a given by Slow, which re- me may often see in llie gay us that on holidays, afltr dens in l^ondon used lo as- n si"ht of their masters and lyed on a tind)rel, the otlm ged athwart the street. let with such merry groupi •e will exclaim, shaking!' nd then as to the saiety ll iijrliout all ranks of society; ;l!s so fine and pictnres iervaise Markhain, ' met silk stockings, j;arters de 16 rest of his apparel siiital velvet I ' Nashe, too, \(l at the finery of the naii stage of gorj;eous attire, uities, the continual raasqi I habit!) that commerce has Introduced ; but I am in- rlined to attribute it chiefly to the gradual increase of the liberty of the subject, and the growing freedom I and activity of opinion. A free people are apt to be grave and thoughinii. I They iiave high and important matters to occupy their minds. They feel that it is their right, their interest, anu their duty to mingle in public concerns, 1,0(1(0 watch over the general welfare. The conti- Inual exercise of the mind on political topics gives in- lienser habits of thinking and a more se ious and learnest demeanour. A nation l)ecomes less gay, but imore intellectually active and vigoruus. It evinces lless |)lay of the fancy, but more power of the iniagi- Ination ; less taste and elegance, but more grandeur of Imind ; less animated vivacity, hut deeper enthusiasm. It is when men are shut out of the regions of manly llioughl by a despotic government; when every grave Lnd lofty theme is rendered perilous to discussion and mmi to reflection ; it is then that they turn to the afer occupations of taste and amusement ; trifles rise I imprtance, and occupy the craving activity of in- lellect. No being is more void of care and reflection hanthe shave; none dances more gaily in his inter- nals of labour : but make him free, give hiiii rights nd interests to guard, and he becomes thoughtftd and orions. The French are a gayer people than the English. fhy? Partly from temperament, perhaps; but great- because they have been accustomed to govern- ents which surrounded the free exercise of thought filh danger, and where he only was safe who shut pseyes and ears lo public events, and enjoyed the ssing pleasure of the day. Within late years they five had more opportunity of exercising their minds; I within late years the nnlinnnl character has es- Jntially changed. Never did the French enjoy such (degree of freedom as they do at this moment : and ]this moment the French are comparatively a grave «ple. s. jc authorities quoleilbyltj •asting what he supposes J irivacily of the nation wiihi aracler. "John Bull," j ;ay cavalier, with a swordN his cap; but he is now a H loured coat and gaiters." ly appears to have been s character since the daysj fond of talking; those d icquireditsfavotuileold This may be altribuledl rdships of the times, and^ whole attention to the IT ;land's gayest customs pn •ommon people enjoyed ( miforts and conveniences 1 may be still more allrlM of gain, and the calculai 1 GIPSIES. J^liat's Itiat to at)solute freedom ; such as llie very IwRgars have ; |teast and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day |eretliey please ; and soon still, the whole country or kingdom There's liberty '. the birds of the air can take no more. JOVUL CHKW. SixcE the meeting with the gipsies, which I have laled in a former paper, I have observed several of km haunting the purlieus of the Hall, in spite of a litive interdiction of the squire. They are part of laiig that has long kept about this neighbourhood, jllie great annoyance of the farmers, whose poul- Vyards often suffer from their nocturnal invasions. by are, however, in some measure, patronized by I squire, who considers the race as belonging to I good old times; which, to confess the private truth, seem to have abounded with good-for-nothing characters. This roving crew is called " Star-light Tom's Gang," from the name of its chieftain, a notorious poacher. I have heard repeatedly of the misdeeds of this " mi- nion of the moon ;" for every midnight depredation that takes place in park, or fold, or farm-yard, is laid to his charge. Star-light Tom, in fact, answers to his name ; he seems to walk in darkness, and, like a fox, lo be traced in the morning by the mischief he has done. He reminds me of that fearfid personage in the nursery rhyme : who goes round the house at night ? Kone but bloody Tom ! Who steals all the sheep at night? ^onc but one by one ! In short. Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of the neighbourhood ; but so cunning and adroit, that there is no detecting him. Old Christy and the game- keeper have watched many a night in hopes of en- trapping him; and Christy often patrols the park with his dogs, for the purpose, but all in vain. It is said that the sqiure winks hard at his misdeeds, having an indulgent feeling towards the vagabond, because of his being very expert at all kinds of games, a great shot with the cross-bow, and the best morris- dancer in the country. The squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmo- lested about the skirts of his estate, on condition that they do not come about the house. The approach- ing wedding, however, has made a kind of Saturnalia at the Hall, and has caused a suspension of all sober rule. It bus produced a great sensation throughout the female part of the household ; not a housemaid but dreams of wedding-favours, and has a husband running in her head. Such a time is a harvest for the gipsies : there is n public foot-path leading across one part of the park, by which they have free in- gress, and they are continually hovering about the grounds, telling the servant girls' fortimes, or getting smuggled in to the young ladies. I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much by furnishing them with hints in private, and be- wildering all the weak brains in the house with their wonderful revelations. The general certainly was very much astonished by the communications made to him the other evening by the gipsy girl : he kept a wary silence towards us on the suhjet-t, and af- fected to treat it lightly; but I have noticed that he has since redoubled his attentions to Lady Lillycraft and her dogs. I have seen also Phopbe Wilkias, the housekeeper's pretty and love-sick niece, holding a long conference with one of these old sibyls behind a large tree in the avenue, and often looking round to see that she was not observed. I make no doubt that she was en- deavouring to get some favourable augury about t'lc result of her love-quarrel with young Ready-Morsiv, as oracles have always been more consulletl on iiive- affairs than upon any thing else. I fear, how -v , 416 BRACEBRIDGE HAIX. i !' iim ■m ' |i that in this instance the response was not so favour- able as usaal, for I perceived poor Phoebe returning pensively towards the house; her head hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the riband trailing along tlie ground. At another time, as I turned a corner of a terrace, at the bottom of the garden, just by a clump of trees, and a large .stone urn, I came upon a bevy of the young girls of the family, attended by this same Phoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the meaning of their blushing and giggling, and their ap- parent agitation, unlil I saw the red cloak of a gipsy vanishing among the shrubbery. A few moments after I caught sight of Master Simon and the Oxonian stealing along one of the walks of the garden, chuck- ling and laughing at their successful waggery; having evidently put the gipsy up to the thing, and instructed her what (o say. After all, there is something strangely pleasing in these tamperings with the future, even where we are convinced of the fallacy of the prediction. It is singular how willingly the mind will half deceive it- self, and with what a degree of awe we will listen even to these babblers about futurity. For my part, T cannot feel angry with these poor vagabonds, that seek to deceive us into bright hopes and expectations. I have always been somelliing of a castle-builder, and have found my liveliest pleasures to arise from the il- lusions which fancy has cast over common-place real- ities. As I get on in life, I find it more difficult to deceive myself ui this delightful manner; and I should be thankful to any prophet, however false, that would conjure the clouds which hang over futurity into pa- laces, and all it.s doubtful regions into fairy-land. The squire, who, as I have observed, has a private good-will towards gipsies, has sufTered considerable annoyance on their account. INot that they requite his indulgence with ingratitude, for they do not de- predate very flagrantly on his estate; but because their pilferings and misdeeds occasion loud mm-murs in the village. I can readily understand the old gen- tlemait's humour on this point; I have a great tole- ration for all kinds of vagrant sunshiny existence, and must confess I take a pleasure in observing the ways of gipsies. The English, who are accustomed to them from childhood, and often suffer from their petty depredations, consider them as mere nuisances; but I have been very much struck with their pecu- liarities. I like to behold their clear olive com- plexions, their romantic black eyes, their raven locks, their lithe slender figures, and to hear them, in low silver tones, dealing forth magnificent promises of honours and estates, of world's wealth, and ladies' love. Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanciful and picturesque. They are the free denizens of nature, and maintain a primitive independence, in spite of law and gospel ; of county goals and country magistrates. It is curious to see this obstinate ad- herence to the wild unsettled habits of savage life transmitted from generation to generation, and pr^ I served in the midst of one of the most cultivated populous, and systematic countries in the world. I They are totally distinct from the busy, thrifty people I about them. They seem to be, like the Indians ofl America, either above or below the ordinary cai^l and anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power A honours, of wealth; and indifferent to the fliicloa-r tions of the times; the rise or fall of grain, orstod I or empires, they seem to laugh at the toiling, frettintl world around them, and to live according to the phi- 1 losophy of the old song : " Who wouid ambition shun, And loves to lie i' the sun. Seeking Ihe food he eats, And pleased with what he gets. Come hither, come hither, come hither : Here shall he see No enemy. But winter and rough weather." In this way they wander from county to coudItI keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in plenteoiii| neighbourhoods, where there are fat farms and ridil country-seals. Their encampments are gener; made in some beautiful spot; either a green sliadrl nook of a road ; or on the border of a common, iindetl a sliellering hedge; or on the skirls of a fine spreadT ing wood. They are always to be found Iurkiii;| about fairs and races, and viistic gatherings, vlier-r ever there is pleasure, and throng, and idlenestl They are the oracles of milk-maids and simple s(n-| ing girls ; and sometimes have even the honour o perusing the white hands of gentlemen's dauglilerii when rambling about their fathers' grounds. TIh are the bane of good housewives and thrifty farn and odious in the eyes of country justices; but, lilt all other vagabond beings, they have sometliiii;! commend them to the fancy. They are among I last traces, in these matter-of-fact days, of IhemoUi populationof former times; and are whimsically i sociated in my mind with fairies and witches, Robij Good Fellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantastic^ personages of poetry. MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. Ilnppy the age, and liarmlessc were the dayes, ( For then true love and amity was fouiidj When every village did a May-itolc raise. Ami Wlii(son-alcs and May-games did abound i And all the lusty yonlierit in a rout, With mnrry lasses daunced Ihe ro<l about, Then fiicndship to their tiamiuets bid the guests. And poore men far'd the better for their Feasts. Pasqvil's I'UII(0«| The month of April has nearly passed away,i we arc fast approaching that poetical day, whichi considered, in old times, as the boundary that pari the frontiers of winter and summer. With all \\»i BUACEBRIDGE HALL. 4i7 to generation, and pr^ I i ot the most cultivated,' countries in the world.! m the busy, thrifty people I be, like the Indians ol| lelow the ordinary carts I Heedless of power, oil ndifferent to the flnctai.[ 1 or fall of grain, or stock, I ugh at the toiling, freUingj live accoi-ding to the phj-l tion shun, he sun, 3 eats, vliat lie gets, iliillier, coraehiUier: le see jgli weather." er from county to county; IS of villages, or in plenleonil here are fat farms and rich icampments are generally spot; either a green sliadyj ! border of a common, undo ri the skirts of a fine spread- ilways to be found Mw>\ id iuslic gatherings, wlier and throng, and idlene&l milk-maids and simple sen- 8 have even the honour s of gentlemen's dauglilei eir fathers' grounds. Tli isewives and thrifty farmei f country justices; bul,lil gs, they have sometliiiig rtcy. They are among er-of-fact days, of the moll es; and are whimsically h fairies and witches, R d, and the other fantastii CUSTOMS. larmtesse were ttie dayes, Ic and ainily was found) ltd a May-pole raise, 1 and May-games did alwund licrt in a rout, uncetl lt»e rotl about, Ielrl)amiucl8 bid lliti guests, Irtic better for tlicir feasts. Ihas nearly passed away, that poetical day, which Las the boundary that pai Ind summer. With all its prices, however, I like the month of April. I like these laughing and crying days, when sun and shade geem to run in billows over (he landscape. I like to see the sudden shower coursing over the meadow and giving all nature a greener smile; and the bright sun- llieanis chasing the flying cloud, and turning all its ips into diamonds. I was enjoying a morning of the kind in company ith the squire in one of the finest parts of the park. tVe were skirtinga beautiful grove, and he was giving lea kind of biographical account of several of his fa- ourile forest-trees, when we heard the strokes of an ixe from the midst of a thick copse. The squire used and listened, with manifest signs of uneasi- less. He turned his steps in the direction of the iintl. The strokes grew louder and louder as we vanced ; there was evidently a vigorous arm wield- gtlie axe. The squire quickened his pace, but in lain; a loud crack and a succeeding cra.sh told that le mischief had been done, and some child of the fo- l laid low. W hen we came to the place, we found aster Simon and several others standing about a tall id beautifully straight young tree, which had just n felled. The squire, (hough a man of most harmonious dis- iilions, was completely put out of tune by this cir- imstance. He felt like a monarch witnessing the nier of one of his liege subjects, and demanded, ithsome asperity, the meaning of the outrage. It ned out to be an affair of Master Simon's, who had ected the tree, from its height and straightness, for lay-pole, the old one which stood on the village !en being unfit for further service. If any thing iild have soothed the ire of my worthy host, i( would e been (he reflecdon that his tree had fallen in good a cause; and I saw (hat there was a great iggle between his fondness lor his groves, and his lotion to May-day. He could not contemplate the trate tree, however, without indulging in lamen- ioii, and making a kind of funeral eulogy, like Mark itonyover the body of Cxsar; and he forbade that trep should thenceforward be cut down on his le without a warrant from himself; being deter- led, he said, to hold the sovereign power of life death in his own hands. his mention of the May-pole struck my attention, I inquired whether the old customs connected li it were really kept up in this part of 'he country. squire shook his head mournfully ; and I found I touched on one of his tender points, for he grew le melancholy in bewailing (he (o(al decline of old day. Though it is regularly celebrated in the hboming village, yet it has been merely resusci- liy the worthy squire, and is kept up in a forced of existence at his expense. He meets with con- 1 discouragements; and finds great difficulty in ing the country bumpkins to play their parts toler- He manages to have every year a "Queen of lay;" but as to Robin Howl, Friar Tuck, the the Hobby Horse, and all the other modey crew that used to enliven the day with their mnm- mery, he has not ventured to introduce them. Still I look forward wi(h some interest to the pro- noised shadow of old May-day, even though it be but a shadow; and I feel more and more pleased with the whimsical, yet harmless hobby of my host, which is surrounding him with agreeable associations, and making a little world of poetry about him. Brought up, as I have been, in a new country, I may appre- ciate too highly (he faint vestiges of ancient customs which I now and then meet with, and the interest I express in them may provoke a smile from (hose who are negligendy suffering them to pass away. But with wliatever indifference they may be regarded by those '* to the manner born," yet in my mind the lingering flavour of them imparts a charm to rustic life, which n'>thing else could readily supply. I .shall never forget the delight I felt on first seeing a May-pole. It was on the banks of the Dee, close by the picturesque old bridge that stretches across the river from (he quaint Utile city of Chester. I had al- ready been carried back into former days by the an- tiquities of that venerable place; the examination of which is equal to turning over the pages of a black- Ie((er volume, or gazing on the pictures in Froissart. The May-pole on the margin of that poetic stream completed the illusion. My fancy adorned it with wrea(hs of flowers, and peopled the green bank with all the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight of this IMay-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and spread a charm over the country for the rest of the day; and as I traversed a part of the fair plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful Iwrders of Wales, and looked from amongswellinghillsdown a long green valley, through which *' the Deva wound its wizard stream," my imagination turned all into a perfect Arcadia. Whether it be owing to such poetical associations early instilled into my mind, or whether there is, as it were, a sympathetic revival and budding forth of the feelings at this season, certain it is, (hat I always experience, wherever I may be placed, a delightful expansion of the heart at the return of May. It is said (hat birds about (his time will become restless in (heir cages, as if instinct with the season, coascious of the revelry that is going on in the groves, and im- patient to break from (heir bondage, and join in the jubilee of the year. In like manner I have felt my- self exci(ed, even in (he midst of the metropolis, when the windows, which had been churlishly clos- ed all winter, were again thrown open to receive the balmy breath of May, when the sweets of the country were breathed into the town, and flowers were cried about the streets. I have considered the treasin-es of flowers thus poured in, as so many missives from nature inviting us forth to enjoy the virgin l)eauty of the year, before its freshness is exhaled by the lieats of sunny summer. One can readily imagine what a gay scene it mus' have been in jolly old London, when the doors were decorated with flowering branches, when every liat 418 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. t » ' was decked .vrith hawthorn, and Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, the morris- dancers, and all the other fantastic masks and revellers, were performing their antics abont the May-polein every partof the city. I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old castoms merely because of their antiquity. But while I rejoice in the decline of many of the rude usages and coarse amusements of former days, I cannot but regret that this innocent and fanciful festival lias fallen into disuse. It seemed appropriate to this verdant and pastoral country, and calculated to light up the too pervading gravity of the nation. I value every custom that tends to infuse poetical feel- ing into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners, without des- troying their simplicity. Indeed, it is to the decline of this happy simplicity that the decline of this custom may be traced ; and the rural dance on the green, and the homely May-day pageant, have gradually disap- peared, in proportion as the peasantry have become expensive and artificial in their pleasures, and too knowing for simple enjoyment. Some attempts, the squire informs me, have been made of late years, by men of both taste and learn- ing, to rally back the popular feeling to these stan- dards of primitive simplicity; but the time has gone by, the feeling has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic, the country apes the manners and amuse- ments of the town, and little is heard of May-day at present, except from the lamentations of authors, who sigh after it from among the brick walls of the city: " For O, for O, the Hobby Horse is forgot." VILLAGE WORTHIES. Nay, I tell yon, I am so well beloved in our town, that not (he wont dog in the street will hurt ray little finger. Collier op CRovnoN. As the neighbouring village is one of those out-of- the-way, but gossiping little places, where a small matter makes a great stir, it is not to be supposed that the approach of a festival like that of May-iday can be regarded with indifference, especially since it is made a matter of such moment by the great folks at the Hall. Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of the worthy squire, and jumps with his humour in every thing, is ft-equent just now in his visits to the village, to give directions for the impending fdte; and as I have taken the liberty occasionally of accompanying him, I have been enabled to get some insight into the characters and internal politics of this very sagacious little community. Master Simon is in fact the Caesar of the village. It is true the squire is the protecting power, but his factotum is the active and busy agent. He intermed- dles in all its concerns, is acquainted with all the in- habitants and their domestic history, gives connsel to the old folks in their business matters, and the yoang folks m their love affairs, and enjoys the proud sa- tisfaction of being a great man in a little world. He is the dispenser too of the squire's charily,! which is bounteous; and, to do Master Simon justice i he performs this part of his functions with great alacrity. Indeed I have been entertained wiih the mixture of bustle, importance, and kind-heartedness [ which he displays. He is of too vivacious a tempe- rament to comfort tiie afflicted by sitting down mop- 1 ing and whining and blowing noses in concert; bnt goes whisking about like a sparrow, chirping conso- lation into every hole and corner of the village. I have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him fori half an hour together with some long phthisical taiel of distress, which Master Simon listened to wiihl many a bob of the head, smack of his dog-wlijp, audi other symptoms of impatience, though he aftern'anJsl made a most faithful and circumstantial report of iiie| case to the squire. I have watched him, too, durin* one of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannual-j ed villager, who is a pensioner of the squire, when he fidgeted about the room without sitting don made many excellent off-hand reflections with old invalid, who was propped up in his chair, ah the shortness of life, the certainty of death, and I necessity of preparing for "that awful change;' quoted several texts of Scripture very incorrectly, much to the edification of Uie cottager's wife; ant coming out pinched the daughter's rosy cheeii, n wondered what was in the young men, Uiat pretty face did not get a husband. He has also his cabinet counsellors in the tIIIj with whom he is very busy just now, preparing I Uie May-day ceremonies. Among these is the t1 tailor, a pale-faced fellow, that plays the clarioneli| the church choir ; and being a great musical gen has frequent meetings of the band at his house, i they " make night hideous" by their concerts. is, in consequence, high in favour with Master Sin and, through his influence, has the making, or rail marring, of all the liveries of the Hall ; wiiich rally look as though they had been cut outhyooej those scientific tailors of the Flying Island of Lap who took measure of their customers with a quadn The tailor, in fact, might rise to be one of tlie i men of the village, was he not rather too pruiie| gossip, and keep holidays, and give concerts, blow all his substance, real and personal, tiiroughl clarionet ; which literally keeps him poor \m body and estate. He has for the present tiiroiraj all his regular work, and suffered the breeches ofj village to go unmade and unmended, while lieii| cnpied in making garlands of party-coloured raji imitationof flowers, for the decoration of IheMay-f Another of Master Simon's counsellors is lliei tliecary, a short, and rather fat man, with a prominent eyes, Uiat diverge like those of a He is the village wise man ; very sententious, amll ofpn inon I ratiiei him c horsei jbyihe iobsen I such a I boxes. Iveryfii Jvliich Isis, tha [upon V "(hat's BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 419 ! history, gives counsel is matters, and the young id enjoys the proud sa- il in a little world, of the squire's charity, do Master Simon justice, lis functions with greal ■en entertained wilh the ce, and kind-hearledness ,f too vivacious a tempe- ted by sitting down mop- ing noses in concert; tal sparrow, chirping conso- corner of the village. I n a red cloak, hold Wm for I some long phlhisical lalel r Simon listened to wilhl mack of his dog-whip, and ;nce, though he afterwatdj circumstantial report otlk] e watched him, too, duriiij hecoltageofasupevannujt. isioner of the squire, wha oom without silting doi ff-hand reflections with ipped up in his chair, al certainty of death, and for "that awful change;' cripturevery incorreclly, of Uie cottager's wife; andi daughter's rosy cheek, a of profound remarks on shallow subjects. Master Si- mon often quotes his sayings, and mentions him as raliier an extraordinary man; and even consults him occasionally in desperate cases of the dogs and ses. Indeed he seems to have been overwhelmed by the apothecary's philosophy, which is exactly one lobservation deep, consisting of indisputable maxims, I jgcb as may be gathered from the mottoes of tobacco- I boxes. I bad a specimen of his philosophy in my very first conversation with him; in the course of which he observed, with great solemnity and empha- 5 that " man is a compound of wisdom and folly; " ■upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my arm, Ipressed very hard upon it, and whispered in my ear, ("that's a devilish shrewd remark ! " .;<.«. THE SCH00L5USTER. I There will no mosse stick to tliR stone of Sisiplius, uo grasso 111" on tlie ticcles of Mercury, no butler cleave on tlie l)read of a laveller. For as tlic eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which iketli her bauld in her age, so tlie traveller in every country iclli some ileece, which maketh hiin a beggar in his youth, by tiying tliat for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny— KDtance. Lilly's Uupuues. I Ahosg the worthies of the village, that enjoy the !Culiar conRdence of Master Simon, is one who has Iruck my fancy so much, that I have thought him lortliy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the school- jsler, a thin elderly man, rather threadbare and the young men, tliat sutliWovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and with an husband. et counsellors in the villi ,usy just now, preparing i J. Among these is the villi w, that plays the clarioneti leing a great musical gen- llhe band at his house, wi ous" by their concerts. in favour with Master Sin nee, has the making, or rati Iries of the Hall; which g« ley had been cut out hyoM] ,f the Flying Island of Lap^ eir customers with a « ht rise to be one of the 1 'she not rather too prone] fidays, and give conccrtsj real and personal, ihro#l ally keeps him poor boU [has for the present throw nd suffered the breeches o[| ndunmended, while he »] nds of party-coloured rap llie decoration of iheMayi .imon's counsellors 18 the I .rather fat man, with a Ji diverge like those of a loj man; very sententioiiMi^l sy good-humoured look, not often met with in his aft. I have been interested in bis favour by a few becdotes which I have picked up concerning him. I He is a native of the village, and was a contempora- I and playmate of Ready-Money Jack in the days of eir boyhood. Indeed, they carried on a kind of bue of mutual good offices. Slingsby was rather ny, and wilhal somewhat of a coward, but very apt [hb learning: Jack, on the contrary, was a bully- out of doors, but a sad laggard at his books, helped Jack, therefore, to all his lessons; |ck fought all Slingsby's battles ; and they were in- arable friends. This mutual kindness continued pn after they left the school, notwithstanding the Bimilarity of their characters. Jack took to plough- ; and reaping, and prepared himself to till his pa- iial acres; while the other loitered negligently on Itlie path of learning, until he penetrated even into ! confines of Latin and mathematics, ^n an unlucky hour however, he took to reading and travels, and was smitten with a desire !the world. This desire increased upon him as [grew up ; so, early one bright sunny morning he 1 all his effects in a knapsack, slung it on his back, staff in hand, and called in his way to take leave ^isearly schoolmate. Jack was just going out wilh plough: the friends shook hands over the farm- house gate ; Jack drove his team afleld, and Slingsby whistled " over Uie hills and far away, " and sallied forth gaily to '' seek his fortune." Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slings- by was forgotten ; when, one mellow Sunday after- noon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in life, wilh a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in a handkerchief, and slung on the end of a stick, was seen loitering through the village. lie appeared to regard several houses attentively, to peer into the windows that were open, to eye the villagers wistfully as they re- turned from church, and then to pass some time in tlie churchyard, reading the tomb-stones. At length he found his way to the farm-house of Ready-Money Jack, but paused ere he attempted the wicket ; contemplating the picture of substantial inde- pendence before him. In the porch of the house sat Ready-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress ; with bis hat upon his head, liis pipe in his mouth, and his - !<ard before him, the monarch of all he surveyed. Reside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds of poul- try were heard from the well-stocked farm-yard ; the bees hummed from their hives in the garden; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow ; while the crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant harvest. The stranger opened the gate and advanced du- biously towards the house. The mastiff growled at the sight of the suspicious-looking intruder, but was immediately silenced by his master ; who, taking his pipe from his mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect the addressof this equivocal personage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimen- sions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel; then cast a glance upon his own threadbare and starveling con- dition, and the scanty bundie which he held in his hand; then giving his shrunk waistcor a twitch to make it meet his receding waistband, ati casting another look, half sad, half humorous, A the sturdy yeoman, " I suppose," said he, "Mr '"• ibbets, you have forgot old times and old playmu;es. The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, but acknowledged that he had no recollection of him. ''Like enough, like enough," said the stranger; " every body seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby ! " " Why, no sure ! it can't be Tom Slingsby ! " " Yes, but it is, though ! " replied the stranger, shak- ing his head. Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling; thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony the gripe of a giant, and slapping the other hand on a bench, *' Sit down there," cried he, " Tom Slingsby ! " A long conversation ensued about old times, while Slingsby was regaled wilh the l)est cheer that the farm-house afforded ; for he was hungi^ as well as way-worn, and had the keen appetite of a poor pedes- trian. The early playmates then talked over their subsequent lives and adventures. Jack had but little to relate, and was never good at a long story. A prosperous life, passed til home, has little incident 420 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 1 1 ■*•■. 'Hi for narrative ; It is only poor devils, ttiat are tossed about tlie world, tliat are the true lieroes of story. Jacic liad stucic by tlie paternal farm, followed tlie same plough that his forefathers had driven, and had waxed richer and richer as lie grew older. As to Tom Slingsby, he was an exemplification of the old proverb, '* a rolling stone gathers no moss. " He had sought his fortune al)out the world, without ever find- ing it, being a thing oflener foundat home than abroad. He had been in all kinds of situations, and liad learnt a dozen different modes of making a living ; but had found his way back to his native village rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack having dwindled down to a scanty bundle. As luck would have it, the squire was pas.<:ing by the farin-hnuse that very evening, and called there, as is often his custom. He found the two schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and, according to the good old Scottish song, ''taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne." The squire was struck by the contrast in appearance and fortunes of ihcse early playmaies*. Heady-Money Jack, seated in lordly state, surrounded by the good things of (his life, with golden guineas hanging to liis very watch-chain, and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a weasel, with all his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and walking-staff, lying on the ground beside bim. The good squire's heart warmed towards the lock- less cosmopolite, for he is a little prone to like such hal f- vagrant characters. He cast about in his mind how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby in his native village. Honest Jack had ali-eady offered him a present shelter under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, and half remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tibbets; but how to provide for his permanent maintenance was Ihe question. Luckily the squire bethought himself that the village school was witliout a teacher. A little further conversation convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that as for any thing else, and in a day or two he was seen swaying the rod of empire in tlie very school-house where he had often been horsed in the days of his boyhood. Here he has remained fur several years, and, being honoured by tlie couutenance of the squire, and the fast friendship of Mr Tibbets, he has grown into muoli importance and consideration in the village. I am told, however, that he still shows, now and (hen, a degree of restlessness, and a disposition to rove abroad again, and see a little more of the world; an inclina- tion which seems particularly to haunt him about spring-time. There is nothing so difficult to conquer as the vagrant humour, when once it has been fully indulged. Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, I have more than once mused upon the picture pre- sented by him .nd his schoolmate Ready-Money Jack, on their co:<iing together again after so long a separation. It is diflicult to determine between lots in life, where each is attended with its peculiar dis- contents. He who never leaves his home repines at his monotonous existence, and envies the traveller whose life is a constant tissue of wonder and adven- ture; while he, who is tossed about the world, lootjl back wilh many a sigh to the safe and quiet sliorel which he has abandoned. I cannot help tliinki,ig i however, that (he man that stays at home, and eulti.] vates the comforts and pleasures daily springing npl around him, stands the best chance for happiness,! There is nothing so fascinating (o a young niindasl the idea of (ravelling; and there is very witchcraft in | the old phrase found in every nursery tale, of" j to seek one's fortune." A continual change of place I and change of object, promises a continual succession I of adventure and gratillcalion of curiosity. Buttlierel is a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire beanj its death in its very gratification. Curiosity langui$|ies| under repeated stimulants, novelties cease to e.\cilesur-| prise, until at length we cannot wonder evenataoii-r racle. He who has sallied forth into the world, like! poor Slingsby, full of sunny anticipations, finds tool soon how different the distant scene becomes wjienl visited. The smooth place roughens as he appioaclKj the wild place becomes tame and barren; the faiiy lints that beguiled him on still fly to the distant liil( or gather upon the land he has left behind, andevei] part of the landscape seems greener than the spotb stands on. TIIE SCHOOL. But to come down from grc tt men and higher matters lo n little cliildrcn and poor schoot-t'ousc again; I will, God will go forward orderly, as I purposed, to iiislruct children and tog uicn both [or learning and manners. Houeu Asciiit, j Havino given the reader a slight sketch of llieT lage schoolmaster, he may be curious to learn sod thing concerning his school. As (he squire lab much in(erest in (he educadon of (he nciglibouii children, he put into the hands of (he teaciier, i first installing him in oflice, a copy of Roger Asoiiai Schoolmaster, and advised him, moreover, toconor^ that portion of old Peachem which treats of ihediil of masters, and which condemns (he favourite metl of making boys wise by flagellation. He exhorfed Slingsby not to break down or dep (he free spirit of the boys, by harshness and $la«ij fear, but to lead them freely and joyously onint path of knowledge, making it pleasant and desin in their eyes. He wished Jo see the yoiitli Iraii up in the manners and habitudes of (he peasanti]f| (he good old (imcs, and (hus to lay a fuundatioiif the accomplishment of his favourite object, (lie revij of old English customs and character. He re mended that all the ancient holidays should be^ served, and that the sports of the boys, in their i of play, should be regulated according to the stan authorities laid down in Strutt ; a copy of wli tamet alf-tatter |ne side ( r loiterin iillicr, am |oiise-lio Somethi Irards the father, »nies; it hen of va{ liere is soi leling; or flien lie h j wreck to le motive p<l many ( ffeigii par iwilnesi fK more liiid him hmed as kslant, 01 (I'lider 81 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 4S1 antl envies Ibe traveller, je of wonder and adven- 1 ed about the world, looks I Ihe safe and quiet shore I I cannot help lliinki,ig,l t stays at home, and cuili-l asures daily springing upl (est, chance for happiness.! lating 10 a young niindasl lliere is very wilclicrafiinj ery nursery tale, of "going j continual change of place,! nises a continual successioal ion of curiosity. Butlherel enls, and every desire bean! ation. Curiosity languishesl novelties cease to excilesur-l ;annot wonder evenatami-l ;d forth into the world, likel nny anticipations, finds tool lislant scene becomes whet| ; roughens as he approaches; tame and barren; the fairj a slill tty to the distant If lie has left behind, and evei ms greener than the spolb SCHOOL. It men and higher matters to 1 „. .'ousc again; 1 will, God «i )S(h1, '.0 instruct cUiltlic" anilyoi auners. HouEBAsciia' )H ider a slight sketch of Ik lay be curious to learn s chool. As the siiiiire lal ication of the neiglibou he bands of the teaclier, ice, acopyofRogerAschau] ed him, moreover, locoiiotf lem which treats of the dr ondemns Ihe favourite mei tlagellalion. not to break down or del oys, by harshness and slafl freely and joyously on in' king it pleasant ami desin lied to see the youllilrai habiludes of the peasantrj! d thus to lay a foiindalion' lis favourite object, the refl i and character. Hereof ncient holidays should be ^rlsoftheboys, i'lllielf' ated according to the sUi Strult; a copy of who* valuable work, decorated with plates, was deposited in the school-house. Above all, he exhorted the pe- da<^g<ie to abstain from the use of the birch, an In- strument of instruction which the good squire regards vlth abhorrence, as fit only for the coercion of brute natures, that cannot be reasoned with. MrSllngshy has followed the squire's instructions to the best of his disposition and abilities. He never flo'^ the hoys, because he is too easy, good-humour- (d a creature to inflict pain on a worm. He is l)ountl- H iu holidays, because he loves holiday himself, and has a sympathy with the urchins' impatience of con- finement, from having divers times experienced its irksomeness iring the times that he was seeing the \rorld. As to sports and pastimes, the boys are failh- ifully exercised in all that are on record, quoits, races, prison-bars, tipcat, trap-ball, bandy-ball, wrestling, [leaping, and what not. The only misfortune is, that Ihaving banished the birch, honest Slingsby has not itndied Roger Ascham sufficiently to find out a sub- itilute, or rather he has not the management in his ature to apply one ; his school, therefore, though me of the happiest, is one of the most unruly in the :ountry ; and never was a pedagogue more liked, or lesslieeded, by his disciples than Slingsby. He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of himself, ing another stray sheep that has returned to the iilage fold. This is no other than the son of the lusieal tailor, who had bestowed some cost upon his iuealion, hoping to see him one day arrive at the ignily of an exciseman, or at least of a parish clerk. he lad grew up, however, as idle and musical as his ther; and, being captivated by the drum and fife fa recruiting party, he followed them off to the army. [e returned not long since, out of money, and out at 16 elbows, the prodigal son of Ihe village. He mained fur some time lounging about the place in a ilf-tattered soldier's dress, with a foraging cap on me side of his head, jerking stones across the brook, loitering about the tavern door, a burlhen to his itlicr, aiul regarded with great coldness by all warm wise-holders. Somelhiiig, however, drew honest Slingsby bo- ards the youth. It might be the kindness he bore to is father, who is one of the schoolmaster's great inies; it might be that secret sympathy which draws leii of vagrant propensities towards each other; for ere is something truly magnetic in the vagabond «ling; or it might be, that he remembered the time, hen he himself had come back like this yoimgsler, wreck to his native place. At any rate, whatever le motive, Slingsby drew towards the youth. They many conversations in the village tap-room alwut eign parts, and the various scenes and places they witnessedduring their wayfaring about the world, lie more Slingsby talked with him, the more he lid him to his taste : and finding him almost as imed as himself, he forthwith engaged him as an nt, or usher. In the school. Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may be supposed, flourishes apace; and if the scholars do not become versed in all the holiday accomplishments of the good old times, to the squire's heart's content, it will not be the fault of their teachers. The pro- digal son has become almost as popular among the boys as the pedagogue himself. His instructions are not limited to school-hours ; and having inherited the musical taste and talents of his father, he has bitten the whole school with the mania. He is a great hand at beating a drum, which is often heard rumbling from the rear of the school-house. He is teaching half the boys of the vilhge, also, to play the fife, and the pandean pines ; and they wear' the whole neighlwur- hood with their vague pipings, as they sit perched on stiles, or loitering about the barn-doors in the even- ings. Among the other exercises of the school, also, he has introduced the ancient art of archery, one of the squire's favourite themes, with such success, that the whipsters roam in truant bands about the neigh- bourhood, practising with their bows and arrows upon the birds Ok the air, and the beasts of the field ; and not unfrequently making a foray into the squire's domains, to the great indignationof the game-keepers. In a word, so completely are the ancient English customs and habits cultivated at this school, that I should not be surprised if the squire should live to see one of his poetic visions realized, and a brood reared up, worthy successors to Robin Hood, and his merry gang of outlaws. A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. I am a rogue if I do not thinl( I was designed for the helm of stale; I am so full of nimble stratagems, that I should have order- ed affairs, and carried it against tlie slraam of a factioa, with as much ease as a slupper would lavcr againsl the mnii. THE GOBLINS. In one of my visits to the village with Master Simon, he proposed that we should stop at the inn, which he wished to show me, as a specimen of a real country inn, the head-quarters of village gossip. I had re- marked it before, in my perambulations about the place. It has a deep old-fashioned porch, leading into a large hall, which serves for tap-room and travellers'- room; having a wide fire-place, with high-hacked settles on each side, where the wise men of the vil- lage gossip over their ale, and hold their sessions during the long winter evenings. The landlord is an easy, indolent fellow, shaped a little like one of his own beer barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping at his door, with his wig on one side, and his hands in his pockets, whilst his wife and daughter attend to customers. His wife, however, is fully competent to manage the establishment ; and, indeed, from long habitude, rules over all the frequenters of the tap- room as completely as if they were her dependents instead of her patrons. Not a veteran ale-bibber but 422 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. pays homage to her, having, no doubt, been often in her arreaivt I liave already hinted that she is on very good terms with Ready-Money Jack. He was a sweetheart of iiers in early life, and has always coun- tenanced the tavern on her account. Indeed, he is quite the ''cock of the walk" at the tap-room. As we approached the inn, we heard some one talking with great volubility, and distinguished the ominous words, " taxes," "poor's rates," and." agri- cultural distress." It proved to be a thin, loquacious fellow, who had penned the landlord up in one cor- ner of the porch, with his hands in his pockets as usual, listening with an air of the most vacant ac- quiescence. The sight seemed to have a curious effect on Mas- ter Simon, as he squeezed my arm, and altering his course, sheered wide of the porch, as though he had not had any idea of entering. This evident evasion induced me to notice the orator more particularly. He was meagre, but active in his make, with a long, pale, bilious face; a black, ill-shaven beard, a feverish eye, and a hat sharpened up at the sides, into a most pragmatical shape. He had a newspaper in his hand, and seemed to be commenting on its contents, to the thorough conviction of mine host. At sight of Master Simon the landlord was evi- dently a little flurried, and l)egan to rub his hands, edge away from his corner, and make several pro- found publican bows; while the orator took no other notice of my companion than to talk rather louder than before, and with, as I thought, something of an air of defiance. Master Simon, however, as I have before said, sheered off from the porch, and passed on, pressing my arm within his, and whispering as we got by, in a tone of awe and horror, " That's a radical ! he reads Cobbett ! " I endeavoured to get a more particular account of him from my companion, but he seemed unwilling even to talk about hun, answering only in general terms, that he was " a cursed busy fellow, that had a confounded trick of talking, and was apt to bother one about the national debt, and such nonsense ; " from which I suspected that Master Simon had i)een rendered wary of him by some accidental encounter on the fleld of argument; for these radicals are con- tinually roving about in quest of wordy warfare, and never so happy as when they can tilt a gentleman-lo- gician out of his saddle. On subsequent inquiry my suspicions have been confirmed. I fmd the radical has but recently found his way into the village, where he threatens to com- mit fearful devastations with his doctrines. He has already made two or three complete converts, or new lights; has shaken the faith of several others ; and has grievously puzzled the brains of many of the oldest villagers, who had never thought about po- litics, or scarce any thing else, during their whole lives. He is lean and meagre fiom the constant restless- ness of mind and body ; worrying about with news- papers and pamphlets in his pockets, which he J ready to pull out on all occasions. He has shocked I several of the stanchest villagers by talking lightly of I the squire and his family; and hinting that it would f be better the park should be cut up into small faMnjI and kitchen-gardens, or feed good mutton instead ofl worthless deer. He is a great thorn in the side of the squire, whoisl sadly afraid that he will introduce politics into ihtl village, and turn it into an unhappy, thinking com.! munity. He is a still greater grievance to Master! Simon, who has hitherto been able to sway the poli.| tical opinions of the place, without much cost o(| learning or logic ; but has been very much puzzledf of late to weed out the doubts and heresies alreadfl sown by this champion of reform. Indeed, the latierl has taken complete command at the tap-room of (IkI tavern, not so mucii because he has convinced, atl because he has out-talked all the old establishedl oracles. The apothecary, with all his philusophfj was as naught before him. He has convinced andl converted the landlord at least a dozen times ; w|io,f however, is liable to be convinced and converted ihi other way by the next person with whom he talks,! It is true the radical has a violent antagonist in thel landlady, who is vehemently loyal, and thorougliljl devoted to the king. Master Simon, and the squirej She now and then comes out upon the reformer villi all the fierceness of a cat-o'-mountain, and doesn spare her own soft-headed husband, for listening ii what she terms such "low-lived politics." VYIi makes the good woman the more violent, is the pet-l feet coolness with which the radical listens to { attacks, drawing his face up into a provoking, i perciiious smile; and when she has talked hers out of breath, quietly asking her for a taste of 1 homebrewed. The only person that is in any way a match I this redoubtable politician is Ready-Morey Jack Til) bets; who maintains his stand in the tap-room, i defiance of the radical and all his works. Jack I one of the most loyal men in the country, being able to reason about the matter. He has I admirable quality for a tough argner, also, that I never knows when he is beat. He has half a do2 old maxims, which he advances on all occasions, a though his atitagopist may overturn them never s often, yet he always . rings them anew to the fiel^l He is like the '^hber in Ariosto, who, thought head might b° cu. off half a hundred times, y^ whipped it on his shouldeis again in a twinkling, i returned as sound a man as ever to the charge. Whatever does not square with Jack's simple a obvious creed, he sets down for " French politics;| for, notwithstanding the peace, he cannot be | suaded that the French are not still laying plo ruin the nation, and to get hold of the Bank ofl land. The radical attempted to overwhelm liimu day by a long passage from a newspaper; but J)^ neither reads nor believes in newspapers. In r(F BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 43R lis pockets, which he J asions. He has sliocliedl igers by talking; lightly ot and hinting tliat it would e cut up into small farmsj id good mutton instead oil ; side of the squire, whoisi ntroduce politics into ihel i unhappy, thinking com-I »ater grievance to Master I een able to sway the poli.| ce, without much cost A s been very much puzzled | )uhts and heresies alreadjl ■eform. Indeed, the latletl and at the tap-room of thel uise he lias convinced, ail •d all the old eslablishedl , with all his philosophyl n. He has convinced andl least a dozen times ; vhol )nvinced and converted ihel rson witb whom he talksJ a violent antagonist in thel ;ntly loyal, and thoroiigUjI ler Simon, and the squirej out upon the reformer uilli ;-o' -mountain, and does r d husband, for listening t low-lived politics." W'b he more violent, is the pet-| I the radical listens to M B up into a provoking. hen she has talked hers ling her for a taste of t is in any way a match fo^ lisReady-MoreyJackTib stand in the tap-room,! ind all his works. JackiJ en in the country, willioi It the matter. He has tin tough argner, also, that 1 beat. He has half a do vances on all occasions, ay overturn them never i gs them anew to the fid 1 Ariosto, who, though! half a hundred times, y^ eis again in a twinkling, J as ever to the charge. uare with Jack's simple a )wn for " French politics;] . peace, he cannot be j are not still laying ploisj ;et hold of the Bank off ipted to overwhelm liim" rom a newspaper; butftj B8 in newspapers, hi " Ibe "ave him one of the stanzas which he has by heart om his favourite, and indeed only author, old Tus- and which he calls his Golden Rules : Leave princes' affairs undcscanled on, And tend to sucli doings as stand tliee upon i Fear God, and offend not the lUng nor his laws, And lieep thyself out of tlie magistrate's claws. When Tibbets had pronounced this with great em- Lhasis he pulled out a well-filled leathern purse, took at a handful of gold and silver, paid his score at the ar with great punctuality, returned his money, liece by piece, into his purse, his purse into his poc- L wliich he buttoned up; and then, giving his ad^el a stout thump upon the floor, and bidding the i)lcal "good morning, sir!" with the tone of a an who conceives he has completely done for his ntagonist, he walked with lion-like gravity out of he house. Two or three of Jack's admirers who rere present, and had been afraid to take the field hemselves, looked upon this as a perfect triumph, ind winked at each other when the radical's liack I turned. " Ay, ay ! " said mine host, as soon as be radical was out of hearing, " let old Jack alone ; I'll warrant he'll give him his own! " THE ROOKERY. But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still repeated circles, screaming loud, Tlie jay, the pie, and e'en tlie boding owl, Tlial hails the rising moon, have charms for me. COWPEB. I In a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crowns a rrace-walk, just on the skirts of the garden, is an |icient rookery, which is one of the most important minces in tlie squire's rural domains. The old kntleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not ■ffer one of them to be killed ; in consequence of jhichthey have increased amazingly; the tree-tops loaded witb their nests; they have encroached ion the great avenue, and have even established, in nes long past, a colony among the elms and pines [the churchyard, which, like other distant colonies, 1 already thrown off allegiance to the mother- hintry. JTlie rooks are looked upon by the squire as a very Icient and honourable line of gentry, highly aristo- latical in their notions, fond of place, and attached I church and state; as their building so loftily, keep- ; about churches and cathedrals, and in the vener- Me groves of old castles and manor-houses, suf- jiently manifests. The good opinion thus expressed I the squire put me upon observing more narrowly very respectable birds; for I confess, to my ^me, I had been apt to confound them with their isins-german the crows, to whom, at the first knee, they bear so great a family resemblance. Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and Portuguese are among nations, the least loving, in consequence of their neighbourhood and similarity. The rooks are old-established housekeepers, high- minded gentlefolk, that have had tlieir hereditary abodes time out of mind ; but as to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy race, roving about the country without any settled home; ''their hands are against every body, and every body's against them," and Ihey are gibbeted in every corn-field. Master Simon assures me that a female rook, that should so far forget herself as to consort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and indeed would be totally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance. The squire is very watchful over the interests and concerns of his sable neighbours. As to Master Si- mon, he even pretends to know many of them by sight, and to have given names to them; he points out several, which he says are old heads of families, and compares them to worthy old citizens, beforehand in the world, that wear cocked hats, and silver buckles in their shoes. Notwithstanding the protect- ing benevolence of the squire, and their being resi- dents in his empire, ihfy seem to acknowledge no allegiance, and to hold no intercourse or intimacy. Their airy tenements are built almost out of the reach of gun-shot; and notwitlistanding their vicinity to the Hall, they maintain a most reserved and distrustful shyness of mankind. There is one season of the year, however, which brings all birds in a manner to a level, and tames the pride of the loftiest highflyer; which is the season of building their nests. This takes place early in the spring, when the forest-trees first begin to show their buds; the long, withy ends of the branches to turn green; when the wild strawberry, and other herbages of the sheltered woodlands, put forth their tender and tinted leaves, and the daisy and the primrose peep from under the hedges. At this time there is a general bustle among the feathered tribes; an inces- sant fluttering about, and a cheerful chirping, indica- tive, like the germination of the vegetable world, of the reviving life and fecundity of the year. It is then that the rooks forget their usual state- lincss, and their shy and lofty habits. Instead of keeping up in the high regions of the air, swinging on the breezy tree-tops, and looking down with sovereign contempt upon the humble crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throw off for a time the dignity of the gentleman, to come down to the ground, and put on the pains-taking and industrious character of a labourer. They now lose their natural shyness, become fearless and familiar, and may he seen plying about in all directions, with an air of great assiduity, in search of building materials. Every now and then your path will be crossed by one of these busy old gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as if 4i4 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. troubled with the gout, or with corns on his toes, casting about many a pryin<; look, turning down first one eye, then the other, in earnest consideration, upon every straw lie meets with, until, espying some mighty twig, large enough to make a rafter for his air-castle, he will seize upon it with avidity, and hurry away with it to the tree-top; fearing, apparently, lest you should dispute with him the invaluable prize. Like other castle-builders, these airy architects seem rather fanciful in the materials with which they build, and to like those most which come from a di- stance. Thus, though there are abundance of dry twigs on the surrounding trees, yet they never think of making use of them, but go foraging in distant lands, and come sailing home, one by one, from the ends of the earth, each bearing in his bill some pre- cious piece of timber. Nor must I avoid mentioning what, I grieve to say, rather derogates from the grave and honourable character of these ancient gentlefolk, that, during the architectural season, they are subject to great dissen- sions among themselves; that they make no scruple to defraud and plunder each other ; and that some- times the rookery is a scene of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence of some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners generally remains ou the nest to guard it from depredation ; and I have seen severe contests, when some sly neighbour has endeavoured to filch away a templing rafter that had captivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit any suspicion hastily that should throw a stigma on the general character of so worshipfid a people, I am inclined to think that these larcenies are very much discountenanced by the higher classes, and even rigor- ously punished by those in authority; for I have now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprietor. I have concluded this to be some signal punishment inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some pil- fering misdemeanour ; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into his house. I have been amused with another of their move- ments during the building-season. The steward has suffered a considerable number of sheep to graze on a lawn near the house, somewhat to the annoyance of the squire, who thinks this an innovation on the dignity of a park, which ought to be devoted to deer only. Be this as it may, there is a green knoll, not far from tlie drawing-room window, where the ewes and lambs are accustomed to assemble towards even- ing, for the benefit of the setting sun. No sooner were they gathered here, at the time when these po- litic birds were building, than a stately old rook, who Master Simon assured me was the chief magistrate of this community, would settle down upon the head of one of the ewes, who, seeming conscious of this condescension, would desist from grazing, and stand fixed in motionless reverence of her august burthen; the rest of the rookery would then come wheeling down, in imitation of their leader, until eveiy eve had two or three of them cawing, and fluttering, am] battling upon her back. Whether they reqiiiiei* iiiej submission of the sheep, by levying a conlributionl upon their fleece for the benefit of the rookery, I an,! not certain; though I presume they followed the I usual custom of protecting powers. The latter part of May is the time of great tribula-l tion among the rookeries, when the young are instl able to leave the nests, and balance themselves on the I neighboui'ing branches. Now comes on the season I of " rook shooting;" a terrible slaughter of the iiino.! cents. The squire, of course, prohibits all invasion I of the kind on bis territories ; but I am told that a la-i menlable havoc takes place in the colony about ihtl old church. Upon this devoted commonwealili ihel village charges "with all its chivalry." Every jditl wight that is lucky enough to possess an old gim orl blunderbuss, together with all the archery of Slings-I by's school, take the field on the occasion. In vaigl does the little parson interfere, or remonstrate, igl angry tones, from his study window that looks i the churchyard ; there is a continual popping froml morning till night. Being no great marksmen, tbeirl shots are not often effective; but every now and tliejl a great shout from the besieging army of bumpkiul makes known the downfall of some unlucky, sqiulil rook, which comes to the ground with the empiiasiil of a squashed apple-dumpling. Nor is the rookery entirely free from other troablol and disasters. In so aristocratical and lofty-miniMl a community, which boasts so much ancient blood audi hereditary pride, it is natural to supiwse that qiia tions of etiquette will sometimes arise, and afTaireoi honour ensue. In fact, this is very often the case J bitter quarrels break out between individuals, vjiid produce sad scufflings on the tree-tops, and I liaiij more than once seen a regular duel take place bet\ra two doughty heroes of the rookery. Their field i battle is generally the air; and their contest is i naged in the most scientific and elegant niani)(t| wheeling round and round each other, and towerioi higher and higher to get the 'vantage gronnd, unlj they sometimes disappear in the clouds before I combat is determined. They have also fierce combats now and then villi an invading hawk, and will drive him off from I territories by a posse comitattis. They are also ei| tremely tenacious of their do.nains, and will suffi no other bird to inhabit the grove or its viciDii; There was a very ancient and respectable old baclt lor-owl that had long had his lodgings in a corneal the grove, but has been fairly ejected by the rootil and has retired, disgusted with tlie world, toanfigi| bouring wood, where he leads the life of a lien and makes nightly complaints of his ill trealnieiit. The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may; nerally be heard in the still evenings, when llie rod are all at rest; and I have often listened to Ihenioll moonlight night, with a kind of mysterious grair , unl »ve, wh( «ugli the 1 1 like at oves, am opie roosi I, the [liegradu «n there jiarrelling Itisli BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 4!r> leader, nnlil evet? ewe vin?, and fluttering, and lielher they requUeiMhe f levying a contribulion efit of the rookery, I am nme they followed ihe" owers. the time of great Iribala- irhen the young are just I balance themselves on lliej ow comes on the season I ble slaughter of the iiino. I •se, prohibits all invasion s;butIamtoUlthalala- • in the colony about the I voted commonweallli ihe| its chivalry." Every idlej I to possess an old gun or I 1 all the archery of Slings-I on the occasion. In vainl erfere, or remonstrate, ittl ly window that looks intol a continual popping fioinl ' no great marksmen, tlieitl re ; but every now andthenl sieging army of bunipkiajj ill of some unlucky, squabl > ground with the empkasbl jling. rely free from other tronblal itocratical and lofly-mindedl s so much ancient blood aiil| itural to suppose Ihatqna netimes arise, and affairs o his is very often the case!] between individuals, wliie the tree-tops, and I hawj tular duel lake place belwei ho rookery. Their lir; and their contest is i itilic and elegant maniidj id each other, and towera the 'vantage grouml, unfl ir in the clouds before combats now and then wil i-ill drive him off from Uxii lifahis. They are also ei| lir do.nains, and will sul It the grove or its vicinil Jjt and respectable old bad Id his lodgings in a cornet Ifairly ejected by the roob| .withtheworld, toaneigT leads the life of a lien flaints of his ill treatment, Inhappy gentleman may [till evenings, when tbeti *e often listened to tbem oil kind of mysterious graar lion. This grey-bearded misanthrope of course is highly respected by the squire; but tlie servants have superstitious notions about him; and it would l)e dif- ficult to get the dairy-maid to venture after dark near to the wood which he inhabits. Besides the private quarrels of tlie rooks, there are other misfortunes to which they are liable, and which often bring distress into the most respectable families of the rookery. Having the true baronial spirit of the good old feudal times, they are apt now and then to issue forth from their castles on a foray, and to lay the plebeian fields of the neighbouring country under contribution; in the course of which chivalrous expe- ditions they now and then get a shot from '.he rusty artillery of some refractory farmer. Occasionally, too, while they are quietly taking the ai',- beyond the park boundaries, they have the incaution to come within the reach of the truant bowmen o' Slingsby's school, and receive a flight shot from some unlucky urchin's arrow. In such case the wounded adven- torer will sometimes have just strength enough to bring himself home, and, giving up the ghost at the rookery, will hang dangling "all abroad" on a Iwugh, like a thief on a gibbet ; an awful warning to his friends, and an object of great commiseration to the squire. But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the rooks have, upon Ihe whole, a happy holiday life of it. When their young are reared, and fairly launched upon their native element, the air, the cares of the old folks seem over, and they resume all their arislo- cratical dignity and idleness. I have envied them the enjoyment which they appear to have in their jethereal heights, sporting with clamorous exultation lut their lofty bowers; sometimes hovering over lem, sometimes partially alighting upon the topmost anches, and there balancing with outstretched ings, and swinging in the breeze. Sometimes they !m to take a fashionable drive to the church, and luse themselves by circling in airy rings about its lire; at other times a mere garrison is left at home mount guard in their strong hold at the grove, hile the res^ roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. bout sunset the garrison gives notice of their return ; ir faint cawing will l)e heard from a great distance, id they will be seen far off like a sable cloud, and !n, nearer and nearer, until they all come soaring me. Then they perform several grand circuits in air, over the Hall and garden, wheeling closer and loser, until they gradually settle down upon the ive, when a prodigious cawing takes place, as lugh they were relating their day's adventures. I like at such times to walk about these dusky lies, and hear the various sounds of these airy pie roosted so high above me. As the gloom in- lases, their conversation subsides, and they seem be gradually dropping asleep; but every now and in there is a querulous note, as if some one was larrelling for a pillow, or a litll*' iiore of the blan- It is late in the evening before tiiey completely sink to repose, and llien their old anchorite neigh- bour, the owl, begins his lonely hootings from his bachelor's-Iiall, In the wood. MAY-DAY. It ts tlie choice lime of the year, For the violets now appear ; Now the rose receives Its birlli, And pretty primrose decks the eartli. Then to the May- pole come away, For it is now a holiday. ALTEON AND DUNA. As I was lying in hei this morning, enjoying one of those half dreams, half reveries, which are so plea- sant in the country, when the birds are singing alwut the window, and the sunbeams peeping through the curtains, I was roused by the sound of nmsic. On going down stairs, I found a number of villagers dressed in their holiday clothes, bearing a pole, or- namented with garlands and ribands, and accom- panied by the village band of music, under the direc- tion of the tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clarionet. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, as it is called, " the May, " in their hats, and had brought green branches and flowers to decorate the Hall door and windows. They had come to give notice that the May-pole was reared on the green, and to invite the household to witness Ihe sports. The Hall, according to custom, became a scene of hurry and delightful confusion. The servants were all agog with May and music; and there was no keeping either the tongues or the feet of the maids quiet, who were anticipating the sports of the green, and the evening dance. I repaired to the village at an early hour to en- joy the merry-making. The morning was pure and sunny, such as a May morning is always described. The fields were white with daisies, the hawthorn was covered with its fragrant blossoms, the bee hum- med about every bank, and the swallow played high in the air about the village steeple. It was one of those genial days when we seem to draw in pleasure with the very air we breathe, and to feel happy we know not why. Whoever has felt the worth of worthy man, or has doted on lovely woman, will, on such a day, call them tenderly lo mind, and feel his heart all alive with long-buried recollections. " For thenne, " says the excellent romance of King Arthur, " lovers call ageyne to their mynde old gentilness and old servyse, and many kind dedes that were forgotten by neglygence. " Before reaching the village, t saw the May-pole towering above the cottages, with its gay garlands and streamers, and heard the sound of music. I found that there had been booths set up near it, for the re- ception of company ; and a bower of green branches 3< tao BRACEBRTDGE HALL. oitm^. I ■-;; i'\} and flowers for tlie Queen of May, a fresh, rosy- cheeked girl of the village. A band of morris-dancers were capering on the green in their fantastic dresses, jingling with hawks' Itells, with a boy dressed up as Maid Marian, and the Kltcndant fool rattling his box to collect contributions from the by-standers. The gipsy-women too were already plying their mystery in by-corners of the village, reading the hands of the simple country girls, and no doubt promising them all good husbands and Iribrs of children. The squire made his appearance in the course of tlie morning, attended by the parson, and was receiv- ed with loud acclamations. He mingled among the country people throughout the day, giving and re- <;eiving pleasure wherever he went. The amusements of the day were under the management of Slingsby, the sclioolmaster, who is not merely lord of misrule in his school, but master of the revels to the village. }fe was bustling about with the perplexed and anxious air of a man who has the oppressive burthen of pro- moting other people's merriment upon his mind. He had involved himself in a dozen scrape's in consa- quencc of a politic intrigue, which, by the bye. Mas- ter Simon t^sid the Oxonian were at the bottom of, which had for object the election of the Queen of May. He had met with violent opposition from a faction of ale-drinkers, who were in favour of a bounc- ing bar-maid, the daughter of the innkeeper ; but he had been too strongly backed not to carry his point, though it shows that these rural crowns, like ail others, are objects of great ambition and heart-burn- ing. I am told that Master Simon takes great interest, though in an underhand way, in the election of these May-day Queens, and that tlie chaplet is generally secured for some rustic beauty that has found favour in his eyes. In the course of the day there were various games of strength and agility on the green, at which a knot of village veterans presided, as judges of the lists. Among these I perceived that Ready-Money Jack took the lead, looking with a learned and critical eye on the merits of the different candidates ; and though he was very laconic, and sometimes merely expressed himself by a nod, yet it was evident that his opinions far outweighed those of the most loquacious. Young Jack Tibbets w^as the hero of the day, and carried off most of the prizes, though in some of the feals of agility lie was rivalled by the " prodigal son," who appeared much in his element on this occasion ; but his most formidable competitor was the notorious gipsy, the redoubtable " Star-light Tom. " I was re- joiced at having an opportunity of seeing this" minion of the moon" in broad daylight. I found him a tall, swarthy, good-looking fellow, with a lofty air, something like what I liave seen in an Indian chief- lain ; and with a certain lounging, easy, and almost graceful carriage, which I have often remaiked in beings of ths lazaroni order, that lead an idle, loiter- ing life, and have a gentlemanlike contempt of laliour. Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred tlie ground together, and uidulged a vast deal of harmlew raking among the buxom country girls. Master Si- mon would give some of them a kiss on meeting with them, and would ask after their sisters, for lie ig ac- quainted with most of the farmers' families. Some times he would whisper, and a'fect to talk mischieT- ously with them, and, if bantered on the subject, would turn it ofT with a laugh, though it was evident he liked to be sus[iected uf being a gay Lothario amongst them. He had much to say to the farmers about their farms ; and seemed to know all their horses by name. There was an old fellow, with a round ruddy face, and a night-cap under his hat, the village wit, vho I took several occasions to crack a joke with him in the hearing of his companions, to whom he would turn j and wink hard when Master Simon had passed. The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at I one time, been interrupted, by the appearance ofliie radical on the ground, with two or three of his dis- 1 ciples. He soon got engaged in argument in the very i thick of the throng, above which I could heariii$| voice, and now and then see his meagre hand, a rnile out of the sleeve, elevated in the air in viulent] gesticulation, and flourishing a pamphlet by way ofl truncheon. He was decrying these idle nonsensicaif amusements in times of public distress, when it wttl every one's business to think of other matters, andlol be raiseraUe. The honest village logicians coajdl make no stand against him, especially as he was se-l conded by his proselytes ; when, to their great J3y,[ Master Simon and the general came drifting dovi into the field vyf action. I saw that Master Simon n for making off, as soon as he found himself m tb neighbourhood of this fire-ship; but the genera! \n too loyal tosuffersuchtalkin his hearing, and tlioughlJ no doubt, that a look and a word from a gentlen would be sufficient to shut up so shabby an oralorj The latter, however, was no respecter of persons, I rather seemed to exult in having such importantanli gonists. He talked with greater volubility than eva and soon drowned them in declamation on the subjei of taxes, poors' rates, and the national debt. MasK Simon endeavoured to brush along in his usual esc sive manner, which had always answered amazin well with the villagers ; but the radical was one I those pestilent fellows that pin a man down to bt and, indeed, he had two or three pamphlets in I pocket, to support every thing he advanced by pri ed documents. The general, too, found himself I trayed into a more serious action than his dignity ( brook, and looked like a mighty Dutch Indian grievously peppered by a petty privateer. It \vas| vain that he swelled and looked big, and talked I and endeavoured to make up by pomp of manner^ poverty of matter ; every home-thrust of the r* made him wheeze like a bellows, and seemed toi volume of wind out of him. In a word, tiie I worthies from the Hall were completely dumlvfw jaling. %l: but I BRACEBRIDGE HAU.. 427 neral reconnoitred llie a vast (leal of harmlew itry girls. Master 8i- a kiss on meeting Willi ir sisters, for he is «- mers' families. Som? a'fect to talk mischiev- iitered on the subjwt, I, though it was evident being a gay l-o«»arii) he farmers about Mx all their horses by name, ith a round ruddy face, lat, the village wit, who cka joke with him in the to whom he would lum r Simon had passed, however, had nearly, at by the appearance of the I two or three of Ms dis- id in argument in the very i which I could hear his nee his meagre hand, hall ;vated in the air in viulent ng a pamphlet by way of ^ing these idle nonsensial jbric distress, whenitvnsl nk of other matters, andtoj est village logicians conUJ ed and this too in ttie presence of several of Master Sioion's stanch admirers, who liad always looked up to him as infallible. I do not know how he and the literal would have managed to draw their forces decently from the neld, had there not been a match gt •'tinning through a horse-collar announced, where- upon tlie radical retired with great expression of con- tempt, and, as soon as his back was turned, the argu- ment was carried against him all hollow. "Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, general?" said Master Simon; " there's no talking with one of these chaps whenheoncegets that confounded Cobbett in his head." "'Sblood, sir!" said the general, wiping his fore- iiead, " such fellows ought all to he transported!" In the latter part of the day the ladies from the Hall paid a visit to the green. The fair Julia made her appearance, leaning on her lover's arm, and look- ing extremely pale and interesting. As she is a great bvourite in the village, where she has been known from childhood; and as her late accident had been imuch talked alwul, the sight of her caused very mani- t delight, and some of the old women of the village lessed her sweet face as she passed. While they were walking about, I noticed the loolmaster in earnest conversation with the young irl that represented the Queen of May, evidently en- lavouring to spirit her up to some formidable under- iking. At length, as the party from the Hall ap- ichcd her bower, she came forth, faltering at tn, especially as he was se-Kery step, until she reached the spot where the fair when, to their great joy,^„lij giood between her lover and Lady Lillycraft. he little Queen then took the chaplet of flowers from :r head, and attempted to put it on that of the bride t; but the confusion of both was so great, that the reath would have fallen to the ground, had not the icer caught it, and, laughing, placed it upon the lushing brows of his mistress. There was some- i; charming in the very embarrassmentof these two ingcreatures, both so beautiful, yet so different in ir kinds of beauty. Master Simon told me, after - ards, that the Queen of May was to have spoken a verses which the schoolmaster had written for ; but that she had neither wit to understand, nor lory to recollect them. "Besides," added he, itween you and I, she murders the king's English nably ; so she has acted the part of a wise w< )nian ingher tongue, and trusting to her pretty face." mong the other characters from the Hall was Mrs nah, my Lady Lillycraft's gentlewoman : to my she was escorted by old Christy the huntsman, followed by bis ghost of a greyhound; but I find are very old acquaintances, beingdrawn together some sympathy of disposition. Mrs Hannah mov- [ahout with starched dignity among the rustics, who :w back from her with more awe than they did her mistress. Her mouth seemed shut as with lasp; excepting that I now and then heard the " fellows ! " escape from between her lips, asshe Mcidentally jostled in the crowd. reneral came drifting doirii| saw that Master Simon wai IS he found himself in tht e-ship;butthegeaeral\fii Linhi8hearing,andUiougl'.'.] a word from a gentleni ut up so shabby an oralotj no respecter of persons, f having such imporlantantt greater volubility dianew u declamation on the subjw . the national debt. Masld nsh along in his usual exa always answered amazii^ but the radical was one! .at pin a man down to fedl |o or three pamphlets inP thing he advanced by pn eral, too, found lumselfb action than his dignity CM a mighty Dutch Indian a petty privateer. It «>M lookedbig, and talked larj .eupbypompofmannef^ y home-thrust of the t» bellows, and seemed 10 him. In a word, the l^ ft-ere completely dumlvrM But there was one other heart present that did not enter into llie merriment of the scene, which was that of the simple Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper')! niece. The poor girl has continued to pine and whine for some time past, in consequence of the obstinate coldness of her lover ; never wasa little flirtation more severely punished. She appeared this day on the green, gallanted by a smart servant out of livery, and had evidently resolved to try the hazardous experi- ment of awakening the jealousy of her lover. She was dressed in her very best ; affected an air of great gaiety; talked loud and girlishly, and laughed when there was nothing to laugli at. There was, however, an aching, heavy heart, in the poor baggage's bo- som, in spite of all her levity. Her eye turned eveiT now and then in quest of her reckless lover, and her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious gaiety vanished, on seeing him paying his rustic homage to the little Blay-day Queen. My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and bustle. Music was heard from a distance ; a banner was seen advancing up the road, preceded by a rustic band playing something like a march, and followed by a sturdy throng of country lads, the chivalry of a neighbouring and rival village. No sooner had they reached the green than they challenged the heroes of the day to new trials of strength and activity. Several gymnastic contests ensued for the honour of the respective villages. In the course of these exercises, young Tibbets and the champion of the adverse party had an obstinate match at wrestling. They tugged, and strained, and pant- ed, without either getting the mastery, until both came to the ground, and rolled upon the green. Just then the disconsolate Phoebe came by. She saw her recreant lover in fierce contest, as she thought, and in danger. In a moment, pride, pique, and coquetry were forgotten : she rushed into the ring, seized upon the rival champion by the hair, and was on the point of wreaking on him her puny vengeance, when a buxom, strapping country lass, the sweetheart of the prostrate swain, pounced upon her like a hawk, and would have stripped her of her fine plumage in a twinkling, had she also not been seized in her turn. A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the two villages became embroiled. Blows began to be dealt, and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe was carried off from the field in hysterics. In vain did the sages of the village interfere. The sententious apothecary endeavoured to pour the soothing oil of his philosophy upon this tempestuous sea of passion, but was tum- bled into the dust. Slingsby the pedagogue, who is a great lover of peace, went into the midst of the (hrong, as marshal of the day, to put an end to the commo- tion; but was rent in twain, and came out with his garment hanging in two strips from his shoulders : upon which the prodigal son dashed in with fury to revenge the insult which his patron had sustained. The tumult thickened; I caught glimpses of the jockey cap of old Christy, like the helmet of a chieftain, boh 4tt DRACEBRIDGE IIALL. I m. ::Ml liing about in the midst of the scnflle; wliile Mistress Ilannali, separated from lier dougiity protector, was squalling and striking at riglit and left with a faded (larasol ; being tossed and touzled about by the crowd in such wise as never happened to maiden gentle- woman berore. At length I beheld old Ready-Money Jack making Jiis way into the very thickest of the throng; tearing it, as it were, apart, and enforcing peace, vi et armis. It was surprising to see the sudden quiet that ensued. 1'he storm settled down at once into tranquillity. The jiarties, having no real grounds of hostility, were readily pacified, and in fact were a little at a loss to k now why and how they had got by the ears. Slingsby was speedily stitched together again by his friend the tailor, and resumed his usual good humour. Mrs Hannah drew on one side to plume her rumpled feathers; and old Christy, having repaired his da- mages, took her under his arm, and they swept back again to the Hall, ten times more bitter against man- kind than ever. The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in recover- ing from the agitation of the scene. Young Jack was evidently very much moved by the heroism of the un- lucky Plunbe. His mother, who had been summoned to the field of action by news of the affray, was in a sad panic, and had need of all her management to keep him from following his mistress, and coming to a perfect reconciliation. What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the p;ood managing dame was, that the matter had rous- ed the slow apprehension of old Ready-Money him- self; who was very much struck by the intrepid inter- ference of so pretty and delicate a girl, and was sadly puzzled to understand the meaning of the violent agi- tation in his family. When all this came to the ears of the squire, he was grievously scandalized that his May-day fdteshould have been disgraced by such a brawl. He ordered Phflebe to appear before him, but tlie girl was so frightened and distressed, that she came sobbing and trembling, and, at the first question he asked, fell again into hysterics. Lady Lillycraft, who had un- derstood that there was an aflair of the heart at the bottom of this distress, immediately took tlie girl into great favour and protection, and made her peace with the squire. This was the only thing that disturbed the harmony of the day, if we except the discomfiture of Master Simon and the general by the radical . Upon the whole, therefore, the squire had very fair reason to be satisfied that he had rode his hobby throughout the day without any other molestation. The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive that all this was but a faint shadow of the once gay and fanciful riles of May. The peasantry have lost the proper feeling for these rites, and hav€ grown al- most as strange to them as the boors of La Mancba were to the customs of chivalry in the days of the va- lorous Don Quixote. Indeed, I considered it a proof of the discretion mlh which the squire rides liis hobby, that he had not pnshed the tiling any further, nor at- tempted to revive many obsolete usages of the day which, in the present matter-of-fact times, would an. pear affected and absurd. I must say, tliough I do it under the rose, the general brawl in which this fes- tival had nearly terminated, has made me doubt wiie- ther these rural customs of the gowl old times were always so very loving and innocent as we are apt lo fancy them; and whether the peasantry in those timei were really so Arcadian as they have been fondly re- presented. I l»egin to fear— "Those (lays wore never ; airy drcaiiu Sat for tlic pirliiru, and llic poct'H hand, Iin|»rtin!; aidMlance lo an empty Khade, Imposed a gay delirium for a trulli. lirant it ; I still mnsl envy them an age That favuur'd such a dream." THE MANUSCRIPT. YiJSTEnnAT was a day of quiet and repose after ilie I bustle of May-day. During the morning I joined the I ladies in a small sitting-room, the windows uf vhichl came down to the floor, and opened upon a terrace of I the garden, which was set out with delicate slmibil and fiowers. The soft sunshine that fell into tlie| room through the branches of trees that overhang ihel windows, the sweet smell of the flowers, and thel singing of the birds, seemed to produce a pleasinjj yet calming effect on the whole party, for sometim elapsed without any one speaking. Lady Lillyci and Miss Templeton were sitting by an elegant wod-j table, near one of the windows, occupied with i pretty lady-like work. The captain was on a stool^ his mistress' feet, looking over some music; andp Phoebe Wilkins, who has always been a kind orp among the ladies, but who has risen vastly in faToi with I^dy Lillycraft, in consequence of some ten confessions, sat in one corner of the room, wilhsvol eyes, working pensively at some of the fair Julii'l wedding ornaments. The silence was internipted by Iier ladyship, vlj suddenly proposed a task to the captain. "I ami your debt," said she, " for that tale you read toiisiJ other day; I will now furnish one in return, if yo«| read it; and it is just suited to this sweet May nioi ing, for it is all about love ! " The proposition seemed to delightevery one pre! The captain smiled assent. Her ladyship rung rorli| page, and dispatched him to her room for thenui script. ''As the captain," said she, "gaveusi account of the author of his story, it is bnl rin should give one of mine. It was written br^ clergyman of the parish where I reside. Ueisal! elderly man, of a delicate constitution, but posiliij one of the most charming men that ever lived, lost his wife a few years since, one of the sw« women you ever saw. He has two sons, wbw| BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 4;20 ng any further, nor at- ilete usages of the day, sf-fact times, would ap. miist8ay,tlK»ugliIdoii )rawl in whicli this tn- las made me doubt wIk- ilie gootl old times were iiocent as we are apt to I peasantry in tliose limei ley have been fondly re- never;airydrcaiii» cpocfshand, I empty Rhailc. DT a trulli. f Uiem an age am." iliicatesliimself; both of whom already write delight- Ill poetry. His parsonage is a lovely place, close by lie church, all overrun with ivy and honeysuckles , ilb liie sweetest flower-garden about it; for, you iiow ourcountry clergymen are almowtalwaysfondof wers, and make their parsonages perfect pictures. " His living is a very good one, and he is very much loved, and does a great deal of good in the neigh- rliood, and among the poor. And (hen such ser- as he preaches ' Oh, if you could only hear le taken from a text in Solomon's Song, all about ive and matrimony, one of the sweetest things you er heard ! He preaches it at least once a-ycar, in irifi" time, for lie knows I am fond of it. He always nes with me on Siuidays, and often brings me some the sweetest pieces of poetry, nil about the pleasures melancholy and such subjects, that make me cry so, u can't think. I wish he would publish. I think has some things as sweet as any thing in Moore or Byron. He fell into very ill health some time ago, and OS advised to go to the continent; and I gcive him f quiet and repose after Ik B> peace until he went, and promised to take care of ,.. the morning I joined the W l"" •*>}'» """' ''« ^elmned. " " lie was gone for above a year, and was quite itnrcd. When he came back, he sent me the tale going to show you. — Oh, here it is ! " said she, the page put in her hands a beautiful box of satin- She unlocked it, and from among several ircels of notes on embossed paper, cards of cha- les, and copies of verses, she drew out a crimson vet case, that smelt very much of perfumes. From she took a manuscript, daintily written on gill- vellum paper, and stitched with a light blue ind. This she handed to the captain, who read following tale, which I have procured for the en- lioment of the reader. USCRIPT. om, the windows of which id opened upon a terrace oil t out with delicate shnih mnshine that fell into tht ;s of trees that overlmng Ihel ell of the flowers, and tht med to produce a pleasing,] whole party, for sometim •speaking. LadyLillyci • sitting by an elegant woil-| iidows, occupied with ! he captain was on a stooU oversome music; and p s always been a kind of p iio has risen vastly in tm consequence of some tem rner of the room, with swot at some of the fair Juiial tipted by her ladyship, ;k to the captain. "Iaiiii| tor that tale you read to usil krnishone in return, ify« Itedto this sweet May moi ke!" tdtodelighteveryonepr« lit. Her ladyship rung fotbj |m to her room for the man Jin," said she, "gaveusj I of his story, itisbulriji^ tne. It was written [where I reside. Heisa« Ite constitution, but positiij [ng men that ever lived. livs since, one of the swe lie has two sons, whonj ANNETTE DELARBRE. Tlie solilier frac Hie war returns. And tlie inercliaut frae llie main, But I liae parted wi' my love, And ne'er to meet again, My dear, And ne'er to meet again. vviien day is gone, and niglit is come, And a' are l)oun to 8lee|>, 1 tliinli on tliem (liat's far awa Tlie lec'lang nigtit and weep, My dear, Tlic lee-lang night and weep. OtD scoTcu Ballad. In the course of a lour that I once made in Lower jrmandy, I remained for a day or two at the old tn uf Ilondeur, which stands near the mouth of I Seine. It was the time of a fi'te, and all the pd was thronging in the evening to dance at the , held l)efore the chapel of Our Lady of Grace. As I like all kinds of innocent merry-making, I joined the throng. The chapel is sitnale<I at lh« lop of a high hill, or promontory, from whence its bell may be lieard at a distance by the mariner at night. It a said to have given the name to the {tort of Havre de Grace, which lies directly opposite on the other side of the Seine. The road up to the chapel went in a zig-zag course, along the brow of the steep coast; it was shaded by trees, from between which I had beautiful peeps at the ancient towers of Ilontleur below, the varied scenery of the opposite shore, the white buildings of Havre in the distance, and the wide sea beyond. The road was enlivened by groups of peasant girls, in their bright crimson dresses, and tall caps; and I found all the flower of the neighbourhood assembled on the green that crowns the summit of the hill. The chnpel of Notre-Dame de Grace is a favourite resort of the inhabilants of Honileur and its vicinity, both for pleasure and devotion. At this little chapel prayers arc put up by the mariners of the port pre- vious to their voyages, and by their friends during their absence ; and votive offerings are hung alraut its walls, in fullilment of vows made during times of shipwreck and disaster. The cbafiel is surrounded by trees. Over the portal is an image of the Yirgin and Child, with an inscription which struck me as being quite i)octical: " Kloile dc la mer, pricz pour nous ! " (Star ofttie sea, pray for us. ) On a level spot near the cb:ipel, under a grove of noble trees, the populace daiioe on line summer even- ings; and here are lield frequent fairs and fdles, which assemble all the rustic l)eauty of the iuveliest pzrls of Lower Normandy. The present was an occasion of the kind. Booths and tents were erected among the trees : there were the usual displays of finery to tempt the niral coquette, and of wonderful shows to entice the curious ; mountebanks were exerting their elo- quence ; jugglers and fortune-lcllers astonishing the credulous ; while whole rows of grotesque saints, in wood and wax-work, were offered for the purchase of the pious. The fi^te had assembled in one view all the pic- turesque costumes of the Pays d'Auge, and the Cdte de Caux. I beheld tall, stately caps, and trim bod- dices, according to fashions which have been handed down from mother to daughter for centuries, the exact counterparts uf those worn in the lime of the Conqueror; and which surprised me by '.heir faithful resemblance to those which I had seen in the old pic- tures of Froissart's Chronicles, and in the paintings of illuminated manuscripts. Any one, also, that has been in Lower Normandy, must have remarked the beauty of the peasantry, and that air of native elegance which prevails among them. It is to this country, undoubtedly, that the English owe their good looks. It was from hence that llie bright carnation, the fine blue eye, the light auburn hair, passed over to Eng- 430 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. land in the train of tlie Conqueror, and lilted ttie land Willi beauty. Ttie scene liefore me was perfectly enclianting : the assemblage uf so many fresh and blooming faces ; the gay groups in fanciful dresses, some dancing on the green, others strolling about, or seated on the grass; the fine clumps of trees in the fore-ground, bor- dering the brow of this airy height ; and the broad green sea, sleeping in summer tranquillity, in the distance. Whilst I was regarding this animated picture, I was struck with the appearance of a beautiful girl, Avho passed through the crowd without seeming to take any interest in their amusements. She was slender and delicate in her form ; she had not the bloom upon her cheek that is usual among the peasant- ry of Normandy, and her blue eyes had a singular and melancholy expression. She was accompanied by a venerable-looking man, whom I presumed to be lier father. There was a whisper among the by-slanders, and a wistful look after her as she passed ; the young men touched their hats, and some of (he children fol- lowed her at a little distance, watching her move- ments. She approached the edge of the hill, where there is a little platform, from whence the people of Honfleur look out for the approach of vessels. Here she stood for some time waving her handkerchief, though there was nothing to be seen but two or three lishing-boats, like mere specks on the bosom of the distant ocean. These circumstances excited my curiosity, and I made some inquiries about her, which were answer- eil with readiness and intelligence by a priest of the neighbouring chapel. Our conversation drew toge- ther several of the by-s(anders, each of whom had something to communicate, and from them all I ga- thered the following particulars. Annette Delarbre was the only daughter of one of the higher order of farmers, or small proprietors, as they are called, who lived at Pont-l'Ev^que, a plea- sant village not far from Hontleur, in that rich pas- toral part of Lower Normandy called the Pays d'Auge. Annette was the pri«le and delight of her parents, and was brought up with the fondest indulgence. She was gay, tender, petulant, and susceptible. All her feelings were (|uick and ardent ; and having never experienced contradiction or restraint, she was little practised in self-control : nothing but the native good- ness of her heart kept her from running continually into error. Even while a child, her susceptibility was evinced in an attachment which she formed to a playmate, Eugene La Forgue, the only son of a widow who lived in the neighbourhood. Their chililish love was an epitome uf maturer passion ; it had its caprices, and jealousies, and quarrels, and reconciliations. It was assuming something of a graver character as Annette enlered her liftcenth, and Eugene his nine- tecnlli year, when he was suddenly carried off to the army by the conscription. It was a heavy blow to his widowed mother, i he was her only pride and comfort; but it was i of those sudden bereavv^ments which mothers wei peiiKtually doomed to fee^ in France, during tlie tin that continual and bloody wars were incessanllJ draining her youth. It was a temporary afijictio also to Annette, to lose her lover. With tender fmj braces, half childish, half womanish, she parted frogf him. The tears streamed from her blue eyes, as^ bound a braid of her fair hair round his wrist ■ I the smiles still broke through ; for she was yet i young to feel how serious a thing is separation, an how many chances there are, when parting in i wide world, against our ever meeting again. Weeks, months, years tlew by. Annette increaie in beauty as she increased in years, and Avast reigning belle of the neighbourhood. Her time [ ed innocently and happily. Her father was a manol some consequence in the rural community, andb house was the resort of the gayest of the villa Annette held a kind of rural court; she was alwatj surrounded by companions of her own age, amou whom she shone unrivalled. Much of their timevj past in making lace, the prevalent manufacture of tl neighbourhood. As they sat at tliis delicate andftj minine labour, the merry tale and sprightly i went round : none laugheil with a lighter heart tlui Annette; and if she sang, her voice was perfect mel dy. Their evenings were enlivened by the dano or by those pleasant social games so prevalent anx the French ; and when she appeared at the ^ ball on Sunday evening, she was the theme of i versal admiration. As she was a rural heiress, she did not want forsoij ors. Many advantageous offers were made her, b she refused them all. She laughed at the preteiui pangs of her admirers, and triumphed over themwii the caprice of buoyant youth and conscious l)eaiil| With all her apparent levity, however, could aiiyoi have read the story of her heart, they might liii traced in it some fond remembrance of her early pli|| mate, not so deeply graven as to be painful, I deep to be easily obliterated ; and they might I noticed, amidst all her gaiety, the tenderness t marked her manner towards tlie mother uf Eug( She would often steal away from her youthful c panions and their amusements, to pass whole ( with the good widow; listening to her fund talk alu her boy, and blushing with secret pleasure Avhenlj letters were read, at finding herself a constant tlia of recollection and inquii-y. At length the sudden return of peace, which ! many a warrior to his native cottage, brought I Eugene, a young, sun-hurnt soldier, to the villijj I need not say how rapturously his retuin was ;te ed by his mother, who saw in liim the pride andil of her old age. He had risen in the service by| merit; but brought away little from the wars,i cepting a soldier-like air, a gallant name, and a a across the forehead. He brought back, howcTetl BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 431 his widowed inotlier, I comfort; but it vras i ;nts which mothers wei in France, during tliet y wars were incessanil]| vas a temporary affliciioi r lover . W ilh lender eml vomanish, slie parted fronj from her blue eyes, ass hair round his wrist ;1 )ugh ; for she was yel i a thing is separation, ani are, when parting in thi ;ver meeting again. Hew by. Annette increase sed in years, and was t [jbourhood. Her lime i f. Her father was a mano{ B rural community, and! f the gayest of the vBla ural court ; she was alwajj ons of her own age, amonj led. Much of their lime»j| prevalent manufacture ofll iy sat at tliis delicate andlej irry tale and sprigluly i [leawithaliglilerliearllluj g, her voice was perfect mtl ifcre enlivened by the dam lial games so prevalent anw I she appeared at the villaj . she was the theme of i iress, she did not want forsii )us offers were made her,' Slie laughed at the preteii ind triumphed over them si youth and conscious beanl] evity, however, could any her heart, they might 1 emembrance of her early pla] aven as to be painful, bnt irated ; and they might gaiety, the tenderness I )wards the mother of Eugi iway from her youthful iisements, to pass whole islening to her fond talk al with secret pleasure when ding herself a constant lli( iry. n return of peace which native cottage, hroughl k-burnt soldier, to the villi [,turously his return was SI saw in him the pride and hd risen in the service by Iway little from the wars, Vir, a gallant name, and a (lie brought back, howewj iture unspoiled by the camp. He was frank, open, letous, and ardent. His heart was quick and kind its impulses, and was 'perhaps a little softer from iving suffered : it was full of tenderness for Annette. le had received frequent accounts of her from his her; and the mention of her kindness to his lonely irent had rendered her doubly dear to him. He been wounded ; he had been a prisoner ; he had n In various troubles, but he had always preserv- the braid of her hair, which she had bound round arm. It had been a kind of talisman to him; he many a time looked upon it as he lay on the hard mnd, and the thought that he might one day see iwette again, and the fair flelds about his native iage, had cheered his heart, and enabled him to irup against every hardship. He had left Annette almost a child ; he found her a iming woman. If he had loved her before, he ff adored her. Annette was equally struck with improvement which time had made in her lover, le noticed, with secret admiration, his superiority the other young men of the village : the frank, lofty, lilary air, that distinguished him from all the rest their rural gatherings. The more she saw him, more her light, playful fondness of former years ned into ardent and powerful affection. But tte was a rural belle. She had tasted the sweets dominion, and had been rendered wilful and ca- ious by constant indulgence at home, and admi- in abroad. She was conscious of her power over ne, and delighted in exercising it. She some- treated him with petulant caprice, enjoying the which she inflicted by her frr v ns, from the idea soon she would chase it away again by her smiles, took a pleasure in alarming his fears, by affecting imporary preference to some one or other of his Is; and then would delight in allaying them by an le measure of returning kindness. Perhaps there some degree of vanity gratified by all this ; it it be a matter of triumph to shew her absolute ler over the young soldier, who was the universal t of female admiration. Eugene, however, was serious and ardent a nature to be trifled with. loved too fervently not to be fi'led with doubt. saw Annette surrounded by admirers, and full of tion; the gayest among the gay at all their rural ivities, and apparently most gay when he was dejected. Every one saw through this caprice himself; every one saw that in reality she doted lim; but Eugene alone suspected the sincerity of affection. For some time he bore this coquetry secret impatience and distrust ; but his feelings r sore and irritable, and overcame his self-com- id. A slight misunderstanding took place; a el ensuetl. Annette, unaccustomed to be thwarl- ind contradicted, ainl full of the insolence of youlh- auty, assumed an air of disdain. She refused planations to her lover, and they parted in anger, very evening Eugene saw her, full of gaiety, ins with one of his rivals ; and as her eye caught his, flxed on her with unfeigned distress, it sparkled with more than usual vivacity. It was a finishing blow to his hopes, already so much impaired by se- cret distrust. Pride and resentment both struggle<l in his breast, and seemed to rouse his spirit to all its wonted energy. He retired from her presence with the hasty determination never to see her again. A woman is more considerate in affairs of love than a man, because love is more the study and business of her life. Annette soon repented of her indiscretion : she felt that she had used her lover unkindly; she felt that she had trifled with his sincere and generous nature — and then he looked so handsome w hen he parted after their quarrel— his fine features lighted up by indigna- tion. She had intended making up with him at the evening dance ; but his sudden departure prevented her. She now promised herself that when next they met she would amply repay him by the sweets of a perfect reconciliation, and that, thenceforward, she would never — never teaze him more ! That promise was not to be fulfilled. Day after day passed ; but Eugene did not make his appearance. Sunday even- ing came, the usual time when all the gaiety of the village assembled; but Eugene was not there. She inquired after him ; he had left the village. She now became alarmed, and, forgetting all coyness and af- fected indifference, called on Eugene's mother for an explanation. She found her full of affliction, and learnt with surprise and consternation that Eugene had gone to sea. While his feelings were yet smarting with u^r af- fected disdain, and his heart a prey to alternate indi- gnation and despair, he had suddenly embraced an invitation which had repeatedly been made him by a relation, who was fitting out a ship from the port of Honfleur, and who wished him to be the companion of his voyage. Absence appeared to him the only cure for his unlucky passion; and in the temporary transports of his feelings, there was something grati- fying in the idea of having half the world intervene between them. The hurry necessary for his depar- ture left no time for cool reflection; it rendered him deaf to the remonstrances of his afflicted mother. He hastened to HonHeur just in time to make the needful preparations for the voyage; and the first news that Annette received of this sudden deterniii\ition was a letter delivered by his mother, returning her pledges of affection, particularly the long-treasured braid of her hair, and bidding her a last farewell, in terms more full of sorrow and tenderness than upt)raitling. This was the first stroke of real anguish that An- nette had ever received, and is ovei came her. The vivacity of her spirits was apt to hurry her to ex- tremes; she for a time gave way to ungovernable transporlsof affliction and remorse, and munifested, in the violence of her grief, the real ardour of her af- fection. The thought occurred to her that the ship might not yet have sailed; she seized on the hope with eagerness, and hastened with her father to Honfleur. The ship had sailed that very morning. 4881 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. K.^- From the heights above the town she saw it lessening to a speck on the broad bosom of the ocean, and before evening tlie white sail liad fadeil from her sight. She turned full of anguislt to the neighbour- ing chapel of Our Lady of Grace, and throwing her- self on the pavement, poured out prayers and tears for the safe return of her lover. When she returned home the cheerfulness of her spirits was at an end. She looked back with re- morse and self-upbraiding at her past caprices; she turned witii distaste from the adulation of her ad- mirers, and had no longer any relish for the amuse- ments of the village. With humiliation and diffi- dence she sought the widowed mother of Eugene ; but was received by her with an overflowing heart, for she only behvld in Annette one who could sym- pathize in her doting fondness for her son. It seem- ed some alleviation of her remorse to sit by the mother all day, to study her wants, to beguile her heavy hours, to hang about her with the caressing endear- ments of a daughter, and to seek by every means, if possible, to supply the place of the son, whom she reproached herself with having driven away. In the mean time the ship made a prosperous voyage to her destined port. Eugene's mother re- ceived a letter from him, in which he lamented the precipitancy of his depiirture. The voyage had given him time for sober retleclion. If Annette had been unkind to him, he ought not to have forgotten what was due to his mother, who was now advanced in years. He accused himself of selfishness in only lis- tening to the suggestions of his own inconsiderate passions. He promised to return with the ship, to make his mind up to his disappointment, and to think of nothing but making his mother happy "And when he does return," said Annette, clasping her hand with transport, "it shall not be my fault if he ever leaves us again." The time approached for the ship's return. She was daily expected, when the weather became dread- fully tempestuous. Day alter day brought news of vessels foundered, or driven on shore, and the sea coast was strev/ed with wrecks. Intelligence was re- ceived of the looked-for ship having been dismasted in a violent storm, and the greatest fears were en- tertained for her safety. Annette never left the side of Eugene's mother. She watched every change of her countenance with painful solicitude, and endeavoured to cheer her with hopes, while her own mind was racked by anxiety. She tasked her efrorls to be gay; but it was a forced and unnatural gaiety : a sigh from the mother would completely check it; and when she could no longer restrain the rising leard, siie would hurry away and pour out her agony in secret. l'>ery anxious look, every anxious inquiry of ihe mother, whenever a duor opened, or a strange face appeared, was an arrow to' lier soul. SIvp considered tvery disappointment as a pang of her own inlliction, and her heart sickened under the care-worn expression of the maternal eye. At length this suspense became insupportable, siv left tlie village and hastened to Honfleur, hopigi every hour, every moment, to receive some tidind of her lover. She paced the pier, and wearied i seamen of the port with her in(|uiries. She made j daily pilgrimage to the chapel of Our Lady of Grace! hung votive garlands on the wall, and passed iioutj either kneeling before the altar, or looking out fro the brow of the hill upon the angry sea. At length word was brought that the long-wisim for vessel was in sight. She was seen standing ju the mouth of the Seine, shattered and ciippleg bearing marks of having been sadly tempest-loi There was a general joy diffused by her return; am there was not a brighter eye, nor a lighter iieari than Annette's in the little port of Honlleur. ship came to anchor in the river; and shortly after J boat put off for the shore. The populace crovdi down to the pier-head to welcome it. Annettesi blushing, and smiling, and trembling, and weepiiu for a thousand painfully pleasing emotions agitata her breast at the thoughts of the meeting and recoi cilialion about to take place. Her heart throbbedl pour itself out, and atone to her gallant lover for^ its errors. At one moment she would place hen in a conspicuous situation, where she might catcbli view at once, and surprise him by her welcome; I the next moment a doubt would come across I mind, and she would shrink among llie tim trembling and faint, and gasping with lier emotioi Her agitation increased as the boat drew near, i it became distressing; and it was almost a relie[| her when she perceived that lior lover was noil She presinned that some accident had detained t on board of the ship; and she felt tiiat llieddl would enable her to gather more self-possessiooj the meeting. As the boat neared the shore, inquiries were made, and laconic answers re'uni At length Annette heard some inquiries after l| lover. Her heart palpitated; there was a nioiini| pause; the reply was brief, but awful, lie had b washed from (he deck, with two of the crew, in| midst of a stormy night, when it was impossible! render any assistance. A piercmg shriek hroiie& among the crowd ; and Annette had nearly I into the waves. The sudden revulsion of feelings after such a I sient gleam of happiness, was too nmch for lier| rassed frame. She was carried home senseless. life was for some time despaired of^ and it wasnioJ before she recovered her health ; but she neverl perfectly recovered her mind : it still reniaiiiedj settled with respect to her lover's fate. " The subject," continued inv informer, "isn mentioned in her hearing; but she sometimes^ of it herself, and it seems as though lliere wcreij vague train of impressions in her mind, in wliitiill and fear are strangely mingled; some impfrlertj of her lover's shipwreck, and yet some expwlj^ of his return. BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 435 ime insupportable. Sli id to Ilonfleur, hopii to receive some lidinj le pier, and wearied il r imiuiries. She made lel of Our Lady of Grace] e wall, and passed liom lUar, or looking out fi lie angry sea. ight that the long-wishi lie was seen standing ii shattered and crippli iieen sadly tennpesl-li iffusedby her return; ai eye, nor a lighter liea lie port of Hontlear, i river; and shortly after !. The populace crowi welcome it. Annette ,d trembling, and weepi pleasing emotions agilal is of the meeting and r ace. Her heart throbbed B to her gallant lover for lent she would place liei n, where she might calch se him by her welcome; n,V)t would come across shrink among the Ibi d gasping with her emolk I as the boat drew near, ui 1 and it was almost a reM| I that t«n- lover was iiollli »e accitlent had detained . and she feU that the di ather more self-possession ,oat neared the sliore, nd laconic answers re'ui ard some inquiries aflet ilated; there was a moini lief, but awful, lie had' with two of the crew, in t, when it was inipossii A piercmg shriek hroke id Aimelte had nearly ii Li of feelings after such a L-j [ss, was too much for liet s carried home senseless, lespaued of, audit was ra( ,er health; but she never V mind : it still loniained her lover's fate, tinned mv informer, "is ing ; but slic sometimes ,ms as though there were lions in her mind, in wbicli mingled; someimirrW leek, and yel some exp«i " Her parents have tried every means to cheer her, and to banish these gloomy images from her thoughts. They assemble round her the young companions in (those society she used to delight; and they will work, and chat, and sing, and laugh, as formerly ; but she will sit silently among Iheni, and will some- times weep in the midst of their gaiety ; and, if spoken (0, will make no reply, but look up with streaming eves, and sing a dismal little song, which she has learned somewhere, about a shipwreck. It makes every one's heart ache to see her in this way, for she used to be the happiest creature in the village. " She passes the greater part of the lime with En- trene's mother; whose only consolation is her society, and who doles on her with a mother's tenderness. She is the only one that has perfect intluence over Annette in every mood. The poor girl seems, as formerly, to make an effort to be cheerful in her com- pany; bill will sometimes gaze upon her with the most piteous look, and then kiss her grey hairs, and on her neck and weep. She is not always melancholy, however; she has iasional intervals when she will he bright and ani- iiated for days together; but there is a degree of ildness attending these fits of gaiety, that prevents Iheir yielding any satisfaction to her friends. At such limesshe will arrange her room, which is all covered ilhpictuves of ships and legends of saints ; and w ill reaihe a white chaplel, as if for a wedding, and pre- re wedding-ornaments. She will listen anxiously lllliedoor, and look frecpienlly out at the window, if expecting jonie one's arrival. It is supposed lal at such times she is looking for her lover's re- m; hut, as no one touches upon the theme, or lentions his name in her presence, the current of ir thoughts is mere matter of conjecture. Now id then she will make a pilgrimage to the chapel Notre-Uaine de Grace ; where she will pray for lurs at the altar, and decorate the images w'ilh eatlis t! it she has woven; or will wave herhand- irchief from the terrace, as you have sfcMi, if there any vessel in the distance." Upwards of a year, he informed me, had now psed without effacing from her mind this singidar nliif insanity; still lier friends hoped il might gra- ly wear away. They had al one lime removed to a distant part of the country, in hopes that ncc from the scenes connected with her story ;hlhave a salutaiy fffL'Ot; but, when herperiod- meiRik'holy retr<ne(l, she became more restless p wietched than isual, and, secretly escaping from friends, s^.. at on foot, wilhout knowing the , on one of her pilgrimages to the cha|»('l. his iilile story entirely drtw my allenlion from p\ si^ne of the ftHe, and lixed it upon the beau- \nnelle. While she was yet slaiuling on the Iff, Ihc vesper-bell was rung from the neigli- iii;; chapel. She lislened for a moment, and , drawing a small rosary from her bosom, walked lat direction. Several of the peasiinlry followed her in silence ; and I felt too much interested not to do the same. The chapel, as I said before, w in the midst of a grove, on the high promontory. The inside is hung round with Ihe little models of ships, and rude paint- ings of wrecks and pckils at sea, and providential de- liverances; the vo'.ve ofl'erings of captains and crews that have lieen saved. On entering, Annette paused for a moment beftire a picliire of the \ irgin, w I.'ch, I observed, had recently been decorated with a wreath of arlilicial flowers. When she reached the middle of the chapel she knell down, and those who followed her involuntarily did the same at a little distance. The evening sun shone softly through the chequered grove into one window of the chapel. A perfect stillness reigned within; and this stillness was the more impressive, contrasted with the distant sound of music and merriment from the fair. I could not take my eyes off from the poor suppliant; her lips moved as she told her beads, hut her prayers were breathed in silence. It might have been mere fancy excited by the scene, thai, as siie raised her eyes to heaven, I Ihoughl they had an expression truly sera- phic. But I am easily affected by female beauty, and there was something in this mixture of love, devoJon, and partial insanity, that was inexpressibly touching. As the poor girl left the chapel, there was a sweet serenity in her looks ; and I was told that she would return home, and in all probabilily be calm and cheer- lul for days, and even weeks ; in w hich time it was supposed that hope predominated in her mental ma- lady; and that, when the dark side of her mind, as her friends call it, was about to turn up, it woulil be known by her neglecting her distaff or her lace, sing- ing plaintive songs, and weeping in silence. She passed on from the chapel without noticing the fete, but smiling and speaking to many as she passed. I followed her with my eye as she descended the winding road towards Ilonlleur, leaning on her fa- ther's arm. " Heaven," thought I, " has ever its store of balms for the hurt mind and wounded spirit, and may in time rear up this broken llower to be once more 'he pride and joy of the valley. The very de- lusion in which the poor girl walks may be one of those mists kindly diffused by Providence over the regions of thought, when Ihey become too fruitful of misery. The veil may gradually be raised which ob- scures the horizon of l.o" '^lind, as she is enabled steadily and calmly to con..;mplule the sorrows at present hidden in mercy from her view." On my return from Paris, about a year afterwards, I turned off from the beaten route al lloiu^n, to re- visit some of the nu)st striking scenes of Lower Nor- mandy. Having passed through the lovely country of the Pays d'Auge, I reached ilonlleur on a line af- ternoon, intending to cross to Havre the next morn- ing, and embark for England. /\s I had no belter way of passing the evening, I strolled up the hill to ATtii BRACEBRIDGC HALL. enjoy the fine prospect from the chapel orNotre-Dame de Grace; and wliile there, I thought of hiquiring after the fate of poor Annette Delarbre. The priest who had told ine her story w<is officiating at ves[)ers, after wiiich I accosted liim, and learnt from liim the remaining circumstances. He told me tiiat from tlie time I liad seen her at the chapel, her disorder took a sudden turn for the worse, and her health rapidly declined. Her cheerful intervals became shorter and less frequent, ind attended with more incoherency. She grew languid, silent, and moody in her melan- choly ; her form was wasted, her looks pale and dis- consolate, and it was fearcrl she would never recover. She became impatient o^all sounds of gaiety, and w".s never so contented as when Eugene's mother was near her. The good woman watched over her with patient, yearning solicitude; and in seeking to beguile her sorrows, would half forget her own. Sometimes, as she sat looking upon her pallid face, the tears would fill her eyes, which, when Annette perceived, she would anxiously wipe them away, and tell her not to grieve, for that Eugene would soon return ; and then she woulil affect a forced gaiety, as in former limes, and sing a lively air ; but a sudden recollection would come over her, and she would burst into tears, hang on the po;ir mother's neck, and entreat her not to curse her for having destroyed her son. Just at this time, to the astonishment of every one, news was received of Eugene, who, it appeared, was still living. When almost drowned, he had fortur nately seized upon a spar which had been washed from the ship's deck. Finding himself nearly exhausted, he had fastened himself to it, and lloated for a «lay and night, until all :,ense had left him. On recover- ing, he had found himself on board a vessel bound to India, hut so ill as not to move without assistance. His health had continued precarious throughout the voyage ; on arriving in India he had experienced ma- ny vicissitudes, and had been transferred from ship to ship, and hospital to hospital. His constitution had enabled him to struggle through every hardship ; and he was now in a distant port, waiting only for the sail- ing of a ship to return home Great caution was necessary in imparting these tidings to the mother, and even then she was nearly overcome by the transports of her joy. But how to impart them to Annette was a matter of still greater perplexity. Her state of mind had been so morbid ; she had lieen subject to such violent changes, and the cause of her derangement had been of such an incon- solable and hopeless kind, that her friends had always forborne to tam[ter with her feelings. They had never even hinted at the subject of her griefs, nor encourag- ed the theme when slie adverted to it, but had passed it over in silence, hoping that time would gradually wear the traces of it from her recollection, or, at least, would render them less painfid. They now felt at a loss how to undeceive her even in her misery, lest the sudden recurrence of happiness might confirm the es- trangement of her reason, or might overpower her enfeebled frame. They ventured, however, topiDbf those wounds which they formerly did not dare to touch, for they now liad the balm to pour into thein. They led the conversation to those topics which they had hitherto shunned, and endeavoured to ascertain the current of her thoughts in those varying moods that had formerly [lei-piexed them. They found however, that her mind was even more affected tlian | they had imagined . All her ideas were confused and wandering. Her bright and ch erful moods, wliidi now grew seldomer than ever, were all the effects of mental delusion. At such times she had no recollec- tion oi her lover's having been in danger, bntwaj only rsnlicipating his arrival. "Wlien the winter has passed away," saiu she, 'and the trees put on their blossoms, and the swallow comes back over ilie sea, he will return." Wlien she was drom)injT jmi desponding, it was in \.iin to remind her oT whai s|ie| had said in her gayer moments, and to assure herlliatj l']ugene would indeed return shortly. Shr- wept in silence, and appeared insensible to their words,! I$ut at times her agitation became violent, when si would tipbraid herself with having driven Eugei from his mother, and bioughl sorrow on iieri;i hairs. Her mind admitted but one leading idea at lime, whicii nothing <m)mI(I divert or efface; orifll ever succeeded in interrupting the current of lierfai cy, it only became the more incoherent, and increi ed the feverislnuss that preyeil upon liolli miiidai body. Her friends felt more alarm for her than eii for they feared that her senses were irrecover; gone, and her constitution completely undermined, In the mean time Eugene returned to the v He was violently affected when the story of Aimi was told him. With bitterness of heart he iiplri bis own rashness and infatuation that had luin him away from her, and accused himself aslheaiill of all her woes. His mother would describe to all the anguisii and remorseof poor Annette; tlieti derness with whicli she clung to her, and (Muleav ed, even in the midst of her insanity, to console for thi! loss of her son, and the touciiing expressioii!| affection that were mingled with her most iiicnhi wanderings of thought, until his feelings would wound up to agony, and he would entreat lierlo sist from the recital. They did not dare as yel bring him into Annette's sight; but he waspermill to s<'(! her when she was sleeping. The tears slrei ed down his sunburnt cheeks as he contempli the ravages which grief and malady had inaile ; his heart swelled almost to breaking as he liel round her neck the very braid of hair wliif^h siiem gave him in token of girlish affection, and wliicli| had returned to her in anger. At length the physician that attendetl lu'id.ic ed to adventure upon an e':periment; in iiiktJili tagc of one of lh(we cheerfid moods when her was visited by hope, and to endeavour to in|.'ial it were, the reality upon the delusions of her These mmMis had now Itecome very rare, foi viass talnii grovi I a clie( I favour ber;tl I dancec I and iio jjengtii [leaves; I bouse, J the wii jSlie bej! Itiringin^ llo work liler cum oliced t tilossoni. ■a? D( Eujfene li ul that ( Her \\c !ized on llioiild be rere echo the rein iiiffialnla a,>vsiste( ig Ihe san il lo recei [Jely. i coming ' r, aiK Her fri iinient icy liac le ill a I 'fily, Hi; (ason, .see mees. ir senses ' X'lAiliie.s, iely lliat J Tiienexli (lie occi ay from Teilhisior ilraclcd, i*roneof! lour niEiigeii liaiid aci enileav room, an "ilh an Wind wo "1 Ihe 111 01 1(1 ilieielai «( now that UKACEBRIDGE HALL. 4^ ired, however, to pjtAt meily did nol dare to ►aim 10 powr into them. Lliose topics which Ihej ideavoured to ascertain in those varying rtioods d them. They found, even more affected llian ideas were confused and [Ich evful moods, which er were all the effects ol imes she had no recoilcc- heen in danger, but was al. " "When the winter ;^ -and the trees put on il'low comes back over ihe len she was dromin? and 10 remind her oTwhatslie tnls and to assure her llBtl in-n shortly. Sho wepionj insensible to their words, became violent, when si ith having driven Eujei •oiisht sorrow on her ;d but one leading idea at a divert or efface; or if tl ijiliiig the current of her fai lore incoherent, and inrrw nreyed upon Iwlh iniwl ai mre alarm for her than ev( .1- senses were irrecoveral on completely undermined, rrene returned to the v " d when the story of Anni lternessofhearlheiiphrai( nfatnalion that had hurrii 11 accused himself as Ihe aull other would describe to orse of poor Annette; tlie lung to her, andemleav fher insanity, to console ndthetouciungexpressmi Tied with her most incflhei " until his feelings woA d he would entreat her 10 They did not dareasyel ssi"ht;bulhew.'>spenwlt s sleeping. The tears stre,- I cheeks as he conte,t>nli f and malady bad made; ,ost 10 breaking as he 1« Y braid of hair wl.icl>sie .irlish affection, and whu anger. |,an that attended l.enl.u ane':perimenl;W''^'l^;''« ,eerful moods wlico lier nd to endeavour to m;:iai lon the delusions ; iMjcome very rare was sinking under the continual pressure of her men- tal malady, and the principle of reaction was daily vioving weaker. Every effort was tried to bring on a cheerful interval of the kind. Several of her mo&t favourite companions were kept continually about ber;ll>ey chatted gaily, they laughed, and sang, and danced; but Annette reclined with languid frame and hollow eye, and look no pari in their gaiety. At length the winter was gone; the trees put foklli Ibeir leaves; the swallows began to build in the eaves of the house, and the robin and wren piped all day beneath Ihe window. Annette's spirits gradually revived. She began lo deck her person with unusual cai e ; and liringing forlli a basket of arlilicial llowers, she went to work to wreathe a bridal chaplel of white roses, iller companions asked her why she prepared the chap- it. "VVhatI " said she with a smile, "have you not lOliced the trees pulling on their wedding dresses of ilossom ? Has not the swallow tlown back over the :a? Do you not know that the time is come for lugeneto return? that he will be home to-morrow, id that on Sunday we are lo be married?" lier words were rei>ealed to Ihe physician, and he izedonlhemat once. He directed that her idea ibonld be encouraged and acted upon. Her words ere echoed through the house. Every one talked Ihe return of Eugene as a matter of course ; they ingralulated her upon her approaching happiacss, assisted her in her preparations. The next morn- is Ihe same theme was 'esumed. She was dressed il lo receive her lover. Every bosom tlullered wilh ielv. A cabriolet drove into the village. "Eugene I coming!" was the cry. of herd for She saw him alight at the or, and rushed with a shriek into his arms. Iller friends trembled for the result of this critical pcrinient ; but she did not sink under it, forhci' ncy had prepared her for his return. She was as he in a dream, to whom a tide of unlooked-for pro- erily, thai would have overwhelmed his waking lason, seems but the natural current of eircuni- inccs. Her conversation, however, showed that kr senses were wandering. There was an absolut*; gt'lfidness of all past sorrow; a wild and feverish jiely that at limes was incoherent. JThenexl morning she awoke languid and exhausted. |l the occurrences of the preceding day had passed jay from her mind as though they had been the tre illusions of her fancy. She rose melancholy and pacled, and as she dressed herself, was heard to ji; one of her plaintive ballads. When she entered ! parlour her eyes were swoln wilh weeping. She prd Eugene's voice without and started. She passed : hand across her forehead, and stood musing, like B endeavouring lo recall a dream. Juigene entered irooni, and advanced towards her; she looked al 1 with an eager, searching look, nun inured some blind words, and, before he coidd i< <ich her, sank [il the tloor. Ihe relaitsed into a wild and unsettled simile of mind ; liiow that the (irsl shock was over, the physician ordered that Eugene should keep continually hi her sight. Sometimes slie did not know him ; at other times she would talk to him as if he were going lo sea, and would implore him not to part from her in anger ; and when he was not present, she would speak of him as if buried in the ocean, and would sit, wilh clasped hands, looking upon the ground, the picture of despair. As the agitation of her feelings subsided, and her frame recovered from the shock which il had received, she became more placid and coherent. Eugene kept almost continually near lier. He formed the real object round which her scattered ideas once more gathered, and which linked them once more with the realities of life. But her changeful disorder now ap- peared to take a new turn. She became languid and inert, and would sit for hours silent, and almost in a slate of lethargy. If roused from this stupor, il seemed as if her mind would make some allempls to follow up a train of thought, but would soon become confused. She would regard every one that ap- proached her with an anxious and inquiring eye that seemed continually i > disappoint itself. Sometimes, as her lover sat holding her band, she would look pen- sively in his face without saying a word, until his heart was overcome; and after these transient fits of intel- lectual exertion, she would sink again into lethargy. By degrees this stupor increased ; her mind appear- ed lo have subsided into a stagnant and almost death- like calm. For the greater part of the time her eyes were closed ; her face almost as fixed and passionless as that of a corpse. She no longer took any notice of sur- roundingohjects. There was an awfulness in this tran- quillity that filled her friends with apprehension. The physician ordered that she should be kept perfectly quiet; or that, if she evinced any agitation, she should be gently lulled, like a child, by some favourite tune. She remained in this state for hours, hardly seeming to breathe, and apparently sinking into the sleep of death. Her chamber was profoundly still. The at- tendants moved about it wilh noiseless tread ; every thing was cunnnunicated by signs and whispers. Her lover sat by her side watching her with painful anxiety, and fearing thai every breath which stole from her pale lips would be the last. At length she heaved a deep sigh; and from some convulsive motions appeared lo iie troubled in her sleep. Her agitation increased, accompanied by an indistinct moaning. One of her companions, re- membering the physician's instructions, endeavoured lo lull her by singing, in a low voice, a lender little air, which wasaparticular favourite of Annette's. Pro- bably it had some connexion in her mind wilh hr»' own story ; for every fond girl has some dilty of the kind, linked in her thoughts wilh sweet and sad re- membrances. As she sang, the agitation of Amiette subsided. A streak of faint colour cane into her cheeks ; her eye- lids became swoln wilh rising tears, which trembled there for a moment, and then, stealing forth, coursed down her pallid cheek. When the song was endcl, ;# T; 43ii BRACEBKIDGE HALL. she opened her eyes and looked about her, as one awaking in a strange place. "Oh, Eugene! Eugene!" said she, "it seems as if I Iiave had a long and dismal dream : what has happened, and what has been the matter with me?" The questions were embarrassing; and before they could be answered, the physician, who was in tlie next room, entered. She took him by the hand, lookr up in his face, and made the same inqriry. He endeavoured to put her off with some evasive ; f answer ; — "No, no ! " cried she, " I know I've been ill, and I have been dreaming strangely. I thouglit Eugene had left us — and that he had gone to sea— jic and that — and that he was drowned! — But be has \ , been to sea ! " added she earnestly, as recollection kept flashing upon her, " and he has been wrecked — and we were all so wretched — and he came home • ! again one bright morning — and Oh ! " said she, pressing her hand against her forehead with a sickly smile, "I see how it is; all has not been right here, I begin to recollect — but it is all past now — Eugene is here ! and his mother is happy — and we shall never — never part again— shall we, Eugene ? " She sunk back in her chair exhausted ; the tears streamed down her cheeks. Her companions hovered ' round her, not knowing what to make of this sudden dawn of reason. Her lover sobbed aloud. She opened her eyes again, and looked upon them with an air of the sweetest acknowledgment. "You are all so good ' to me ! " said she, faintly. The physician drew the father aside. "Your daugh- ter's mind is restored," said he; " sheissensible that she has been deranged ; she is growing conscious of the past, and conscious of the present. All that now re- mains is to keep her calm and quiet until her health is re-established, and then let her be married, in God's name!" "The wedding took place," continued the good priest, "but a short time since; they were here at the last Kle during their honey-moon, and a hand- somer and happier couple was not to be seen as they danced under yonder trees. The young man, his wife, and mother, now live on a line farm at Pont- I'Ev^que; and that model of a ship which you see yonder, with white flowers wreathed round it, is Annette's offering of thanks to Our Lady of Grace, for having listened to her prayers, and protected her lover in the hour of peril'." The captain having finished, there was a nvjment- ary silence. The tender-hearted Lady Lillycraft, who ' whoever lias seen the pathetic ballet of Nina, may be rcminil- ed cf it by some of the passases in the latter part of the above tale. The story, it is true, was sltetehed before seeinK that liallil ; but in re-writins it, the author's memory was hauiitetl by the inimit- able performance of UiKoltini. in Nina, and the vivid ivcolliction of it may have (iroduced an occ.isional similarity. He is in sonic measure prompted to make ibis aclinowledsmrut, for the purpose of expressiuK his admiratii n of the wonderful powtu-s of that aelresf , who has ^iven a di;'i>,.y and pathos to the ballet, of which he liad not 8up|)osed it capalilo. knew the story by heart, had led the way in wetti- ing, and indeed had often begun to shed tears before they had come to the right place. The fair Julia was a little flurried at the passage where wedding preparations were mentioned; bu> the auditor most affected was the simple Phoebe Wi|. kins. She had gradually dropt her work in her lap, and sat sobbing through the latter part of the storj'. until towards tlte end, when the happy reverse had nearly produced another scene of hysterics. " Go take this case (o my room again, child," said Lady Lillycraft kindly, "and don't cry so much." " I won't, an't please your ladyship, if I can help it;— but I'm glad they made all up again, and were married ! " By the way, the case of this love-lorn damsel begins to make some talk in the household, especially among certain little ladies, not far in their teens, of whom she has made confidants. She is a great favourite with them all, but particularly so since she has con- fided to them her love secrets. They enter into iier concerns with all the violent zeal and overwiielmiiij sympathy with which little boarding-school ladie engage in the politics of a love affair. I have noticed them frequently clustering abontl her in private conferences, or walking up and donj the garden terrace under my window, listening some long and dolorous story ?f her afllictions; which I could now and then distinguish the ever- recurring phrases "says he," and "says she." I accidentally interrupted one of these lilllecoum of war, when Ihey were all huddled together uni a tree, and seemed to be earneslly considering soi interesling document. The flutter at my appro! showed that there were some secrels under disci sion ; and I observed the disconsolate Pha'be cruniplii into her bosom either a love-letter or an old vaieiilii and brushing away the tears from her cheeks, The girl is a good girl, of a soft melting nature, shows her concern at the cruelty of her lover only tears and drooping looks ; but with the lillie iai who have espoused her cause, it sparkles iipiiilolii indignation; and I have noticed on Sunday many glance darted at the pew of the Tibbels's, enough en to melt down the silver buttons on old IVeady-Mone] jacket. TRAVELLING. A citizen, for recreation sake, • To see the country would a journey take ■Some dozen mile, or v(>ry little more ; Takins bis leave with friends two moolhs brfDre, With drinking' healths, and shaking' by llie liaiid, As he had travail'd to some new-found land. DucTUH Meuuib-Man, Ml The squire has lately received another shock in j .saddle, and been almost unsealed by his inar-ff He iamet ■ivaey, aiu It more es 'asantry, a m. A gi le manner: sols and ii ingersofi the counli Tlie sqnin looks hat enjoiirne extraordi 1(1 roads, ha 'nied to se lofthe w [kindofino iieid ills ( lo Willi ,i| ting liiui! irld williin iis.ils local lilts were i Kaiuleriiifi'j ravel out i It Iwd hofi) of his life Vliat a die BKACEBRIDGE HALL. 457 1 led the way in we«i»- ;un to shed tears before ace. flurried at the passage \ were mentioned; bu*. the simple Phcebe Wil- 1 ipt lier work in her lap, latter part of the slorj', n the happy reverse had ine of hysterics. " Go, again, child," said Lady I I cry so much." jr ladyship, if I can help I e all up again, and were I is love-lorn damsel begins usehold, especially among r in their teens, of whom She is a great favourite jrly so since she has con- •ets. They enter into her nt zeal and overwhelminjl lie boarding-school ladiuj ove affair, equently clustering abooll }, or walking up and (lorn my window, listening to story of her afflictions ;ol then distinguish Ihe ever- »e," and "says she." ,ed one of these lillle cound all huddled together um earneslly considering SOI rhe flutter at my ai)pioa( some secrets under ilisci .sconsolatePliffibecruntpli ve-lelleroranoldvaleni ears from her cheeks, of a soft melting nature, cruelty of her lover only _, but with the lillle lail ause, it sparkles up inlo III noticed on Suntiay many BflheTibbels's,enoiii;hew uttonsonoldUeady-Monei ELLING. Inei'bbour, the indefatigable Mr Faddy, who rides lilsjog-trof. hobby with equal zeal; and is so bent Inpon improving and reforming the neighbourhood, thai the squire thinks, in a little while, it will be tree worth living in. The enormity that has just imposed my worthy host, is an attempt of the lanufacturer to have a line of coaches eslablished, that sball diverge from tlie old route, and pass through the neiglibouring village. I believe I have mentioned that the Hall is situated In a retired part of the country, at a distance from ly great coach road ; insomuch that the arrival of a traveller is apt to make every one look out of the win- ]ow, and to cause some talk among the ule-drinkers It the little inn. I was at a loss, therefore, to ac- )unt for the squire's indignation at a measure ap- irenlly fraught with convenience and advantage, intil I found that the conveniences of travelling were long his greatest grievances. In fact, he rails against stage-coaches, poslchaises, id turnpike-roads, as serious causes of the corrup- jon of English rural manners. They have given faci- (lies, he says, to every hum-drum citizen to trundle lis family about the kingdom, and have sent the Hies and fashions of town whirling, in coach-loads, the remotest parts of the island. The whole coun- r, he says, is traversed by these flying cargoes ; lery by-road is explored by enterprizing tourists mi Clieapside and the Poultry, and every genlle- lan's park and lawns invaded by cockney sketchers both sexes, wilh portable chairs and portfolios for awing. He laments over this as destroying the charm of ivaey, and interrupting the quiet of country life ; It more especially as affecting tlie simplicity of the asantry, and lilling their heads with half city no- ins. A great coach inn, he says, is enough to ruin nners of a whole village. It creates a horde sots and idlers; makes gapers and gazers and news- ingersof Ihe common people, and knowing jockeys the country bumpkins. The squire has something of the old feudal feeling. looks back with regret to the " good old times," leii journeys were only made on Iforseback, and extraordinary difliculties of travelling, owing to 1(1 roads, bad accommotlations, and highway robbers, med to separate 'jach village and hamlet from the I of the world. The lord of the manor was then jkind of monarch in the little realm around him. liis court in his paternal hall, and was looked to with almost as much loyalty anil deference as ion sake, • oHlil a journey take very liltli! more ! 1 fi-icmls two nioiillw l)ffore, . anil sliakinK Ijy III'' '«'• ) somi: nc\v-fmiu(l land. DOCTOR Mehhik-M*», I6»| received another shock inj St unsealed by his mi !king himself. Every neighbourhood was a little 1 within itself, having its local manners and cus- ns, its local history, and local opinions. The inlia- ^iils were fonder of llieir homes, and thought less Iwaiuleiiiig. It was lookeil upon as an expedition Iravel out ol' sight of the parish stivple; and a man |tliad been to London was a \iHage oracle for the I of his life. JVIial a difference between the mode itf travelling in those days and at present ! At that time, when a gentleman went on a distant visit , he sallied forth like a knight-errant on an enterprize, and every family excursion was a pageant. How splendid and fanci- ful must one of those domestic cavalcades iiave been, where the beautiful dames were mounted on palfries magniticenlly caparisoned, wilh embroidered harness, all tinkling with silver bells; attended by cavaliers richly attired on prancing steeds, and followed by pages and serving-men, as we see them represented in old tapestry. The gentry, as they travelled about in those days, were like moving pictures. They de- lighted the eyes and awakened the admiration of the common people, and passed before them like supe- rior beings ; and indeed they were so ; there was a hardy and healthful exercise connected with this eques- trian style, that made them generous and noble. In his fondness for the old style of travelling, the squire makes most of his journeys on horseback, though he laments the modern deficiency of incident on the road, from the want of fellow-wayfarers, and the rapidity with which every one is whirled along in coaches and post-chaises. In the " good old limes," on the contrary, a cavalier jogged on through bog and mire, from town to town, and hamlet to hamlet, conversing with friars and franklins, and all other chance companions of the road ; beguiling the way with travellers' tales, which then were truly wonderful, for every thing beyond one's neighbour- hood was full of marvel and romance ; slopping at night at some " hostel," where the bush over the door proclaimed good wine, or a pretty hostess made bad wine palatable ; meeting at supper wilh travellers like himself; discussing their day's adventures, or listeninii to the song or merry story of the host, who was generally a boon companion, and presided ut his own board; for, according to old Tusser's "Inn- holder's Posie," "At mralcs my friend who villetti here And sittc'lti wiHi tiis tiost, Stiall Ixiili he sure of l)etter cliecre, And 'scape witli lesser cost." The squire is fond, too, of stopping at those inns which may be met wiiii, here and there, in ancient houses of wood and plaster, or culiinanco houses, as they are called by aiitiiiunries, with deep porches, diamond-paned how-windows, panelled rooms and great iire-places. lie will prefer them to more spa- cious and modern inns, and w ill cheerfully put up with bad cheer and bad acciMinnodalions in the gra- tificalidii of his humour. They give him, he says, the feeling of old limes, insomuch that ho almost expects, in Ihe dusk of the evening, to see some party of weary travellers ride up to the door, with plumes and mantles, trtmk-hose, wide boots, and long rapiers. The good squire's remarks brought to mind a visit thai I once paid to the Tabard Inn, famous for being the place of assend»lage from whence Chaucer's pil- grims sel forth for (Canterbury. It is in the borough 458 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ofSouthwark, not fiir from London Bridge, and bears, at present, the name of " the Talbot." It has sadly declined in dignity since the days of Chaucer, being a mere rendezvousand packing-placeofthegreat wag- guns that travel into Kent. The court-yard, which was anciently the mustering-place of the pilgrims previous to their departure, was now lumbered with huge waggons. Crates, boxes, hampers, and baskets, containing the good things of town and cotmtry, were piled about them ; while, among the straw and litter, the motherly iiens scratched and clucked, with their hungry broods at their iieels. Instead of Chaucer's motley and splendid throng, I only saw a grou]> of waggoners and stable-boys enjoying a circulating pot of ale ; while a long-boilied dog sat by, with head on one side, ear cocked up, and wistful gaze, as if wait- ing for his turn at the tankard. Notwiiistanding this grievous declension, however, I was gralilied at perceiving that the present occu- pants were not unconscious of the poetical renown of their mansion. An inscription over the gateway pro- claimed it to be the inn where Chaucer's pilgrims slept on the night previous to their de(mrture, and at the bottom of the yard was a magnilicent sign, re- presenting them in the act of sallying forth. I was pleased, too, at noticing, that though the present inn was comparatively modern, yet the form of the old inn was preserved. There were galleries round tlie yard, as in old times, on which opened the chambers of the guests. To these ancient inns have antiquaries ascribed the present forms of our theatres. Plays were originally acted in inn-yards. The guests lolled over the galleries which answered to our modern dress-circle ; the critical mob clustered in the yard instead of the pit; and the groups ga7:ing from the garret windows, were no bad representatives of the gods of the shilling-gallery. When, therefore, the drama grew important enough to have a house of its own, the architects took a hint for its construction from the yard of the ancient '' hostel. " I was so well pleased at finding these remem- brances of Chaucer and his poem, that I ordered my dinner in the little parlour of the Talbot. Whilst it was prepu. .ng, I sat at the window, musing and gaz- ing into Ihecourt-yard, and conjiu'ing up recollections of the scenes depicted in such lively colours by the poet, until by degrees, bales, boxes and hampers, boys, waggoners, and dogs, faded from sight, and my fancy peopled the place with the motley throng of Canterbury pilgrims. The galleries once more swarmed with idle gazers, in the rich dresses of Chaucer's lime, and the whole cavalcade seemed to pass before me. 'J'here was the stately knight on sober steed, who had ridtlen in Christendom and healhncsse, and had " foughten for our faith at Traniissene ; " — ami his son, the young squire, a lover, and a lusty hachelor, with curled locks and gay embroidery ; a b^WM rider, a dancer, and a writer of verses, Mnging and fluting all day long, and " fresh Hi the month of May ; "—and his " knot-headed " yeoman ; a bold forester, in green, with horn baudrick, and dagger, a mighty bow in hand, andjl sheaf of peacock arrows shining beneath his belt -I and the coy, smiling, simple nun, with her grey eyes I her small re<l mouth and fair forehead, her dainivl person clad in featly cloak and " 'ypinchcd wimple 'f her coral beads about her arm, her golden brducj with a love motto, and her pretty oath '* by SainJ Eloy ; "—and the merchant, solemn in speech anj high on horse, with forked beard and " Flaundrisiil beaver hat ; " — and the lusty monk, " full fat aiidij gootl point, " with berry-brown palfrey, his \\q^\ fastened with gold pin, wrought with a lovekiioi[ his bald head shining like glass, and his face glisiei).| ing as though it had been anointed ; — and Die lean I logical sententious clerke of Oxenforde, upon liisi half-starved, scholar-like horse; — and the bowsinrl sompnour, with liery cherub face, all knobbed wiii|l pimples, an eater of garlick and onions, and drJDk-l er of "strong wine, red as blood," tlml carried jl cake for a buckler, and babbled Latin in hit: cups;! of whose brimstone visage" children were sore aferd;'1 — and the buxom wife of Bath, the widow of liij huslKinds, upon her ambling nag, with her lialbru as a buckler, her red stockings and sharp spurs;- and the slender, choleric reeve of Norfolk, beslridii his good grey slot ; with close-shaven beard, liis hii cropped ronnd his ears, long, lean, calfless legs,; a rusty blade by his side ; — and the jolly LimiiomJ with lisping tongue and twinkling eye, well belore of franklins and housewives, a great promoter oft riages among young women, known at the tave in every town, and by every " hosteler and tapstere. " In short, belore I was roused from reverie by the less poetical, but more subslaiitiali parition of a smoking beefsteak, I had seen tliewli cavalcade issue forth from the hostel-gate, wi brawny, double-jointed, red-haired miller, platii the bagpipes before them, and the ancient hostofll Tabard giving them his farewell God-send to terbury. When I told the squire of the existence of ilm I gilimate descendant of the ancient Tabard Inn, I eyes ai)solutely glistened with delight. He delen ed to hunt it up the very first time he visited Luiidoi and to eat a dinner there, and drink a cup of host's best wine, in memory of old Chaucer. general, who happened to be present, i.iimediaK begged to be of llie party, for he liked to encoun these long-established houses, as they are apt to I choice old wines. with fami !y, on a i a candle, lion, swe llleries. lTotelltl« talie a piei llous storie lely and lienever h endeavoui litation an 'lliese stor liised with Ik to !iim !)' Iwve l»e( BRACEBRIDGE IIAI.L. 410 gre«n, with horn and I hly bow in hand, and a I ling beneaUi his belt;~l nun, with lier grey eyes, [ lir forehead, her dainiyi wl " 'ypinchcd wimple, 'I arm, lier golden bniochl ;r pretly oalli " by SainJ t, solemn in speech arijl I beard and " llaumliistil ly monk," full fal and ij l)rown palfrey, his iioodl roiighl with a love-knoll ;lass, and his face glisleii.| anointed ;— and the lean,! of Oxenforde, upon liis| iiorse; — and the bowsinpl ub face, all knobbed viM ck and onions, and dtink-[ as blood," that carried al abided Latin in his cupsl ' children were soreafcnl;"! Bath, the widow of fiT^ ng nag, with her bat brut! ckings and sharp spurs;- reeve of Norfolk, bestridiii! ilose-shaven beard, his ii )iig, lean, calfless legs,; !;— andlhe jolly Limilontj twinkling eye, well belovJ es a great promoter otiiHfl men, known at the tavenj every " hosteler and m fore I was roused from n] al, but more subslaiilialj [fsteak, Ihadseenthewy 11 the hostel-gate, willill red-haired miller, plajinj .,and the ancient host ofll farewell God-send to " k of the existence oflliisl the ancient Tabard hin, with delight, lie deleit lirsl lime he visited Loniloi re, and drink a cup of fnory of old Chaucer. to be present, i.nmediali |y, for he liked to encoun )use8,astheyare apt to 1 POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. Farewell rewards and fairies, Good lioiucwives now may uy ; For now fowle sluls in dairies Do fare as well as Ihcy : And Ihougli they swih'im; llieir hearths no lesse Tlian maids were wont to doe, Yet who of tale fur cloaulinesse Finds sixpence ia Iter sliooc 7 Bisuop ConnET. I HAVE mentioned the s(piire's fondness for the narvelious, and his predilection for legends and ro- mances. His library contains a curious collection bf old works of this kind, which bear evident marks [f having been much read. In his great love for all liat is antiquatei), he cherishes popular superstitions, i listens, with very grave attention, to every tale, jiowever strange ; so that, through his countenance, [he liouseliold, and, indeed, the whole neighbotniiood, iwell stocked with wonderful stories; and if ever a oubt is expressed of any one of them, the narrator (01 generally observe, that "the sqiiive thinks there's iieihing in it. " The Hall of course comes in for its share, the corn- on people having always a propensity to furnish a Teat superannuate!! building of the kind with su- ernatural inhabitants. The gloomy galleries of such ild family mansions; the stately chambers, adorned I ill) grotesque carvings and failed paintings; the Hinds that vaguely echo about them ; the moaning If the wind; the cries of rooks and ravens from the lees and cliininey-tops; all produce a state of mind |vuurable to superstitious fancies. In one cliainl)er of the Hall, just opposite a door [liich opens upon a dusky passage, there is a full- rtgtii •wrlrait of a warrior in armour: when, on [iddeniy turning into the passage, I have caught a btof the portrait, thrown into strong relief by the krk pannelling against which it hangs, I have more ianonee l)een startled, as though it were a figure Ivanciiig towards me. I To superstitious minds, therefore, predisposed by I strange and melancholy stories that are connect- Uith family paintings, it needs but little stretch of cy, on a moonlight night, or by the llickering light [a candle, to set the old pictures on the walls in ption, sweeping in their robes and trains about the lileries. ITo tell the truth, the squire confesses that he used jtake a pleasure in his younger days in setting mar- kus stories afloat, and connecting them with the jiely and peculiar places of the neighbourhood. [Iienever he read any legend of a striking nature, lendeavoured to transplant it, and give it a local Dilation among the scenes of his boyhood. Many IHiese stories took root, and he says he is often jused with the odd 8i>apes in which they will come fk to him in some old woman's narrative, after |y have lieen circulating for years among the pea- santry, and undergoing rustic additions and amend- ments. Among these may doubtless be numbered that of the crusader's ghost, which I liave mention- ed in the account of my Christmas visit ; and an- other about the hard riding squire of yore, the fa- mily Nimrod; who is sometimes heard on stormy winter nights, galloping, with hound and horn, over a wild moor a few miles distant from the Hall. This I apprehend to have had its origin in the famous story of the wild huntsman, the favourite goblin in German tales; though, by the bye, as I was talking on the subject with Master Simon the other evening in the dark avenue, he hinted, that he had himself once or twice heard odd sounds at night, very like a pack of hounds in cry ; and that once, as he was returning rather late from a hunting-dinner, he had seen a strange figure galloping along this same moor; but as he was riding rather fast at the time, and in a hurry to get borne, he did not slop to ascertain what it was. Popular superstitions are fast fading away in Eng- land, owing to the general diffusion of knowledge, and the bustling intercourse kept up throughout the country; still they have their strong holds and lin- gering places, and a retired neighbourhood Me this is apt to he one of them. The parson tells me that he meets with many traditional beliefs and notions among the common people, which he has been able to drrw from them in the course of familiar conver- sation, though they are rather shy of avowing them to strangers, and particularly to " the gentry," who arc apt to laugh at them. He says there are several of his old parishioners who remember when the vil- lage had its l)ar-guest, or bar-ghost; a spirit supposed 'o belong to a town or village, and to predict any im- pending misfortune by midnight shrieks and wailings. 'J'lie last time it was heard was just before the death of Mr Bracebridge's father, v.'ho was much beloved throughout the neighbourhood; though there are not wanting some obstinate unbelievers, who insisted that it was nothing but the howling of a watch-dog. I have been greatly Jelighted, however, at meeting with some traces of my old favourite, Robin Good- fellow, though under a different appellation from any of those by which I have heretofore heard him called. The parson assures me that many of the peasantry be- lieve in household goblins, called Dobbies, which live about particular farms and houses, in tlte same way that Robin Good-fellow did of old. Sometimes t hey haunt the barns and outhouses, and now and then will assist the farmer wonderfully, by getting in all his hay or corn in a single night. In general, however, they prefer to live within doors, and are fond of keeping about the great hearths, and basking at night, after the family have gone to bed, by the glowing embers. When put in particular good humour by the warmth of their lodgings, and the tidiness of the housemaids, they will overcome their natural laziness, and do a vast deal of household work before morning ; churn- ing the cream, brewing the beer, or spinning all the 440 BRACEBRIDGE HALL good dame's flax. All this is precisely the conduct of Robin Good-fellow, described so charmingly by Milton : " TpIU how Ihc (InKlRins goblin sweat To earn his cre.im-howl duly set, When in one nisht. ere slimi'sc of morn. Ills shadowy Rail had (lirc.tiril Ihc corn That ten day-lalK)ur'crs could not end ; Then lays him down (lie hililH-r-nvud, And sirclch'd out all tho chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And cro|)-rull, out of door he llings Ere the first cock his matin rings." But beside these householil Dobbies, there are ithers of a more gloomy and unsocial nature, that keep about lonely barns at a distance from any dwell- ing-house, or about ruins niid old bridges. These are full of mischievous, and often malignant tricks, and are fond of playing pranks upon benighted tra- vellers. There is a story, among the old people, of one that haunted a ruined mill, just by a bridge that crosses a small stream ; how that late one night, as a traveller was passing on horseback, the Dobbie jump- ed up behind him, and grasped him so close round the body that he had no power to help himself, but expected to be squeezed to death : luckily his heels were loose, with which he plied the sides of his steed, and was carried, with the wonderful instinct of a traveller's horse, straight to the village inn. Had the inn been at any greater distance, there is no doubt but he would have been strangled to death ; as it was, the good people were a long time in bringing him to bis senses, and it was remarked that the first sign he showed of returning consciousness was to call for a bottom of brandy. These mischievous Dobbies bear much resemblance in their natures and habits to those sprites which Hey wood in his Hierarchic calls pugs or hobgoblins : 'Their dwellings be In comers of old houses least fretiuented, Or beneath stacks of wood, and these convented, Make fearfull noise in butteries and in dairies ; Robin Good-fellow sonic, some call them fairies. Ill solilarie rooms these uprores keep. And l)eate at doorcs, to wake men from their slepe. Seeming to force lockcs, be they nere so strong. And keeping Chrislmassc gambols all night long. Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes and kettles They will make dance about the shelves aud settles, As if about the kitchen tost and cast. Yet in the morning nothing found misplac'l. Others such houses to their use have fitted In which base murthers have been once committed 5 Some have their fearful habitations taken In dcsolat houses, ruin'd and forsal sn." In the account of our unfortunate hawking expe- dition, I mentioned an instance of one of these sprites supposed to haunt the ruined grange that stands in a lonely meadow, and has a remarkable echo. The parson informs me also, that the belief was once very prevalent, that a household Dobbie kept about the old farm-house of the Tibbets. It has long been tradi- tional, he says, that one of these good-natured goblins is attached to the Tibbets' family, and came vjij, them when they moved into this part of the counlrv' for it is one of the pecidiarities of these hotiseliold sprites, that they attach themselves to the fortunfti of certain families, and follow them in all tlieir re- movals. There is a large old-fashioned lire-place in the farm-house, which affords fine (jiiarters for a ney-coriicr sprite that likes to lie w.irm; especially as Ready-Money Jack keeps up rousing lires in lliewii|.j ter time. The old people of the village recollectj many stories alwut this goblin that were current io their young days. It was thought to have broii»ht gooil luck to the house, and to be the reason wiiyihe Tibbets were.ihvays beforehand in the world, aiidwhv their irm was always in belter order, Iheli' liavfoj in sooner, and their rorn belter stacked than thai their neighbours. 'J lie present Mrs Tibbets, at |Ik{ time of her courlship, had a number of these storii told lier by the country gossips ; and when married, was a little fearful alioul living' in a house where sui a hobgoblin was said to liauul : Jack, however, wl has always treated this story with great contempl,! assiu'cd her that there was no spirit kept about lii house that he could not at any time lay in Ijie 11 Sea with one flourish of his cudgel. Still hiswil has never got completely over her notions on the sui ject, but has a horseshoe naiUd on the tliresliold, and keeps a branch of rauntry, or moiintain-asl with ils red berries, suspended from one of liie greal beams in the parlour, — a sure protection from all eii spirits. These stories, however, as I before observed, ai fast fading away, and in another generation nr t will probably be completely forgotten. There something, however, about these rural superstitii that is exiremely pleasing to the imagination; pai cularly those which relate to the good-humoured ri of household demons, and indeed to the whole fail mythology. The English have given an inexpressil charm to these superstitions, by the manner in wiu they have associated them with whatever is nn homefelt and delightful in rustic life, or refreshi and beautiful in nature. I do not know a morefi cinatiiig race of beings than these little fabled peo{ that haunted the southern sides of hills and moi tains, lurked in flowers and about fountaiii-hei glided through key-holes into ancient halls, watchi over farm-houses and dairies, danced on the gre' by summer moonlight, and on the kitchen hearth winter. They seem to me to accord with the nali of English housekeeping and English scenery. I ways have them in mind when I see a line old Ei lish mansion, with its wide hall and spacious kitcii or a venerable farm-house, in which there is so 11 fire-side comfort and good housewifery. There something of national character in their love of 01 and cleanliness; in the vigilance with which watched over the economy of the kitchen, and functions of the servant; munificently rewai "By \ And I \ Indeed i filh lliat t lem, have lagery w ins, and lose contii liry, lliej our mill le. Itis( !lions hav ml. The ions wit 'ery subjet n more ( the rays inipiislie in fain to ilions of ' ffromt »e look tl tiiat the lar fane have ad ic origins Midsiiniii BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 441 family, and came wiihl thispartof IhecounlnJ ities of these liousehowl ■mselves to tlie forlunesl (V them in all their r^| hionc'l fire-place in the' Ine (iiKiiters for a iliim- to lie warm; especially k] prousiiVp'liresiulhewin- ! of the village recollecti jlin that were current in| Ihou^'ht to have broiijlill lie be the reason wliyihel iiaiulinlhe world, and niy letter order, Iheiv liay sot| )elter stacked than tlial esenl Mrs Tibbels, al ibej a number of these slori( ,ssips ; and when marrieii, ivini!; in a house where su( aunl: Jack, however, ul itory with '^rcai comempl,| as no spirit kept about li t any time lay in tlie II F his cudgel. Still his \\il( over her notions on lliesul ,e nailed on the threshold, rauntry, or monnlaiii-asi (ended from one of the graj sure protection from all e\i nith silver sixpence in shoe, the tidy housemaid, but venting their direful wrath, in midnight Imhs and pinches, upon the sluttish dairy-maid. I think I can trace the good effects of (his ancient fairy sway over household concerns, in the care that prevails to the present day among English housemaids to put their kitchens in order before they go to bed. Ihave said, too, that these fairy superstitions seemed tome to accord wjlli the nature of Englisii scenery. Xht y suit these small landscapes, which are divided br huneysuckled liedges into sheltered fields and meadows, where the grass is mingled with daisies, biillerciii>s, and hare-bells. When I lirst found my- Iself among English scenery, I was continually re- minded of the sweet pastoral images which distinguish their fairy mythology ; and wlien for the lirst lime a Icircle in the grass was pointed out to me as one of Itlie rings where they were formerly sujiposed to have Iheld their moonlight revels, it seemed for a moment las if fairy-land were no longer fable. Brown, ii) his iBritannia's Pastorals, gives a picture of the kind of Iscenery to \,hich I allude : A pleasant rncnd m :r, as I before observed, arj another generation nr It [iletely forgotten. There! lout these rural supersliiioc ,^ to the imagination; part le to the good-humoured rad id indeed to the whole taiij [h have given an inexpressiklj lons, by the manner in \vlii( lem with whatever is nii^ rustic life, or refreshii] I do not know a more Id Ihan these little fabled peoi^ ,in sides of hills and nwui Is and about founlaiu-heai ts into ancient halls, watchJ lairies, danced on the g» . ud on the kitchen hearth I me to accord with the natr ; and English scenery. IJ .1 when I see a line old hnj de hall and spacious kilclitf ise, in which there is so .u« lod housewifery. There^ .aracter in their love oori vigilance with which M my of the kitchen, andll .. . ^■niilicp.ntlv reward ^t; muniiicenlly where fair! !s ofleti did tlicir lucasiires tread ; Wliicli in I le meadows makes sucli circles green As if Willi ' arlands it liad cruw iied liecn. Williin one of llicse rounds w as to be seen A hillock rise, where o(l the fairy ([uecn Al twilight sat." /tnd there is another picture of the satne, in a poem kscribed to Ben Jonson. "By wells and rills In meadowes preen, We iiiglilly dance our hey-day guise. And lo our fairy kin^ and queen We cliant our moonlight minstrelsies." Indeed it seems to me, that the older British poets, lith thai true feeling for nature which distinguishes lem, have closely adhered to the simple and familiar lagery which they found in these popidar supersti- ms, and have thus given lo their fairy mythology lose continual allusions to the farm-house and the liry, the green meadow and the fountain-head, that our minds with the delightful associations of rural [e. It is curious lo observe how the most beautiful ilions have their origin among the rude and igno- Int. There is an indescribai)le charm about the il- Isions with which chimerical ignorance once clothed |ery subject. These twilight views of nature are ten more captivating than any which are revealed the rays of enlightened philosophy. The most «mplished and poetical minds, therefore, have ten fain to search back into these accidental con- blions of what are termed barbarous ages, and to Jaw from them their finest imagery and machinery. |welook through our most admired poets, we shall i that their minds have been impregnated by these ular fancies, and that Tiose have succeeded best ) have adhered closest to the simplicity of their llic originals. Such is the case wilh Shakspeare in 1 Midsummer-Night's Dream, which so minutely describes the employments and amusements of fairies, and embodies all the notions concerning them which were current among the vulgar. II is thus that poetry in England has echoed back every rustic note, softened into perfect melody ; it is thus that it has spread its charms over every-day life, displacing no- thing, taking things as it found them, but tinting them up with its own magical hues, until every green bill and fountain-head, every fresh meadow, nay, every humble flower, is full of song and story. I am dwelling loo long, perhaps, upon a threadbare subject ; yet it brings up with it a thousand delicious recollections of those happy days of childhood, when the imperfect knowledge I have since obtained had not yet dawned upon my mind, and when a fairy- tale was true history to me. I have often been so transported by the pleasure of these recollections, as almost to wish that I had been born in the days when the fictions of poetry were believed. Even now I cannot look upon those fanciful creations of ignorance and credulity, without a lurking regret that they have all passed away. The experience of my early days tells me that they were sources of exquisite delight ; and I sometimes rpieslion whether the naturalist who can dissect the flowers of the field, receives half the pleasure from contemplating them, that he did who considered them the abode of elves and fairies. I feel convinced that the true interests and solid hap- piness of man are promoted by the advancement of truth ; yet I cannot but mourn over the pleasant er- rors which it has trampled down in its progress. The fauns and sylphs', the household-sprite, tlie moon- light revel, Oberon, Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of fairy-land, all vanish before the light of true philosophy ; but who does not sometimes turn with distaste from the cold realities of morning, and seek to recall tlie sweet visions of the night? THE CULPRIT. From fire, from water, and all things amiss, Deliver the house of an honest jitstice. TDE Widow. Til!': serenity of tlie Hall has l)een suddenly inter- rupted by a very important occurrence. In the course of this morning a posse of villagers was seen trooping up the avenue, with boys shouting in advance. As it drew near, we perceived Ready-Money Jack Tib- bels striding along, wielding his cudgel in one band, and with the other grasping the collar of a tall fellow, whom, on still nearer approach, we recognized for the redoubtable gipsy hero Star-light Tom. He was now, however, completely cowed and crestfallen, and Ins courage seemed to have quailed in the iron- gripe of the lion-hearted Jack. The whole gang of gipsy-women and childi-en came draggling in the rear ; some in tears, others IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ?'■ <« 1.0 I.I IJ2 1^ lU w IL25 III 1.4 ?^' ^> Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STMIT WIMTM.N.Y. U5M (716) •72-4503 442 nRACEBRIDGE IIALI.. inakin)^ n violent rlamonr almiit the earsof oUI Ready- Money, who, however, trudged on in Nilence with his prey, lieeding liieir abuse as liltic as a liawli Hint has pounced upon a biirn-door liero regards llic out- cries and caclilings of liis wliolc fcallicred seraKJio. He liad passed tlirough tlie village on his way to the Hall, and or course had made a great sensation in that most excitable place, where every event is a mailer or gn/e and gossip. The re{H)rt flew like wildlire, that Star-light Tom was incuslo<ly. The alc-drink- ers forlhwilh alrandoned the tap-room; Slingshy's school broke loose, and master and lN>y8 swelled the tide that came rolling at the heels of old Heady-Mo- ney and his captive. Tiio uproar increased as they approached the Hall; it aroused Ihe whole garrison of dogs, and the crew of hauger$H)n. The great niaslifT hiirked from the dog-house; the stag-hound and the grey-hound and Ihe spaniel issued barking from Ihe hall-door, and my Laily Lillycrafl's little dogs ramped and barked from the parlour window. I remarked, however, that the gipsy dogs made no reply lo all these me- naces and insults, but crept close to the gang, looking round with a guilty, poaching air, and now and then glancing up a dubious eye to their owners; which shows that the moral dignity, even of dogs, may be ruined by l)ad company ! When the throng reached Ihe fronl ^f the house, they were brought to a halt by n kind of advanced- guard, composed of old Christy, the gamekee[)er, and two or three servants of the house, who had been brought out by Ihe noise. The* common herd of the village fell back with respect; the boys were driven biick by Christy and his compeers; while Ueady- Money Juck maintained his ground and his hold of tbe prisoner ; and was surrounded by Ihe tailor, the schoolmaster, and several other dignitaries of the village, and by the clamorous brood of gipsies, who were neither lo be silenced nor inlimidaled. Hy this time the whole household were brought to the doors and windovs, and the squire to the portal. An audience was demanded by Ready-Money Jack, who had detected the prisoner in Ihe very act of sheep-slealing on his domains, and had borne him off to be examined before the s(iuire, who is in the com- mission of Ihe peace. A kindoftribunal was immediately held in Ihe ser- vants' hall, a large chamber, with a stone floor and n long table in the centre, at one end of which, just under an enormous clock, was placed the squire's chair of justice, while Master Simon look his place at the table as clerk of Ihe court. An attempt had l)een made by old Christy to keep out Ihe gipsy gang, but in vain ; and they, with the village worthies, and the household, half iilled the hall. The old house- keeper and the butler were in a panic at this danger- ous irruption. They hurried away all Ihe valuable things and portable articles that were at hand, and even kept a dragon watch on the gipsies, lest they shonld carry off the house-clock, or Ihe deal table. Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor the gamt- kee|)er, acted as constables lo guard the prisnnpr, triumphing in having at last got this terrible olTeiHler in their clutches. Indeed I am inclintHi to think iIh> old man iMirc some pevisli recollection of liavin;; lieen handled rather roughly by the gipsy in the chance-medley affair of Maynlay. Silence was now commanded by Master Simon; but it was difficult lo be enforced in such a moller assemblage. There was a continual snarling; ancl yelping of dogs, and as fast as it was quelled in uik corner, it broke out in another. The poor gi|t8y cun, who, like errant thieves,could not hold up I heir heads in an honest house, were worried and insulted by the gentlemen dogs oftlie establishment, without ofTeiing to make resistance; the very cure of my Lady Lillj. craft bullied ll-eni with impunity. I'he examination was conducted with great mild- ness and indulgence by the squire, partly from ^ kindness of his nature, and [mrlly, I suspect, bwaiw his heart yearned towards the culprit, who had round great favour in his eyes, as I have already olMerred, from the skill he had at various limes displayed io archery, morris-dancing, and other obsolete accom-{ plishments. Proofs, however, were loo Ready-Money Jack told his story in a straight-funtanll independent way, iiothiiig daunted by the presence in which he found himself. He had suffered rroal various depredations on his sheepfold and poultry- yard, and liad at length kept watch, and caught delin(|uent in the very act of making off with asli on his shoulders. 1'ibbels was repeatedly interrupted, in the com of his testimony, by Ihe culprit's mother, a ftirii old behlame, with an insufferable tongue, and w in fact, was several limes kept, with some diflicullyj from flying at him tooth and nail. The wife, too, the prisoner, whom I am told he does not beat aboi half a dozen times a week, completely interesi Lady Lillycraft in her husband's behalf, by her and supplicalions ; and several of the other gi|i!j| women were awakening strong sympathy among young girls and maid servants in Ihe back-groi The pretty black-eyed gipsy-girl, whom I have tioned on a former occasion as the sibyl that read fortunes of the general, endeavoured to wheedle I doughty warrior into Iheir interests, and even some approaches to her old acquaintance. Master mon ; but was repelled by Ihe latter with all the di nity of ofiice, having assumed a look of gravity importance suitable lo the occasion. I was a little surpriijil, at iirst, to find Ik Slingsby, the schoolmaster, rather opposed to his crony Tibbets, and coming forward as a nind of cate for the accused. It seems that he had taken passion on Ihe forlorn fortunes of Star-light Tom, liad been trying his eloquence in his favour Ihe vl way from the village, but without effect. Di Ihe examination of Ready-Money Jack, Slinfjsby stood like «• dejected pi!y at his side, " seeking er;ai lishmei lit Tom iiliehul Table I the CO lly out Christ wedl It lo ar uses, int gua |i>«loptv 'nd niac one arr •ncient Itch over lirthat great! iicom fling. •heir »l'ng;w BRACEBRIDGE IIAIJ.. 44.' ifnl coadjalor the gamt- i lo giianl the prisoner, , gol Uiis terrible offemlet [ am inclined to tliink ihe ill recollection of liaviii>; Illy by the gipsy in tiit I ynlay. iiuled by Master Simon; 1 forced in such a motley a continual snarling ami t as it was quelled in oik lier. The poor gi|«y curs, )uld nothold up their heads vorried and insulted by Ihe Dlishinent, without offering !ry curs of my Lady Lilly- ipiniity. I londucled with great miM- ,hc sqiure, partly from thei 1 partly, I suspect, becaiiKl (the culprit, who had found IS I have already obserredj various times displayed in I and other obsolete aixom-l wever, were too slronjT lis story in a straighl-fonianll ig daunted by the presencel iclf. lie had suffered fromj his sheepfold and poiillHl kept watch, and cauglil I' cl of making off with ash ly interrupted, in the coui 5 culprit's mother, a furit sufferable tongue, and wl ;s kept, with some diflicullj, I and nail. The wife, too^ n told he does not bcatal week, completely inlei lusbaiid's behalf, by her t( several of the other M g- strong sympathy among' tervants In the back-grof ;ip8y-gni,whomIliavei sion as the sibyl that read endeavoured to wheedle ll leir Interests, and even m old acquaintance. Master l»y the latter with all the' jssumed a look of gravity he occasion, ijd, at tlrst, to find li( iter, rather opposed to liB ling forward as a rind of 1^ seems that hft had taken —.•luncs of Star-light Tom (luence In his favour the tfl but without effect. D" idy-Money Jack, Slinpby vat his side, "seeking' now and then, by a soft word, to soothe any esa- certMlion of his ire, or lo <|ualify any hnrsh expression. He now ventured to make a few observations to Ihe jqoire in palliation of the delinquent's offence ; hut nuor Slingsby spoke more from the heart than the head, and was evidently actuatv<l merely by a general lympatliy for every poor devil in trouble, and a liberal toleratiun fur all kinds of vagabond existence. The ladies, ton, large ond small, with the kind- heartedness of the sex, were zealous on the side of mercy, and interceded strenuotL^ly with the squire ; insomuch that the prisoner, linding himself unexpect- edly snrroimded by active friends, once more reared his crest, and seemed disposed for a time to put on the air of injured iimocence. The scpiire, however, with all his benevolence of heart and his lurking weakness towards the prisoner, was too conscientious to swerve from the strict path of justice. There was abundant concurring testimony tliat made the proof of guilt incontrovertible, and Star-light Tom's mitli- {dus was made out accordingly. Tlie sympathy of the ladies was now greater than jtver ; they even made some attempts to mollify the of Heady-Money Jack; but that sturdy poten- ile had been too nuich incensed by the repeated irsions that had been made into his territories by 16 predatory band of Star-light Tom, and he was re- ived, lie said, to drive the " varment reptiles" out tlie neighbourhood. To avoid all further impor- inities, as soon as the mitlinnis was made out, be lednp his loins, and strode back to his seat of eni- t,accum|)anied by his interceding friend, Slingsby, followed by a detachment of the gipsy gang, who on his rear, assailing him with mingled prayers execrations. Tlie question now was, how to dispose of the pri- ler; a mailer of great moment in this peaceful es- liihment, where so formidable a character as Star- lit Tom was like a hawk entrapped in a dove-col. Ilie hubbub and examination had occupied a cori- traUe lime, it wos too late in the day to send him the county-prison, and that of the village was ily out of repair from long want of occupation. Christy, who took great interest In the affair, that the culprit should be committed fur the It lo an upper loft of a kind of lower in one of the luses, where he and the gamekeeper would int guard. After much deliberation this measure |i8adopte<l; the premises in (piestion were examin- and made secure, and Christy and his trusty ally, one armed with a fowling-piece, the oilier with ancient blunderbuss, turned out as sentries to keep Itch over this donjon-keep. Such is the momentous lirthat has just taken place, and it is an event of great moment in this quiet little world, not to it completely topsy-turvy. Labour is at a stand. Iiouse has been a scene of confusion the whole 'Ring. It has been beleaguered by gipsy-women, their children on their backs, wailing and la- Xing; while the old virago of a mother has cniised up and down the lawn in front, shaking her head and muttering to herself, or now and then breaking into a paroxysm of rage, brandishing her list at the Hall, and denouncing ill luck upon Ready-Money Jack, and even upon the squire himself. Lady Lillycrafl has given rqH'ated audiences to the culprit's weeping wife, at the Hall door ; and the ser- vant-maids have stolen out to confer with Ihe gipsy- women under the trees. As to the little ladies of Ihe family, Ihey arc all outrageous at Iteady-Muney Jack, whom they look u[ion in the light of a tyrannical giant of fairy-tale. I'IkpIm: Wilkins, contrary to her usual nature, is the only one that is pitiless in thu affair. She thinks Mr Tihhels quite in the right; aiul thinks the gipsies deserve to be punished severely for meddling with the sheep of the TibbeLs's. In the mean time the females of the family have evinced all the provident kindness of the sex, ever ready to soothe and succour the distressed, right or wrong. ]>ady Lillycrafl has had a mattress taken lu the outhouse, and comforts and delicacies of all kinds have been taken to the prisoner ; even the little girlH have sent their cakes and sweetmeats ; so tha'., I'll warrant, the vagabond has never fared so well in his life before. Old Christy, it is true, looks upon every thing with a wary eye ; struts aliout with his blun- derbuss with the air of a veteran canipaigiier, and will hardly allow himself to be s|iokeii to. The gipsy- women dare not come within gunsiiot, and every tatterdemalion of a lioy has been frightened from the park. The old fellow is determined lo lodge Star- light Tom in prison with his own hands ; and hopes, he says, to sec one of the poaching crew made an example of. I doubt, after all, whether the worthy s(|uire is not the greatest sufferer in the whole afl'air. His honoui - able sense of duty obliges him to be rigid, but the overllowing kindnessof his nature makes thisagrievous trial lo him. He is not accustomed to have such demands upon his justice in his truly patriarchal domain ; and it wounds his benevolent spirit, that, while prosperity and happiness are flowing in thus bounteously upon him, he should have to inflict misery upon a fellow* being. He has been troubled and cost down the whole evening ; took leave of the family, on going to bed, with a sigh, instead of his usual hearty andafl'eclionalu lone; and will, in all probability, have a fur mora sleepless night than his prisoner. Indeed this un- lucky affair has cast a damp upon the whole house- hold, as there appears to be an universal opinion that the unlucky culprit will come to the gallows. Morning. — 'J'hc clouds of last evening are all blown over. A load has l)een taken from Ihe squire's heart, and every face is once more in smiles. The game- keeper made his appearance at an early liour, com- pletely shamefaced and crestfallen. Star-light Tom liad made his escape in the night ; how he had gol out of the luit no one couUI tell ; the Devil they think must Jt. 44i BRACXBRIDGE HALL. 17 have assisted him. Old Christy was so mortified that he would not show his face, but had shut himself up in liis strong hold at the dog-liennel, and would not be spoken witli. What lias particularly relieved the squire is, that there is very little likelihood of the culprit's being retaken, having gone off on one of tlie old gentleman's best hunters. FAMILY MISFORTUNES. " The night has been unnily ; where we lay, The chimneys were blown down. MlCBETn. We have for a day or two past had a flaw of unruly weather, which has intruded itself into this fair and flowery month, and for a time has quite marred the beauty of the landscape. Last night the storm at- tained its crisis ; the rain beat in torrents against the casements, and the wind piped and blustered alwut the old Ilall with quite a wintry vehemence. The morning, however, dawned clear and serene; the face of the heavens seemed as if newly washed, and the sun shone witli a brightness that was undimmed by a single vapour. Nothing over-head gave traces of the recent storm ; but on looking from my window I beheld sad ravage among the shrubs and flowers ; the garden walks had formed the channels for little torrents; trees were lopped of their branches, and a small silver stream that wound through the park, and ran at the bottom of the lawn, had swelled into a turbid, yellow sheet of water. In an establishment like this, where the mansion is vast, ancient, and somewhat afflicted with the in- firmities of age, and where there are numerous and extensive dependencies, a storm is an event of a very grave nature, and brings in its train a multiplicity of cares and disasters. While the squire was taking his breakfast in the great hall, he was continually interrupted by some bearer of ill tidings from some part or other of his domains; he appeared to me like the commander of a besieged city, after some grand assault, receiving at his head-quarters reports of damages sustained in the various quarters of the place. At one lime the house- keeper brought him intelligence of a chimney blown down, and a desperate leak sprung in the roof over the picture-gallery, which threatened to obliterate a whole generation of his ancestors. Then the steward came in witii a dolcfid story of the mischief done in the woodlands ; while the gamekeeper bemoaned the loss of one of his finest bucks, whose bloated carcass was seen floating along the swoln current of the river. When the squire issued forth, he was accosted, before the door, by the old, paralytic gardener, with a face full of trouble, reporting, as I supposed, the de- vastation of his flower-beds, and the destruction of his wall-fruit. I remarked, however, that his intelli- gence caused a peculiar expresf >on of concern not only with the squire and Master Simon, but with the fair Julia and Lady Lillycraft, who happened to be present. From a few words which reached niy ear I found there was some tale of domestic calamity jn the case, and that some unfortunate family had been rendered houseless by the storm. Many ejaculalions of pity broke from the ladies; I heard the expression) of "poor helpless beings," and " unfortunate little creatures," several times repeated ; to which the i gardener replied by very melancholy shakes of the | head. I felt so interested, that I could not help callin!;i,i| the gardener, as he was retiring, and asking what iin- 1 fortunate family it was that had suffered so severely > The old man touched his hat, and gazed at me for an I instant, as if hardly comprehending my (|iieslion,| " Family ! " replied he : " there be no family iinhel case, your honour; but here have been sad mischiefl done in the rookery ! " I had noticed the day before that the high and gimJ winds which prevailed had occasioned great disqiiittl among these airy house-holders; their nesis l)eini;all| filled with young, who were in danger of being lijiet out of their tree-rocked cradles. Indeed, llie olil| birds themselves seemed to have hard work lo nam tain a foothold ; some kept hovering and cawin;' i the air; or if they ventured to alight, they had IoIki fast, flap their wings, and spread their tails, and ihig remain see-sawing on the topmost twigs. In the course of the night, however, an awful c lamity had taken place in this most sage and poliliJ community. There was a great tree, the tallest i| the grove, which seemed to have been the kind ii{ court-end of the metropolis, and crowded wilii tin residences of those whom Master Simon considers lli| nobility and gentry. A decaye<l limb of this tree I given way with the violence of the storm, and I come down with all its air-castles. One should be well aware of the humours oft good squire and his houseliold, to understand I general concern expressed at this disaster. It \ quite a public calamity in this rural empire, andi seemed to feel for the poor rooks as for fellow-citia in distress. The ground had been strewed with the cali« young, which were now cherished in the aprons i !H)soms of the maid-servants, and the little ladies j the family. I was pleased with this touch of natori this feminine sympathy in the sufferings of the ( spring, and the maternal anxiety of the parent bin It was interesting, too, to witness the general agil| tion and distress that seemed to prevail throughout tl feathered community; the common cause lliati made of it ; and the incessant hovering, and flullerinl and lamenting, that took place in the whole rovken There is a chord of sympathy that runs through if whole feathered race as to any misfortunes oft! young; and the cries of a wounded bird in thebrt Ing-season will throw a whole grove in a flutter* BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 44» pres;.on of concern not sterSimon, but wilhthel ift, who happened to be s which reached my ear, i of domestic calamity in >rUinate family had been Lorm. Many ejaculatiom j; I heard the expressions ' and " unfortunate little | ipeatetl ; to whicli the < melanclioly sliakes of the I I could not help calling 1(1 1 liring, and asking wliatun- t had suffered so severely ' liat, and gazed at me for an I iprehending my (iiieslion.f " there be no family inihel ere have been sad miscliief| ;fore that the high and gnslyl id occasioned great disquiell olders; their nesis beinjall| ere in danger of being lillfi cradles. Indeed, the oU to have hard work to nuin .pt hovering and cawin;'iiJ ed to alight, they had to ho! d spread their tails, andlhui le topmost twigs, iglit, however, an awful c [in this most sage and polilij a great tree, the tallest ii ed to have been the kind li lolis, and crowded with thi Master Simon considers Ibj decayed limb of this tree 1 jnce of the storm, i nr-castles. ware of the humours ott (usehold, to understand ikj sed at this disaster. It wi this rural empire, and J rooks as for fellow-citia I ID aiarin. Indeed, why should I confine it to the feathered tribe? Nature seems to me to have im- planted an exipiisite sympathy on this subject, which extends through all her works. It is an invariable aliribute of the female heart, to melt at the cry of early helplessness, and to take an instinctive interest I in the distresses of the parent and its young. On the I present occasion the ladies of the family were full of I pity and commiseration; and I shall never forget the look tliat Lady Lillycraft gave the general, on his ob- lifTvingtliat the young birds woilUi make an excellent [carry, or au especial gootl rook-pie. (1 in ar in strewed with the call cherished in tlie aprons vants, and the little ladiesi ed with this touch of nalur in the sufferings of the anxiety of the parent liii , to witness the general agil med to prevail throughoulf' the common cause that isant hovering, and nutterir place in the whole rookei pathy that runs through' s to any misfortunes of a wounded bird in the Iw whole grove in a fluWer LOVERS' TROUBLES. " Tlie poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow ; Her hand on her l)osom, her head on licr knee, sing willow, willow, w illow ; Sing all a green willow must be my garland." Old Song. The fair Julia having nearly recovered from the lelfeclsofher hawking disaster, it begins to be thought lliigh lime to appoint a day for the wedding. As IcTery domestic event in a venerable and aristocratic Ifunily connexion like Ibis is a matter of moment, the tilling upon Ibis important day has, of course, given Irise to much conference and debate. Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately gng lip, originating in the peculiar humours that are prevalent at the Hall. Thus, I have overheard a Tery solemn consultation between Lady Lillycraft, parson, and Master Simon, as to whether the arriage ought not to be postponed until the coming onlh. Wilh all the charms of the flowery month of May, ere is, I find, an ancient prejudice against it as a arrjing month. An old proverb says, " To wed in lay is to wed poverty." Now, as Lady Lillycraft iTery much given to believe in lucky and unlucky and seasons, and indeed is very superstitious I all points relating to the tender passion, this old orerb seems to have taken great hold upon her nd. She recollects two or three instances in her |fn knowledge of matches that took place in this onth, and proved very unfortunate. Indeed, an in cousin of hers, who married on a May-day, lost husband by a fall from his horse, after they had M happily together for twenty years. The parson appeared to give great weight to her yship's objections, and acknowledged the existence [a prejudice of the kind, not merely confined to dern times, but prevalent likewise among the an- ents. In confirmation of this, be quoted a passage I Ovid, which had a great effect on Lady Lilly- ill, being given in a language which she did not erstand. Even Master Simon was staggered by it; for he listened with a puzzled air; and then, shaking his head, sagaciously observed, that Ovid was certainly a very wise man. From this sage conference I likewise gathered se- veral other important pieces of information relative to weddings; such as that, if two were celebrated in the same church, on the same day, the first would he happy, the second unfortunate. If, on going to church, the bridal party should meet the funeral of a female, it was an omen that the bride would die first; if of a male, the bridegroom. If the newly married couple were to dance together on their wedding-day, the wife would thenceforth rule the roast; with many other curious and unquestionable facts of the same nature, all which made me ponder more than ever upon the perils which surround this happy state, and the thoughtless ignorance of mortals as to the awful risks they run in venturing upon it. I abstain, how- ever, from enlarging upon this topic, having no in- clination to promote the increase of bachelors. Notwilhslanding the due weight which the squire gives to traditional saws and ancient opinions, yet I am happy to liiid that he makes a firm stand for the credit of this loving month, and brings to his aid a whole legion of poetical authorities; all which, I pre- sume, have been conclusive with the young couple, as I understand they are perfectly willing to marry in May, and abide the consequences. In a few days, therefore, the wedding is to take place, and the Hall is in a buzz of anticipation. The housekeeper is bustling alwut from morning till night, wilh a look full of business and importance, liaving a thousand arrangements to make, the sipiire intending to keep open house on the occasion; and as to the house- maids, you cannot look one of tlicm in the face, but the rogue begins to colour up and simper. While, however. Ibis leading love-affair is going on with a tranquillity quite inconsistent wilh the rules of romance, I cannot say that tlie underplots are c(|ually propitious. The '■'■ opening bud of love " be- tween the general and Lady Lillycraft seems to have experienced some blight in the course of this genial season. I do not think the general has ever been able to retrieve the ground he lost, when be fell asleep during the captain's story. Indeed, Master Si- mon thinks his case is completely desperate, her ladyship having determined that he is quite destitute of sentiment. The season has been equally unpropitious to the love-lorn Pha?l)e Wilkins. I fear the reader will be impatient at having this bumble amour so often al- luded to; but I confess I am apt to take a great in- terest in tlie love-troublrs of simple girls of this class. Few people have an idea of the world of care and perplexily that these poor damsels have in managing the affairs of the heart. We talk and write almut the tender passion; we give it all the colourings of sentiment and romance, and lay the scene of its influence in high life; but, after all, I doubt whether its sway is not more abso- J^' Mb BRACEBRIDGE IIALL. lute among females of a humbler sphere. How often, coald we but look into the heart, should we find the sentiment throbbing in all its violence, in the bosom of the poor lady's-maid, rather than in that of the brilliant beauty she is decking out for conquest; whose brain is probably bewildered with beaux, ball- looms, and wax-light chandeliers ! With these humble beings love is an honest, en- grossing concern. They have no ideas of settlements, establishments, equipages, and pin-money. The heart — the heart is all-in-all with them, poor things! There is seldom one of them but has her love-cares, and love-secrets ; her doubts, and hopes, and fears, equal to those of any heroine of romance, and ten times as sincere. And then, too, there is her secret board of love-documents; — the broken sixpence, the gilded brooch, the lock of hair, the unintelligible love- scrawl, all treasured up in her box of Sunday finery, for private contemplation. How many crosses and trials is she exposed to from some lynx-eyed dame, or staid old vestal of a mis- tress, who keeps a dragon watch over her virtue, and scouts the lover from the door! But then, how sweet are the little love scenes, snatched at distant intervals of holiday, and fondly dwelt on through many a long day of household labour and confine- ment ! If in the counli-y — it is the dance at the fair or wake, the interview in the churchyard after ser- vice, or the evening stroll in the green lane. If in town, it is perhaps merely a stolen moment of deli- cious talk between the bars of the area, fearful every instant of being seen; — and then, how lightly will the simple creature carol all day afterwards at her labour ! Poor baggage ! after all her crosses and difficulties, when she marries, what is it but to exchange a life of comparative ease and comfort, for one of toil and un- certainty ! Perhaps, too, the lover, for whom in the fondness of her nature she has committed herself to fortune's freaks, turns out a worthless churl, the dis- solute, hard-hearted husband of low life, who, taking to the alehouse, leaves her to a cheerless home, to labour, penury, and childbearing. When I see poor Phoebe going about with droop- ing eye, and her head hanging " all o' one side," I cannot help calling to mind the pathetic little picture drawn by Desdemoua :— " Mjr mother had a maid, called Barbara ; ' - She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad, And did forsake her : she had a sonf; of willow, '.■ ■ .f An old thing 'twas ; but it exprew'd her fortune, Aud she died singing it." I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve for Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet "rule the roast" in the ancient empire of the Tibbets ! She is not fit to battle with hard hearts or hard times. She was, I am told, the pet of her poor mother, who was proud of the beauty of her child, and brought her up more tenderly than a village girl ought to be ; and, ever since she has been left an orphan, the good ladies at the Hall have completed the softening and spoiling of her. I have recently observed her holding long conrer- ences in the churchyard, and up and down one of I the lanes near the village, with Slingsby the school- f master. I at first thought the pedagogue might bej touched with the tender malady so prevalent in Uine I parts of late ; but I did him injustice. Honest Slingi- 1 by, it seems, was a friend and crony of her late father I the [larish clerk, and is on intimate terms with tli«| Tibbets family : prompted, therefore, by his good- will towards all parties, and secretly instigated, per-j haps, by the managing dame Tibbels, he has under- 1 taken to talk with Pliccbe upon the subject. He gJTts I her, however, but little encouragement. Slingsbjl has a formidable opinion of the arislocratical feeliii>| of old Ready-Money, and thinks, if Pha'be were even | to make the matter up with the son, she would lindj the father totally hostile to the match. The poor dam-l sel, therefore, is reduced almost to despair; amll Slingsby, who is too good-natured not to sympaliiiiel in her distress, has advised her to give up all thouj;liij of young Jack, and has proposed as a substitute! learned coadjutor, the prodigal son. He has etei in the fulness of his heart, od'ered to give up school-house to them; though it would leave I once more adrift in the wide world. THE HISTORIAN. l/ermione. Pray you sit by us, And tell 's a laic. lUamitius. Merry or sad shall 't be ? Het-mione. As merry as you will. juamilitis. A sad tale 's best for win I have one of sprites and goblins. Hermione. Let 's have that, sir. WitlTKB's Till. As this is a story-telling age, I have been tempi occasionally to give the reader one of the many t that are served up with supper at the Hall. I mi; indeed, have furnished a series almost equal in nu ber to the A rabian Nights ; but some were rather lu neyed and tedious ; others I did not feel warranted | betraying into print ; and many more were of the o general's relating, and turned principally upon tij hunting, elephant-riding, and Seringapatani, enlivej ed Ly the wonderful deeds of Tippoo Saib, and t excellent jokes of iVIajor Pendergast. I had all along maintained a quiet post at a con of the table, where I had been able to indulge i humour undislurl)ed ; listening attentively when I story was very good, and dozing a Utile when iti rather dull, which I consider the perfection of anj torship. I was roused the other evening from a slight In into which I had fallen during one of the gen histories, by a sudden call from the squire to fun |> find (hat t i'liMbcen( ' tuindcd o I M BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 417 lie softening and spoiling | her holding long confer- nd up and down one ot nlh Slingsby U»e sclwol- Ihe pedagogue miglitbe lady so pievalenl in these injustice. Honest Slingj- id crony of lier late father, intimate terms with the , tlierefore, by his good- d secretly instigated, pcr- ne Tibbets, he has under- pon the subject. He gives encouragement. Slit )f the arislocratical teelingi thinks, if Phttbe were even Ih the son, she would lind I the match. Tl.e poor dam- i almost to despair; and l-natured not to sympa(liitt| d her to give up all thought )roposed as a substitute rodigal son. He has evn,| ■art, ohered to give up ll hough it would leave" vide world. ISTORIAN. Vrayyousitbyiu, or sad shall 't be? you will ^ne entertainment of the kind in my tnm. Having lieenso profound a listener to others, I could not in (onitcience refuse ; but neither my memory nor inven- tion being ready to answer so unexpected a demand, I begged leave to read a manuscript tale from the pen lyf my fellow-countryman, the late Mr Diedrich Knickerbocker, the historian of New -York. As this ancient chronicler may not be better known to my LjKlers than he was to the company at the Hall, a vordor two concerning him may not be amiss, be- Lreproceeding to his manuscript. Diedrich Knickerbocker was a native of New-York, li descendant from one of the ancient Dutch families which originally settled in that province, and remain- |fd there after it was taken possession of by the Eng- lish in 1604. The descendants of these Dutch fami- lies still remain in villages and neighbourhoods in va- rious parts of the country, retaining, with singular stinacy, the dresses, manners, and even language [their ancestors, and forming a very distinct and irious feature in the motley population of the state. ^5 a hamlet whose spire may be seen from New-York, [ising above the brow of a hill on the opposite side of |he Hudson, many of the old folks, even at the pre- ttday, speak English with an accent, and the Do- linie preaches in Dutch ; and so completely is the litary love of quiet and silence maintained, that : one of these drowsy little villages, in the middle of ivarm summer's day, the buzzing of a stout blue- ttlefly will resound from one end of the place to the (her. With the laudable hereditary feeling thus kept up long these worthy people, did Mr Knickerbocker ndertake to write a history of his native city, com- ing the reign of its three Dutch governors during ^e lime that it was yet under the domination of iins. Let '8 have that, sir. WIHTEH'S Till. \gadtale'8be8ttor\iiiiMHeHogenmogens of Holland. In the execution of ^is design the little Dutchman has displayed great Istorical research, and a wonderful consciousness of B dignity of his subject. His work, however, has len so little understood, as to lie pronounced a mere ; of humour, satirizing the follies of the times, in politics and morals, and giving whimsical Itws of human nature. JBethis as it may : — among the papers left behind' iwere several tales of a lighter nature, apparently mn together from materials which he had galher- I during his profound researches for his history, and )icb he seems to have cast by with neglect, as un- rtliy of publication. Some of these have fallen ) my hands by an accident which it is needless at lent to mention ; and one of these very stories, I its prelude in the words of Mr Knickerbocker, I pertook to read, by way of acquitting myself of the vrhich I owed to the other story-tellers at the . I subjoin it for such of my readers as are fond Hories '. ng age, I have been temp reader one of the many' Upper at the Hall. Imig la series almost equal in nt Is ;butsomewereratherlii Irsldidnotfeelwarranledi id many more were of tlie( turned principally wpoHtif _;,andSeringapaUm,enUve leedsof TippooSaib,and' Pendergast. lainedaquietpostata ladbeen able to indulge i listening attentively when .id dozing a little when It' Insider the perfection ofau ±r evening from a slight tti fi duruig one of the gen lall from the squire to (iin ll find that the tale of Rip Van Winkle, given in the Sketch \, has been discovered by divers writers in magaxines. to have f (mndol on a IIKIc Gorman tradition, and the mailer has TIIE HAUNTED HOUSE. FBOM THE MSS. OF TUB LATB DIBDBICH BNICKBHOCKBI. Formerly almost every place had a house of this kind. If a house was sealed on some melancholy place , or built in some old romantic manner, or if any particular accident had happened in it, such as murder, sudden death, or the like, to be sure that house had a mark set on it, and was afterwards esteemed the ha- bitaUon of a ghost. Boubne's ahtiquitibb. In the neighbourhood of the ancient city of the Manhattoes there stood, not very many years since, an old mansion, which, when I was a boy, went by the name of the Haunted House. It was one of the very few remains of the architecture of the early Dutch settlers, and must have been a house of some consequence at the time when it was built. It con- sisted of a centre and two wings, the gable ends of which were shaped like stairs. It was built partly of wood, and partly of small Dutch bricks, such as the worthy colonists brought with them from Holland, before they discovered that bricks could be manufac- tured elsewhere. The house stood remote from the road, in the centre of a large field, with an avenue of old locust-trees ' leading up to it, several of which had been shivered by lightning, and two or three blown down. A few apple-trees grew straggling about the field; there were traces also of what had been a kitchen-garden; but the fences were broken down, the vegetables had disappeared, or had grown wild and turned to little better than weeds, with here and there a ragged rose-bush, or a tall sunflower shooting up from among brambles, and hanging its head sor- rowfully, as if contemplating the surrounding desola- tion. Part of the roof of the old house had fallen in, the windows were shattered, the pannels of the doors broken, and mended with rough boards, and there were two rusty weathercocks at the ends of the house, which made a great jingling and whistling as they whirled about, but always pointed wrong. The ap- pearance of the whole place was forlorn and desolate at the best of times; but, in unruly weather, the howl- ing of the wind about the crazy old mansion, the screeching of the weathercocks, the slamming and banging ofa few loose window-shutters, had altogether so wild and dreary an effect, that the neighbourhood stood perfectly in awe of the place, and pronounced been revealed to the world as if it were a foul instance of plagia- rism marvellously brought to lif;ht. In a note which follows that tale I had alluded to the su|)erstition on which it was founded, and I thought a mere allusion was suflicicnt, as the tradition was so notorious as to be inserted in almost every collection of German legends. 1 had seen it myself in three. I could hardly have hop- ed, therefore. In the present age, when every source of ghost and goblin story Is ransacked, that the origin of the tale would escape discovery. In fact, I had considered popular tradllioo* of the kind as fair foundations for authors of Action to build upon, and had made use of the one In question accordingly. I am not dis- pwed to contest the matter, however, and indeed consider my scit so completely overpaid by the public for my triviid performances, that I am content to submit to any deduction which, in their aRcr-lhoughts, they may think proper to make. • Acacias. 448 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. it the rendezvous of hobgoblins. I recollect the old building well; for I remember how many times, when an idle, unlucky urchin, I have prowled rotmd iU precincts, with some of my graceless companions, on holiday afternoons, when out ona freebootingcruise among the orchards. There was a tree standing near the house that bore the most beautiful and tempting fruit; but then it was on enchanted ground, for the place was so charmed by frigiitful stories that we dreaded to approach it. Sometimes we would ven- ture in a body, and get near the Hesperian tree, keeping an eye upon the old mansion, and darling fearful glances into its shattere<l windows; when, just as we were about to seize upon our prize, an ex- clamation from some one of the gang, or an accident- al noise, would throw us all into a panic, and we would scamper headlong from the place, nor stop un- til we had got quite into (he road. Then there were sure to be a host of fearful anecdotes told of strange cries and groans, or of some hideous face suddenly seen staring out of one of the windows. By degrees we ceased to venture into these lonely grounds, but would stand at a distance and throw slones at the building; and there was something fearfully pleasing in the sound as they rattled along the roof, or some- times struck some jingling fragments of glass outof the windows. The origin of this house was lost in the obscurity that covers the early period of the province, while un- der (he government of their high mightinesses the states-general. Some reported it to have been a country-residence of Wilhehnus Kiefl, commonly called the Testy, one of the Dutch governors of New Amsterdam ; olhers said that it had been built by a naval commander who served under Van Tromp, and who, on being disappointed of preferment, retired from the service in disgust, became a philosopher through sheer spite, and brought over all his wealth to the province, that he might live according to his humour, and despise the world. The reason of its having fallen to decay was likewise a matter of dis- pute ; some said that it was in chancery, and had al- ready cost more than its worth in legal expenses; but the most current, and, of course, the most probable account, was that it was haunted, and that nobody could live quietly in it. There can, in fact, be very little doubt that this last was the case, there were so many corrolrarating stories to prove it, — not an old woman in the neighbourhood but could furnish at least a score. There was a grey-headed curmudgeon of a negro that lived hard by, who had a whole bud- get of them to tell, many of which had happened to himself. I recollect many a time stopping with my schoolmates, and gelling him to relate some. The old crone lived in a hovel, in the midst of a small patch of potatoes and Indian corn, which his master had given him on setting him free. He would come to us, with Iiis hoe in his hand, and as we sat perched, like a row of swallows, on the rail of the fence, in (he mellow twilight of a summer evening, he would tell us such fearful stories, accompanied by such avful i rollings of his white eyes, that we were almost afraid ' of our own footsteps as we returned home afterwards in the dark. Poor old Pompey ! many years are past since he I died, and went to keep company with the ghosts Ik I was so fond of talking about. He was buried in )| corner of his own little potatoe-patch ; the plough s<ioo I passed over his grave, and levelled it wi(h the rest ofl ihe field, and nobody thought any more of the grej-f headed negro. By singular chance I was s(rollingio| (hat neighbourhood several years afterwards, when [I liad grown up to be a young man, and I found a knot! of gossips speculating on a skull which had just beeal turned up by a ploughshare. They of course determin-l ed it to be the remains of some one tliat had beeal murdered, and they had raked up with it some ofliiel traditionary tales of the Haunted House. I knev m at once to be the relic of pour Pompey, but I heldoifl tongue; for I am too considerate of other people's t joyment ever to mar a slory of a ghost or a murdcrj I look care, however, to see the bones of my i friend once more bunetl in a place where they na not likely to be disturbed. As I sat on Ihe turf j watched the interment, I fell into a long conversaii with an old gentleman of the neighbourhood, Jo| Josse Yandernioere, a pleasant gossiping man, wh whole life was spent in hearing and telling the new of the province. He recollected old Pompey, am his stories about the Haunted House ; but he assui me he could give me one still more strange than i that Pompey had related; and on my expressing] great curiosity to hear it, he sat down beside me a the turf, and told the following lale. I have endei voured to give it as nearly as possible in his vroi hut it is now many years since, and I amgrowno and my memory is not over-good. I cannol tlieref«{ vouch for the language, but I am always scrup as to fads. D. K, DOLPII HEYLIGER. " I take the (own of concord, where I dwell, AH Kilborn be my wUnpss, Ifl were not Begot in bashfulncss. brought up in shameraccdnoiK; Let 'un bring a dog but to my vace that can Zay I have beat 'un, and without a vault ; Or but a cat will swear upon a book, I have as much as zel a vire her tail, And I'll give him or her a crown for 'mends." TiLE or k 1 In the early lime of the province of New-Yoj while it groaned under the tyranny of the £ii{ governor, Lord Cornbury, who carried his criK towards the Dutch inhabitants so far as to allow | Dominie, or schoolmaster, to officiate in their I gnage, without his special licence ; about this i there lived in the jolly, little old city of the I I decent ( tan every Bd now ^illi sud( e other ( jigabond bily-lnity I spit, :nant as ■ approai ■But thoi I lliose hii iupaf ithe i Ihe fan fherm; ^ed by was ^hbourhc BRACEBRIDGK HA1.L. 449 )mpanied by such avful lial we were almost afrakl ' relumed home afterffardi , r years are past since he I npany with the ghosts Ik lut. He was buried in i toe-patch ; the plougli sitoo levelled it with the rest of | ight any more of the grej- ar chance I was strolling in I il years afterwards, wlienll ng man, and I found aiinotl I skull which had just beta e. They of course determin-l of some one that had beeal raked up with it some o[tlie| Haunted House. 1 knew poor Pompey, but Iliddmyl iiderate of other people's! ury of a ghost or a murderJ see the bones of my in a place where they \te a. As I sat on the lurt id 1 fell into a long conversali of the neighbourhowl, Jo ileasant gossiping man, wl hearing and telling Die nei ■ecollected old Pompey, lunted House; butlieassa 16 still more strange than ed; and on my expressing j lit, he sal down beside ine( )u'owing tale. I have ende lily as possible in liis won rs since, and I am grownri )ver-good. I cannot Iheretoi . butlamalwaysscrupi •"' D. K. IIEYLIGER. oncord, where I dwell, Itness, iflwerenot [brouglitup In sliaraefaccdnoss lit to my vace that can Ld williout a vault ; ur upon a liook, lavireherlail, her a crown (or "mends." tkht OF I II bf the province of New4( tr the tyranny of the Er" tury, who carried his en tiabitants so far as to allow lister, to officiate in theit clallicence; about this II little old city of the baKoes, a kind motherly dame, known by the name of Dame Heyiiger. She was the widow of a Dutch lea-captain, who died suddenly of a fever, in con- sequence of working too hard, and eating too hearti- |f. at the lime wlien all the inhabitants turned out in a panic, to fortify the place against the invasion of asinail French privateer." He left her with very little money, and one infant son, the only survivor of several children. The good woman had need of much management to make both ends meet, and keep np a decent appearance. However, as her husband had fallen a victim to his zeal for the public safety, it was universally agreed that '^ something ouslit 10 be done for the widow ; " and on the hopes of this " something " she lived tolerably for some lyears; in the mean time every body pitied and spoke well of her, and that helped along. She lived in a small house, in a small street, called aitlen-slreet, very probably from a garden which y have flourished there some time or other. As T necessities every year grew greater, and the talk tlieptiblic about doing " something for her " grew ;, she had to cast about for some mode of doing imelhing for horself, by way of helping out her lender means, and maintaining her independence, which she was somewhat tenacious. Living in a mercantile town, she had caught some- ngof ihe spirit, and determined to venture a little the great lottery of commerce. On a sudden, refore, to the great surprise of the street, there lared at her window a grand array of ginger- ead kings and queens, with their arms stuck a- iibo, after the invariable royal manner. There ere also several broken tumblers, some iilled with igar-plums, some with marbles; there were, more- rer, cakes of various kinds, and barley-sugar, and lolland dolls, and wooden horses, with here and re gilt-covered picture-books, and now and then skein of thread, or a dangling pound of candles. the door of the house sat the good old dame's cat, decent demure-looking personage, that seemed to iQ every body that passed, to criticize their dress, now and then to stretch her neck, and look out ilh sudden curiosity, to see what was going on at other end of the street; but if by chance any idle igabond dog came by, and offered to be uncivil — lily-toity !— how she would bristle up, and growl, spit, and strike out her paws! she was as in- lant as ever was an ancient and ugly spinster on approach of some graceless profligate. at though the good woman had to come down lliose humble means of subsistence, yet she still up a feeling of family pride, having descended Ibe Yanderspiegels, of Amsterdam; and she the family arms painted and framed, and hung her mantel-piece. She was, in truth, much re- ted by all the poorer people of the place ; her was quite a resort of the old wives of the ;bbourhood ; they would drop in there of a winter's ' 1703. aflernoon, as she sat knitting on one side of her fire- place, her cat pnrring on the other, and the tea-kettle singing before it ; and they would gossip with her until late in the evening. There was always an arm-chair for Peter de Groodt, sometimes called Long Peter, and sometimes Peter Longlegs, the clerk and sexton of the little Lutheran church, who was her great crony, and indeed the oracle of lier fire-side. Nay, the Dominie himself did not disdain, now and then, to step in, converse about the state of her mind, and take a glass of her special good cherry-brandy. Indeed, he never failed to call on new year's day, and wish her a happy new year; and the good dame, who was a little vain on some points, always pi<|ued herself on giving him as large a cake as any one in town. I have said that she had one son. He was the child of her old age; but could hanlly be called the comfort, for, of all unlucky urchins, Dolph Heyiiger was the most mischievous. Not that the whipster was really vicious ; he was only full of fun and frolic, and had that daring, gamesome spirit, which is ex- tolled in a rich man's child, but execrated in a poor man's. He was continually getting into scrapes : his mother was incessantly harassed with complaints of some waggish pranks which he had played off : bifis were sent in for windows that he had broken; in a word, he had not reached his fourteenth year before he was pronounced by all the neighbourhood, to be a " wicked dog, the wickedest dog in the street ! " Nay, one old gentleman, in a clarel-coloured coat, with a thin red face, and ferret eyes, went so far as to assure Dame Heyiiger, that her son would, one day or other, come to the gallows ! Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul loved her boy. It seemed as though she loved him the better the worse he behaved ; and that he grew more in her favour, the more he grew out of favour with the world. Mothers are foolish fond-hearted beings ; there's no reasoning them o>' • i iheir dotage ; and, indeed, this poor woman's cin : vas all that was left to love her in this world ;— so .ve must not think it hard that she turned a deaf ear to her good friends, who sought to prove to her that Dolph would come to a halter. To do the varlet justice, too, he was strongly at- tached to his parent. He "vould not willingly have given her pain on any account ; and when he had been doing wrong, it was but for him to catch his poor mother's eye fixed wistfully and sorrowfully upon him, to fill his heart with bitterness and con- trition. But he was a heedless youngster, and could not, for the life of him, resist any new temptation to fun and mischief. Though quick at his learning, whenever he could be brought to apply himself, yet he was always prone to be led away by idle company, and would play tryanl to hunt after birds' nests, tu rob orchards, or to swim in the Hudson. In this way he grevk' up, a tall, lubberly boy ; and his mother began to be greatly perplexed what to do 4m BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ■%! 4 : U irH'" with him, or how to put him in a way to do for him- self; for he had acquhred iinch an unlucky reputation, that no one iwemed willing to employ him. Many were the consultations that she held with Feter de Groodt, the clerk and sexton, who was her prime counsellor. Peter was as much perplexed as herself, for he had no great opinion of the boy, and thought he would never come to good. He at one time advised her to send him to sea ; a piece of advice only given in the most desperate cases ; but Dame Heyiiger would not listen to such an idea; she could not think of letting Dolph go out of her sight. She was sitting one day knitting by her fire-side, in great perplexity, when the sexton entered with an air of unusual vivacity and briskness. He had just come from a funeral. It had been that of a boy of Dolph's years, who had been apprentice to a famous German doctor, and had died of a consumption. It is true, there had been a whisper that the deceased had l)een brought to his end by being made the subject of the doctor's experiments, on which he was apt to try the effects of a new compound, or a quieting-draught. This, however, it is likely, was a mere scandal ; at any rate, Peter de Groodt did not think it worth men- tioning; though, had we time to philosophize, it would be a curious matter for speculation, why a doctor's family is apt to be so lean and cadaverous, and a but- cher's so jolly and rubicund. Peter deGroodt, as I said before, entered tliehouse of Dame Heyiiger with unusual alacrity. He was full of a bright idea that had popped into his head at the funeral, and over which he had chuckled as he shovelled the earth into the grave of the doctor's dis- ciple. It had occurred to him, that, as the situation of the deceased was vacant at the doctor's, it would be the very place for Dolph. The boy had parts, and could pound a pestle, and run an errand with any boy in the town, and what more was wanted in a student? The suggestion of the sage Peter was a vision of glory to the mother. She already saw Dolph, in her mind's eye, with a cane at his nose, a knocker at his door, and an M. D. at the end of his name— one of the established dignitaries of the town. The matter, once undertaken, was soon effected : the sexton had some influence with the doctor, they having had much dealing together in the way of their separate professions; and the very next morning he called and conducted the urchin, clad in his Sunday clothes, to undergo the inspeelion ofDr Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. They found the doctor seated in an elbow-chair, in one corner of his study, or laboratory, with a large volume, in German print, before him. He was a short fat man, with a dark square face, renderedmore dark by a black velvet cap. He had a little knobbed n se, not unlike the ace of spades, with a pair of spec- tacles gleaming on each side ofhis dusky countenance, like a couple of bow windows. Dolph felt strnck with awe on entering into the presence of this learned man; and gazed about himi with boyish wonder at the furniture of this chamber I of knowledge, which ap|ieared to him almost as thel deii of a magician. In the centre stood a claw-fooiedj table, with pestle and mortar, phials and galli|)oij,| and a |»ir of small burnished scales. At one end) was a heavy cluthes-press, turneil into a recepiacifl for drugs and compounds; against which iiung tlttl doctor's hat and cloak, and gold-headed cane, and ogl the top grinned a human skull. Along the nianttl-l piece were glass vessels, in whicli were snakes and iJ zards, and a human foetus preserved in spirits. \\ closet, the doors of which were taken off, containril three whole shelves of hooks, and some tooorn)ij>liiT| folio dimensions ; a collection, the like of which Dolpbl had never before beheld. As, however, the librarrl did nut take up the whole of the closet, the doctor'if thrifty housekeeper had occupied the rest with | of pickles and preserves; and had hung about i room, among awful implements of the lieaiing art strings of red pepper and corpulent cucumlters, cii fully preserved for seed. Peter de Groodt, and his proUiji, were rectiid with great gravity and stnteliness by the doctor, vhi was a very wise, digniiied little man, and never s rd. He suneyed Dolph from head to foot, aiuvtj and under, and through his spectacles, and tliep lad's heart quailed as these great glasses glared onh like two full moons. The doctor heard all that Pd de Groodt had to say in favour of the youthful ( didate; and then, wetting his thumb with theendt his tongue, he began deliberately to turn over | after page of the great black volume before him. length, after many hums and haws, and strokingsil the chin, and all that hesitation and deliberation nq which a wise man proceeds to do what he inteii to do from the very first, the doctor agreed to t the lad as a disciple; to give him bed, l)oard,i clothing, and to instruct him in the healing arl;i| return for which he was to have his services until li twenty-first year. Behold, then, our hero, all at once transfon from an unlucky urchin, running wild about l streets, to a student of medicine, diligently pound a pestle, under the auspices of the learned Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. It was a happy In sition for his fond old mother. She was delight^ with the idea of her boy's being brought up wori ofhis ancestors; and anticipated the day niien^ would be able to hold up his head with the Ian that lived in the large house opposite; or, peradrtj ture, with the Dominie himself. Doctor Knipperhausen was a native of the Pal nate in Germany ; from whence, in company many ofhis countrymen, he had taken refuge in i land, on account of religious persecution. He ' one of nearly three thousand Palatines, who i over from England in \1\(i, under the protectiM| Governor Hunter. Where the doctor had stu how he had acquired his medical knowledge,! "W BIlACfiBRlDGE HALL. 461 i; and gazed about him urnilure of this chamber I red to him almost as tht I entre stootl a claw-tootalj tar, phials and gaUipouJ ned scales. At one end! turned into a recepiaclfl against which liung tiiel goUl-headed cane, and ogl ikuU. Along the nunttl-l which were snakes and 1^1 , preservetl in spirits. Al were taken off, contaimdl ks and some too of nilM on, the like of which Dolphj As, however, thelibrar of the closet, the dnciot'!| ccupied the rest with| ; and had hung about l ements of the healing art corpulent cucumlwrs, cai his prothji. were recent* ateliness by the doctor, wh dlittle man, and never sm 1 from head to foot, abovf| his spectacles, and the [ se great glasses glared onh lie doctor heard all thai Pelej I favour of the youthful ( in his thumb with the endd eliberately to turn over | lack volume before him. and haws, and strokingsj jsitalion and deliberation ^ eeds to do what he inten' the doctor agreed to I give him bed, l)oard, him in the healing art; i to have his services until k A, t transfer ,lwre lie had received his diploma, it is hard at pre- sent to say, for nobody knew at the time ; yet it is cer- tain (hat his profound skill and abstruse knowledf^e were the talk and wonder of (he common people, far and near. lib practice was totally different from that of any iotiier physician ; consisting in mysterious compounds, Ikoovrn only to himself, in the preparing and admi- nistering of which, it was said, he always consulted {(be stars. So high an opinion was entertained of his ill, particularly by the Orman and Dutch inhabit- ils, that they always resorted to liim in desperate He was one of those infallible doctors, that i always effecting sudden and surprising cures, [ben the patient has been given up by all the regu- physicians ; unless, as is shrewdly observed, the has l)een left too long before it was put into their Is. The doctor's library was the talk and marvel tiie neighbourhood, I might almost say of the entire irgh. The good people looked with reverence at nian that had read three whole shelves full of liooks, some of lliem too as large as a family Bible. !re were many disputes among (he members of little Lutheran church, as to which was the wisest I, the doctor or the Dominie. Some of his aduii- eren went so far as to say, that he knew more in tlie governor himself— in a word, it was thought It there was no end to his knowledge. No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's fa- |iiY, than he was put in possession of the lodging of predecessor. It was a garret-room of a sleep- fed Dutch house, where the rain pattered on the igies, and the lightning gleamed, and the wind through the crannies in stormy weather; and irewiiole troops of hungry rats, like Don Cossacks, about, in defiance of Ith\)s and rat.sbane. le was soon up to his ears in medical studies, being iloyed, morning, noon, and night, in rolling pills, ing tinctures, or pounding the pestle and mortar {oDe corner of the laboratory ; while the doctor take his seat in another corner, when he had liingelse to do, or expected visitors, and, arrayed morning-gown and velvet cap, would pore over Icontents of some folio volume. It is true, that the lar thumping of Doiph's pestle, or, perhaps, the 'sy buzzing of the summer flies, would now and lull tlie little man into a slumber; but then his were always wide awake, and studiously ling the book. ire was another personage in the house, how- f, to whom Dolph was obliged to pay allegiance. igh a bachelor, and a man of such great dignity jimportance. yet the doctor was, like many other men, subject to petticoat government. He was itely under the sway of his housekeeper ; a busy, fretting housewife, in a little, round, German cap, with a huge bunch of keys jin- at the girdle of an exceedingly long waist. Frau (or Frow Ilsy as it was pronounced) had accom- him in his various migrations from Germany He to England, and from England tu the province; ma- naging his establishment and himself too; ruling him, it is true, with a gentle hand, but carrying a high band with all the world beside. How she had ac- quired such ascendancy I do not pretend tu say. People, it is true, did talk— but liave not people been prone to talk ever since the world began ? Who can tell how women generally contrive to get the upper hand? A husband, it is true, may now and then be master in his own house; but who ever knew a ba- chelor that was not managed by his housekeeper? Indeed, Frau Ilsy's power was not confined to the doctor's household. She was one of those prying . gossips that know every one's business better than they do themselves; and whose all-seeing eyes, and all-telling tongues, are terrors throughout a neigh- liourhood. Nothing of any moment transpired in the world of scandal of this little burgh, but it was known to Frau Ilsy. She had her crew of cronies, that were per- petually hurrying to her little parlour with some pre- cious bit of news; nay, she would sometimes discuss a whole volume of secret history, as she held the street- door ajar, and gossiped with one of these garrulous cronies in the very teeth of a December blast. Between the doctor and the housekeeper it may easily be supposed that Dolph had a busy life of it. As Frau Ilsy kept the keys, and literally ruled the roast, it was starvation to offend her, though he found the study of her temper more perplexing even than that of medicine. When not busy in the laboratory, she kept him miming hither and thither on her errands; and on Sundays he was obliged to accompany her to and from church, and carry Iter Bible. Many a time has the poor varlet stood shivering and blowing his lingers, or holding bis frost-bitten nose, in the church- yard, while Ilsy and her cronies were huddled toge- ther, wagging their heads, and tearing some unlucky character to pieces. With all his advantages, however, Dolph made very slow progress in his art. This was no fault of the doctor's, certainly, for he took unwearied pains with the lad, keeping him close to (he pestle and mortar, or on the trot about town with phials and pill-boxes; and if he ever flagged in his industry, which he was rather apt to do, the doctor would fly into a passion, and ask him if he ever expected to learn his profession, unless he applied himself closer to his study. The fact is, he still retained the fondness for sport and mischief that had marked his childhood ; ttie habit, indeed, had strengthened with his years, and gained force from being thwarted and constrained. He daily grew more and more untractable, and lost favour in the eyes both of the doctor and the housekeeper. In the mean time tlie doctor went on, waxing wealthy and renowned. He was famous for his skill in managing cases not laid down in the books. He had cured several old women and young girls of witchcraft; a terrible complaint, nearly as prevalent in the pro- vince in those days as hydrophobia is at present. He 453 BRACEBKIDGE HALL. had even restored one strapping cuuntry-girl to per- fect health, who had gone so far as to vomit croolied pins and needles; which is considered a desfierate stage of the malady. It was whispered, also, that he was possessed of the art of preparing love-powders ; and many applications had he in conse(|iience from love-sick patients of both sexes. But all these cases formed the mysterious part of his practice, in which, according to the cant phrase, " secrecy and honour might be depended on." Dolpli, therefore, was obliged to turn out of Ihe study whenever such con- sultations occurred, though it is said he learnt more of the secrets of the art at the key-hole, than by all the rest of his studies put together. As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to ex- tend his |H)ssessions, and to look forward, like other great men, to the time when he should retire to the repose of a country-seat. For this purpose he had purchased a farm, or, as the Dutch settlers called it, a bmverie, a few miles from town. It had been the residence of a wealthy family, that had returned some time since to Holland. A large mansion-house stood in the centre of it, very much out of repair, and which, in consequence of certain reports, had receiv- ed the appellation of the Haunted House. Either from these reports, or from its actual dreariness, the doctor had found it impossible to get a tenant; and, that the place might not fall to ruin before he could reside in it himself, he had placed a country boor, with his family, in one wing, with the privilege of cultivating the farm on shares. The doctor now felt all the dignity of a landholder rising within him. He had a little of the German pride of territory in his composition, and almost looked upon himself as owner of a principality. He began to complain of the fatigue of business; and was fond of riding out *' to look at his estate." His little expeditions to his lands were attended with a bustle and parade that created a sensation through- out the neighbourhood. His wall-eyed horse stood stamping, and whisking off the flies, for a full hour before the house. Then the doctor's saddle-bags would be brought out and adjusted; then, after a little while, his cloak would be rolled up and strapped to the saddle; then his umbrella would be buckled to the cloak; while, in the mean time, a group of ragged boys, that observant class of beings, would gather before (he door. At length the doctor would issue forth, in a pair of jack-bools that reached above his knees, and a cocked hat flapped down in front. As he was a short, fat man, he took some time to mount into the saddle ; and when there, he took some time to have Ihe saddle and stirrups properly adjusted, enjoying the wonder and admiration of the urchin crowd. Even after he had set off, he would pause in the middle of the street, or trot back two or three times to give some parting orders; which were an- swered by the housekeeper from the door, or Dolph frum the study, or the black cook from the cellar, or the chambermaid from the garret-window ; and I there were generally some last words bawled after him, just as he was turning the corner. The whole neighbourhood would be aroused br this pomp and circumstance. The cobbler wwilil leave his last; the liarber would thrust out his frizzled head, with a comb slicking in it; a knot would cuj. lect at the grocer's door, and the word would k buzzed from one end of the street to the other, "Tiie doctor's riding out to his country seat ! " These were golden moments for Dulph. No sooner was the doctor out of sight, than pestle and moriar were abandoned ; the laboratory was left to take cirtj of itself, and the student was off on some mad-cai frolic. Indeetl, it must be confessed, the youngster, as grew up, seemed in a fair way to fuliil the predici of the old, claret-coloured gentleman. He was il ringleader of all holiday sports, and midnight gai bols; ready for all kinds of mischievous pranks, ai harebrained adventures. There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on small scale, or, rather, a hero in a small town. M| soon became Ihe abhorrence of all drowsy, In keeping, old citizens, who haled noise, and iiad relish for waggery. The good dames, loo, consi ed him as little better than a reprobate, gathered tl daughters under their wings whenever he apfii ed, and pointed him out as a warning to their s( ]\o one seemed to hold him in much regard, en ing the wild striplings of the place, who were q valcd by his open-hearted, daring manners, and negroes, who always look upon every idle, do-noti youngster, as a kind of gentleman. Even the Peter de Groodt, who had considered himselfa of patron of Ihe lad, began to despair of him; would shake his head dubiously, as he listened itj long complaint from the housekeeper, and si| glass of her raspberry brandy. Still his mother was not to be wearied out of affection by all the waywardness of her boy; nor heartened by the stories of his misdeeds, widi her good friends were continually regaling her. had, it is true, very little of the pleasure which people enjoy, in always hearing their children ed; but slie considered all this ill-will as a ki persecution which he suffered, and she liked iiioi better on that account. She saw him growing fine, tall, good-looking youngster, and she loub him Willi the secret pride of a mother's heart, was her great desire that Dolph should appear 13 gentleman, and all the money she could save towards helping out his pocket and his ward< She would look out of the window after him, sallied forth in his l)est array, and her heart w yearn with delight; and once, when Peter deGi struck with Ihe youngster's gallant appearance bright Sunday morning, observed, " Well, adi Dolph does grow a comely fellow ! " the learof| started into the mother's eye : "Ah, ueigl neighbour!" exclaimed she, " they may say tb( wii I and was kiie ent( nut slioT ofkE tervs andi (lays, ing a could wliol( All no fat mn apprei ever fi about] bouse, length was to Ibat gb thing 1 youngsl ranny \ the do( beat the ternish thedoct Indee usually! and vexi upon hit hy the n Ihe old I upon th( fent-free »as teasi and fearl lurbed ftelting , whole Ik Ihalaffec Uireatene properly; nal const house! h was ( 1, the ( IWmself; ifflain on way ilwul in II «creU)e ills life i indee BRVCEBRIDGE }IALL. 4(0 last words bawled after | ; the corner. i)d would be aroused by :e. The cobbler would ould tbrusl out bis frizzW ' in it; a knol would ndl and Ibe word would he I • street 10 lbeolber,"Tlie| ounlryseat!" lenls for Dolpb. Nosoonerl lit, Iban peslle and morlarl iratory was left to lake carel was off on some mad-capf fessed, the youngster, as b • way to fuHil ibe prediciic id gentleman, lie was it sports, and midnight gam i of miscbievous pranks, an roublesome as a hero on j heroin a small town. D«lpl •cnce of all drowsy, li« i,\io baled noise, andliado ,e gootl dames, loo, conside an a reprobate, gathered ibi ivings whenever be appro* It as a warning to theirs him in much regard, ext of the place, who were ca[ ted, daring manners, and' ok upon every idle, do-nolb f gentleman. Even the- bad considered himself a began to despair of him; dubiously, as he listened he housekeeper, and sir hrandy. not to be wearied out of ^wardnessofherboy;nor fes ofbis misdeeds, with v" continually regaling her. tile of the pleasure which -shearing their children p •d all this ill-will as a ku iuffered, and she liked himl She saw bim growing" .youngster, and she loofe prideofa mother's heart, hat Dolpb should appear 1" L money she could save bis pocket and his war(i| if Ibe window aaer htm, ■ .8t array, and her heart'" ul once, when Peter deOr« Kstei's gallant appearance L, observed, "Well, atle mely fellow!" the learo Lher's eye : "Ah, neigW ,ed she, "they may say tbey please; poor Dolph will yet lioUl up bis head with the best of them I" Dolph Ueyliger had now nearly attained his one- and-twentieth year, and the termofhis medical studies was just expiring; yet it must be confessed, that he knew little more of the profession than when he first entered the doctor's doors. This, however, could not he from any want of quickness of parts, fur he showed amazing aptness in mastering other branches of knowledge, which he could only have studied at in- tervals. He was, for instance, a sure marksman, and won all the geese and turkeys at Christmas-holi- days. He was a Iwld rider; he was famous for leap- ing and wrestling; he played tolerably on the fiddle; could swim like a lish ; and was the Itest hand in the whole place at fives or ninepins. All these accomplishmenis, however, procured him no favour in the eyes oftlie doctor, who grew more and mn crabbed and intolerant the nearer the term of apprenticeship approached. Frau Ilsy, too, was fur ever finding some occasion to raise a windy tempest about his ears; and seldom encountered him about the bouse, without a clatter of the tongue; so that at length the jingling of her keys, as she approached, was to Dolph like the ringing of llie prompter's bell, that gives notice of a theatrical thunder-storm. No- thing but the inflnite good humour of the heedless youngster enabled him to bear all this domestic ty- ranny without open rebellion. It was evident that the doctor and his housekeeper were preparing to beat the poor youth out of the nest, the moment his tenn should have expired; a short-hand mode which the doctor had of providing for useless disciples. Indeed the little man had been rendered more than usually irritable lately, in consefjuence of various cares and vexations which his country estate had brought upon him. The doctor had been repeatedly annoyed by the rumours and tales which prevailed concerning Ibe old mansion ; and found itdirTicult to prevail even upon the countryman and his family to remain there [ rent-free. Every time he rode out to the farm he was teased by some fresh complaint of strange noises and fearful sights, with which the tenants were dis- turbed at night; and the doctor would come home ftetting and fuming, and vent his spleen upon the vhole household. It was indeed a sore grievance, that affected him Iwth in pride and purse. He was threatened with an absolute loss of the profits of his properly; and then, what a blow to his territo- rial consequence, to be tlie landlord of a haunted It was observed, however, that with all his vexa- llion, the doctor never proposed to sleep in the house |hiinself; nay he could never be prevailed upon (o tmain on the premises after dark, hut made the best f his way for town is soon as the bats began to flit ^boui in the twilight. The fact was, the doctor had • secret iKliefin ghosts, having passed the early part I hb life in a country where they particularly abound; indeed the story went, that, when a boy, he had once seen the devil upon tlie Hartz nHHinlains in Germany. At length the doctor's vexations on this head were brought to a crisis. One morning, as he sat dozing over a volume in his study, he was suddenly startled from his slumbers by the bustling in of the house- keeper. " Here's a line to do ! " cried she, as she entered the room. " Here's Glaus Hop|)er come in, bag and baggage, from the farm, and swears he'll have no- thing more to do with it. The whole family have been frightened out of their wits ; for there's such racketing and rummaging alMut the old house, that they can't sleep quiet in their beds ! " " Donner und blitzen ! " cried the doctor, impa- tiently ; " will they never have done chattering about that house ? What n pack of fools, to let a few rats and mice frighten them out of good quarters ! " " Nay, nay, " said the housekeeper wagging her head knowingly, and pi(|ued at having a good ghost- story doubted, " there's more in it Ihan rats and mice. All the neighbouriiood talks about the house; and then such sights have been seen in it! Peter de Groodt tells me, that the family that sold you the house, and went to Holland, dropped several strange hints about it, and said, 'they wished you joy of your bargain ; ' and you know yourself there's no gelling any family to live in it." " Peter de Groodt's a ninny— an old woman, " said the doctor, peevishly ; " I'll warrant he's been filling these people's heads full ofslories. It's just like his nonsense about the ghost that haunted the church belfry, as an excuse for not ringing Ibe hell that cold night when Harmanns BrinkheriiofTs house was on fire. Send Glaus to me. " Glaus Hopper now made his appearance : a simple country lout, full of awe at finding himself in the very study of Dr Knipperiiausen, and loo much em- barrassed to enter in much detail of the mailers that had caused his alarm. He stood twirling his hat in one hand, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the other, looking occasionally at the doctor, and now and then stealing a fearful glance at the death's- head that seemed ogling bim from the top of the clothes-press. The doctor tried every means to persuade him to return to Ihe farm, but all in vain ; he maintained a doirged determination on the subject ; and at the close of every argument or solicitation would make the same brief, inflexible reply, " Ich kan nicht, myn- heer. " The doctor was a" Uttlepot, andsoonhot;" his patience was exhausted by these continual vexa- tions about his estate. The stubborn refusal of Glaus Hopper seemed to him like flat rebellion ; his temper suddenly boiled over, and Glaus was glad to make a rapid retreat to escape scalding. When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's room, he found Peter de Groodt, and several other true be- lievers, ready to receive him. Here he indenmified himself for the restraint he had suffered in tl;e study, 4S4 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. :r.. and opened a builgel of stories about the Haunted House that astonished all his hearers. Tlie house- keeper believed them all, if it was only to spite the doctor for having received her intelligence so un- oourteously. Peter de Groodt matched them with many a wonderful legend of the times of the Dutch dynasty, and of the Devil's Stepping-stones; and of the pirate that was hanged at Gibliet Island, and con- tinued to swing there at night long after the gallows was taken down ; and of the ghost of the unfortunate Governor I^isler, who was hanged for treason, which haunted the old fort and the government-house. The gossiping knot dispersed, each charged with direful intelligence. The sexton disburdened hiir Keif at a veslry-meetin? that was held that very day, and the black cook forsook her kitchen, and spent half of the day at the street-pump, that gossiping-place of ser- vants, dealing forth the news to all that came fur water. In a little time the whole town was in a buzz with tales alMut the Haunted House. Some said that Glaus Hopper had seen the devil, while others hinted that the house wus haunted by the ghosts of some of the patients wl»om the doctor had physicked out of the world, and that was the reason why lie did not venture to live in it himself. All this put the lillle doctor in a terrible fume. He threatened vengeance on any one who should affect the value of his properly by exciting popular preju- dices. He complained loudly of thus being in a manner dispossessed of his territories by mere bugbears ; but he secretly determined to have the house exorcised by the Dominie. Great was his relief, therefore, when, in the midst of his perplexities, Dolph stepped forward and undertook to garrison the Haunted House. The youngster had been li ening to all the stories of Glaus Hopper and Peter de Groodt : he was fond of adventure, he loved the marvellous, and his imagina- tion had become quite excited by these tales of wonder. Besides, he had led such an uncomfortable life at the doctor'*, uemg subjected to the intolerable thraldom of early hours, that he was delighted at tlie prospect of having a house to himself, even tliougi» it slmdd be a haunted one. His offer was eagerly accepted, and it was determined that he should mount guard that very night. His only stipulation was, that the cnterprize should be kept secret from his mother ; for he knew the poor soul would not sleep a wink if she knew that her son was waging war with the lowers of darkness. When night came on he set out on this perilous exiHHlition. The old black cook, his only friend in the household, had provided him with a little mess for supper, and a rushlip'i-t ; and she tied round his neck an amulet, given her by an African conjuror, as a charm against evil spirits. Dolph was escorted on his way by the doctor and Peter de Groodt, who had agreed to accompany him to the house, and to see him safe lodged. The night was overcast, and it was very dark when they arrived at the grounds which surrounded the mansion. The sexton led the way with a lantern. As they walked along the ate nue of acacias, the fitful light, catching from bush to bush, and tree to tree, often startled tlie doughty Peter, and made him fall back upon his followers ■ and the doctor grappled still closer hold of bolph's arm, observing that the ground was very slippery and uneven. At one time they were nearly put to to- tal rout by a Iml, which came flitting about the lan- tern; and the notes of the insects from the trees, and the frogs from a neighbouring pond, formed a roost drowsy and doleful concert. The front door of the mansion opened with a grat- ing sound, that made the doctor turn pale. They entered a tolerably large hall, such as is common in American country-houses, and which serves for a sitting-room in warm weather. From hence they went up a wide staircase, that groaned and creaked as they trod, every step making its particular note, like the key of a harpsichord. This led t .other hall on the second story, from whence they entered the room where Dolph was to sleep. It w s large, and scantily furnished ; the shutters were ciused; bai as they were much broken, there was no want of a circulation of air. It appeared to have been thai sacred chamber, known among Dutch housewives by the name of " the best bed-room; " which •• the best furnished room in the house, but in whic. siarceany iHxIy is ever i)erinitted to sleep. Its splendour, how- ever, was all at an end. There were a few broken | articles of furniture about the room, and in t'-e centre stood a heavy deal table and a large arm-r' uir, bolli of which had the look of being coeval wi' the man- sion. The fire-place was wide, and bac teen Taced I with Dutch tiles, representing Scripture .oi'ies;but some of them had fallen out of their pi' js, and lay shattered about the hearth. The ser a had lit the rushlight; and the doctor, looking f fully about the room, was just exhorting Dolph *' e of goo<l cheer, and to pluck up a stout heai t, v ma noise in the chimney, like voices and strugg ig, struck a sudden panic into the sexton. He tooK o his heels with the lantern; the doctor followed hard after him; tlie| stairs groaned and creaked as they hurrird down, in- creasing their agitation and spee*i by its noises. The | front door slammed after them; and Dolph heanll them scrambling down the avenue, till the sound of I their feet was lost in the distance. That he did not | join in this precipitate retreat might have been owing I to his possessing a little more courage than his com- [ panions, or perhaps that be had caught a glimpse oil the cause of their dismay, in a nest of chimney swal-[ lows, that came tumbling down into the fire-place, Being now left to himself, he secured the front I door by a strong bolt and bar ; and having seen thall the other entrances were fastened, he returnetl lohiij desolate chamber. Having made his supper from tliel basket which the good old cook had provided, he| locked the chaml)er door, and retired to rest oni mattress in one corner. The night was calm anJl still ; and nothing broke upon (he profound quiet, Nl '**^iiv^ BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 4^ walked along the ave catching from bush to sUrtled tlie doughty k upon hia fol'owere ; closer hold of bolph's 1 was very slippery and ifere nearly put to to- ; flitting about the lan- •cts from the trees, and tg pond, formed a most sion opened with a gral oclor turn pale. They such as is common in »nd which serves for a lier. From hence tliey at groaned and creaked king its particular note, ■d. This led t .other im whence they entered to sleep. It >\ s large, shutters were ciosed; bul , there was no want of a eared to have been thai long Dutch housewives by -room;" whicV- ''the best e, butinwhit.staiceany jep. Its splendour, liow- Ihere were a few broken he room, and in t'e centre id a large arm-r' m, both eing coeval wi' the man- wide, and hat )een faced Ling Scripturf .ories;bul It of their pi' ^s, and lay The sex a had lit the looking f tuUy about the Oolph »' e of good cheer, •ak t V *n a noise in the lru"g "g» struck a sadden e loOK his heels with owed hard after him; lh« as they hurried down, in- speed by its noises. The liiem; and Dolph heard avenue, till the sound ol islance. That he did nol at might have been owin? re courage than his corn- bad caught a glimpse ot ma nest of chimney 8*al- down inUT the lire-place. ;elf, he secured the front lar; and having seen iW stened, he returned to h» , made his supper from ilie Id cook had provided, lie] and retired to rest on»| The night was calm aiw the profound quiet, Wl the lonely chirping of a cricket from the cl imney of a distant chamber. The rushlight, which stood in the centre of the deal table, shed a feeble yellow ray, dimly illumining the chamber, and making uncouth shapes and shadows on Mie walls, from the clothes whicii Dolph had thrown over a chair. With all his boldness of heart there was something I subduing in this desolate scene ; and he felt his spi- I rits Hag within him, as he lay on his hard bed and gazed about the room. He was turning over in his mind his idle habits, his doubtful prospects, and now and then heaving a heavy .<iigh, as he thought on his poor old mother ; for there is nothing like the silence and loneliness of night to bring dark shadows over the brightest mind. By and bye he thought he heard a sound as it some one was walking below stairs. He ILttened, and distinctly heard a step on the great stair- case. It approached solenmly and slowly, tramp — tramp— tramp ! It was evidently the tread of some heavy personage; and yet how could he have got into (he house without making a noise? He had exa- Duned all the fastenings, and was certain that every lenlrance was secure. Still the steps advanced, tramp l-tramp— tramp I It was evident that the person ipproaching could not be a robber, the step was too dand deliberate; a robber would either he stealthy precipitate. And now the footsteps had asceiuled Ihe staircase; they were slowly advancing along the ge, resounding through the silent and empty tments. The very cricket had ceased its me- icholy note, and nothing interrupted their aw- distinctness. The door, which had been locketl tlie inside, slowly swung open, as if self-moved. le footsteps entered the room ; but no one was to seen. They passed slowly and audibly across it, ■amp— tramp — tramp! but whatever made the ind was invisible. Dolph rubbed his eyes, and red about him; he could see to every part of the ily-lighted chamber ; all was vacant ; yet still he atd those mysterious footsteps, solemnly walking int the chamber. They ceased, and all was dead ience. There was something more appalling in is invisible visitation, than there would have been fany thing that addressed itself to the eyesight. It 8 awfully vague and indelinile. He felt his heart »t against his ribs ; a cold sweat broke out upon his tiiead ; he lay for some time in a state of violent ^lalion; nothing, however, occurred to increase his His light gradually burnt down into the sock- L and he fell asleep. When he awoke it was broad ^yiight ; the sun was peering through the cracks of 1 window-shutters, and the birds were merrily ^ng about the house. The bright cheery day put to flii^'ht all the terrors of the preceding fat. Dolph laugl.od, or rather tried to laugh, at I that had passed, and endeavoured to persuade «if that it was a mere freak of the imagination, hjured up by the stories he had heard; but he was pttle puzzled to find the door of his room locked on inside, notwithstanding that he had |>08ilively seen it swing open as the footsteps had entered. He returned to town in a state of considerable perplexity ; but he determined to say nothing on the subject, un- til his doubts were either confirmed or removed by another night's watching. His silence was a grievous disappointment to the gossips who had gathered at the doctor's mansion. They had prepared their minds to hear direful tales ; and they were almost in a rage at being assured that he had nothing to relate. The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigil. He now entered the house with some trepidation. He was particular in examining the fastenings of all the doors, and securing them well. He locked the door of his chamber and placed a chair against it ; then having dispatched his supper, he threw himself on his mattress and endeavoured to sleep. It was all in vain ; a thousand crowding fancies kept him wak- ing. The time slowly dragged on, as if minutes were spinning themselves out into hours. As the night advanced, he grew more and more nervous ; and he almost started from his couch when he heard the mysterious footstep again on the staircase. Up it came, as before, solemnly and slowly, tramp — tramp — tramp ! It approached along the passage ; the door again swung open, as if there had been neither lock nor impediment, and a strange-looking figure stalked into the room. It was an elderly man, large and ro- bust, clothed in the old Flemish fashion. He had on a kind of short cloak, with a garment under it, l)elted round the waist ; trunk -hose, with great bunches or bows at the knees; and a pair of russet-hoots, very large at top, and standing widely from his legs. His hat was broad and slouched, with a feather trailing over one side. His iron-grey hair hung in thick masses on his neck; and he had a short grizzled beard. He walked slowly round the room, as if examining that all was safe ; then hanging his hat on a peg beside the door, he sat down in the elbow-chair, and leaning his elbow on the table, he fixed his eyes on Dolph with an unmoving and deadening stare. Dolph was not naturally a coward ; but he had been brought up in an implicit belief in ghosts and goblins. A thousand stories came swarming to his mind that he had heard about this building; and as he looked at this strange personage, with his uncouth garb, his pale visage, his grizzly beard, and his fixed, staring, fish-like eye, his teeth began to chatter, his hair to rise on his head, and a cold sweat to break out all over his body. How long he remained in this si- tuation he could not tell, for he was like one fascinat- ed. He could not take his gaze off from the spectre ; but lay staring at him, with his whole intellect ab- sorbed in the contemplation. The old man remained seated behind the table, without stirring, or turning an eye, always keeping a dead steady glare upon Dolpii. At length tlie household cock, from a neigh- bouring farm, clapped his wings, and gave a loud cheerful crow that rung over the fields. At the sound the old man slowly rose, and took down his hat from the peg; the door opened, and closed after him; he i'i*^ 4^ BRACEBRIDGE HAIX. was heard to go slowly down the staircase, tramp- tramp— tramp !— and when he had got to the bottom, all was again silent. Dolph lay and listenetl earnest- ly; counted every footfall; listened, and listened if the steps should return, until, exhausted with watch- ing and agitation, he fell inio a troubled sleep. Daylight again brought fresh courage and assu- rance. He would fain have considered all that had passed as a mere dream ; yet there stood the chair in which the unknown had seated himself; there was the table on which he had leaned; there was the peg on which he had hi ng his hat; and there was the door, locked precisely as he himself had locked it, with the chair placed against it. He hastened down stairs, and examined the doors and windows; all were exactly in the same state in which he had left them, and there was no apparent way by which any being could have entered and left tiie house, without leaving some trace behind. " Pooh !" said Dolph to himself, "it was all a dream :"— but it would not do; the more he endeavoured to shake the scene off from his mind, the more it haunted him. Though he persisted in a strict silence as to all that he had seen and heard, yet his looks betrayed the un- comfortable night that he had passed. It was evident thai there was something wonderful hidden under this mysterious reserve. The doctor took him into the study, locked the door, and sought to have a full and coniidential communication ; but he could gel no- thing out of him. Fran Ilsy took him aside into the pantry, but to as little purpose; and Peter de Groodt held him by the button for a full hour, in the church- yard, the very place to get at the bottom of a ghost- slory, but came off not a whit wiser Ihan the rest. It is always the case, however, that one truth con- cealed makes a dozen current lies. It is like a guinea locked up in a bank, that has a dozen paper repre- sentatives. Before the day was over, Ihe neighbour- hood was full of reports. Some said that Dolph Iley- liger watched in the Haunted House, with pistols loaded with silver bullets ; others, that he had a long talk with a spectre without a head ; others, that Doctor Knipperhausen and the sexton had been hunted down the Bowery-lane, and quite into town, by a legion of ghosts of their customers. Some shook their heads ; and thought it a shame that the doctor should put Dolph to pass the night alone in that dismal house, where he might be spirited away, no one knew whi- ther; while others observed, with a shrug, that if the devil did carry off the youngster, it would but be tak- ing his own. These rumours at length reached the ears of Ihe good Dame Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, threw her into a terrible alarm. For her son to have op- posed himself to danger from living foes, would have been nothing so dreadful in her eyes, as to dare alone the terrors of the Haunted House. She hastened to the doctor's, and passed a great part of the day in at- tempting to dissuade Dolph from repeating his vigil ; she told him a score of tales, which her gossiping friends had just related to her, of persons who had been carried off, when watching alone, in old nijQ. ous houses. It was all to no effect. Dolph's pride as well as curiosity, was piqued. He endeavoured to calm the apprehensions of his mother, and to assure I her that there was no truth in all the rumours slie had heard. She looked at him dubiously, and shook her head ; but finding his determination was not lobe j shaken, she brought him a little thick Dutch Bible I with brass clasps, to take with him, as a sword ffher^ with to fight the powers of darkness; and, lest that might not be sufficient, the housekeeper gave him tbel Heidelburgh catechism by way of dagger. The next night, therefore, Dolph took up his qnar- ters for the third time in the old mansion. Whe-| ther dream or not, the same thing was repeated. Towards midnight, when every thing was still, the] same sound echoed through the empty halls— trampl — tramp — tramp ! The stairs were again ascended;! the door again swung open; the old manenteredl walked round the room ; hung up his hat, and seated! himself by Ihe table. The same fear and treniblingl came over poor Dolph, though not in so viulentad^| gree. He lay in the same way, motionless and I cinated, staring at the figure, which regarded bima before with a dead, fixed, chilling gaze. In tliiswayi they remained tor a long lime, till, by degrees, Delphi courage began gradually to revive. Whether alivj or dead, this being had certainly some object in I visitation, and he recollected to have heard iu that spirits have no power to speak until they spoken to. Summoning up resolution, tlierefurej and making two or three attempts, before he coul get his parched tongue in motion, he addressed tin unknown in the most solemn form of adjuration t he could recollect, and demanded to know what vij the motive of his visit. IVo sooner had he finished, than the old mam look down his hat, the door opened, and he wentootj looking buck upon Dolph just as he crossed the tlin old, as if expecting him to follow. The youn^ did not hesitate an instant. He took the candle | his hand, and the Bible under his arm, and obeyij the tacit invilation. The candle emitted a Feebl uncertain ray; but still he could see the figure belt him, slowly descending the stairs. He foilowt^ trembling. When it had reached the boli.omofli stairs, it turned through the hall towards the badj door of the mansion. Dolph held the light overti balustrades; but, in his eagerness to catch a sigiitj the unknown, he flared his feeble taper so siiddeoij that il went out. Still there was sufficient light fnj the pale moonbeams, that fell through a narrow v dow, to give him an indistinct view of the li^ near the door. He followed, therefore, downslaij and turned towards the place; but when he had|{ there, Ihe unknown had disappeared. The i remained fast barred and boiled; there was no c mode of exit; yet the being, whatever he mightll was gone. He unfastened tiie door, and lookedl into that slam path both pause ceede him, fassei near I loan pliedtl sight a ti :f BRACEBRIDGE HAIJ.. 4,'»7 into tlie fields. It was a hazy, moonlight night, so that the eye could distinguish objects at some di- stance. He thought he saw the unknown in a foot- paili that led from the door. He was not mistaken ; bat how had he got out of tlie house? He did not pause to think, hut followed on. The old man pro- eeeiled at a measured pace, without looking about him, his footsteps sounding on the hard ground. He passed through the orchard of apple-trees that stood near the house, always keeping the footpath. It led to a well, situated in a little hollow which had sup- tiousekeeper gave him the H pjiedthe farm with water. Just at this well Dolph lost ir of persons who had ling alone, in old niin- effect. Dolph's pride, ed. He endeavoured to I s mother, and to assure in all the rumours she 1 im dubiously, and shook ermination was not to be little thick Dutch Bible, h him, as a sword whew- 1 darkness; and, lest that| vay of dagger. , Dolph took up his quat- Ihe old mansion. W'he-| ame thing was rep every thing was slill, thel h the empty halls-lrampl airs were again ascended;! en; the old manenUred;! iunguphishat,andseatedl le same fear and Iremblinjl ough not in so violent ad^| ,e way, motionless and I ure, which regarded liima , chilling gaze. ' " ime, till, by degrees, Delphi I to revive. Wlielheraliv(| certainly some object in I lecled to have heard it saidj ft-er to speak until they up resolution, therefun ^e attempts, before he coii motion, he addressed lb lemn form of adjuration I iemanded to know what «a| shed, than the old man loor opened, and he wenloi lijuslas he crossed the thi He thought 10 follow. The young! nt. He look the candle under his arm, and obc)! he candle emitted a feel Ihe could see the liguveM _ the stairs. He follow ad reached the bollora of h the hall towards the" olph held the light over eagerness to catch a sight his feeble taper so suddri Itherewassuflicientlighltr .at fell through a narrow ndislinct view of the tigi wed, therefore, downsii place; but when he had ad disappeared. The iHllJolled; there was no eing, whatever he m.?W led the door, and looW sii^ht of him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again ; but nothing was to be seen of the unknown. He reached the well, but nobody was there. All the surrounding ground was open and clear; there was no bush nor hiding-place. He looked down the well and saw, at a great depth, the reflection of the sky in the still water. After remaining here for some lime, without seeing or hearing any thing more of his mysterious conductor, he returned to the house, full of awe and wonder. He boiled the door, grop- ed his way back to bed, and it was long before lie could compose himself to sleep. His dreams were strange and troubled. he was following the old man along the side of a »reat river, until they came to a vessel that was on die point of sailing; and that his conductor led him onboard and vanished. He remembered the com- mander of the vessel, a short swarthy man, with cris|ied hlack hair, blind of one eye, and lame of one leg; but the rest of his dream was very confused. iHietimes he was sailing; sometimes on shore; now lidst storms and tempests, and now wandering [oietly in unknown streets. The figure of the old lan was strangely mingled up with the incidents of Ihedream; and the wliole distinctly wound up by his Wing himself on board of the vessel again, relurn- iig home, with a great bag of money ! When he woke, the grey, cool light of dawn was ilreaking the horizon, and the cocks passing the revet ( I) farm to farm throughout the country. He rose ire harassed and perplexed than ever. He was gularly confounded by all that he had seen and preamt, and began to doubt whether his mind was I affected, and whether all that was passing in his loughts might not be mere feverish fantasy. In his esent stale of mind, he did not feel disposed to re- |im immediately to the doctor's, and undergo the iss-<|uestioning of the household. He made a anly breakfast, therefore, on the remains of the last kill's provisions, and then wandered out into the lelds to meditate on all that had licfallen him. Lost [thought, he rambled about, gradually approaching ilown, until the morning was far advanced, when ! was roused by a hurry and bustle around him. (found himself near the water's edge, in a throng [people, hurrying to a pier, where there was a ves- headytoniake sail. He was unconsciously carried Nghy theimpulseof the crowd, and found that it was a sloop, on the point of sailing up the Hudson to Al- bany. There was much leave-taking, and kissing of old women and children, and great activity in carrying on board baskets of bread and cakes, and provisions of all kinds, notwithstanding the mighty joints of meat that dangled over the stern; for a voyage to Albany was an expedition of great moment in those days. The commander of the sloop was hurrying about, and giving a world of orders, which were not very strictly attended to; one man being busy in lighting his pipe, and another in sharpening his snicker-snee. The appearance of the commander suddenly caught Dolph's attention. He was short and swarthy, with crisped black hair ; blind of one eye, and lame of one leg — the very commander that he had seen in his dream ! Surprised and aroused, he considered the scene more attentively, and recalled slill further traces of his dream : the appearance of the vessel, of the ri- ver, and of a variety of other objects, accorded with the imperfect images vaguely rising to recollection. As he stood musing on these circumstances, the captain suddenly called to him in Dutch, " Step on board, young man, or you'll be left behind!" He was startled by the summons; he saw that the sloop was cast loose, and was actually moving from the pier; it seemed as if he was actuated by some irre- sistible impulse ; he sprang upon the deck, and the next moment the sloop was bun-ied off by the wind and tide. Dolph's thoughLs and feelings were all in tumult and confusion. He had been strongly worked upon by the events that had recently befallen him, and could not but think that there was some connexion between his present situation and his last night's dream. He felt as if he was under supernatural in- fluence ; and he tried to assure himself with an old and favourite maxim of his, that '* one way or other, all would turn out for the best." For a moment, the indignation of the doctor at his departure, without leave, passed across his mind, but that was matter of little moment; then he thought of the distress of his mother at his strange disappearance, and the idea gave him a sudden pang : he would have entreated to be put on shore ; but he knew with such wind an«l tide the entreaty would have been in vain. Then the inspiring love of novelty and adventure came rushing in full tide through his bosom ; he felt himself launched strangely and suddenly on the world, and under full way to explore the regions of wonder that lay up this mighty river, and beyond those blue mountains that had boimded his horizon since child- hood. While he was lost in this whirl of thought, the sails strained to the breeze ; the shores seemed to hurry away behind him ; and, before he perfectly re- covered his self-possession, the sloop was ploughing her way past Spiking-devil and Yonkers, and the tall- est chimney of the ManhalAocs had faded frpni his sight. I have said that a voyage up the Hudson in thoso days was an undertaking of some moment; indeed, it was as much thought of as a voyage to Europe is at .'W 4^ BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Iiresent. The sloops were often many days on the way ; the cautious navigators taking in sail when it blew fresh, and coming to anchor at night; and stop- ping to send the boat ashore for milk for tea, without which it was impossible for the worthy old lady-pas- sengers to subsist. And then there were the much- talked-of perils of the Tappaan-zee, and the highlands. In short, a prudent Dutch burgher would talk of such a voyage for months, and even years, beforehand ; and never undertook it without putting his affairs in order, making his will, and having prayers said for him in the Low-Dutch churches. In the course of such a voyage, therefore, Dolph was satisfied he would have time enough to reflect, and to make up his mind as to what he should do when he arrived at Albany. The captain, with his blind eye, and lame leg, would, it is true, bring his strange dream to mind, and perplex him sadly for a few moments ; but of late his life had been made up so much of dreams and reaUties, his nights and days had been so jumbled together, tliat he seemed to be moving continually in a delusion. There is always, however, a kind of vagabond consolation in a man's having nothing in this world to lose; with this Dolph comforted his heart, and determined to make the most of the present enjoyment. In the second day of the voyage they came to the highlands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, that they floated gently with the tide between these stern mountains. There was that perfect quiet which prevails over nature in the languor of summer heat; the turning of a plank, or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, was echoed from the mountain-side, and reverberated along the shores; and if by chance the captain gave a shout of command, there were airy tongues that mocked it from every cliff. Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and won- der at these scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left the Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, height over height, forest over forest, away into the deep summer sky. To the right strutted forth the bold promontory of Anthony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it; while beyond, mountain succeedeil to mountain, until they seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this mighty river in their embraces. There was a feeling of quiet luxury in gazing at the broad, green bosoms, here and there scooped out among the precipices; or at woodlands high in air, nodding over the edge of some beetling bluff, and their foliage all traasparent in the yellow sunshine. In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile of bright, snowy clouds peering above the west- ern heights. It was succeeded by another and an- other, each seemingly pushing onwards its predeces- sor, and towering, with dazzling brilliancy, in the deep blue atmospliere ; and now muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard rolling behind tiie moun- tains. The river, hitherto still and glassy, reflecting pictures of die sky and land, now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping up It, The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and sought their nests on the high dry trees; the cmws flew cla- morously to the crevices of the rocks, and all nature seemed conscious of the approaching thunder-gust. The clouds now rolled in volumes over the moun- tain tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to patter down in broad and scattered drops; the wind freshened, and curled up the waves; at length it seemed as if the bellying clouds were torn open by the mountain tops, and complete torrents of rain came rattling down. The lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest forest trees. The thunder burst in tremendous explosions; the peals were echoed from mountain to mountain ; thef crashed upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the long de- file of the highlands, each headland making a newecho, until old Bull-hill seemed to bellow back the stonn, For a time tho scudding rack and mist, and llw sheeted rain, alnn ' hid the landscape from the si»lii. There was a fearfi. loom, illumined still more fear- fully by the streau of lightning which glittered among the raindrops. Never had Dolph beheld such an absolute warring of the elements ; it seemed as if the storm was tearing and rending its way through this mountain defile, and had brought all the artillery of heaven into action. The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wind, until she came to where the river makes a bend, the only one in the whole course of its majestic career '. Just as they turned the point, a violent flaw of wind came sweeping down amountain-gi bending the forest before it, and, in a moment, lash- ing up the river into white froth and foam. Tl captain saw the danger, and cried out to lower sail. Before the order could be obeyed the flai struck the sloop, and threw her on her beam-ends, Every thing now was fright and confusion : the lla{ ping of the sails, the whistling and rushing of ll wind, the bawling of the captain and crew, tlie$liri(li| ing of the passengers, all mingled with the rolliogai bellowing of the thunder. In the midst of the iipi the sloop righted; at the same time the main! shifted, the boom came sweeping the quarler-di and Dolph, who was gazing unguardedly at tliecloi found himself, in a moment, flnundering in the rivi For once in his life one of his idle accomplishmei was of use to him. The many truant hours whi he had devoted to sporting in the Hudson had him an expert swimmer ; yet with all his strength ai skill, he found great difficulty in reaching the sin His disappearance from the deck had not been noli ed by the crew, who were all occupied by their oi danger. The sloop was driven along with incoi able rapidity. She had hard work to weather a I promontory on the eastern shore, round which • Tills must have bocn tlic Iwiid at Wrst Pnliil. npice. instant; land, fine |a cleft of 111 inten Ihe vicif i writ vith ,1 urhoot he 9 ihe tail ol At lenj lit of a 'St. le trees, liffi, one lins over cullivai lo ii •«s wild tee of f i'i?ed wi BRACEBRIOGE HALL. CiO ezecamecreciMngupU. 1 screamed, and sought eec; the Ckows flewcla- he rocks, and all nature )aclung thunder-gust, volumes over the moun- , bright and snowy, but y blackness. The rain ad and scattered drops; urled up the waves; at ellying clouds were torn and complete torrents of rhe lightning leaped from led quivering against the ; the stoutest forest trees. Inendous explosions; the )untain to mountain; they androlledupthelongde-j ladland making a new echo, to bellow back the storm, g rack and mist, and the ,e landscape from the siglit, I, illumined still more fear- lightning which glilterd jver had Dolph beheld such I B elements; it seemed as ill ,d rending its way through! had brought all the arlillery| ion by the increasing wind, > the river makes a sudden i whole course of its majestic turned the point, a violenl [)ing down a mounlaln-guily, ! it%nd, in a moment, lasihl Ihite froth and foam. Tl and cried out to lower I could be obeyed the flu Irew her on her beam-ends, right and confusion: the flai [histUng and rushing of ll captain and crew, the slinet mingled with the rolling aH In the midst of the upr ie same time the mail sweeping the quarler-di ing unguardedly at the cloi lent, floundering in therm leofhisidleaccomplishmei ke many truant hours wh» ing in the Hudson had nw ; yet with all his strength ai liculty in reaching the slioi the deck had not been noil ire all occupied by lUeir 01 driven along with inconcf .hard work to weather all Item shore, round which" onrtw-tJondatWrctPnlHt- river turned, and which completely shut her from Dolph's view. It was on a point of the western shore that he land- ed, and, scrambling up the rocks, he threw himself, faint and exhausted, at the foot of a tree. By de- grees the thunder-gust passe<l over. The clouds roll- ed away to the east, where they lay piled in feathery masses, tinted with the last rosy rays of the sun. The distant play of the lightning might be still seen abont tlieir dar': Imscs, and now and then might be heard tlie faint muttering of the thunder. Dolph rose, and sought about to see if any path led from the shore, hut all was savage and trackless. The rocks were piled upon each other ; great trunks of trees lay shattered about, as they had been blown down by the strong winds which draw through these mountains, or had fellen through age. The rocks, loo, were overhung with wild vines and briars, which completely malted themselves together, and opposed a barrier to all ingress; every movement tliat he made shook down a sliower from the dripping foliage. He attempted to scale one of these almost perpendicular heights; but, though strong and agile, he found it an Herculean undertaking. Often he was supported merely by crumbling projections of the rock, and sometimes he clung lo roots and branches of trees, and hung almost suspemlal in the air. The wood-pigeon came cleav- ing his whistling flight by him, and the eagle scream- ed from the brow of the impending cliff. As be was llius clambering, he was on the point of seizing hold of a shrub to aid his ascent, when something rustled among the leaves, and he saw a snake quivering along like lightning, almost from under bis hand. It coiled itself up immediately, in an attitude of defiance, with flattened head, distended jaws, and quickly-vibrating tongue, fliat played like a little flame al)out its mouth. Dolph's heart turned faint within him, and he had well nigh let go his hold, and tumbled down the pre- cipice. The serpent stood on the defensive but for an instant ; it was an instinctive movement of defence ; and, finding there was no attack, it glided away into acleftofthe rock. Dolph's eye followed it with fear- |ful intensity; and he saw at a glance that he was in llie vicinity of a nest of adders, that lay knotted, ind writhing, and hissing in the chasm. He hasten- vith all speed to escape from so frightful a neigh- lurhood. His imagination was full of this new hor- ; he saw an adder in every curling vine, and heard tail of a rattle-snake in every dry leaf that rustled. At length he succeeded in scrambling to the sum- lit of a precipice ; but it was covered by a dense St. Wherever he could gain a look out between le trees, he saw that the coast rose in heights and i, one rising beyond another, until huge moun- ins over-topped the whole. There were no signs if cultivation, nor any smoke curling amongst the lo indicate a human residence. Every thing a» vild and solitary. As be was standing on the Ir* of a precipice that overlooked n deep ravine nged with trees, his feet <lelached a great fragment of rock ; it fell, crashing its way through the tree tops, down into the chasm. A loud whoop, or ra- ther yell, issued ft-om the bottom of the glen; llm moment after there was the report of a gun ; and .1 ball came whistling over his head, cutting the twigs and leaves, and burying itself deep in the bark of a diestnut-tree. Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but made a precipitate retreat ; fearing every moment to hear the enemy in pursuit. He succeeded, however, in re- turning unmolested to the shore, and determined to penetrate no farther into a country so beset with sa- vage perils. He sat himself down, dripping disconsolately, on a wet stone. What was to l)e done? where was he to shelter himself? The hour of repose was approach- ing; the birds were seeking their nests, the bat began to flit almut in the twilight, and the night-hawk, soaring high in heaven, seemed to be calling out the stars. Night gradually closed in, and wrapped every thing in gloom ; and though it was the latter part of summer, yet the breeze stealing along the river, and among these dripping forests, was chilly and pene- trating, especially to a half-drowned man. As he sat drooping and despondent in this com- fortless condition, he perceived a light gleaming through the trees near the shore, where the winding of the river made a deep bay. It cheered him with the hopes that here might l)e some human habita- tion where be might get something to appease the clamorous cravings of his stomach, and, what was equally necessary in his shipwrecked condition, a comfortable shelter for the night. It was with ex- treme difficulty that he made his way towaitl the light, along ledges of rocks, down which he was in danger of sliding into the river, and over great trunks of fallen trees; some of which had been blown tlown in the late storm, and lay so thickly together, that he bad to struggle through their branches. At length he came to the brow of a rock that overhung a small dell, from whence the light proceeded. It was from a fire at the foot of a great tree that stood in the midst of a grassy interval or plat among the rocks. Th*^ fire cast up a red glare among the grey crags, and impending trees; leaving chasms of deep ^'loom, that resembled entrances to caverns. A small brook rippled close by, betrayed by the quivering reflection of the flame. There were two figures moving about th« fire, and others squatted before it. As they wer« between him and the light, they were ui complete shadow : but one of them happening to move round to the opposite side, Dolph was startled at perceiving, by the full glare falling on painted features, and glit- tering on silver ornaments, that he was an Indian. He now lookeil more narrowly, and saw guns lean- ing against a tree, and a dead body lying on the ground. Dolph began to doubt whether he was not in a worse condition than before ; here was the very foe that had fired at him from the glen, lie enilcavoured im BRACEBRIDGE HALL. tu relrtat quielly, not caring to entrust himself to tliese half-human beings in so savage and lonely a place. It was too late : the Indian, with that eagle quickness of eye so remarkable in his race, perceived something stirring among the bushes on the rock : he seized one of the guns that leaned against the tree ; one moment more, and Dolph might have had his passion for adventure cured by a bullet. He hallooed loudly, with the Indian salutation of friendship; the whole party sprang upon their feet; the salutation was returned, and Uie straggler was invited to join them at the fire. On approaching, he found, to his consolation, that the party was composed of white men, as well as In- dians. One, who was evidently the principal per- sonage, or commander, was seated on a trunk of a tree before the fire. He was a large, stout man, some- what advanced in life, but hale and hearty. His face was bronzed almost to the colour of an Indian's; he had strong but rather jovial features, an aquiline nose, and a mouth shaped like a maslifTs. His face was half thrown in shade by a broad hat, with a buck's tail in it. His grey hair hung siiort in his neck. He wore a hunting-frock, with Indian leg- gings, and mocassins, and a tomahawk in the broad wampum-belt round his waist. As Dolph caught a distinct view of his person and features, he was struck with something that reminded him of the old man of the Haunted House. The man before him, however, was different in his dress and age; he was more cheery too in his as[>ect, and it was hard to define where the vague resemblance lay : but a resem- blance there certainly was. Dolph felt some degree of awe in approaching him; but was assured by the frank, hearty welcome with which he was received. As he cast his eyes about, too, he was still further encouraged, by perceiving that the dead body, whicli had caused him some alarm, was that of a deer ; and his satisfaction was complete in discerning, by the savoury steams which issued from a kettle, suspend- ed by a hooked slick over the fire, that there was a part cooking fur the evening's repast. He now found that he had fallen in with a ram- bling hunting-party ; such as often took place in those days among the settlers along the river. The hunter is always hospitable ; and nothing makes men more social and unceremonious than meeting in the wil- derness. The commander of the parly poured him out a dram of cheering liquor, which he gave him with a merry lear, to warm his heart ; and ordered one of his followers to fetch some garments from a pinnace, which was moored in a cove close by ; while those in which our hero was dripping might be dried before the fire. Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot from the glen, wliich had come so near giving him his quietus when on the preei[)ice, was from (he party before him. He Ind nearly crushed one of liiem by the fragment of rock which he had detached ; and the jovial old lituiler, in the broad hat and buck tail, had fired at the place where he saw the bnshes move, supposing it to be some wild animal. He laughed heartily at the blunder; it being what is considered an exceeding good joke among hunters ; " but, faith, my lad, " said he, " if I had but caught a glimpse of you to take sight at, you would have followed (he rock. Antony Vander lleyden is seldom known to miss his aim. " These last words were at once a clue to Dolph's curiosity ; and a few questions let him completely into the character of the man before liim and of his band of woodland rangers. The com- mander in the broad hat and hunting-frock was no less a personage than the Ileer Antony Yander Her- den, of Albany, of whom Dolph had many a time heard. He was, in fact, the hero of many a story; being a man of singular humours and whimsical lia- bits, that were matters of wonder to his quiet Dutch neighbours. As he was a man of property, having had a father before him, from whom he iniieriled large tracts of wild land, and whole barrels full of wampum, he could indulge his humours witiioutl control. Instead of staying quietly at home; and drinking at regular meal-times; amus'ig \nms/A[\ by smoking his pipe on the bench before the door;f and then turning into a comfortable bed at night; he I delighted in all kinds of rough, wild expeditions. He i was never so happy as when on a hunting-party in [ the wilderness, sleeping under trees or bark-sheds, or cruising down the river, or on some woodland lake, fishing and fowling, and living the Lord knows how.l He was a great friend to Indians, and (oan Indianl mode of life ; which he considered true natural lihertyl and manly enjoyment. When at home he had alwaysl several Indian hangers-on, who loitered alraut hisl house, sleeping like hounds in the sunshine, or pre-l paring hunting and fishing-tackle for some ne^Y ei-f pedition, or shooting at marks with bows and arrows.) Over these vagrant beings Heer Antony had as pcr-f feet command as a huntsman over his pack ; tliou°;h| they were great nuisances to the regular people ol hisl neighbourhood. As he was a rich man, no one ven-f tiu-ed to thwart his humours ; indeed, he had a heaityl joyous manner about him, that made him univers<illjr[ popular. He would troll a Dutch song as he tranijie along the street ; hail every one a mile off; and whed he entered a house, he would slap (he good man fa-j miliarly on the back, shake him by the hand t roared, and kiss his wife and daughters before hi^ face — in short, there was no pride nor ill humoufj about Heer Antony. Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or rouij humble friends among the whi(e men, wliu looked up to him as a patron, and had the run of his kilclienJ and the favour of being taken with him occasioiiall| on his expeditions. It was with a medley of siicl retainers that he was at present on a cruise aloiiijllij shores of (he Hudson, in a pinnace which he koptfii his own recreation. There were two while men will him, dressed partly in (he Indian style, with uiociissinj aud hunling-shirls; the rest of his crew consisted • BRACE6RIDGE HALL. mi jaw the bushes move, Ifimr favourite Indians. They had been prowling 1 animal. He laughed Igiioat the river, without any deHnite object, until ling what is considered lihey found themselves in the highlands, where they g hunters ; " but, failh, l|^ passed two or three days, hunting the deer which Dut caught a glimpse of |j(i|| lingered among these mountains. ■onld have followed the en is seldom known to words were at once a 1 a few questions let him p of the man before him, nd rangers. The com- ,d hunling-frock was no ;er Antony Vancler lley- )olph had HJany a time e hero of many a story; nours and whimsical lia- onder to his quiet Dutch man of property, having from whom he inherited ind whole barrels full ot ge his humours without Ig quietly at home; eating jal-liraes; amus"ig himself e bench before the door; mfortable bed at night; lie igh, wild expeditions. He lien on a hunting-party in uuler trees or bark-sheds, , or on some woodland lake, iving the Lord knows how. oindians, and to an Indian isidered true natural liberty hen at home he had always ,n, who loitered alwutbis lis' in the sunshine, or pre- g-lackle for some new cs-] rks with bows and arrow, gs lleer Antony had as per nan over his pack ; thoughj to the regular people odiisj irasarichman, nooneven• |u•s•,indeed,hehadaheally| that made him uiiiversallr Dutch song as he tramp fyoneamileQff;andwhei lould slap the good man fj' 16 him by the hand till hi U and daughters before 110 pride nor ill Immoni " It is a lucky circumstance, young man, " said An- tony Vander Heyden,"thatyou happened to be knock- ed overboard to-day ; as to-morrow morning we start Ljriy on our return homewards ; and you might then hare looked in vain for a meal among these moun- ilains— but come, lads, stir about ! stir about ! Let's see what prog we have for supper ; the kettle has Imil- lon; enough ; my stomach cries cupboard ; and I'll arrant our guest is in no mood to dally with his ■ncher." There was a bustle now in the little encampment; me took off the kettle and turned a part of the con- tents into a huge wooden bowl. Another prepared flat rock for a table; while a third brought various itensils from (he pinnace, which was moored close iv;and Heer Antony himself brought a flask or two precious liquor from his own private locker; know- ijliis boon companions too well to trust any of them ith the key. A rude but hearty repast was soon .spread; consist- of venison smoking from the kettle, with cold ba- , boiled Indian corn , and mighty loaves of good ivn household bread. Never had Dolph made a ire delicious repast; and when he had washed it ivn by two or three draughts from the Heer An- y's flask, and felt the jolly liquor sending its larmlh through his veins, and glowing round his TV heart, he would not have changed his situation, I, not with the governor of the province. The lleer Antony, too, grew cliirping and joyous ; Id half a dozen fat stories, at which his white fol- ers laughed immoderately, though the Indians, usual, maintained an invincible gravity. "This is your true life, my boy!" said he, slap- g Dolph on the shoulder; "a man is never a man he can defy wind and weather, range woods and Ids, sleep under a tree, and live on bass-wood ives!" And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch {iiiking-song, swaying a short, squab Dutch bottle hisliand, while his myrmidons would join in chorus, the woods echoed again; — as the good old song Lrs-on,hehadlhrceorM \e while men, who loukef hadlherunofhiskilclieiil fiken with him occasional! Las with a medley of sucP Ircsentonacruisealoni,'! pinnace which he kept tij re were two white men will Indian style, with uiocussij lest of his crew consisted f "They all wilh a slioiit made tlic elements ring, So soon as llio office was o'er j To [casting; tliey went, witli (rue merriment) And tippled strong liquor gillore." Hhemidsl of his joviality, however, lleer Antony j not lose sight of discretion. Though he pushed [boille without reserve to Dolph, yet he always i care to help his followers himself, knowing the jigs he had to deal with; and he was particular in filing but a moderate allowance to the Indians. ! repast being ended, Ihe Indians having drunk r liquor, and smoked (heir pipes, now wrapped themselves in their blankets, stretched themselves on the ground, with their feet to the fire, and soon fell asleep, like so many tired hounds. The rest of the party remained chatting before the (ire, which the gloom of tlie forest, and the dampness of the air from the late storm, rendered extremely grateful and com- forting. The conversation gradually moderated from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned upon hunting adventures, and exploits and perils in the wilderness; many of which were so strange and improbable, that I will not venture to repeat them, lest the veracity of Antony Vander Heyden and his comrades should be brought into question. There were many legendary tales told, also, about the river, and the settlements on its borders; in which valuable kind of lore the Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. As (he sturdy bush-beater sat in a twisted root of a tree, that served him for a kind of arm-chair, dealing forth these wild stories, wi(h the fire gleaming on his strongly-mark- ed visage, Dolph was again repeatedly perplexed by something (hat reminded him of the phantom of (he Haunted House; some vague resemblance (hat could not be fixed upon any precise feature or lineament, but which pervaded the general air of his countenance and figure. The circumstance of Dolph's falling overboard being again discussed, led to the relation of divers disasters and singular mishaps that had befallen voyagers on this great river, particularly in the earlier periods of colonial history ; most of which the Heer deliberately attributed to supernatural causes. Dolph stared at his suggesdon ; but the old gentleman assur- ed him that it was very currently believed by the settlers along the river, (hat these highlands were under the dominion of superna(ural and mischievous beings, which seemed (o have taken some piqiieagainst the Dutch colonists in the early time of the settlement. In consequence of this, they have ever since taken particular delight in venting their spleen, and indulg- ing their humours, upon the Dutch skippers; bothei- ing them with flaws, head-winds, counter-currents, and all kinds of impediments; insomuch, that a Dutch navigator was always obliged to be exceedingly wary and deliberate in his proceedings; (o come to anchor at dusk ; to drop his peak, or take in sail, whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rolling over the mountains; in short, to take so many precautions, (hat he was often apt to be an incredible time in toiling up the river. Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers of the air to be evil spirits conjured up by the Indian wizards, in the early times of the province, to revenge themselves on (he strangers who had dispossessed (hem of (heir country. They even attributed (o their incantations the misadventure which befell the renowned Hendritk Hudson, when he sailed so gal- lantly up (his river in quest of a north-west passage, and, as he thought, run his ship aground ; which (hey affirm was nothing more nor less (ban a spell of these, same wizards, (o prevent his getting to China in this direction. ion BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Ill ' The greater part, however. Heer Antony obeerved, accoanted for ail the extraordinary circumstances at- tending this river, and the perplexities of the skippers which navigated it, by the old legend of the Storm- ship which haunted Point-no-point. On finding Dolph to be utterly ignorant of this tradition, the Heer fltaned at him for a moment with surprise, and won- dered where he had passed his life, tu be uninformed on so important a point of history. To pass away the remainder of the evening, therefore, he undertook the tale, as far as his memory would serve, in the very words in which it had been written out by Mynheer Selyne, an early poet of the New Nederlandts. Giv- ing, then, a stir to the fire, that sent up his sparks among the trees like a little volcano, he adjusted himself comfortably in his root of a tree; and throwing back his head, and closing his eyes for a few moments, to summon up his recollection, he related the follow- ing legend. THE STORM-SHIP. In the golden age of the province of the New Nether- lands, when it was under the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the peo|)le of the Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry afternoon, just about the time of the summer solstice, by a tre- mendous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain descended in such torrents as absolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground. It seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses; the lightning was seen to play about the church of St Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, to strike its weathercock. Garret Van Home's new chimney was split almost from top to bottom ; and Doffue Mildeberger was struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as he was riding into town. In a word, it was one of those unparalleled storms, that only happen once within the memory of that ve- nerable personage, known in all towns by the appel- lation of " the oldest inhabitant." Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes. They gathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars; after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every bed-post, lest it should attract the lightning. At length the storm abated; the thunder sunk into a growl, and the setting-sun, breaking from under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gold. The word was given from the fort that a ship was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, and street to street, and soon put tiie little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to the inhabitants. It brought them news from the old world, from the land of their birth, from which they were so completely severed : (o the yearly ship, too, they looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, A comforts, and almost of necessaries. The good wroawl could not have her new cap nor new gown until ilnl arrival of the ship ; the artist waited for it for his tooh J the burgomaster for his pipe and his supply of \\^ lands, the schoolboy for his top and marbles, andth lordly landholder for the bricks with which he wasti build his new mansion. Thus every one, rich an poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival of i] ship. It was the great yeariy event of the town ( New Amsterdam ; and from one end of the year I the other, the ship— the ship— the ship— was thecooj tinual topic of conversation. The news from the fort, therefore, brought i populace down to the battery, to behold the wjsl for sight. It was not exactly the time when siieli been expectal to arrive, and the circumstance was | matter of some speculation. Many were the grouj collected about the battery. Here and there miji be seen a burgomaster, of slow and pompous gravitjj giving his opinion with great confidence to a cro» of old women and idle boys. At another place w«| knot of old weather-beaten fellows, who had 1 seamen or fishermen in their times, and were f authorities on such ocAisions; these gave diffet opinions, and caused great disputes among theirsevd adherents : but the man most looked up to, and folloi^ ed and watched by the crowd, was Hans VanPe) an old Dutch sea-captain retired from service, nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred ill ship through an ancient telescope, covered with Ian canvas, hummed a Dutch tune to himself, aiidsij nothing. A hum, however, from Hans Van Pellh always more weight with the public than a t from another man. In the mean time the ship became more dislinct| the naked eye; she was a stout, round, Dutcli-bi vessel, with high bow and poop, and bearing Dotj colours. The evening sun gilded her bellying (im\ as she came riding over the long waving The sentinel who had given notice of her appn declared, that he first got sight of her when sliev in the centre of the bay ; and that she broke sudde^ on his sight, just as if she had come out of diet of the black thunder-cloud. The by-standei-s I at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say tolj report : Hans Van Pelt screwed his moulii ol« together, and said nothing; upon which some! their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders.! The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but nia(le| reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudi A gun was brought to Iwar on her, anil, with i difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pell,j garrison not being expert in artillery. Thei seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and lo j along the water on the other side, but no notice J taken of it ! What was strange, she had all lier j set, and sailed right against wind and tide. were both down the river. Upon this Hans] Pelt, who was likewise harbour-master, ordew BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 4(» f of luxuries, of finery, A «saries. The good wroowl p nor new gown until tlii| It waited for il for his toohl le and his supply of liol j top and marbles, amii icks with which he wasl rhus every one, rich an ed out for the arrival oft sarly event of the town ( (m one end of the year I lip— the ship— was tlie com n. ;, therefore, brought all I tery, to behold the wishedJ ctly the time when she I md the circumstance vas j ,n. Many were the gronpl >ry. Here and there mi{ f slow and pompous graviij| great confidence lo a cron )ys. At another place vasj iten fellows, who had their times, and were sn isions; these gave ditferei itdisputes amonglheirsevfl most looked up to, andfolloij crowd, was Hans Van Pel lin retired from senice, place. He reconnoitred ill ; telescope, covered with laij eh tune to himself, ands ever, from Hans Van Pellb ith the public than a ship became more dislinrti s a stout, round, Dutcli-W jndpoop, and bearing Dul sun gilded her bellying cam rer the long waving billoi [given notice of her appi ;ot sight of her when she J and that she broke suddi Ihehad come out of the l jud. Theby-standersli [see what he would say to !lt screwed his mouth cl ling; upon which some i shrugged their shoulders, peatediy hailed, but made ]e fort, stood on up the Hu'^ Iwar on her, and, with fired by Hans Van Pell, cpert in artillery. The iss through the ship, and 10 other side, but no noliM js strange, she had all her [gainst wind and tide. ' river. Upon this Hans barbmu-master, order It, and set off to board her ; bnt after rowing two lliree hours, he returned without success. Some- he would get within one or two hundred yards her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be half a le off. Some said it was because his oars-men, who ,er« rather pursy and short-winded, stopped every iwand then lo take breath, and spit on their hands; It Ibis it is probable was a mere scandal. He got nr enough, however, to see the crew, who were all in the Dutch style, the officers in doublets and |i>hhats and feathers : not a word was spoken by any on board ; they stood as motionless as so many lataes, and the ship seemed as if left to her own go- lent. Thus she kept on, away up the river, >ning and lessening in the evening sunshine, until faded from sight, like a little white cloud melting ray in the summer sky. The appearance of this ship threw the governor ilo one of the deepest doubts that ever beset him in vhole course of his administration. Fears were ilertained for the security of the infant settlements the river, lest this might be an enemy's ship in s^ise, sent to lake possession. The governor called itber his council repeatedly, to assist him with Ir conjectures. He sat in his chair of state, built timber from the sacred forest of the Hague, and ied his long jasmin pipe, and listened to all that counsellors had to say on a subject about which ty knew nothing ; but in spite of all the conjectur- ofthe sagest and oldest heads, the governor still itiiiued to doubt. Messengers were dispatched to different places on river ; but they returned without any tidings — ship had made no port. Day after day, and week |er week, elapsed, but she never returned down the in. As, however, the council seemed solicitous intelligence, they had it in abundance. The cap- ofthe sloops seldom arrived without bringing le report of having seen the strange ship at the !rent parts of the river; sometimes near the Pal- loes, sometimes off Crolon Point, and sometimes the highlands; but she never was reported as ig been seen above the highlands. The crews |lhe sloops, it is true, generally differed among ilves in their accounts of these apparitions; but may have arisen from the uncertain situations in they saw her. Sometimes it was by the flashes thunder-storm lighting up a pitchy night, and ing glimpses of her careering across Tappaan-zee, lewide waste of Haverstraw Bay. At one mo- ll she would appear close upon them, as if likely to them down, and would throw them into great lie and alarm; bnt the next flash would show her iff, always sailing against the wind. Sometimes, juiet moonlight nights, she would be seen under high bluff of the highlands, all in deep shadow, tpting her top-sails glittering in the moonbeams ; |hetime, however, that the voyagers would reach ilace, there would be no ship to be seen ; and in they had past on for some distance, and looked back, behold! there she was again, with her top-sail* in the moonshine ! Her appearance was always just after, or just before, or just in the midst of unruly weather; and she was known by all the skippers and voyagers of (he Hudson by the name of " the Storm- ship." These reports perplexed the governor and his council more than ever ; and it would be endless to repeat the conjectures and opinions that were uttered on tlie subject. Some quoted cases in point, of ships seen off the coast of New England, navigated by witches and goblins. Old Hans Van Pelt, who had been more than once to the Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must be the Flying Dutch- man which had so long haunted Table Bay ; but being unable to make port, had now sought another harbour. Others suggested, that, if it really was a supernatural apparition, as there was every natural reason to be- lieve, it might be Hendrick Hudson, and his crew of the Half-moon ; who, it was well known, had once run aground in the upper part of the river, in seeking a north-west passage to China. This opuiion hail very little weight with liie governor, but it passed current out of doors; for indeed it had already been reported, that Hendrick Hudson and his crew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain ; and it appeared very reason- able to suppose, that his ship might infest the river where the enterprize was baffled, or that it might bear the shadowy crew to theu* periodical revels in the mountain. Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and doubts of the sage Wouter and his council, and the Storm-ship ceased to be a subject of deliberation at the board. It continued, however, to be a matter of popular belief and marvellous anecdote through the whole lime of the Dutch government, and particu- larly just before the capture of New Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the province by the English squa- dron. About that time the Storm-ship was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan-Zee, and about Weehawk, and even down as far as Hoboken ; and her appearance was supposed to be ominous of the approaching squall in public affairs, and the downfaU of Dutch domina- tion. Since that time we have no authentic accounts of her; though it is said she still haunts the highlands, and cruises about Point-no-point. People who live along the river, insist that they sometimes see her in summer moonlight; and that in a deep still midnight they have heard the chant of her crew, as if heaving the lead ; but sights and sounds are so deceptive along the mountainous shores, and about the wide l)ays and long reaches of this great river, that I confess I have very strong doubts u|ion the subject. It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things have been seen in these highlands in storms, which are considered as connected with the old story of the ship. The captains of the river-craft talk of a little bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in trunk hose and sugar-loafed hat, with a speaking-trumpet in his hand, 401 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. I.' ' which they say keeps about the Dunderbei^. ' They declare tliat they have heard him, in stormy weather, in the midst of the turmoil, giving orders in Low- Butch for the piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off of another thunder-clap. That some- times he has been seen surrounded by a crew of little imps in broad breeches and short doublets; tumbling head over heels in the rack and mist, and playing a thousand gambols in the air; or buzzing like a swarm of flies about Anthony's Nose; and that, at such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm was always greatest. One time a sloop, in passing by the Dunderberg, was overtaken by a thunder-gust, that came scouring round the mountain, and seemed to burst just over the vessel. Though tight and well ballasted, yet she laboured dreadfully, until the water came over the gimwale. All the crew were amazed, when it was discovered that there was a little white sugar-loaf hat on the mast-head, which was known at once to be the hat of the Ileer of the Dunderlierg. Nobody, however, dared to climb to the mast-head, and get rid of this terrible hat. The sloop continued labour- ing and rocking, as if she would have rolled her mast overboard. She seemed in continual danger either of upsetting or of running on shore. In this way she drove quite through the highlands, until she had pass- ed Pollopol's Island, where, it is said, the jurisdiction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No sooner had she passed this bourne, than the little hat, all at once, spun up into the air like a lop ; whirled up all the clouds into a vortex, and hurried them back to the summit of the Dunderberg; while the sloop righted herself, and sailed on as quietly as if in a mill-pond. Nothing saved her from utter wreck but the fortunate circumstance of having a horse-shoe nailed against the mast ; a wise precaution against evil spirits, which has since been adopted by all the Dutch captains that navigate this haunted river. There is another story told of this foul-weather nrchin, by Skipper Daniel Ousleslicker, of Fish-Hill, who was never known to tell a lie. He declared, that, in a severe squall, he saw him seated astride of his bowsprit, riding the sloop ashore, full butt against Anthony's nose, and that he was exorcised by Do- minie Van Gieson, of Esopus, who happened to he on board, and who sung the hymn of St Nicholas ; whereupon the goblin threw himself up in the air like a ball, and went off in a whirlwind, carrying away with him the night-cap of the Dominie's wife ; which was discovered the next Sunday morning hanging on the weathercock of Esopus' church steeple, at least forty miles off! After several events of this kind had taken place, the regular skippers of the river, for a long time, did not venture to pass the Dunderberg, without lowering their peaks, out of homage to the Ileer of the Mountain; and it was observed that all such as paid this tribute of respect were suffered to pass unmolested. ■ <. e, the " Tliiindcr-Mountain," so callfd from iU pclioe!<. "Such," said Antony Vander Heyden, "areafc* of the stories written down by Selyne the poet, con. cerning this Storm-ship; which he affirms to bat( brought this colony of mischievous imps into the pro-] vince, from some old ghost-ridden country of Eq. rope. I could give you a host more, if necessary for all the accidents that so often befall the river. craft in the highlands are said to be tricks plav off by these imps of the Dunderberg; but I seeti you are nodding, so let us turn in for the night."' The moon had just raised her silver horns abori the round back of Old Bull Hill, and lit up tlie rocks and shagged forests, and glittered on the irar] ing bosom of the river. The night dew was falli and the late gloomy mountains began to soften ai put on a grey aerial tint in the dewy light, hunters stirred the fire, and threw on fresh fuel qualify the damp of the night air. They then pi pared a bed of branches and dry leaves under a of rocks for Dolph; while Antony Vander Iley( wrapping himself up in a huge coat made of skii stretched himself before the fire. It was sometii however, before Dolph could close his eyes, lie contemplating the strange scene before him ; wild woods and rocks around ; the fire throwing ful gleams on the faces of the sleeping savages; the Ileer Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vagui reminded him of the nightly visitant to the Hai House. Now and then he heard the cry of animal from the forest ; or the hooting of the ov{ or the notes of the whip-poor-will, which seemed abound among these solitudes; or the splash ofa sti geon, leaping out of the river, and falling back length on its placid surface. He contrasted all with his accustomed nest in the garret room of doctor's mansion ; where the only sounds he at night were the church clock telling the hour;l{ drowsy voice of the watchman, drawling out all ' Among the superstitions which prevailed in the i during tlie early times of tlic settlements, there seems lu jiaiel^ a singular one about phantom-ships. The superstitious fai men are always apt to turn upon those objects which ( their daily occupations. The solitary ship, which, froin;| to year, came like a raven in the wilderness, bringing to ihe habitants of a settlement the comforts of life from the worMij which they were cut off, was apt to be present to their drr^ whether sleeping or waking. The accidental sight from s a sail gliding along Ihe horizon in those, as yet, lonely sc«,| apt to be a matter of much talk and 8[)eculation. There u I lion made in one of Ihe early New England writers, of a sbiq vigated by witches, with a great horse that stood by the nuiu I have met with another story, somewhere, of a ship IhatdtDif shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil weather, with sails all set i table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a number of gues not a living being on board. These phantom-ships alwajiij in the eye of the wind ; or ploughed their way with great vdi making the smooth sea foam before their bows, when notal^ ofair was stirring. Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of Ihe « a little tale, which, within a small compass, contains IIkI essence of this species of supernatural fiction. I allude If S|>eclre-Shlp bound to Headman's Isle. that] led iipi iroftlu nionai ^,andl nl: anc 110 BRACEBRIDGE IIALL. AdS inderHeyden/'areafewl by Selyne ihe poet, con-| ivliich he affirms to havJ hievoiis imps into thepro-l isi-riiklen country of Eu-I host more, if necessaryf so oaen befall the river-J B said to be tricks play« )underberg;butlse«tl« 5 turn in for the niglit." sed her silver horns abofl nil Hill, and Ut up tlie s, and puttered on tliewTJ The night dew was ' " imtains began to soften Ji ,t in the dewy light, and threw on fresh fuel night air. They then and dry leaves under all ile Antony Vander Heyi a huge coat made of si ilhefne. It was some lii could close his eyes. He nn-e scene before him : around; the lire throwingii| I of the sleeping savages; vho so singularly, yet vagiiel] lightly visitant to the Haul en he heard the cryofsoi . or the hooting of the o»l i'p-poor-will, which seemed ,Uludes;orlhesplashofaslr lie river, and falling back' irface. We contrasted all est in the garret room ol re ihe only sounds he hei rch clock telling the hour; atchman, drawling out all ,8 which prcvailcil in the settlements, there seenwlohwei Invships. ThesuperstilioiBtf li upon those objects iThe soUlary ship, wl in the wilderness, bringing loiM comforts otlifc from ihejortlj « apt to be present to lhe.rdi^ The accidental sigiit from* Un in those, as yet, lonely «1 talk and si.eculat.on. There^^ ly New England writers, olaa ,4.thorsethalstoodbythen.ai« rV somewhere, otashiptMd^j I'U weather, with sails a isetd if to regale a number of gua* , These phantom-ships alwajij toushed their way with great «<2 tefore their bows, wheanoiali It up oneof these legends ofthei L small compass. cont^mM I supernatural tiction. 1 aWwi'l [Iman's lolt-'- t vrell; the deep snoring of the doctor's dubbed nose from below stairs ; or the cautious labours of some (irpenter-ral gnawing in tiie wainscot. His thoughts then wandered tu his poor old mother : what would slie think of his mysterious disappearance — what anxiety and distress would she not suffer ? This was the thought that would continually intrude it- [itir tu mar his present enjoyment. It brought with [iiafeeling of pain and compimction, and he fell asleep f ilk liie tears yet standing in his eyes. Were this n mere tale of fancy, here would be a fine irtunily for weaving in strange adventures among se wild mountains, and roving htmters ; and, after ivolving my hero in a variety of perils and diniciillies, uing liim from them all by some miraculous conlri- ; but as this is al)solutely a true story, I must con- it myself with simple facts, and keep to probabilities. At an early hour of the next day, therefore, after a y morning's meal, the encampment broke up, our adventurers embarked in Ihe pinnace ofAn- ly Vander Heyden. There being no wind for the 1, the Indians rowed her gently along, keeping to a kind of chant of one of the white men. day was serene and beautiful; the river without wave; and as the vessel cleft the glassy water, it a long undulating track behind. The crows, who il scented the hunters' banquet, were already ga- lling and hovering in the air, just where a column lliin, blue smoke, rising from among the trees, wed the place of their last night's quarters. As coasted along the bases of the moimlains, the irAnlony pointed out to Dolph a bald eagle, the itereign of these regions, who sat perched on a dry that projected over the river; and, with eye led upwards, seemed to be drinking in the splen- irof llie morning sun. Their approach disturbed monarch's meditations. He first spread one ins;, and then (he other; balanced himself for a mo- ;nt; and then, quilting his perch with dignified iposure, wheeled slowly over their heads. Dolph ilclied upa gim, and sent a whistling ball after him It cut some of the feathers from his wing ; the report legun leaped sharply from rock (oroek, and awaken- a thonsand echoes ; but the monarcli of the air 1 calmly on, ascending higher and higher, and leling widely as he ascended, soaring up the green iom of the woody mountain, imtil he disappeared rtlie brow of a beetling precipice. Dolph felt in manner rebuked by this proud tranquillity, and I reproached himself for having so wantonly in- Ihis majestic bird. Heer Antony told him, hing, to remember that he was not yet out of the glories of the lord of the Dunderberg; and an old iansliook his head, and observed, that there was I luck in killing an eagle ; the hunter, on the con- h, should always leave him a portion of his spoils. |olliing,liowever, occurred to molest them on their ige. They passed pleasantly through magnificent |lonely scenes, until they came to where Pollopol's ilay, like a floating bower, at the extremity of the highlands. Here they landed, until the heat of the day should abate, or a breeze spring up, tliat might super- sede the labour of the oar. Some prepared the mid- day meal, while others reposed under the shade of the trees in luxurious summer indolence, looking drowsily forth upon the beauty of the scene. On the one side were the highlands, vast and cragged, feathered to the top with forests, and throwing their shadows on the glassy water that dimpled at their feet. On the other side was a wide expanse of the river, like a broad lake, with long sunny reaches, and green head- lands; and the distant line of Shawimgunk mountains waving along a clear horizon, or chequered by a fleecy cloud. But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of their cruise along the river : this vagrant, amphibious life, careering across silver sheets of water ; coasting wild woodland shores; banqueting on shady promontories, with the spreading tree over head, the river curling ils light foam to one's feet, and distant mountain, and rock, and tree, and snowy cloud, and deep blue sky, all mingling in summer beauty before one ; all this, though never cloying in the enjoyment, would be but tedious in narration. When encampetl by the water-side, some of the party would go into the woods and hunt; others would lish : sometimes they would amuse themselves by shooting at a mark, by leaping, by running, by wrestling; and Dolph gained great favour in (he eyes of Antony Vander Ileyden, by his skill and adroit- ness in all these exercises ; which the Heer consider- ed as the highest of manly accomplishments. Thus did they coast jollily on, choosing only the pleasant hours for voyaging; sometimes in the cool morning dawn, sometimes in the sober evening twi- light, and sometimes when the moonshine spangled (he crisp curling waves that whispered along the sides of their little bark. Never had Dolph felt so completely in his element ; never had he met with any thing so completely to his taste as this wild, hap- hazard life. He was the very man to second Antony Vander Heyden in his rambling humours, and gained continually on his affections. The heart of the old bushwhacker yearned towards the young man, who seemed thus growing up in his own likeness; and as they approached to the end of their voyage, he could not help inquiring a little into his history. Dolph frankly told him his course of life, his severe medical studies, his little proficiency, and his very dubious prospects. The Heer was shocked to find that such amazing ta- lents and accomplishments were to be cramped and buried under a doctor's wig. He had a sovereign contempt for the healing art, having never had any other pliysician than (he butcher. He bore a mortal grudge to all kinds of study also, ever since he had been flogged about an unintelligible book when he was a boy. I>ut to think that a young fellow like Dolph, of such wonderful abilities, who could shoot, lish, run, jump, ride and wrestle, should be obliged to roll pills, and administer juleps for a living — 'twas 4tt BRACEBHIDGE HALL. I I monstrous ! He told Dolph nerer to despair, bill lo "throw physic to the dogs;" for a young fellow of his prodigious talents could never fail lo make his way. ** As you seem lo liave no acquaintance in Albany," said Ileer Aniony, "you sliall go home with me, and remain under my roof until you can look about you ; and in the mean time we can take an occasional bout at shooting and fishing, for it is a pity such talents should lie idle. " Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was not hard lo lie persuaded. Indeed, on turning over mat- ters in his mind, which he did very sagely and deli- berately, he could not but think tliat Antony Vander Heyden was, "somehow or oilier," connected with tlie story of the Haunted House; that the misadven- ture in the highlands, which had thrown them so strangely together, was, "somehow or other," lo work out something good : in short, there is nothing so convenient as litis "somehow or other" way of accommodating one's self to circumstances; it is the main stay of a heedless actor, and tardy reasoner, like Dolph Heyliger ; and he who can, in this loose, easy way, link foregone evil to anticipated good, pos- sesses a secret of happiness almost equal to the phi- losopher's stone. On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's companion seemed to cause universal satisfaction. Many were the greetings al the river-side, and the salutations in the streets; the dogs bounded liefore him , the boys whooped as he passed ; every body seemed to know Antony Vander Heyden. Dolph followed on in silence, admiring the neatness of Ihis worthy burgh ; for in those days Albany was in all ils glory, and inhabited almost exclusively by the des- cendants of the original Dutch settlers, for it had not as yet been discovered and colonized by the restless people of New England. Every thing was quiet and orderly; every thing was conducted calmly and lei- surely; no hurry, no bustle, no struggling and scram- bling for existence. The grass grew about the unpav- ed streets, sni relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure. Tall sycamores or pendent willows shaded the houses, with caterpillars swinging, in long silken strings, from their branches; or moths, fluttering about like coxcombs, in joy at their gay transforma- tion. The houses were built in the old Dutch style, with the gable ends towards the street. The thrifty housewife was seated on a bench before her door, in close crimped cap, bright flowered gown, and white apron, busily employed in knitting. The husband smoked his pipe on the opposite bench, and the little pet negro girl, seated on the step at her mistress' feet, was industriously plying her needle. The swallows sported about the eaves, or skinuned along the streets, and brought back some rich booty for their clamor- ous young; and the little housekeeping wren flew in and out of a Lilliputian house, or an old hat nailed against the wall. The cows were coming home, lowing through the streets, to Ikc milked at their owner's door; and if, perchance, there were any loiterers, some negro urchin, wilh a long goad, »i, gently urging them homewards. As Dolph's companion passed on, he received i tranquil nod from the burghers, and a friendly word from tlieir wives; all calling him familiarly by iIh name of Antony ; for it was the custom in Ihis stront hold of the patriarchs, where they had all groirn ml together from childli«M)d, lo call every one by |J christian name. The Heer did not pause to luve U usual jokes with them, for he was impatient to rei his home. At length they arrived at his mam It was of some magnitude, in the Dutch style, vii large iron figures on the gaMes, that gave the dale its erection, and showed that it had bteii built In n earliest times of the settlement. The news of the Heer Antony's arrival liad ceded him, and the whole household wasontlie out. A crew of negroes, large and small, had col lected in front of the house to receive him. The white-headed ones, who had grown grey in his itt\ vice, grinneil for joy, and made many awkwi bows and grimaces, and the little ones capered al his knees. Hut the most happy being in the In hold was a little, plump, blooming lass, his only and the darling of his heart. She came Iwundi out of the house ; but tiie sight of a strani^e y man with her fatiier called up, for a moment, ail bashfuincss of a home-bred damsel. Dolph gazed her with wonder and deligiit; never had he seen, he thought, any thing so comely in the shape of n man. She was dressed in the good old Dulcli lai with long stays, and full, short petticoats, so adi rably adapted lo show and set off the female fi Her hair, turnetl up under a small round cap, played the fairness of her forehead ; she iiad iinelili laughing eyes ; a trim, slender waist, and soft sti — hut, in a word, she was a little Dutch divinii and Dolph, who never slopt half-way in a new i pulse, fell desperately in love wilh her. Dolph was now ushered into the house vil hearty welcome. In the interior was a mingled play of Heer Antony's taste and habits, and of opulence of his predecessors. The chambers m furnished with good old mahogany ; the beaufels cupboards glittered with embossed silver, and paii china. Over the parlour fire-place was, as the family coat of arms, painted and framed ; which was a long, duck fowling-piece, flanked bj Indian pouch and a powder-horn. The room decorated wilh many Indian articles, such as pi{ peace, tomahawks, scalping-knives, hunting-poi and belts of wampum ; and there were various of fishing-tackle, and two or three fowling-pii the comers. The household affairs seemed to be ducted, in some measure, after the master's Inn corrected, perhaps, by a little quiet managemi the daughter's. There was a great degree of triarchal simplicity, and good-humoured indul| The negroes came into the room without being merely Jq look at their master, and hear of liis low an( of the 1 werei leasing III a pelt Uie nieai ly Vai silent, s he vii irhicli [one of hi cliambe up, I 'ed, that fort [laud, loo Ugly; !if had 'liechanil lus, an( clotlies- waxed, contaii house oiru •h's mil note of Ipconii eRACEBKIDGK HALL. MVI 1, wi«h a long goad, «m irda. Mssed on, Ue received j \iers, and a friendly woni ng him fandliarly by the tlie cnslom in tliis sttoni •re lliey had all grown n^l 10 call every one by thel ;r did not pause to lwveliii| • he was impatient lo re; lY arrived at his mansion, I, in the Dutch style, wii ^'aWes, that gave the dale lhatithadbt«:nbuiUinll iment. r Antony's arrival Iwd le household was on tlw large and small, had col. 186 to receive him. The" , had grown grey in hi* swi and made many awkwi [the little ones capered al *t happy being in llielioi .blooming lass, his only heart. She came Iwundi ihe sight of a strange y lied up, for a moment, all wed damsel. Dolphgai«l lelighl; never had he seen, so comely in the shape of w( din the good old Dutch lai 111, short petticoats, so adi and set off the female f( iniler a small round cap, er forehead; she had tine l)li slender waist, and sotl si( was a little Dutch divinil slopt half-way in a nevr in love with her. ihered into the house wil he interior was a mingled taste and habits, and o( Icessors. The chambers w id mahogany; the beaufeu h embossed silver, and pai Hour lire-place was, as „ painted and framed; k fowling-piece, tlankedbjl wder-horn. The room- Indian articles, such as pi] ,lping-knives,hunliug-po> ; and there were various two or three fowling-pie sehold affairs seemed to be re, after the master'slmr a little quiet managemei ■e was a great degree of d good-hnmoured indulf the room without being' master, and hear of liB «(aUires ; lliey would stand listening at the d«Nir until Ik liad linished a story, and then go off on a broad trin, to repeat il in the kitchen. A couple of pet [g((n> children were playing about the Hoor with Ihe L^, and sharing with them their bread and butter. All the domestics looked hearty and happy ; and when table was set for the evening repast, the variety abundance of gooti household luxuries bore tes- ny to the open-handed liberality of the lleer, and notable housewifery of his daughter. In the evening there dropped in several of the lorlhies of the place, the Van lleimscllaers, and the insevurts, and the lloselMMms, and others of An- ly Vander lleyden's intimates, to hear an account his expedition ; for he was the Sindbad of Albany, [| his exploits and adventures were favourite topics conversation among the inhabitants. While these gossiping together about Ihe door of the hall, and jng long twilight stories, Dolph wascozily seated, rtaining Ihe daughter on a window-bench. He already gut on intimate terms; for those were limes of false reserve and idle ceremony : and, «les, there is something wonderfidly propitious to iver's suit, in the delightful dusk of a long summer ling; it gives courage to the most timid tongue, hides the blushes of the baslifid. The stars twinkled brightly; and now and then a iire-tly his transient light before the window, or, indering into the room. Hew gleaming about the What Dolph whispered in her ear that long sum- evening it is impossible to say : his words were low and indistinct, that they never reached the of the historian. It is probable, however, that 7 were tu the purpose ; for he had a natural talent leasing the sex, and was never long in company Iha petticoat without paying proper court lo it. Ilie mean time the visitors, one by one, departed ; ly Vender Heydeil, who had fairly talked him- silent, sal nodding alone in his chair by the door, he was suddenly aroused by a hearty salute which Dolph Heyliger had unguardedly rounded [wie of his periods, and which echoed through the chamber like the re|)ort of a pistol. The Heer up, rubbed his eyes, called for lights, and ob- ed, that it was high time to go to bed ; though on for the night, he scpieezed Dolph heartily by jhaud, looked kindly in his face, and shook his head |wingly; for the Heer well remembered what he If had been at the youngster's age. be chamber in which our hero was lodged was IDS, and pannelled with oak. It was furnished cloliies-presses, and mighty chests of drawers, waxed, and glittering with brass ornaments, contained ample stock of family linen; for the housewives had always a laudable pride in ing off their household treasures to strangers. I's mind, however, was loo full lo lake parli- iiote of the objects around him ; yet he could lelp continually comparing the free, open-iieart- ed cheeriness of this e«tablishtn«nt, with the slarvfl- ing, sonlid, joyless housekeeping, at Doctor Knipper- hausen's. Still there was something that marred the enjoyment ; the idea that he must take leave of his hearty host, and pretty hostess, and cast himself once more adrill upon Ihe world. To linger here would Ite folly ; he should only get dee|>er in love : and for a poor varlet, like himself, to aspire lo the daughter of the great Heer Vander lieyden — it was madness to think of such a thing ! The very kindness that the girl had shown towards him prompteil him, on re- Heclion, lo hasten his departure; it would be a poor return for Ihe frank hospitality of his host, to entangle his daughter's heart in an injudicious attachment. In a word, Dolph was, like many other young reasoners, of excee<iing good hearts, and giddy heads; who think after they act, and act differently from what they think ; who make excellent determinations over night, and forget lo keep them the next morning. '' This is a line conclusion, truly, of my voyage," siiid he, as he almost buried himself in a sumptuous fealher-be<l, and drew Ihe fresh while sheets up lo his chin. " Here am I, instead of linding a bag of money to carry home, launched in a strange place, with scarcely a stiver in my pocket; and, what is worse, have jumped ashore up to my very ears in love into the bargain. However," adde<l he, after some pause, stretching himself, and turning himself in bed, "I'm in good quarters for the present, at least; so I'll e'en enjoy the present moment, and let the next lake care of itself; I dare say all will work out, ' so- mehow or other,' for the best." As he said these words he reached out his hand to extinguish the candle, when he was suddenly struck with astonishment and dismay, for he thought he be- held the phantom of the Haunted House, staring on him from a dusky part of the chamber. A second look reassured him, as he perceived that what he had taken for the spectre was, in fact, nothing but a Flemish portrait, that hung in a shadowy corner, just behind a clothes-press. It was, however, the precise repre- sentation of his nightly visitor. The same cloak and belted jerkin, the same grizzled beard and fixed eye, the same broad slouched hat, with a feather hanging over one side. Dolph now called lo mind the resem- blance he had fre(]uenlly remarked between his host and the old man of the Haunted House ; and was fully convinced that they were in some way connected, and that some especial destiny had governed his voyage. He lay gazing on the {(ortrait with almost as much awe as he had gazed on the ghostly original, until the shrill house-clock warned him of the lateness of the hour. He put out the light : but remained for a long time turning over these curious circumstances and coincidences in his mind, until he fell asleep. His dreams partook of the nature of his waking thoughts. He fancied that he still lay gazing on the picture, until, by degrees, it became animated; tliat the ligm-c descended from the wall, and walked out of the room; that he followed it, and found himself I *u» BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 1^' I: by the well, to which the old man pointed, smiled on him, and disappeared. In the morning when Dolph waked, he found his host standing by his bed-side, wiio gave him a hearty morning's salutation, and asked him how he had slept. Dolph answered cheerily ; but took occasion to inquire about the portrait that hung against the wall. " Ah," said Heer Antony, " that's a portrait of old Killian Vander Spiegel, once a burgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on some popular troubles, aban ■ doned Holland, and came over to the province during the government of Peter Stuyvesant. He was my ancestor by the mother's side, and an old miserly curmudgeon he was. When the English took posses- sion of New Amsterdam, in 4604, he retired into the country. He fell into a melancholy, apprehending that his wealth would be taken from him, and that he would come to beggary. He turned all his properly into cash, and used to hide it away. He was for a year or two concealed in various places, fancying him- self sought after by the English, to strip him of his wealth; and Anally was found dead in his bed one morning, without any one being able to discover where he had concealed the greater part of his mo- ney." When his host had left the room, Dolph remained for some linie lost in thought. His whole mind was occupied by what he had heard. Vander Spiegel was his mother's family name, and he recollected to have heard her speak of this very Killian Vander Spiegel as one of her ancestors. He had heard her ' ^?y,'too^ that her father was Killian's righirul heir, , only that the old man died without leaving any tiling to be inherited. It now appeared that Heer Antony was likewise a descendant, and perhaps an heir also, of this poor rich man; and that thus the Heyligers and the Vander Heydens were remotely connected. •' What," thought he, " if, after all, this is the in- terpretation of my dream, that this is the way I am to make my fortune by this voyage to Albany, and that I am to hnd the old man's hidden wealth in the bottom of that well? But what an odd roundabout mode of commimicating the matter ! Why the plague could not the old goblin have told mc about the well at once, without sending me all the way to Albany, to hear a story that was to send me all the way back again ? " These thoughts passed through his mind while he was dressing. He descended the stairs, full of per- plexity, when the bright face of Marie Vander Ileyden suddenly beamed in smiles upon him, and seemed (o give him a clue to the whole mystery. " After all," thought he, " the old goblin is in the riglit. If I am to get his wealth, he means that I shall marry his pretty descendant; thus both branches of the family will be again united, and the property go on in the proper channel." No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it car- ried conviction with it. He was now all impatience to hyrry back and secure the treasure, which, he did not doubt, lay at the bottom of the well, and whidi he feared every moment might be discovered by some other person. "Who knows," thought he, "bui this night-walking old fellow of the Haunted House may be in the habit of haunting every visitor, and may give a hint to some shrewder fellow than myself, who will take a shorter cut to the well than by Uk way of Albany ? " He wished a thousand times tl«i the babbling old ghost was laid in the Red Sea, and his rambling portrait with him. He was in a perfect fever to depart. Two or three days elapsed iiefore any opportunity presented for returning flown >lie| river. They were ages to Dolph, notwith: that he was basking in the smiles of the pretty MarieJ and daily getting more and more enamoured. At length the very sloop from which he had knocked overboard prepared to make sail. Doii made an awkward apology to his host for his siiddei departure. Antony Vander Heyden was sorely tonished. He tiad concerted half a dozen excursi into the wilderness; and his Indians were aetuaili preparing for a grand expedition to one of (he lain He took Dolph aside, and exerted his eloquence get him to abandon all thoughts of business and remain with him, but in vain ; and he at length gai up the attempt, observing, " that it was a thoui pitiessofine a young man should throw himselfaway,' Ileer Antony, however, gave him a hearty ihake the hand at parting, with a favourite fuwling-pii and an invitation to come to his house whenever revisited Albany. The pretty little Marie said thing ; but as he gave her a farewell kiss, her dimj cheek turned pale, and a tear stood in her eye. Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. Tl hoisted sail; the wind was fair; they soon lost sight Albany, and its green hills, and embowered ii They were wafted gaily past the Kaatskill mounlai whose fairy heights were bright and cloudless, passed prosperously through the highlands, will any molestation from the Dunderberg goblin and crew ; they swept on across Haverslraw Bay, and Croton Point, and through the Tappaan-zee, and der the Palisadoes, until, in the afternoon of the lli day, they saw the promontory of Hoboken, lian: like a cloud in the air; and, shortly alter, tlieriiol the Manhatloes rising out of the water. Dulph's first care was to repair to his niothi house ; for he was continually goaded by the iili the uneasiness she must experience on his ai He was|>uzzling his brains, as he went along, (oil how he should account for his absence, without Irnying (he secre(s of the Haunted House. In midst of these cogitations, he entered the siln which his mother's house was situated, when iie( thunderstruck at beholding it a heap of ruins. There had evidently been a great lire, wliiolij destroyed several large houses, and the humbled* ingofpoor Dame Heyliger had been involvedinj cunllagration. The walls were not so conijil destroyed, but (hat Dolph could disliiignish i trace abou name Bible ffi(h ofthe ^ven by it' alas.'f For sight;: liadp< ever, i neighb formed The (hisunl soinleii neighbt of poor without gallant. the wor fate of tl Asit ' jilOicdon pnblic, h Irhefurii and cerei [injury of ed un (li bgtii, h( [Heyliger. universal [than ever lSll-g0( Kwast BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 4ti9 1 of the well, and wliidi ght be discovered by sonte ows," thought he, "bul »w of the Haiintetl House unling every visitor, and ewder fellow than myself, It to the well than by ihe ihed a thousand limes tliai i laid in the Red Sea, and him. He was in a perfect three days elapsed liefore! d for returning down .he lo Dolph, nolwilh tanding] B smiles of the pretty Marie, d more enamoured, ip from which he had ared to make sail. Dolj ;y to his host for his sudde: uler Ueyden was sorely rted half a dozen excursioi id his Indians were acliiali] pedition to one of the laki id exerted his eloquence thoughts of business and vain; and he at length gji ng, " that it was a Ihou! I should throw himself away, gave him a hearty shake i'lh a favourite fowling-pii me lo his house whenever 3 pretty little Marie said erafarewell kiss, her '■ a lear stood in her eye, on board of the vessel. Tl vas fair; they soon lost sighli ills, and embowered ii" past the Kaalskillmounlai re bright and cloudless. Tli rough the highlands, witl IhcDunderberg goblin and ross llavcrslraw Bay, and ugh the Tappaan-zee, and ii, in the afternoon of the 111 nontory of Uoboken and, shortly after, llierool ut of the water. .as to repair lo his moll tinually goaded by the idi St experience on liis ar ;ains, as he went along, loll t for his absence, wilhoul the llaunled House. In ons, he entered the sin luse was situated, when he )lding it a heap of ruins. , been a great lire, which J bouses, and the humble* liger had been involved in „all8 were not so comply IDolph could dislingnish traces of the scene of his childhood. The fire-place, jibout which he had often played, still remained, or- namented with Dutch tiles, illustrating passages in Bible history, on which he had many a time gazed vith admiration. Among the rubbish lay the wreck of the good dame's ellww-chair, from which she had given him so many a wholesome precept; and hard by it was the family Bible, with brass clasps ; now, alas! reduced almost to a cinder. For a moment Dolph was overcome by iV.la aismal sight, for he was seized wit'li the fear that his mother hiri perished in the flames. He was relieved, how- ever, from this horrible apprehension, by one of the neigbhotu's who happened to come by, and who in- formed him that his mother was yet alive. The good woman hati, indeed, lost every thing by this unlooked-for calamity ; for the populace had been so intent upon saving the line furniture of her rich neighbours, that the little tenement and the little all of poor Dame Heyliger had been suffered to consume vrilhout interruption; nay, had it not been for the gallant assistance of her old crony, Peter de Groodt, the worthy dame and her cat might have shared the fate oF their habitation. As it was, she had been overcome w^ilh fright and Jiction, and lay ill in body, and sick at heart. The pnblic, however, had showed her its wonted kindness. The furniture of her rich neighbours being, as far as possible, rescued from the flames; themselves duly md ceremoniously visited and condoled with on the injury of their property, and their ladies commiserat- |edun the agitation of their nerves; Ihe public, at toglii, began to recollect something about poor Dame jileyliger. She forthwith became again a subject of nniversal sympathy; every body pitied her more |lhanever; and if pity could but have been coined into ill— good Lord ! how rich she would have been ! It was now determined, in good earnest, that some- ling ought to be done for her without delay. The iminie, therefore, put up prayers for her on Sun- lay, in which all the congregation joined most leartily. Even Cobus Groesbeek , the alderman, and Bynheer Milledollar, the great Dutch merchant, |lood up in their pews, and did not spare their voices 1 the occasion ; and it was Ihought the prayers of |ocli great men could not but have their due weight. ictor Knipperhausen, loo, visited her professionally, iHlgave her abundance of advice gratis, and was uni- tersally lauded for his charity. As to her old friend, "elerde Groodt, he was a poor man, whose pily, and 'ayers, and advice, could be of but lillle avail, so he hve her all that was in his power— he gave her pelter. ITo the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, en, did Dolph turn his steps. On his way thither, ' recalled all the tenderness and kindness of his Jniple-hearled parent, her indidgence of his errors, fr blindness to his faults; and then he bethought "self of his own idle, harum-scarum life. "I've Kn a sad scapegrace," said Doli>li, shaking his head sorrowfully. " I've been a complete sink-pocket, that's the truth of it !— But," added he briskly, and clasping his hands, "only let her live— only let her live— and I'll show myself indeed a son ! " As Dolph approached the house he met Peter de Groodt coming out of it. The old man started back aghast, doubling whether it was not a ghost that stood before him. It being bright daylight, how- ever, Peter soon plucked up heart, satisfied that no ghost dare show his face in such clear sunshine. Dolph iiow learned from the worthy sexton th'» con- sternation and rumour to which his mysterious disap- pearance had given rise. It had been universally believed that he had been spirited away by those hobgoblin gentry that infested the Haunted House; and old Abraham Vandozer, who lived by the great Button-wood trees, at the three-mile stone, affirmed, that he had heard a terrible noise in the air, as he was going home late at night, which seemed just as if a flightof wild-geese were over-head, passing off towards the northward. The Haunted House was, in conse- quence, looked upon with ten times more awe than ever ; nobody would venture to pass a night in it for the world, and even the doctor had ceased to make his expeditions to it in the daytime. It reqiured some preparation before Dolph's return could be made known to his mother, the poor soul having bewailed him as lost; and her spirits having been sorely broken down by a number of comforters, who daily cheered her with stories of ghosts, and of people carried away by the devil. He found her confined lo her bed, with the other member of the Heyliger family, the good dame's cat, purring l)eside her, bul sadly singed, and utterly despoiled of those whiskers, which were the glory of her physiognomy. The poor woman threw her arms about Dolph's neck : "My boy! my boy! art thou still alive?" For a lime she seemed to have forgot' i all her losses and troubles in her joy at his return. Even the sage gri- malkin showed indubitable signs of joy at the return of the youngster. She saw, perhaps, that they were a forlorn and undone family, and felt a touch of that kindliness which fellow-sufferers only know. Bul, in truth, cats are a slandered people; they have mure affection in them than the world commonly gives them credit for. The good dame's eyes glistened as she saw one being, at least, beside herself, rejoiced at her son's return. " Tib knows thee ! poor dumb beasl ! " said she, smoothing down the mottled coal of her favourite ; then recollecting herself, with a melancholy shake of the head, "Ah, my poor Dolph!" exclaimed she, " lliy mother can help thee no longer ! She can no longer help herself! What will become of thee, my poor boy ! " " Mother," said Dolph, "don't talk in that strain; I've been loo long a charge upon you; it's now my part lo take care of you in your old days. Gome ! be of good he.irl ! You, and I, and Tib, will all see belter days. I'm here, you see, young, and sound, and i70 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. hearty ; then don't let us despair, I dare say thuigs will all, somehow or other, turn out for the best. " While this scene was going on with the Heyliger family, the news was carried to Doctor Knipper- hauscn, of the safe return of his disciple. The Itltle doctor scarcely knew whether lo rejoice or be sorry at the tidings. He was happy at having the foul re- ports which had prevailed concerning his country- mansion tlius disproved ; but he grieved at having his disciple, of whom he had supposed himself fairly disencumbered, thus drifting back a heavy charge upon his hands. While he was balancing between these two feelings, he was determined by the counsels of Frau Ilsy, who advised him to take advantage of the truant absence of the youngster, and shut the door upon him fur ever. At (he hour of bed-time, therefore, when it was supposed the recreant disciple would seek his old quarters, every thing was prepared for his reception. Dolph having talked his mother into a state of tran- quillity, sought the mansion of his quondam master, and raised the knocker with a faltering hand. Scarce- ly, however, had it given a dubious rap, when the doctor's head, in a red night-cap, popped out of one window, and the housekeeper's, in a white night-cap, out of another. He was now greeted with a tre- mendous volley of hard names and haitl language, mingled with invaluable pieces of advice, such as are seldom ventured to be given excepting to a friend in distress, or a culprit at the bar. In a few moments not a window in the street but had its particular night-cap, listening to the shrill treble of Frau Ilsy, and the guttural croaking of Dr Knipperhausen ; and the word went from window to window, " Ah ! here's Dolph Heyliger come back, and at his old pranks again. " In short, poor Dolph found he was likely to get nothing from the doctor but good ad- vice ; a commodity so abundant as even to be thrown out of the window ; so he was fain to beat a retreat and take up his quarters fur the night under the lowly roof of honest Peter de Groodt. The next morning, bright and early, Dolph was out at the Haunted House. Every thing looked just as he had left it. The fields were grass-grown and matted, and it ap|ieared as if nol)ody had traversed them since his departure. With palpitating heart he hastened to the well. He looked down into it, and saw that it was of great depth, with water at the iHittom. He had provided himself with a strong line, such as the lishermen use on the banks of New- foundland. At (he end was a heavy plummet and a large fish-hook. With (his he began (o sound (he bottom of the well, and lo angle about in the water. He found that the water was of some depth ; there appeared also to be much rubbish, stones from the top having fallen in. Several times his hook got en- tangled, and he came near breaking his line. Now and then, too, he hauled up mere trash, such as the scull of a horse, an iron hoop, and a shattered iron- i)onnd bucket. He had now been several hours em- ployed without finding any thingto repay his trouljie or to encourage him to proceed. He began to think himself a great fool, to be thus decoyed into a wild- goose-chase by mere dreams, and was on the point of throwing line and all into the well, and giving up all further angling. " One more cast of the line, " said he, " and (hat shall be the last. " As he sounded he felt the plummet slip, as it were, through the interstices of { loose stones ; and as he drew back the line, he felt tha( (he hook had taken hold of something heavy, He had to manage his line with great caution, lestji I should be broken by the strain upon it. By degrees the rubbish that lay upon the article which he Jud hooked gave way ; he drew it to the surface of the water, and what was his rapture at seeing sometiiing like silver glittering at the end of his line ! Almost breathless with anxiety, he drew it up to the moulkof I the well, surprised at ils great weight, and fearing I every instant that his hook would slip from its hold, and his prize tumble again to the bottom. At length I he handed it safe beside the well. It was a j,'real I silver porringer, of an ancient form, richly embossed I and with armoriul bearings, similar to those over hi J mother's mantel-piece, engraved on its side. The lid I was fastened down by several twists of wire; Dolph I loosened them with a trembling hand, and, on I the lid, behold ! the vessel was filled with broad goidenl pieces, of a coinage which he had never seen before!] It was evident he had hit on the place where old kil-| Han Yander Spiegel had concealed his treasure. Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he cau-l liously retired, and buried his pot of money in a se-l cret place. He now spread terrible stories about liie| Haunted House, and deterred every one fromapproacb-l ing it, while he made frequent visits lo it in stonnrT days, when no one was stirring in the neighbourio fields; though, to tell the truth, he did nut care li venture there in the dark. For once in his life I was diligent and industrious, and followed uphisnei^ trade of angling with such perseverance and suo that in a little while he had hooked up wealth eiiougl to make him, in those moderate days, a rich burglt for life. It would lie tedious to detail minutely the rest o his story. To tell how he gradually managed lo i)ri his properly into use without exciting surprise ani inquiry — how he satisfied all scruples with regard I retaining the property, and at the same lime gratifiej his own feelings by marrying the pretty Marie Vaa der Heyden — and how he and Heer Antony hadmai^ a merry and roving expedition together. I must nut uniil lo say, however, thai Dolph I his mother home to live with him, and cherished h in her old days. The good dame, too, had the sai faction of no longer hearing her son made liie then of censure; on the contrary, he grew daily inpuiil esteem ; eVery body spoke well of him and his win and (he lordliest burgomaster was never known I decline his invitation to dinner. Dolph often relatij BKACEBRIDGE HALL. 471 ngto repay hb troullt, id. He began to think IS decoyed into a wiW- and was on the point , the well, and giving «," said he, "and thai J sounded he felt the irougli Uie interstices of ] Bv back the line, he fell )ld of something heavy. villi great caution, leslii I Jin upon it. By degrees ihe article which he liad II it to the surface of 11k pture at seeing somelliing end of his line! Almo8l| drew it up to the moulljot great weight, and fearing 'would slip from itslioU, to the bottom. Atleiiglh Ihe well. It was a gnat lent form, richly embossed '8, similar to those over his graved on its side. Tlielid /eral twists of wire; Dolph nblinshand,and,oiiliaiii? was niled with broad golden h he had never seen before! on the place where old Kil- concealed his treasure, by some straggler, he cau- d his pot of money inast ad terrible stories about the red every one fromapproaci^j jquent visits to it in storm] stirring in the neighbour! lie truth, he did not care k. For once in his life li oiis, and followed up his UP ;h persevferance and succi ad hooked up wealth enoui loderate clays, a rich burgh detail minutely the rest ■ gradually managed loir [ithout exciting surprise ai Id all scruples with regard ind at the same time gralifK frying the pretty Marie Vai le and lleer Antony had mai tdition together, jy, however, that Dolph 1 with him, and cherishedt^ |ood dame, too, had the sal Iring her son made the thei rary, he grew daily in P»l ie well of him and his WM tnasler was never known linner. Dolph often velal at his own table, the wicked pranks which had once t)een the abhorrence of the town; but they were now considered excellent jokes, and the gravest dignitary vas fain to hold his sides when listening to them. No one was more struck with Dolph's increasing merit than his old master the doctor ; and so forgiving was Doiph, that he absolutely employed the doctor as his family physician, only taking care that iiis prescrip- tions should be always thrown out of the window. His mother had often her junto of old cronies to take a snng cup of tea with her in her comfortable little parlour ; and Peter de Groodt, as he sat by the lire- siile, with one of her grandchildren on his knee, would many a time congratulate her upon her son tnrning out so great a man ; upon which the good old soul would wag her head with exultation, and ex- claim, "Ah, neighbour, neighbour! did I not say thai Dolph would one day or other hold up his head with the best of them?" Thus did Dolph Heyliger go on, cheerily and pros- TOiisly, growing merrier as he grew older and wi- , and completely falsifying the old proverb about mey got over the devil's back ; for he made good of his wealth, and became a distinguished citizen, ind a valuable member of the community. lie was a !at promoter of public institutions, such as beef- lak-societies and catch-clubs. He presided at all ihlic dinners, and was the first that introduceil irile from the West Indies. He improved the breed race-horses and game-cocks, and was so great a ilron of modest merit, that any one, who could sing good song, or tell a good story, was sure to find a lace at his table. He was a member, too, of the corporation, made eral laws for the protection of game and oysters, liequeathed to the board a large silver punch- iwl, made out of the identical porringer before-men- d, and which is in the possession of the corpora- te Ihis very day. Finally, he died, in a florid old age, of an apo- ty at a corporation-feast, and was buried with :athonoursin the yard of the little Dutch church in iiden-street, where his tombstone may still be seen, ilhamotle.st epitaph in Dutch, by his friend Myn- T Justus Benson, an ancient and excellent poet of province. he foregoing tale rests on better authority than males of the kind, as I have it at second-hand the lips of Dolph Heyliger himself. He never ted it till towards the latter part of his life, then in great confidence, (for be was very di- l,) to a few of his particular cronies at his own le, over a supernumerary bowl of punch; and inge as the hobgoblin parts of the story may seem, never was a single doubt expressed on the sub- by any of his guests. It may not be amiss, be- concluding, to observe that in addition to his accomplishments, Dolph Heyliger was noted 'ing the ablest drawer of the long-bow in the « province. THE WEDDING. ' No more, no more, much honor aye Iwtide , The lofty bridegroom, and the lovely bride i Thai all of their succeeding days may say, Bach day appears like to a wedding-day. BBilTHWAITi. Notwithstanding the doubts and demurs of Lady Lillycraft, and all the grave objections that were con- jured up against the month of May, yet the wedding has at length happily taken place. It was celebrated at the village church, in presence of a numerous com- pany of relatives and friends, and many of the te- nantry. The squire must needs have something of the old ceremonies observed on the occasion; so, at the gate of the churchyard, several little girls of the village, dressed in white, were in readiness with bas- kets of flowers, which they strewed before the bride; and the butler bore before her the bride-«up, a great silver embossed bowl, one of the family reliques from the days of the hard drinkers. This was filled with rich wine, and decorated with a branch of rose- mary, tied with gay ribands, according to ancient custom. " Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," says the old proverb ; and it was as sunny and auspicious a morning as heart could wish. The bride looked uncommonly beautiful; but, in fact, what woman does not look interesting on her wedding-day ? I know no sight more charming and touching than that of a young and timid bride, in her robes of virgin white, led up trembling to the altar. When I thus behold a lovely girl, in the tenderness of her years, forsaking Ihe house of her fathers, and the home of her childhood ; and, with the implicit confiding, and the sweet self-abandonment, which belong to woman, giving up all the world for the man of her choice ; when I hear her, in the good old language of the ri- tual, yielding herself to him, " for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and obey, till death us do part," it brings to my mind the beautiful and affecting self-devotion of Ruth: "Whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lotlgest I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." The fair Julia was supported on Ihe trying occa- sion by Lady Lillycrall, whose heart was overflowing with its wonted sympathy in all matters of love and matrimony. As the bride approached the altar, her face would be one moment covered with blushes, and the next deadly pale; and she seemed almost ready to shrink from sight among her female com- panions. I do not know what it is that makes every one se- rious, and, as it were, awe-struck at a marriage ce- remony ; which is generally considered as an occasion of festivity and rejoicing. As the ceremony was per- forming, I observed many a rosy face among the cniintry-girls turn pale, and I did not see a smile 472 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Ill throughout the church. The young ladies from the Hall were almost as much frightened as if it had been their own case, and stole many a look of sympathy at their trembling companion. A tear stood in the eye of the sensitive Lady Lillycrafl; and as to Phcebe Wilkins, v/ho was present, she absolutely wept and sobbed aloud; but it is hard to tell, half the lime, what these fond foolish creatures arc crying about. The captain, too, though naturally gay and uncon- cerned, was much agitated on the occasion ; and, in attempting to put the ring upon the bride's flnger, dropped it on the floor ; which Lady Lillycraft has since assured me is a very lucky omen. Even Master Simon had lost his usual vivacity, and had assumed a most whimsically-solemn face, which he is apt to do on all occasions of ceremony. He had much whis- pering with the parson and parish-clerk, for he is always a busy personage in the scene ; and he echoed the clerk's amen with a solemnity and devotion that edilied the whole assemblage. The moment, however, that the ceremony was over, the transition was magical. The bride-cup was passed round, according to ancient usage, for the company to drink to a happy union; every one's feelings seemed to break forth from restraint ; Mas- ter Simon had a world of bachelor-pleasantries to utter, and as to the gallant general, he bowed and cooed alwut the dulcet Lady Lillycraft, like a mighty cock pigeon about his dame. The villagers gathered in the churchyard, to cheer the happy couple as they left the church; and the musical tailor had marshalled his band, and set up a hideous discord, as the blushing and smiling bride passed through a lane of honest peasantry to her car- riage. The ciiildren shouted and tln-ew up their hats ; the bells rung a merry peal that set all the crows and rooks Hying and cawing about the air, and threatened to bring down the balllements of the old tower ; and there was a continual popping off of rusty lirelocks from every part of the neighbourhood. The prodigal son ilistinguislied himself on the oc- casion, having hoisted a flag on the lop of the school- house, and kept the village in a hubbub from sunrise, with the sound of drum and fife and pandeanpipe; in which species of music several of his scholars are making wonderful proliciency. In his great zeal, however, he had nearly done mischief; for on re- turning from church, the horses of the bride's cir- riage took fright from the discharge of a row of old gun-barrels, which he had mounted as a park of ar- tillery in front of the school-liouse, to give the cap- lain a military salute as he passed. The day passed off with great rustic rejoicings. Tables were spread under the trees in the park, where all the peasantry of the neighbourhood were regaled with roast beef and plum-pudding, and oceans of ale. Ready-Money Jack presided at one of the tables, and became so full of good cheer, as to unbend from his usual gravity, to sing a song oul of all tune, and give two or tliree shouts of laughter, that almost electrifled his neighbours, like so many peals of thun- der. The schoolmaster and the apothecary vied with each other in making speeches over their liquor ; and there were occasional glees and musical performances by the village band, (hat must have frightened every i faun and dryad from the park. Even old Christy, who had got on a new dress, from top to tue, and | shone in all the splendour of bright leather breeclies, j and an enormous wedding-favour in his cap, forgot his usual crustiness, became inspired by wine and wassail, and absolutely danced a hornpipe on one of the tables, with all the grace and agility of a man- [ nikin hung upon wires. Equal gaiety reigned within doors, where a lar^ j party of friends were entertained. Every one lauglied I at his own pleasantry, without attending to that of| his neighlwurs. Loads of bride-cake were distri- buted. The young ladies were all busy in passing] morsels of it through the wedding-ring to dream ( and I myself assisted a fine little boarding-school girtj in putting up a quantity for her companions, w|iic||| I have no doubt will set all the little heads in llie| school gadding, for a week at least. After dinner all the company, great and smailJ gentle and simple, abandoned themselves to the dancel not the modern quadrille, with its graceful graviiyJ but the merry, social, old country-dance ; the tni| dance, as the squire says, for a wedding occasion; a it sets all the world gigging in couples, hand in handJ and makes every eye and every heart dance merriljf to the music. According to frank old usage, gentlefolks of the HaU mingled, for a time, inllH dance of the i)easantry, who had a great lent creel«| for a ball-room; and I think 1 never saw Master Si] mon more in his element than when figuring alt among his rustic admirers, as master of the monies ; and, with a mingled air of protection < gallantry, leading out the quondam Queen of Majj all blushing at the signal honour conferred uponiiei In the evening the whole village was illuminaleil excepting the houseofthe radical, whohasnotsiioir his face during the rejoicings. There was a displaj of fireworks at the school-house, got up by tiiepn gal son, which had well nigh set fire to the Luiidinj The squire is so much pleased with the exlraordiid services of this last-mentioned worthy, that he Ul| of enrolling him in his list of valuable retainers, i promoting him to some important post on the eslalj peradvenlure to be ftdconer, if the hawks caneverj brought into proper training. There is a well-known old proverb, that says, "ol wedding makes many,"— or something to the saif purpose; and I should not be surprised it if holds ^ in llie present instance. I have seen several tions among the young people, that have been hrouj together on this occasion ; and a great deulofstroili about in pairs, among the retired walks aHdhiossoj ing shrubberies of the old garden ; and if groves v really given to whispering, as poets would fain i us believe. Heaven knows what love-tales the |;nl looki inigli TJ volio caslin dinne was a lir th< ral, in heart . power aflectic Her lac of the liiere \ tobeap !y have not unli of lamb. dal)lein< Thus I daring t lily with ■so orerpi Iflesii, an Slllesurpi ri -fe BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 475 8 80 many peals of Ihun- he apothecary vied wilh I ■8 over their liquor; I id musical performances I it have frightened every rk. Even old Chrisly, is, from top to toe, and h'right leather breeches. avour in his cap, forsoi e inspired by wine and :ed a hornpipe on one oil iceandagilityof aman- hin doors, where a large [lined. Every one laughed I bout attending to Ihal o(| • bride-cake were dislri' were all busy in passing] s-edding-ring to dream « • little boarding-school girt )r her companions, all the little heads in thel k at least. jmpany, great and small. [ledlhemselveslolhedance;! , with its graceful gra\ily, d country-dance; Ihetrai for a wedding occasion; ig in couples, hand in hand, I every heart dance raerril] „.r 10 frank old usage, " iFngled, for a lime, in ,vlio had a great tent mclBl link 1 never saw Master than when iiguring al ers, as master of Uie cei inglcd air of protection quondam Queen of Ma; honour conferred upon hf "lole village was illuminaK e radical, wbohas not she cings. There was a" l-house,gotupbytUcpr» ni^hsetiiretolhebuiWii easal with the exlraordiiii tioncd worthy, ll»all»« ist of valuable relainers important post on the eslat ner, if the hawks can ever Ining- ,. li old proverb, Ibalsays. ( '-or something to the mi 9t be surprised it if boWs?< I have seen sc Uple, that have bee.ib.0. Landagreatdealotsro [he retired walks andblo^' lid garden; and if groves- ling, as poets would fain Ls what love-lales lite ?«! looking old trees abont this venerable country-seat might blab to the world. The general, too, has waxed very zealous in his de- votions within the last few days, as the time of her ladyship's departure approaches. I observed him casting many a tender look at her during the wedding- dinner, while the courses were changing ; though he Wis always liable to be interrupted in his adoration by the appearance of any new delicacy. The gene- ral, in fact, has arrived at that time of life, when the heart and the stomach maintain a kind of balance of power; and when a man is apt to be perplexed in his affections between a fine woman and a truffled turkey. Her ladyship was certainly rivalled through the whole of the first course by a dish of stewed carp ; and there was one glance, which was evidently intended tobeapoint-blank shot at her heart, and could scarce- ly have failed to effect a practicable breach, had it not unluckily been diverted away to a tempting breast of lamb, in which it immediately produced a formi- dable incision. Thus did this faithless general go on, coquetting during the whole dinner, and committing an infidel- ity with every new dish ; until in the end, he was so overpowered by the attentions he had paid to iisli, Besh, and fowl; to pastry, jelly, cream, and blanc- mange, that he seemed to sink within himself : his eyes swam beneath their lids, and their fire was so luaeh slackened, that he could no longer discharge a .single glance that would rei^ch across the table. Upon the whole, I fear the general ate himself into as much di^race, at this memorable dinner, as I have seen {bim sleep himself into on a former occasion. I am told, moreover, that young Jack Tibbets was touched by the wedding ceremony, at which he as present, and so captivated by the sensibility of ir Phecbe Wilkins, who certainly looked all the :tter for her tears, that he had a reconciliation with T that very day, after dinner, in one of the groves if the park, and danced with her in the evening, (o complete confusion of all Dame Tibbets' domestic ilitics. I met them walking together in the park, irlly after the reconciliation must have taken place. bung Jack carried himself gaily and manfully ; but loebe hung her head, blushing, as I approached. lovrever, just as she passed me, and dropped a lurlesy, I caught a shy gleam of her eye from under rbonnet ; but it was immediately cast down again. saw enough in that single gleam, and in the invo- lolary smile that dimpled about her rosy lips, to feel ilisOed that the little gipsy's heart was happy again. What is more. Lady Lillycraft, with her usual evolence and zeal in all matters of this tender lUire, on hearing of the reconciliation of the lovers, iertook the critical task of breaking the matter to idy-Money Jack. She thought liiere was no time the present, and attacked the sturdy old yeoman livery evening in the park, while his heart was lifted up with the squire's good cheer. Jack was Itlle surprised at bcingdrawn aside by her ladysbip, but was not to be flurried by snch an honour : he was still more surprised by the nature of her communica- tion, and by this first intelligence of an affair that had been passing under his eye. He listened, how- ever, wilh his usual gravity, as her ladyship repre- sented the advantages of the match, the good qualities of the girl, and the distress which she had lately suf- fered ; at length his eye began to kindle, and his hand to play with the head of his cudgel. Lady Lillycraft saw that something in the narrative had gone wrong, and hastened to mollify his rising ire by reiterating the soft-hearted Phoebe's merit and fidelity, and her great unhappiness ; when old Ready-Money suddenly interrupted her by exclaiming, that if Jack did not marry the wench, he'd break every bone in his body ! The match, therefore, is considered a settled thing; Dame Tibbets and the housekeejier have made friends, and drank tea together; and Phcpbe has again re- covered her good looks and good spirits, and is carol- ling from morning till night like a lark. But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one that I should be almost afraid to mention, did I not know that I was writing for readers well experienced in the waywardness of this most mischievous deity. The morning after the wedding, therefore, while Lady Lillycraft was making preparations for her departure, an audience was requested by her immaculate hand- maid, Mrs Hannah, who, wilh much primming of the mouth, and many maidenly hesitations, requested leave to stay behind, and that Lady Lillycraft would supply her place with some other servant. Her lady- ship was astonished : "What ! Hannah going to quit her, that had lived with her so long ! " '' Why, one could not help it ; one must settle in life some time or other. " The good lady was still lost in amazement; at length the secret was gasped from the dry lips of the maiden gentlewoman: "she had been some time thinking of clianging her condition, and at length had given her word, last evening, to Mr Christy, the huntsman." How, or when, or where this singular coui'tship had been carried on, I have not been able to learn ; nor how she has been able, with the vinegar of her disposition, to soften the stony heart of old Nimrod : so, however, it is, and it has astonished every one. With all her ladyship's love of match-making, this last fume of Hymen's torch has been loo much for her. She has endeavoured to reason with Mrs Han- nah, but all in vain ; her mind was made up, and she grew tart on the least contradiction. Lady Lilly- craft applied to the .stjuire for his interference. " She did not know what she should do without Mrs Han- nah, she had been used to have her about her so long a lime." The squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, as relieving the good lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, under whose sway she had suffered for years. In- stead of thwarting the affair, therefore, he has given it his full countenance ; and declares that he will set up the young couple in one of the best collages on his m 474 fiRACEBRIDGE HALL. '• !(l • estate. The approbation of the squire has been fol- lowed by that of the whole household : they all de- clare, that if ever matches are really made in heaven, this must have been ; for that old Christy and Mrs Han- nah were as evidently formed to be linked togMher as ever were pepper-box and vinegar-cruet. As soon as this matter was arranged, Lady Lilly- craft took her leave of the family at the Hall ; taking with her the captain and his blushing bride, who are to pass the honeymori with her. Master Simon ac- companied them on horseback, and indeed means to ride on a-head to make preparations. The general, who was fishing in vain for an invitation to her seat, handed her ladyship into her carriage with a heavy sigh; upon which liis bosom friend. Master Simon, who was just mounting his horse, gave me a know- ing wink, made an abominably wry face, and, lean- ing from his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, "It won't do ! " Then putting spurs to his horse, away he cantered off. The general stood for some time waving his hat after the carriage as it rolled down the avenue, until he was seized with a fit of sneezing, from exposing his head to the cool breeze. I observed that he returned rather thoughtfully to the house, whistling thoughtfully to himself, with his hands behind his back, and an exceedingly dubious air. The company have now almost all taken their de- parture. I have determined to do the same to-mor- row morning; and I hope my reader may not think that I have already lingered too long at tlie Hall. I have been tempted to do so, however, because I thought I had lit upon one of the retired places where there are yet some traces to be met with of old Eng- lish character. A little while hence, and all these will probably have passed away. Ready-Money Jack will sleep with his fathers : the good squire, and all his peculiarities, will be buried in the neighbouring church. The old Hall will be modernized into a fashionable country-seat, or peradventure a mani'.- factory. The park will be cut up into petty farms and kitchen-gardens. A daily coach will run through the village ; it will become, like all other common- place villages, thronged with coachmen, post-boys, tipplers, and politicians; and Christmas, F^ay-day, and all the other hearty merry-makings of the "good old times" will be forgotten. THE AUTHORS FAREWELL. And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part. Hamlet. Having taken leave of the Hall and its inmates, and brought the history of my visit to something like a close, there seems to remain nothing further than to make my bow and exit. It is my foible, however, to get on such companionable terms with my reader in the course of a work, that it really costs me some pain to part with him, and I am apt to keep him by the hand, and have a few farewell words at the end of my last volume. When I cast an eye back upon the work I am just concluding, I cannot but be sensible how full it must be of errors and imperfections; indeed how should it be otherwise, writing as I do, about subjects and scenes with which, as a stranger, I am but partially I acquainted? Many will, doubtless, find cause to smile at very obvious blunders which I may hate made; and many may, perhaps, be offended at vhat they may conceive prej udiced representations. Some will think I might have said much more on such sub- jects as may suit their peculiar tastes; whilst othen will think I had done wiser to liave left those subjects I entirely alone. It will, probably, be said, too, by some, that I view I England with a partial eye. Perhaps I do ; for I can I never forget that it is my "father land." Andyttl the circumstances under which I have viewed it hare I by no means lieen such as were calculated to produce I favourable impressions. For tlie greater part ofthel tune that I have resided in it, I have lived almost uo-l knowing and unknown; seeking no favours, andre<| ceiving none; "a stranger and a sojourner in the! land," and subject to all the chills and neglects llui| are the common lot of the stranger. When I consider these circumstances, andrecollettl how often I have taken up my pen, with a mind ill| at ease, and spirits much dejected and cast down, I cannot but think I was not likely to err on the favour-| able side of the picture. The opinions I have given « English character have been the result of much quiet dispassionate, and varied observation. It is a charade not to be hastily studied, for it always puts on a i pulsive and ungracious aspect to a stranger, those, then, who condemn my representations as li favourable, observe this people as closely and < berately aslhave done, and they will, probably, cbani their opinion. Of one thing, at any rate, I am( tain, that I have spoken honestly and sincerely, I the convictions of my mind, and the dictates of i heart. When I first published my former writir it was with no hope of gaining favour in English eye^ for I little thought they were to become current i of my own country ; and had I merely sought | pularity among my own countrymen, I should M taken a more direct and obvious way, by gratiflyi rather than rebuking the angry feelings that we^ then prevalent against England. And here let me acknowledge my wa'-ii , i:, ful feelings, for the manner in which onu «i my trii^ lucubrations has been received. I allude to the e in the Sketch Book, on the subject of the Wen feuds between England and America. I cannot < press the heartfelt delight I have experienced, atl unexpected sympathy and approbation with wlr those remarks have been received on both sides oflj Atlantic. 1 speak this not from any paltry feelin BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 47H , it really costs me somt am apt to keep him by rewell words at the end ipon the work lam just sensible how full it Diust is; indeed how should it do, about subjects and ] jnger, I am but partially doubtless, find cause to I iders which I may have laps, be offended at what id representations. Some I much more on such sub- iliar tastes; whilst olhera ■to have left those subjects too, by some, that I view J. Perhaps I do; for lean "fatherland." And yet rtiich I have viewed it have were calculated lo produce For tlie greater part of the lit I have lived almost UB- 1 seeking no favours, andre-| ger and a sojourner in ' "the chills and neglects thatl le stranger. ! circumstances, andrecoUett jp my pen, with a mind i| [j dejected and cast down, ot likely to err on the favour- The opinions I have given ' een the result of much quii observation. ItisacharacI , for it always puts on a ' aspect to a stranger, nn my representations as , people as closely and deH^ ndtheywill,probably,char- iiing, at any rate, I am honestly and sincerely, And, and the dictates of Wished my former writi laining favour in Englishes were to become current d had I merely sought |i countrymen, I should tai obvious way, by gratifly" he angry feelings that w flgland. ywledgemywan.. u, ID. nerinwhichont-oimytn' ceived. lailudetolheer the subject of the htei .and America. I cannot htlhave experienced, at and approbation with vi In received on both sidesC iot from any paltry'**'" graiifled vanity ; for I attribute the effect to no merit of my pen. The paper in question was brief and ca- sual, and the ideas it conveyed were simple and ob- vious. " It was the cause, it was the cause" alone. There was a predisposition on the part of my readers to be favourably affected. My countrymen respond- ed in heart to the filial feelings I had avowed in their name towards the parent country ; and there was a generous sympathy in every English bosom towards a solitary individual, lifting np his voice in a strange land, to vindicate the injured character of his nation. There are some causes so sacred as to carry with them an irresistible appeal to every virtuous bosom ; and he needs but little power of eloquence, who defends the iwnour of his wife, his mother, or his country. I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper, as stiowing how much good may be done by a kind word, however feeble, when spoken in season — as showing how much dormant good feeling actually exists in each country towards the other, which only wants the slightest spark to kindle it into a genial lame— as showing, in fact, what I have all along be- ilieved and asserted, that the two nations would grow L^ether in esteem and amity, if meddling and ma- lant spirits would but throw by their mischievous lis, and leave kindred hearts to the kindly impulses {nature. I once more assert, and I assert it with increased snviction of its truth, that there exists, among the eat majority of my countrymen, a favourable feel- j towards England. I repeat this assertion, because Ithink it a truth that cannot too often be reiterated, because it has met with some contradiction. bong all the liberal and enlightened minds of my ountrymen, among all those which eventually give a ne to national opinion, there exists a cordial desire I be on terms of courtesy and friendship. But, at isame time, there exists in those very minds a dis- St of reciprocal good-will on the part of England. hey have been rendered morbidly sensitive by the Hacks made upon their country by the English pi'ess ; their occasional irritability on this subject has 1 misinterpreted into a settled and unnatural hos- lily. iFor my part, I consider this jealous sensibility as )longing to generous natures. I should look u\wu conntrymen as fallen indeed from that independ- !of spirit which 's their birth-gift; as fallen in- . from that pride of <^haracter which they inherit I the proud nation from which they sprung, could |ty tamely sit down under the intliction of contumely I insult. Indeed the very impatience which they |iv as to the nisreprescntations of the press, proves -respect for English opinion, and their desire for [lishamily ; .or there is never jealousy where tnere Dot strong regard. [lis easy to say that these attacks are all the efTu- of worthless scribblers, and treated with silent ^lempt by the nation ; but alas ! the slanders of the Met travel abroad, and the silent contempt of the nation is only known at home. With England, then, it remains, as I have formerly asserted, to promote a mutual spirit of conciliation ; she has but to hold the language of friendship and respect, and she is secure of the good-will of every American bosom. In expressing these sentiments I would utter no- thing that should commit the proper spirit of my countrymen. We seek no boon at England's hands : we ask nothing as a favour. Her friendship is not ne- cessary, nor would her hostility be dangerous to our well-being. We ask nothing from abroad that we cannot reciprocate. But with respect to England, we have a warm feeling of tlie heart, the glow of consanguinity, that still lingers in our blood. In- terest apart— past differences forgotten— we extend the hand of old relationship. We merely ask, Do not estrange us from you ; do not destroy the ancient tie of blood; do not let scoffers and slanderers drive a kindred nation from your side : we would fain be friends ; do not compel us to be enemies. There needs no better rallying ground for inter- national amity, than that furnished by an eminent English writer : " There is, " says he, " a sacred bond between us of blood and of language, which no circumstances can break. Our literature must always be theirs ; and though their laws are no longer the same as ours, we have the same Bible, and we address our common Fatlier in the aame prayer. Nations are too ready to admit that they have natural ene- mies ; why should they be less willing lo believe that they have natural friends? " ■ To the magnanimous spirits of both countries must we trust to carry such a natural alliance of affection into full effect. To pens more powerful than mine I leave the noble task of promoting the cause of national amity. To the intelligent and enlightened of my own country, I address my parting voice, entreating them to show themselves superior to the petty attacks of the ignorant and the worthless, and still to look with dispassionate and philosophic eye to the moral cha- racter of England, as the intellectual source of our rising greatness ; while I appeal to every generous- minded Englishman from the slanders which disgrace the press, insult the understanding, and belie the ma- gnanimity of his country : and I invite him to look to America, as to a kindred nation, worthy of its origin; giving, in the healthy vigour of its growth, the best of comments on its parent stock ; and reflecting, in the dawning brightness of its fame, the moral ef- fulgence of British glory. I am sure that such appeal will not be made in vain. Indeed I have noticed, for some lime past, an essential change in English sentiment with regard to America. In parliament, that fountain-liead of public opinion, there seems to be an emulation, on both sides of the house, in holding the language of courtesy and friendship. The same spirit is daily becoming ' From an article ( said to be by Robert Southcy, Esq.) pu- blished in the Quarterly Review. It is to be lamented that that publication should so often forget the generous text here given '. 47C BRACEBRIDGE HALL. more and more prevalent in good society. There is a growing curiosity concerning my country, a craving desire for correct information, that cannot fail to lead to a favourable understanding. The scotTer, I trust, has had his day : the time of the slanderer is gone by. The ribald jokes, the stale common-places, which have so long passed current when America was the theme, are now banished to the ignorant and the vul- gar, or only perpetuated by the hireling scribblers and traditional jesters of the press. The intelligent and high-minded now pride themselves upon making America a study. But however my feelings may be understood or reciprocated on either side of the Atlantic, I utter them without reserve, for I have ever found that to speak frankly is to speak safely. I am not so san- guine as to believe that the two nations are ever to be bound together by any romantic ties of feeling ; but I believe that much may be done towards keep- ing alive cordial sentiments, were every well-disposed mind occasionally to throw in a simple word of kind- ness. If I have, indeed, contributed in any degree to produce such an effect by my writings, it will be a soothing reflection to me, that for once, in the course of a rather negligent life, I have been useful; that for once, by the casual exercise of a pen which has been in general but too unprofitably employed, I have awakened a chord of sympathy between the I land of my fathers and the dear land that gave me birtii. In the spirit of these sentiments I now take tny I farewell of the paternal soil. With anxious eye do I I behold the clouds of doubt and difTiculty that are I lowering over it, and earnestly do I hope that ijiey I may all clear up into serene and settled sunsiiine. In bidding this last adieu, my heart is filled vjijil fond, yet melancholy emotions; and still I linger,! and still, like a child, leaving the venerable abodes! of his forefathers, I turn to breathe forth a filial lie-l nediction : " Peace be within thy walls, oh Eng-[ land! and plenteousness within thy palaces; formal brethren and my companions' sake I will now sar,| Peace be within thee ! " E^D OF »KAC£BK]DG£ lULL. ^rii:^.. ntributed in any degree ( my writings, it will be B, that for once, in the I life, I have been useful; exercise of a pen which I unprofitably employed, I sympalliy between the | arlandthat gave me birth, ntiments I now take my I 1. "With anxious eye do bt and difficulty that are estly do I hope that they] >ne and settled sunshine. , my heart is filled with I otions; and still I linger,! ving the venerable abodes I breathe forth a filial he- 1 rithin thy walls, oh Enj-f within thy palaces; forniy| ions' sake I will now i TALES OF A TRAVELLER. BV f6tot(vt^ Crajion, <B>tnt, I am neillicr your minotaure, nor your cenlaure, nor your satyr, nor your liyxna, nor your babion, but your mecr Ira- vdter, believe me. Beh Jonso.n. TO THE READER. WOnTDT AND DEAR READER! Hist thou ever been waylaid in the midst of a pleasant rby some treacherous malady ; thy heels tripped up, and loa left to count the tedious minutes as they passed, in the iude of an inn-chamber? If thou hast, thou wilt be able 9 pity me. Behold me, internipted in the course of my Tieying up the fair banks of the Khine, and laid up by idispusilion in this old frontier town of Menlz. I have korii out every source of amusement. I know the sound of Wy dock that strikes, and l)eU that rings, in the place. I know to a second when to listen for the first tap of the ssian drum, as it summons the garrison to parade ; or at liliatbour to expect the distant sound of the Austrian mi- liary band. AU these have grown wearisome to me ; and ken the well-known step of my doctor, as he slowly paces kecorridor, with healing in (he creak of bis shoes, no longer s an agreeable interruption to the monotony of my nent. I For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours by dying German under the tuition of mine host's pretty jliedjnghter, Katrine ; but I soon found even German had It power to cliarm a languid ear, and that the conjugating \«h hebe might be powerless, however rosy the lips which lit. II tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself; I turu- lover Tolnme afler volume, but threw them by with dls- Me : " Well, then," said I at length in despair, " If I can- jlread a book, I will write one." Never was there a more diyidca; it at once gave me occupation and amusement. he writing of a book was considered, in old times, as an leiprise of toil and difficulty, insomuch that the most iQg lucubration was denominated a "work," and the 1 talked with awe and reverence of " the labours of the These matters are better understood now-^nlays. jinlis to the improvements in au kind of manufactures, the |of hook-makmg has been made familiar to the meanest Kity. Every body is an author. The scribbling of a ^IoIb the mere pastime of the idle; the young gcntlc- 1 throws off his brace of duodecimos in the intervals of |iporting season, and the young lady produces her set of DCS with the same facility that her great-grandmoth .■ M a set of chair-bottoms. he Idea linviiig struck me, therefore, to write a book, Ireader will easily perceive that the execution of it was no difficult matter. I rummaged my port-folio, and cast about, in my recollection, for those floating materials which a man natiu-ally collects in travelling ; and here I have ar- ranged them in this little work. As I know this to be a story-telling and a story-reading age, and that the world is fond of being taught by apologue, I have digested the instruction I would convey into a num- ber of tales. They may not possess the power of amuse- ment which the tales told by many of my contemporaries possess ; but then I value myself on the sound moral which each of thcni contains. This may not be apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find it out in the end. I am for curing the world by gentle alteratives, not by violent doses ; indeed the patient should never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have learnt this nmch from my expe- rience under the hands of the worthy Hippocrates ofMenta. I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which carry their moral on the surface, staring one in the face; they are enough to deter the squeamish reader. On the contrary, I have often hid my moral from sight, and disguised it as much as possible by sweets and spices ; so that while the simple reader is listening with open mouth to a ghost or a love story, be may have a bolus of sound morality popped down his throat, and be never the wiser for the fraud. As the public is apt to be curious about the sources from whence an author draws his stories, doubtless that it may know how far to put faith in them, I would observe, that the Adventure of the German Student, or rather the latter part of it, is founded on an anecdote related to me as existing somewhere in French ; and, indeed, I have been told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale has lieen founded on it by an English writer; but I have never met with cither the former or the latter in print. Some of the circumstances in the Adventure of the Mysterious Picture, and in the Story of the Toung Italian, are vague recollections of anecdotes related to me some years since; but from what source derived I do not know. The Adventure of the Young Painter among the banditti is taken almost entirely from an authentic narrative in manuscript. As to the other talcs contained in this work, and, indeed, to my talcs generally, I can make but one observation. I am an old traveller. I have read somewhat, heard and seen more, and dreamt more than all. My brain is filled, there- fore, with all kinds of odds and ends. In travelling, these heterogeneous matters have become shaken up in my mind, as the articles arc apt to be in an ill-packed travelling-lnmk ; . so that when I attempt to draw forth a fact, I cannot deter- 478 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. mine whether I have read, heard, or dreamt it; and I am always at a low to know how much to believe of my own stories. These matters being premised, fall to, worthy reader, with good appetite, and above all, with good humour, to what is here set before thee. If the talcs I have furnished should prove to be bad, they will at least be found short; so that no one will be wearied long on the same theme. " Va- riety is charming," as some poet oliserves. There is a cer- tain relief in change, even though it be from bad to worse ; as I have found in travelling in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's position and be bruised in a new place. Ever thine, GEOFFREY CRAYON. Dated from the Hotel dr Daiimstadt, ci-devant Hotel de Paris, SlENTZ, otherioisc called Mavence. PART I. STRANGE STORIES. If A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you more, there was a Rsh taken, A monstrous fish, with a sword by 's side, a long sword, A pike in 's neck, and a gun in 's nose, a huge gun. And letters of mart in 's mouth from the Duke of Florence. Cleanthes. Thiii is a monstrous lie. Tony. I do confess it. Do you think I 'd tell you truths ? rivrcBtu's fJ^ife for a Month. THE GREAT UNKNOWN. The following adventures were related to me by the same nervous gentleman who told me the ro- mantic tale of the Stout Gentleman, published in Bracebridge Hall. It is very singular, that although I expressly stated that story to have been told to me, and described the very person who told it, still it has been received as an adventure that happened to my- self. Now I protest I never met with any adventure of the kind. I should not have grieved at this had it not been intimated by the author of Waverley, in an introduction to his novel of Peveril of the Peak, that he was himself the stout gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been importuned by questions and letters from gentlemen, and particularly from ladies without number, touching what I had seen of the Great Unknown. Now all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like Iteing congratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a blank; for I have just as great a desire as any one of the public to penetrate the mystery of that vtr* I singular personage, whose voice hlls every corner or| the world, williout any one being able to tell froiof whence it comes. My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is A man of very shy retired habits, complains that he Iml been excessively annoyed in consequence of its gettin»| about in his neighbourhood that he is the fortunate personage. Insomuch, that he has become a ciiarjcJ ter of considerable notoriety in two or three countrri towns, and has been repeatedly teased to exhih himself at blue-slocking parties, for no other rea than that of being " the gentleman who has hit glimpse of the author of Waverley." Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as nenj ous as ever, since he has discovered, on such j authority, who the stout gentleman was; and vi|| never forgive himself for not having made a inon resolute effort to get a full sight of him. He ] anxiously endeavoured to call up a recollection of nh, he saw of tiiat portly personage ; and has ever sin kept a curious eye on all gentlemen of more IhanocJ dinary dimensions, whom he has seen getting imj^ stage-coaches. All in vain! The features iiel caught a glimpse of seem common to the a iiole r of stout gentlemen, and the Great Unknowyi ren as great an unknown as ever. Having premised these circumstances, I willt let the nervous gentleman proceed with his stories.! THE HUNTaVG DINNER. I WAS once at a hunting dinner, given by a wort fox-hunting old Baronet, who kept bachelor's I jovial style, in an ancient rook haunted family t sion, in one of the middle counties. He had beeni devoted admirer of the fair sex in his young da;^ but, having travelled much, studied the sex in < rious countries with distinguished success, turned home profoundly instructed, as he supp in the ways of woman, and a perfect master of (hei of pleasing, he had the mortiflcation of being jiilj by a little boarding-school girl, who was versed in the accidence of love. The Baronet was completely overcome by sucii j incredible defeat; retired from the world in disgm put himself under the government of his lioui keeper; and took to fox-hunting like a perfect Kif rod. Whatever poets may say to the contrary, a n will grow out of love as he grows old ; and a | fox-hounds may chase out of his heart even tiiei mory of a boarding-school goddess. The was, when I saw him, as merry and mellow anj bachelor as ever followed a hound; and the had once felt for one woman had spread itself m TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 470 tl« whole sex; so that there was not a pretty face in the mystery of that Ttrjld^ whole country round but came In for a share. roice h\\» every corner o(l xhe dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our ! being able to tell frool^t having no ladies in his household to summon us nio the drawing-room, the boltle maintained its true entleman, also, who is il (its, complains that he h«| I consequence of ils gellii^l d that he is the foitunjtej It he has become a chancf y in two or three counlnJ leatedly teased to exhiW irties, for no other reason] ;entleman who has M i Vaverley." as grown ten times as mni , discovered, on such | t gentleman was; and- r not having made a inort full sight of him. lie 1 calluparecolleclionotrt rsonage ; and has ever siiu gentlemen of more Ihanotl m he has seen gelling Inl^ lain ! The feature* lie 1 n common to the ; holer the Great Unknowuren i ever. se circumstances, I vrillnoJ laa proceed with his stories. [imG DUSNER. and ing dinner, given by a woi it who kept bachelor's Ml 4 rooK haunted family ma ^le counties. He had been] |e fair sex in his young da] uich, studied the sex m [istinguished success, ly instructed, as he sup] and a perfect master of ihe ie mortification of being Jill :hool girl, who was of love. ipletely overcome by sach [ed from the world in disgf government of his W Ix-hunling like a perfect M maysaylotheconlrary.a she grows old; and a pa out of his heart even to chool goddess. The as merry and mellow »ii red a hound; and ihe love fomn had spread ilself klor sway, unrivalled by its [lotent enemy the kettle. The old hall in which we dined echoed bursts of robustious fox-hunting merriment, that [e the ancient antlers shake on the walls. By , however, the wine and Ihe wassail of mine X began to operate upon bodies already a little by the chase. The choice spirits which flash- at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled for a e then gradually went out one after another, or ily emitted now and then a faint gleam from the Itt. Some of the briskest talkers, who had given ^eso bravely at the first burst, fell fast asleep; none kept on their way but certain of those long- inded prosers, who, like short-legged hounds, wor- on unnoticed at the bottom of conversation, but sure to be in at the death. Even these at length ided into silence; and scarcely any thing was lid but the nasal communications of two or three in masticators, who having been silent while rake, were indemnifying the company in their At length the announcement of tea and coffee in cedar-parlour roused all hands from this tempo- torpor. Every one awoke marvellously renovat- , and while sipping the refreshing beverage out of Baronet's old-fashioned hereditary china, began think of departing for their several homes. But a sudden uifQculty arose. While we had been longing our rep^ist, a heavy winter storm had set wilh snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter its of wind, that they threatened to penetrate to very bone. |"lt'8 all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to ik of putting one's head out of doors in such ler. So, gentlemen, I hold you my guests for niglil at least, and will have your quarters pre- accordingly." le unruly weather, which became more and tempestuous, rendered the hospitable sugges- onanswerable. The only question was, whether an unexpected accession of company to an al- ly crowded house would not put the housekeeper trumps to accommodate them. Pshaw," cried mine host, "did you ever know bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and able to late twice as many as it could hold ?" So, of a good-humoured pique, the housekeeper was ned to a consultation before us all. "The old appeared in her gala suitof faded brocade, which led with flurry and agitation ; tor, in spite of our i's bravado, she was a little perplexed. But in a !lor's house, and with bachelor guests, these are readily managed. There is no lady of se to stand upon squeamish points about lodg- igentlemen in odd holes and corners, and expos- ing the shabby parts of the establishment. A bache- lor's housekeeper is used to shifls and emergencies; so, after much worrying to and fro, and divers con- sultations about the red-room, and the blue-room, and the chintz-room, and the damask-room, and the little room with the bow-window, the matter was linally arranged. When all this was done, we were once more sum- moned to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time that had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment and consultation of Ihe cedar-parlour, was sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to engender a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast had, therefore, been tricked up from the residue of dinner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed venison, a devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of those light articles taken by country gentlemen to ensure sound sleep and heavy snoring. The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's wit ; and a great deal of excellent humour was expend- ed upon the perplexities of mine host and his house- keeper, by certain married gentlemen of the compa- ny, who considered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor's establishment. From this the banter turned as to what quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly billeted in so antiquated a mansion. " By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of the most merry and boisterous of the party, " by my soul but I should not be surprised if some of those good-looking gentlefolks that hang along the walls should walk about the rooms of this stormy night; or if I should iind the ghost of one of those long-waisted ladies turning into my bed in mistake for her grave in the churchyard." " Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said a thin hat- chet-faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. I had remarked this last personage during dinner- time for one of those incessant questioners, who have a craving, unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never seemed satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed when others laughed; but always put the joke to the question. He never could enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the shell.— " Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. "Faith but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. "I was brought up in the fear and belief of them. We had a Benshee in our own family, honey." "A Benshee, and what's that?" cried the ques- tioner. " Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your real Milesian families, and waits at their window to let them know when some of them are to die." "A mighty pleasant piece of information! " cried an elderiy gentleman with a knowing look, and wilU a flexible nose, to which he could give a whimsical twist when he wished to be waggish. 48U TALES OF A TRAVELLER. '?i * "By my soul, bal I'd have you to know il's a piece of (lislinGtion to be waited on by a Renshee. Il's a proof that one has pure blood in one's veins. liut i'faith, now we are talking of ghosts, there never was a house or a night better litted than tlie present fur a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir John, haven't you such a thing as a haunted chamber to put a guest inl' " "Perhai)s," said the liaronet, smiling, "I might accommodate you even on that point." " Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some dark oaken room, with ugly, wo-hegone portraits, that stare dismally at one; and about which the housekeeper has a power of delightful stories of love and murder. And then a dim lamp, a table with a rusty sword across it, and a spectre all in while, to drawaside one's curtains at midnight — " " In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the table, " you put me in mind of an anecdote—" " Oh, a ghos! story ! a ghost story ! " was vociferat- ed round the board, every one edging his chair a little nearer. The attention of the whole company was now turned upon the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side of whose face was no match fur the other. The eyelid drooped and hung down like an unhinged window-shutter. Indeed the whole side of his head was dilapidated, and seemed like the wing of a house shut up and haunted. I'll warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost stories. There was a universal demand for the tale. " Nay," said the old gentleman, 'Mi's a mere anec- dote, and a very common-place one ; but such as it is you shall have it. It is a slory that I once heard my uncle tell as having happened to liimself. He was a man very apt to meet with strange adventures. I have heard him tell of others much more singular." "What kind of a man was your uncle?" said the questioning gentleman. " Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body ; a great traveller, and fond of telling his adventures." " Pray, how old might he have been when that happened ? " "When what happened?" cried the gentleman with the flexible nose, impatiently. "Egad, you have not given any thing a chance to happen. Come, never mind our uncle's age; let us have his adven- tures." The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, the old gentleman with the haunted head proceeded. •raE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. Many years since, some lime before the French revolution, my uncle had passed several months at Paris. The English and French were on better terms in those days than at present, and mingled cordially together in society. The English went abroad to I spend money then, and the French were always read* I to help them : they go abroad to save money at pr^| sent, and that they can do witiiout French assistanceT Perhaps llic Iravelliug English were fewer and clioirtr| then than at present, when the whole nation broke loose and inundated the continent. At anrl rale, (hey circulated more readily and currently foreign society, and my uncle, during his residenci in Paris, made many very intimate acquaintanca among the French noblesse. Sume time afterwards, he was making a joumti in the winter lime in that part of Nornianily callal the Pays de Caux, when, as evening was closinsin, he perceived (lie turrets of an ancient chateau lisin out of the trees of its walled park; each turret, wiiji its high conical roof of grey slate, like a candle mi| an extinguisher on it. "To whom does that chateau belong, friend?'] cried my uncle to a meagre but llery postilion, v\» with tremendous jack-hoots and cocked hat, vJ floundering on before him. "To Munseigneur the Marquis de ," saidll postilion, touching his hat, partly out of respect ton uncle, and partly out of reverence to the noble i pronounced. My uncle recollected the IVIarquis for a parlioiil friend in Paris, who had often expressed a wblij see him at his paternal chateau. My uncle was t old traveller, one who knew well how to turn thin to account. He revolved for a few moments inl mind huw agreeable it would be to his friend I Marquis to be surprised in this sociable way byap visit; and how much more agreeable to hini5e![| get into r.nug quarters in a chateau, and have a rel of the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a .smack j his superior ClianipHgne and Burgundy, rather! put up with the miserable lodgment and miseral fare of a provincial inn. In a few minutes, tlierefotj the meagre postilion was cracking his whip likeavej devil, or like a true Frenchman, up the long strai avenue that led to the chateau. You have no doubt all seen French chateausj every body travels in France now-a-days. Tliisv one of the oldest; standing naked and alone inlj midst of a desert of gravel walks and cold stone ti races; with a cold-looking formal garden, cut i angles and rhomboids ; and a cold leafless | divided geometrically l.y straight alleys; and twoj three cold-looking noseless statues; and founUj spouting cold water enough to make one's chatter. At least such was the feeling they impi on the wintry day of my uncle's visit ; though, inj summer weather, I'll warrant there was glareem to scorch one's eyes out. The smacking of the postilion's whip, which j more and more intense the nearer they appn frightened a flight of pigeons out of the dovf and rooks out of the roofs, and finally a crew ofij vantsout of the chateau, with the Marquis all TALES OF A TRAVFXLER. 481 English went abroad to I 'reiu;li were always reaiijl ad lo save money al pr^l .illiout French assislan«.l sh were fewer ami clioicerl L<n Ihe whole nation hul the continent. At any| I readily and currently i icle, during his residen y intimate acquainlanca e. lie was making a journejl il part of Normandy calia as evening was closin? in, of an ancient chateau lisini led park; each turret, wii ey slate, like a candle mil . chateau belong, friend?] r;re but liery postilion, «!» ioots and cocked hat, voj in. ; Marquis de ," saiatl at, partly out of respect ion reverence lo the noble I the Marquis for a parlicul lad often expressed a widi chateau. My uncle was knew well how to turn llii ed for a few moments in t would be to his friend 1 in this sociable way by a more agreeable to liirasdH n a chateau, and have a rel iiown kitchen, and a smack ,e and Burgundy, ralbertl ble lodgment and miser; In a few minutes, ilietet scracking his whip like an nchman, up the long sUi haleau. all seen French chaleaus, ranee now-a-days. This Inding naked and alone iiH vel walks and cold stone' ,king formal garden, cut is- and a cold leafless y straight alleys; and l«ol eless statues; and founi enough to make one's was the feeling they imi y uncle's visit; though, I" arrant there was glare er postilion's whip, which the nearer they approa pigeons out of the dov ,ofs, and finally a crew ol au, wilhUieMarquBal <lMd. He was enchanted to see my uncle, for his Idateau, like the house of our ortliy host, iiad not iBjny more guests at the time n i k coi'.id acenin- giodate. So he kissed my uncle on each chci:k, after llie French fashion, and ushered him into the castle. The Marquis did the honours of his house with the urbanity of his country. In fact, he was proud ofhis family chateau, for part of it was extremely old. Ifliere was a tower and chapel which had been built I before the memory of man ; but the rest was ire modern, the castle having been nearly demolish- during the wars of the League. The Maripiis Itelt upon this event with great satisfaction, and led really to entertain a grateful feeling towards lenry the Fourth, for having thought iiis paternal ion worth battering down. He had many stories tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and several ill-caps, helmets, and cross-bows, and divers huge its, and buff jerkins, to show, which had been urn by the Leaguers. Above all, there was a two- idled sword, which he could hardly wield, but hich he displayed, as a proof that there had been ints in his family. In truth, he was but a small descendant from such [at warriors. When you looked at their bluff vi- ^es and brawny limbs, as depicted in their portraits, then at the little Marquis, with his spindle shanks, his sallow lantern visage, flanked with a pair of iwdered ear-locks, or ailes de pigeon, that seemed y to fly away with it, you could hardly believe to be of the same race. But when you looked the eyes that sparkled out like a beetle's from each ofhis hooked nose, you saw at once that he in- Ited all the fiery spirit of his forefathers. In fact, Frenclunan's spirit never exhales, however his ly may dwindle. It rather rarifies, and grows uillammable, as the earthy particles diminish; Ihave seen valour enough in a little fiery-hearted ich dwarf to have furnished out a tolerable giant. {When once the Marquis, as he was wont, put on of Ihe old helmets that were stuck up in his hall, gh his head no more filled it than a dry pea its , yet his eyes flashed from the bottom of the cavern with the brilliancy of carbuncles; and n he poised the ponderous two-handled sword of ancestors, you would have thought you saw the ;iity litde David wielding the sword of Goliath, ill was unto him like a weaver's beam. lowever, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on description of the Marquis and his chateau, but must excuse me ; be was an old friend of my le; and whenever my uncle told the story, he was lays fond of talking a great deal about his host.— r little Marquis ! He was one of that handful of Jint courtiers who made such a devoted but hope- jstand in the cause of their sovereign, in the cha- |of tlie Tuileries, against the irruption of the mob i sad tenth of August. He displayed the valour jpreux French chevalier to the last; flourished Vy his little court-sword with a ra-ra! in face of a whole legion of sans-rulotte$ : bat was pinned to the wall like a butterfly, by the pi'kC of a poissanle. and his heroic soul was borne up to Heaven on his ailes dx pigeon. But all this lias nothing to do with my story. To the point then — When the hour arrived fur retiring for the night, my uncle was shown to his room in a venerable old tower. It was the oldest part of the chateau, and had in ancient limes been the donjon or strong-hold; of course the chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had put him there, however, be- cause he knew him to be a traveller of taste, and fond of antiquities; and also because the better apartments were already occupied. Indeed he perfectly recon- ciled my uncle to his quarters by mentioning the great personages who had once inhabited them, all of whom were, in some way or other, connected wilh the fa- mily. If you would take his word for it, John Ba- liol, or as he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of chagrin in this very chamber, on hearing of the success of his rival, Robert the Bruce, ai the battle of Ban- nockburn. And when he added that the Duke de Guise had slept in it, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself on being honou><:d with such distinguished quarters. The night was shrewd and windy, and tlie cham- ber none of the warmest. An old long-faced, long- bodied servant, in quaint livery, who attended upon my uncle, threw down an armful of woo<l beside the fire-place, gave a queer look about the room, and then wished him bon repos with a grimace and a shrug that would have been suspicious from any other than an old French servant. The chamber had indeed a wild crazy look, enough to strike any one who had read romances with ap- prehension and foreboding. The windows were high and narrow, and had once been loop-holes, but had been rudely enlarged, as well as the extreme thick- ness of the walls would permit ; and the ill-iilted case- ments rattled to every breeze. You would have thought, on a windy night, some of the old leaguers were tramping and clanking about the apartment in their huge boots and rattling spurs. A door which slooil ajar, and, like a true French door, would stand ajar in spite of every reason and effort to the contrary, opened upon a long dark corridor, that led the Lord knows whither, and seemed just made for ghosts to air themselves in, when they turned out of their graves at midnight. The wind would spring up into a hoarse nmrmur through this passage, and creak the door to and fro, as if some dubious ghost were ba- lancing in its mind whether to come in or not. In a word, it was precisely the kind of comfortless apart- ment that a gliost, if ghost there were in the chateau, would single out for its favourite lounge. My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet with strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. He made several attempts to shut the door, but in vain. Not that he apprehended any thing, for he was too old a traveller to be daunted by a wild- TALES OF A TRAVELLER. looking apartment ; but the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and the wind howled about the old turret prelly much as it does round this old mansion at this moment; and the breeze from tlie long dark corridor came in as damp and chilly as if from a dun- geon. My uncle, therefore, since he could not close the doer, threw a quantity of wood on the fire, which soon sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed chim- ney that illumined the whole chamber, and made the shadow of the tongs on (he opposite wall look like a long-legged giant. My uncle now clamlwred on the top of the half score of mattresses which form a French bed, and which stood in a deep recess; then tucking himself snugly in, and burying himself up to the chin in the bed-clothes, he lay looking at the fire, and lis- tening to the wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come over his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging — and so he fell asleep. He had not taken above half of his first nap when he was awakened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret over his chamber, which struck midnight. It was just such an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, dismal tone, and struck so slowly and te- diously that my ancle thought it would never have done. He counted and counted till he was confident he counted thirteen, and then it stopped. The lire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last faggot was almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which now and then lengthened up into little white gleams. My uncle lay with his eyes half clos- ed, and his nightcap drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene with the crater of Ve- suvius, the French Opera, the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly's chop-house in London, and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a traveller is crammed :— in a word, he was just falling asleep. Suddenly he was aroused by the sound of footsteps, that appeared to be slowly pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have often heard him say himself, was a man not easily frightened. So he lay quiet, sup- posing that this might be some other guest, or some servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, however, approached the door; the door gently opened; whe- ther of its own accord, or whether pushed open, my uncle could not distinguish : a figure all in white glided in. It was a female, tall and stately in person, and of a most commanding air. Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and sweeping the floor. She walked up to the fire-place, without re- garding my uncle, who raised his night-cap with one hand, and stared earnestly at her. She remained fur some time standing by the tire, which, flashing up at intervals, cast blue and white gleams of light, that enabled my uncle to remark her appearance mi- nutely. Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still more so by the bluish light of the fire. It pos- sessed beauty, but its beauty was saddened by care and anxiety. There was the look of one accustomed to trouble, but of one whom trouble con!d not i down or subdue; for there was still the predomin ing air of proud unconquerable resolution. Suchd least was the opinion formed by my uncle, and I considered himself a great physiognomist. The figure remained, as I said, for some time li the fire, putting out first one hand, then the oUkt] then each foot alternately, as if warming itself; | your ghosts, if ghost it really was, are apt to bee My uncle, furlhern>orp, remarked that it worehijl heeled shoes, after an ancient fashion, with paste il diamond buckles, that sparkled as though they wg alive. At length the figure turned gently roi casting a glassy look about the apartment, which, | it passed over my uncle, made his blood run ( and chilled the very marrow in his bones. It i stretched its arms towards heaven, clasped its 1 and wringing them in a supplicating manner, ; slowly out of the room. My uncle lay for some time meditating on timi sitation, for (as he remarked when he told me I story) though a man of firmnes-s, he was also a i of reflection, and did not reject a thing because iti out of the regular course of events. However, 1 as I have before said, a great traveller, and i tomed to strange adventures, he drew his nighl-e resolutely over his eyes, turned his back to thed hoisted the bed-clothes high over his shoulders, i gradually fell asleep. How long he slept he could not say, when he i awakened by the voice of some one at his lied-aj He turned round, and beheld the old French sen with his ear-locks in tight buckles on each side ( longlantern-face, on which habit had deeply wrinld an everlasting smile. He made a thousand grin and asked a thousand pardons for disturbing I sieur, but the morning was considerably advan While my uncle was dressing, he called vaguelfl mind the visitor of the preceding night. He i the ancient domestic what lady was in the liabitl rambling about this part of the chateau at m The old valet shrugged his shoulders as high as I head, laid one hand on his bosom, threw upenj other with every finger extended, made a whimsical grimace, which he meant to be ( mentary : " It was not for him to know any thing; offRlj lies fortunes of Monsieur." My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory li learnt in this quarter. — After breakfast, he wasi ing with the Marquis through the modern aparti of the chateau, sliding over the well-waxed silken saloons, amidst furniture rich in gilding | brocade, until they came to a long picture-g containing many portraits, some in oil and i chalks. Here was an ample field for the eloquence ( host, who had all the pride of a nobleman of i cien rigime. There was not a grand name inl mandy, and hardly one in France, which wnj TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 485 lom ironble con'd not i e was slill the predomin erable resohilion. Suchi ned by my uncle, and I t pliysiognomisl. as I said, for some time I one band, then tlie otber| r, as if warming itself; i !ally was, are apt to be eo remarked tbat it wore biji icient fashion, with paste « larkled as tbough theywer igure turned gently ro lUt the apartment, which, J , made his blood run ( " rrow in his bones. It th •ds heaven, clasped its 1 supplicating manner, gM e lime meditating on tills 1 irked when he told me I firmnesh, he was also a i (t reject a thing because iti e of events. However,! " a great traveller, and ilures, he drew his night^ s, turned his back to thed i high over his shoulders, i le could not say, when he 3 of some one at his bed [beheld Ihe old I'renchsei ght buckles on each side( hich habit had deeply wrinlj e made a thousand grin pardons for disturbing 1 was considerably advan ressing, he called vaguely] _ preceding night. He vhat lady was in the lialitj part of the chateau at nif his shoulders as high as I n his bosom, threw «p| ger extended, made vhich he meant to be i to know any thing of l«l| frur." was nothing satisfactory « -After breakfast, he was* Lhrough the modern apartm over the well-waxed ilofl furniture rich in gildingj ame to a long picture-gr raits, some in oil and f I field for the eloquence pride of a nobleman of ' was not a grand name in ne in France, wblch wai I lome way or other, connected with his house. by uncle stood listening with inward impatience, Dg sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the other, I the little Marquis descanted, with his usual Are [ vivacity, on the achievements of bis ancestors, (hose portraits hung along the wall ; from the mar- Ideeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the gal- ptries and intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, fair smiling faces, powdered ear-locks, laced Oes, and pink and blue silk coats and breeches; — tfurgetling the conquests of the lovely shepherd- ; with hooped petticoats and waists no thicker I an hour-glass, who appeared ruling over their ) and their swains, with dainty crooks decorated jilh fluttering ribands. I In the midst of his friend's discourse, my uncle s startled on beholding a full-length portrait, which ned to him the very counterpart of his visitor of s preceding night. |"Methinks," said he, pointing to it, *' I have seen (original of this portrait." |"Pardonnez-moi," replied the Marquis politely, at can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more 1 a hundred years. That was the beautiful Du- sde Longueville, who figured during the minor- j of Louis the Fourteenth." I" And was there any tiling remarkable in her his- y?" Never was question more unlucky. The little tjois immediately threw himself into the attitude iDian about to tell a long story. In fact, my uncle 1 pulled upon himself the whole history of the civil r of the Fronde, in which the beautiful Duchess I played so distinguished a part. Turenne, Co- |iy, Mazarine, were called up from their graves to ibis narration ; nor were the affairs of the Bar- », nor the chivalry of the Port Cocheres for- len. My uncle began to wish himself a thousand i off from the Marquis and his merciless me- y, when suddenly the little man's recollections I; a more interesting turn. He was relating the ^nment of the Duke de Longueville with the bices Conde and Conti in the chateau of Vincen- Land the ineffectual efforts of the Duchess to rouse [sturdy Normans to their rescue. He had come part where she was invested by the royal sin the Castle of Dieppe. fTiie spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the Mar- f,"rose with her trials. It was astonishing to Isodelicate and beautiful a being buffet so reso- jly with hardships. She determined on a despe- [ineans of escape. You may have seen the chateau jrliich she was mewed up ; an old ragged wart of dillce standing on the knuckle of a hill, just k the rusty little town of Dieppe. One dark un- I night she issued secretly out of a small postern- I of the castle, which the enemy had neglected to The postern-gate is there to this very day ; ling upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse be- > the castle and the brow of the hill. She was followed by her female attendants, a few domestics, and some gallant cavaliers, who sUU remained faith- ful lo her fortunes. Her object was to gain a small port about two leagues distant, where she had pri- vately provided a vessel for her escape in case of emergency. " The little band of fugitives were obliged to per- form the distance on foot. When they arrived at the port the wind was high and stormy, the tide con- U-ary, the vessel anchored far off in the road ; aud no means of getting on board but ^y a fishing shallop that lay tossing like a cockle-shell on the etlge of the surf. The Duchess determined to risk the attempt. The seamen endeavoured to dissuade her, but the im- minence of her danger on shore, and the magnani- mity of her spirit, urged her on. She had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. Such was the violence of the winds and waves that he faltered, lost his foot-hold, and let his precious burthen fall into the sea. " The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, she got to land. As soon as she had a little recovered strength, ihe insisted on renewing the attempt. The storm, however, had by this time become so violent as to set all efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be discovered and taken prisoner. As the only resource left, she procured horses, mounted, with her female attendants, en croupe behind the gallant gentltinien who accompanied her, and scoured the country to seek some temporary asylum. " While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying his forefinger on my uncle's breast to arouse his flagging attention, "while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the tempest in this dis- consolate manner, she arrived at this chateau. Her approach caused some uneasiness ; for the clattering of a troop of horse at dead of night up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to oc- casion alarm. " A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, galloped a-head, and announced the name of the visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled. The house- hold turned out with flambeaux to receive her; and never did torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-strained band than came tramping into the court. Such pale, care-worn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and her females pre- sented, each seated behind her cavalier : while the half-drenched, half-drowsy pages and attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep and fatigue. " The Duchess was received with a hearty wel- come by my ancestor She was ushered into the hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed, to cheer herself and her train; and every spit and stewpan wan put in requisition to prepare ample re- freshment for the wayfarers. « She had a right to our hospitalities," continued iH^ TALES OF A TRAVELLER. the Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness," for she was related to our family. I'll tell you how it was. Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde " " But, did the Duchess pass the night in the cha- teau?" said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of getting involved in one of the Marquis's ge- nealogical discussions. " Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very apartment you occupied last night, which at that time was a kind of state-apartment. Her followers were ({uartered in the chambers opening upon the neigh- bouring corridor, and her favourite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and down the corridor walked the great chasseur who had announced lier arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fellow ; and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply- marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of defending the castle with his single arm. "It was a rough, rude night; about this time of the year — apropos ! — now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of her visit. I may well remember the precise date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. There is a singular tradition concern- ing it in our family." Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy eye- brows. ' ' There is a tradition— that a strange occur- rence took place that night — A strange, mysterious, inexplicable occurrence—" Here he checked him- self, and paused. " Did it relate to that lady?" inquired my uncle eagerly. "It was past the hour of midniglit," resumed the Marquis, — "when the whole chateau " Here he paused again. My uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity. " Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush streaking his sallow visage. " There are some cir- cumstances connected with our family history which I do not like to relate. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes among great men : for you know high blood, when it runs wrong, will not run tamely like blood of the canaille— poor lady !— But I have a little family pride, that — excuse me— we will change the subject, If you please — " My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompons and magnificent introduction had led him to expect something wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamish- ness. Besides, being a traveller in quest of informa- tion, he considered it his duty to inquire into every thing. The Marquis, however, evaded every question. — "Well," said my uncle, a little petulantly, "what- ever you may think of it, I saw that lady last night." The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise. " She paid me a visit in my bed-chamber." The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shn and a smile ; taking this no doubt for an awkwai piece of English pleasantry, which politeness reqaired him to be charmed with. My uncle went on gravely, however, and relaia the whole circumstance. The Marquis heard hhi through with profound attention, holding his snail box unopened in his hand. When the story vm finished, he tapped on the lid of his box deliberatelrl took a long, sonorous pinch of snuff " B-\h ! " said the Marquis, and walked towards tl othsi" end of the gallery. Here the narrator paused. The company waite for some time for him to resume his narration;! he continued silent. "Well," said the inquisitive gentleman— "i whatdid your uncle say then ? " " Nothing," replied the other. " And what did the Marquis say further?" "Nothing." "And is that all?" "Thatisall,"saidlhe narrator, filling aglassorvin "I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman vil the wagg'«'A nose, " I surmise the ghost must haj been the old housekeeper walking her rounds (os that all was right." "Bah!" said the narrator. "My uncle was ti much accustomed to strange sights not to luiow| ghost from a housekeeper ! " There was a murmur round the table half of n riment, half of disappointment. I was inclined I think the old gentleman had really an afterpartoflj story in reserve ; but he sipped his wine and saidg thing more ; and there was an odd expression abi his dilapidated countenance that left me in i whether he were in drollery or earnest. "Egad," said the knowing gentleman, wilhl flexible nose, " this story of your uncle puis mel mind of one that used to be told of an aunt of i by the mother's side ; though I don't know thatilij bear a comparison, as the good lady was not so [ to meet with strange adventures. But at anyij you shall have it." THE ADVENTURE OF Ml AUNT. Mt aunt was a lady of large frame, strong i and great resolution : she was what might be I a very manly woman. My uncle was a tiiin, f little man, very meek and acquiescent, and not for my aunt. It was observed that he dwindled! dwindled gradually away, from the day of hislj riage. His wife's powerful mind was too tm him; it wore him out. My aunt, however,! possible care of him ; had half the doctors in W prescribe for him ; made him lake all their pR tions, and dosed him with physic enough to i TALES OF A TllAVELLER. 485 lis snnff-box with a shrnj] 10 doubt for an awkwa which politeness required ly, however, and relala The Marquis Iward hb tention, hoUiing his snnlf id. When the story wjj lid of his box deUberatelyJ ih of snuff lis, and walked towards tl ised. The company waite^ I resume his narration; I quisitive genUeman-"! Llien?" le other. larquis say further?" larrator, filling aglassofwm e shrewd old gentlerean wi^ surmise the ghost must I [ler walking her rounds los arrator. "My uncle to! strange sights not to knowj per!" ir round the table half of I wintment. I was inclined! n had really an afterpartol e sipped his wine and said was an odd expression al nance that left roe in roUery or earnest, knowing gentleman, wilh tory of your uncle puis me to be told of an aunt of " hougli I don't know that il the good lady was not 80- adventures. But at any rURE OF MY AUNT. ly oflarge frame, strong she was what might bet 1. My uncle was a thin, and acquiescent, and no observed that he dwindledl Iway, from the day of his Iwerful mind was too mi" It. My aunt, however, [had half the doctors in t( liade him take all their pi with physic enough to vliole hospital. All was in vain. My uncle grew vorse and worse the more dosing and nursing he underwent, until in the end he added another to the long list of matrimonial victims who have been killed with kindness. '<And was it his ghost that appeared to her?" asked the inquisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former story-teller. "You shall hear," replied the narrator. — " My aunt look on mightily for the death of her poor dear hus- band. Perhaps she felt some compunction at having given liim so much physic, and nursed him into his grave. At any rate, she did all that a widow could do to honour his memory. She spared no expense in either the quantity or quality of her mourning veeds; she wore a miniature of liim about her neck as large as a little sun-dial ; and she had a full-length portrait of him always hanging in her bed-chamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the skies; and it was determined that a woman who behaved so well (0 the memory of one husband deserved soon to get another. It was not long after this that she went to take up her residence in mi old o intry-seat in Derbyshire, which had long been in the care of merely a steward and housekeeper. She took most of her servants with her, intending to make it her principal abode. The house stood in a lonely, wild part of the country, imong the grey Derbyshire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak heigiit in full view. The servants from town were half frightened out of their wits at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan- looking place; especially when they got together lin the servants' hall in the evening, and compu ed notes on all the hobgoblin stories they had picked up in the course of the day. They were afraid to entnre alone about the gloomy, black-looking cham- rs. My lady's maid, who was troubled with nerves, leclared she could never sleep alone in such a " gashly immaging old building ; " and the footman, who was kind-hearted young fellow, did all in his power to r her up. My aunt herself seemed to be struck with the lonely arance of the house. Before she went to bed, refore, she examined well the fastenings of the irs and windows ; locked up the plate with her iwn hands, and carried the keys, together with a itlebox of money and jewels, to her own room; for was a notable woman, and always saw to all lings herself. Having put the keys under her pillow, ind dismissed her maid, she sat by her toilet arrang- her hair; for being, in spite of her grief for my ie, rather a buxom widow, she was somewhat irticnlai' about her person. She sat for a little while iking at her face in the glass, ilrst on one side, then Ihe other, as ladies are apt to du when they would irtai.i whether they have been in good looks ; for roystering country squire of the neighbourhood, ilhwliom she bud flirted when a girl, had called ildaj to welcome her to the country. All of a sudden she thought she heard something move behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was nothing to be seen. Nothing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor dear man, which had been hung against t' «; wall. She gave a heavy sigli to his memory, as she was accustomed to do whenever she spoke of him in com- pany, and then went on adjusting her night-dress, and thinking of the squire. Her sigh was re-echoed, or answered by a long-drawn breath. She looked round again, but no one was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the wind oozing through the rat-holes of the old mansion, and proceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, when all at once, she thought she per- ceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. " The back of her head being toward it ! " said the story-teller with the ruined head, " good ! " " Yes, sir! " replied drily the narrator; " her back being toward the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflection in the glass. " Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circumstance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. To assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her forehead as if rubbing it, peeped through her fingers, and moved the candle with the other hand. The light of the taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it. She was sure it moved. Nay more, it seemed to give her a wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to do when living ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart; for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fearfully si- tuated. The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir [turning to the old story-teller], became instantly calm and collected. She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed an air, and did not make a single false note. She casually overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle and picked up the articles one by one from the floor ; pursued a rolling pincushion that was making the best of its way under the bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an instant into the corridor, as if in doubt whether to go ; and then walked quietly out. She hastened down stairs, ordered the servants to arm themselves with the weapons that first came to hand, placed herself at their head, and returned al- most immediately. Her hastily-levied army presented a formidable force. The steward had a rusty blunderbuss, the coachman a loaded whip, the footman a pair of horse- pistols, the cook a huge chopping -knife, and the butler a bottle m each hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker, and in my opinion, she was the most formidable of the party. The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay alone in the servants' hall, brought up the rear, smelling to a broken bottle of vo- latile salts, and expressing her terror of the ghosteses. " Ghosts ! " said my aunt resolutely. " Til singe their whiskers for them ! " 1'liey entered the chamber. All was still and un- 4ij6 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. disturbed as when she had left it. They approached the portrait of my uncle. " Pull me down that picture !" cried my aunt. A lieavy groan, and a sound like the chattering of teeth, issued from the portrait. The servants shrunk back ; the maid uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the foot- man for support. " Instantly ! " added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind it, in which iiad formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth a round-shouldered, black-bearded var- let, with a knife as long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen-leaf. " Well, and who was he ? No ghost, I suppose, " said the inquisitive gentleman. "A Knight of the Post, " replied the narrator, " who had been smitten with theworthof the wealthy widow ; or rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her chamber to violate her purse, and rifle her strong-box, when all the house should be asleep. In plain terms, " continued he, " the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the neighbourhood, who had once beau a servant in the house, and had been employed to assist in arranging it for the reception of its mis- tress. He confessed that he had contrived this hid- ing-place for his nefarious purposes, and had borrowed an eje from llie portrait by way of a reconnoitring- hole. " " And what did they do with him ?— did they hang him ? " resumed the questioner. " Hang him !— how could they ? " exclaimed a beetle-browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. " The offence was not capital. No robbery, no assault had been committed. No forcible entry or breaking into the premises. — " " My aunt, " said the narrator, " was a woman of spirit, and apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to be drawn through the horse- pond, to cleanse away all offences, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken towel. " " And what became of him afterwards ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. " I do not exactly know. I believe he was sent on a voyage of improvement to Botany Bay. " " And your aunt, " said the inquisitive gentleman ; " I'll warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the room with her after that. " "No, sir, she did better ; she go fe her hand shortly after to the roystering squire ; for she used to observe, that it was a dismal thing for a \ oman to sleep alone in the country. " " She was right, " observed the ii.quisitive gentle- man, nodding sagaciously ; " but I am sorry they did not hang that fellow. " It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclu- sion, though a country clergyman present regretted (hat llie uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had not been married together : they certain- ly would have been well matched. " But I don't see, after all, " said the inquisitive gentleman," tliat there was any gh»sl in this Usi story. " " Oh ! if it's ghosts you want, honey, " cried the Irish Captain of Dragoons, " if it's ghosts you want, you shall have a whole regiment of tliem. And since these gentlemen have given the adventures of their uncles and aunts, faith and I'll even give youi cliapter out of my own family history. " . THE BOLD DRAGOON; OH . TOE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER. Mt grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a pro. fession, d'ye see, that has run in the family. All my forefathers have been dragoons, and died on the I of honour, except myself, and I hope my (Mulerity I may be able to say the same ; however, I don't meiig I to be vainglorious.— Well, my grandfather, as I said, I was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low! Countries. In fact, he was one of that very army, I which, according to my uncle Toby, swore so terribly I in Flanders. He could swear a good stick bimscir;! and moreover was the very man that introduced tiie| doctrine Corporal Trim mentions of radical heat aodi radical moisture; or, in other words, the mode oil keeping out the damps of ditch-water by bnrntl brandy. Be that as it may, it's nothing to the par-f port of my story. I only tell it to show you thatoiyl grandfather was a man not easily to be hunibuggdl He had seen service, or, according to his own phrase,! he had seen the devil — and thul's saying every III Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his i to England, for which he intended to embark frt Ostend— bad luck to (he place ! for one where I wa kept by storms and head- winds for three long day! and the devil of a jolly companion or pretty faced comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my grandratii was on his way to England, or rather to Oslend-M liiaiier which, it's all the same. So one evenini towards nightfall, he rode jollily into Bruges— Veij like you all know Bruges, gentlemen ; a queer oidj fashioned Flemish town, once, they say, a great pla( for trade and money-making in old times, wheni Mynheers were in their glory ; but almost as lar; and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the pre day. — Well, gentlemen, it was at the time of the aoj nual fair. All Bruges was crowded ; and the cani swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets swanm with Dutch merchants; and there was hardly i getting along for goods, wares, and merchaiidis and peasants in big breeches, and women in iMilj score of petticoats. My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy sla TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 487 together: they certain- hed. " said the inquisit'm any gh>sl in this latl ant, honey, "cried the if it's ghosts you want, ^iment of them. And »iven the adventures of jnd I'll even give you » y history." DRAGOON; ruE r GRANDFATHER. >ld dragoon, for it's a pro- run in tlie family. Allmj oons, and died on Ihe field and I hope my iiosleriljl le; however, I don't mean I my grandfather, as I said, i had served in tl>e Low m one of that very army, icle Toby, swore so terriWj wear a good slick YAmsAl; ry man that introduced tbel (lenlions of radical heal and oilier words, the modeol] of ditch-water by buinl] ay, it's nothing to the pur-| J tell it to show you ihalmyj )t easily to he humbuggei iccordingtohisownphrase,| nd that's saying every thing, grandfather was on his % 'e inlended to embark fri place! for one where I w -winds for three long day [companion or prelly face was saying, my grandfall ,d, or ralher to Ostend-i ,ie same. So one evenir ,ejoUily into BrHges-V( s, gentlemen; aqueeroli once, they say, a great plr ing in old times, when glory ; but almost as lai uman's pocket at the pn it was at the time of the a as crowded; and the car ,at8, and the streets swam and there was hardly wares, and merchandi eches, and women in h LllUy along, in his easy! ing way, for he was a saucy sun-shiny fellow— staring about him at Ihe motley crowd, and the old houses n'ith gable-ends to the street, and storks' nests on the chimneys ; winking at the yafrows who showed their bws at the windows, and joking the women right and left in the street; all of whom laughed, and took it in amazing good part; for though he did not know a word of Ihe language, yet he had always a knack of making himself understood among the women. Well, gentlemen, it being the time of Ihe annual fair, all the town was crowded, every inn and tavern full, and my grandfather applied in vain from one to the other fur admittance. At length he rode up to an old rackety inn that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats would have run away from if they could have found room in any other house to pat their heads. It was just such a queer building as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up into the clouds, and as many garrets, one over (he other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. Kotliing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck to a house in the Low Countries ; and at the very time of my grandfather's arrival there were two of these long-legged birds of grace standing like ghosts lOB the chimney-lop. Faith, but they 'vekept the house on its legs to this very day, for you may see it any llime you pass through Bruges, as it stands there yet; y it is turned into a brewery of strong Flemish r,— at least it was so when I came that way after battle of Waterloo. My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he ap- iched. It might not have altogether struck bis , had he not seen in large letters over the door, HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DBAXK. |ly grandfather had learnt enough of the language gknow (hat the sign promised good liquor. "This ^the house for me," said he, stopping short before edoor. I The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was ment in an old imi, frequented only by the peace- hl sons of trallic. A rich burgher of Antwerp, a jitdy ample man in a broad Flemish hat, and who |»(he great man, and great patron of the establish- nt, sat smoking a clean long pipe on one side of e door; a fat little distiller of geneva, from Schie- a, sat smoking on the other ; and the bottle-nosed Mslood in the door; and the comely hostess, in iiiped cap, beside him : and the hostess's daughter, fliimp Flanders lass, with long gold pendants in her fs, was at a side window. ["Humph!" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, llh a sulky glance at the stranger. |"Die duyvel ! " said the fat little distiller of Schie- the landlord saw, with the quick glance of & pub- kn, that the new guest was not at all at all to the |le of the old ones; and, to tell the truth, he did 1 himself like my grandfather's saucy eye. He shook his head. <<Not a garret in the house but was full." " Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. "Not a garret!" echoeil the daughter. The burgher of Antwerp, and the little distiller of Schiedam, continued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eying the enemy askance from under their broad hats, but said nothing. My grandfather was not a man to be brow-beaten. He threw the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his head on one iide, stuck one arm a-kimbo, "Faith and troth!" said he, "but I'll sleep in this house this very night." — As he said this he gave a slap on his thigh, by way of emphasis — the slap went to the landlady's heart. He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and making his way past the staring Mynheers into the public room.— Maybe you've been in the bar- room of an old Flemish inn — faith, but a handsome chamber it was as you'd wish to see ; with a brick floor, and a great fire-place, with the whole Bible history in glazed tiles; and then (he mantel-piece, pitching itself head foremost out of the wall, with a whole regiment of cracked teapots and earthen jugs paraded on it; not to mention half a dozen great Delft platters, hung about the room by way of pic- tures; and the little bar in one corner, and the bounc- ing bar-maid inside of it, with a red calico cap and yellow ear-drops. My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he cast an eye round ihe room — " Faith this is the very house I've been looking after," said he. There was some further show of resistance on the part of the garrison; but my grandfather was an old soldier, and an Irishman to boot, and not easily re- pulsed, especially after he had got into the fortress. So he blarneyed the landlord, kissed the landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, chucked the bar-maid under the chin ; and it was agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand pities, and a burn- ing shame into the bargain, to turn such a bold dra- goon into the streets. So they laid their heads together, that is to say, my grandltither and the landlady, and it was at length agreed to accommodate him with an old chamber that had been for some time shut up. " Some say it's haunted," whispered the landlord's daughter; " but you are a bold dragoon, and I dare say don't fear ghosts." " The divil a bit !" said my grandfather, pinching her plump cheek. " But if I should be troubled by ghosts, I've been to the Red Sea in my lime, and have a pleasant way of laying them, my darling." And then he whispered something to the girl which made her laugh, and give him a good-humoured box on the ear. In short, there was nobody knew better how to make his way among the petticoats than my grandfather. In a little while, as was his usual way, he took complete possession of the house, swaggering all over 488 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. r i it; into the stable to look after his horse, into the kitchen to look after his supper. He had something to say or do with every one; smoked with the Dutch- men, drank with the Germans, slapped the land- lord on the shoulder, romped with his daughter and the bar-maid : — never , since thedays of Alley Croaker, Iiad such a rattling blade lieen seen. The land- lord stared at him with astonishment ; the landlord's daughter bung her head and giggled whenever he came near; and as he swaggered along the corridor, with his sword trailing by his side, tlie maids looked after him, and whispered to one another, "Wliat a proper man ! " At supper, my grandfather took command of the table-d'hdte as though he bad been at home; helped every body, not forgetting himself; talked with every one, wbetlier he understood their language or not; and made his way into the intimacy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had never been known to be sociable with any one during his life. In fact, he revolutionized the whole establishment, and gave it such a rouse that the very house reeled with it. He outsat every one at table excepting the little fat dis- tiller of Schiedam, who sat soaking a long lime be- fore he broke forth ; but when he did, he was a very devil incarnate. He took a violent affection for my grandfather; so they sat drinking and smoking, and telling stories, and singing Dutch and Irish songs, without understanding a word each other said, until the little Hollander was fairly swamped with his own gin and water, and carried off to bed, whooping and liiccuping, and trolling the burthen of a Low Dutch love-song. Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his quarters up a large staircase, composed of loads of hewn timber; and through lung rigmarole passages, hung with blackened paintings of lish, and fruit, and game, and country frolics, and huge kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such asyou seeabout old-fashion- ed Flemish inns, till at length he arrived at his room. An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded with all kinds of trumpery. It looked like an infirmary for decayed and superannuated furni- ture, where every thing diseased or disabled was sent to nurse or to be forgotten. Or rather it might be taken for a general congress of old legitimate moveables, where every kind and country had a re- presentative. No two chairs were alike. Such high backs and low backs, and leather bottoms, and worst- ed Iwttoms, and straw bottoms, and no bottoms; and cracked marble tables with curiously-carved legs, holding balls in their claws, as though they were going to play at nine-pins. My grandfather made a bow to the motley assem- blage as he entered, and, having undressed himself, placed his light in the fireplace, asking pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be making love to the shovel in the chimney-corner, and whispering soft nonsense in its ear. The rest of the guests were by this time sound a- sleep, for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The housemaids, one by one, crept up yawning to their I attics, and not a female head in the inn was laid on a j pillow that night witliout dreaming of the bold dra- 1 goon. My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and I drew over him one of those great bags of down, under which they smother a man in the Low Couniries- and there lie lay, melting between two feather-I like an anchovy sandwich between two slices of toast I and butter, lie was a warm-complexioned nun I and this smothering played the very deuce with hiin. So, sure enough, in a little time it seemed as ifal^| gion of imps were twitching at him, and all the blood I in his veins was in a fever heat. He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet I excepting the snoring of the Mynheers from the dif-f ferent chambers ; who answereil one another In aij| kinds of tones and cadences, like so many bujl-frogsl in a swamp. The quieter the house became, the morel unquiet became my grandfather. He waxed wamierl and warmer, until at length the bed became tool] to hold him. "Maybe the maid had warmed it too inuch?'j said the curious gentleman, inquiringly. " I rather think the contrary," replied the Iri man.—" But, be that as it may, it grew too Iwt I my grandfather." " Faith, there's no standing this any longer," s he. So he jumped out of bed, and went stroiJii about the house. "What for?" said the inquisitive gentlenuBJ "Why to cool himself, to be sure — or perhaps 11 find a more comfortable bed— or perhaps— But i matter what he went for— he never mentiuned-aoi there's no use in taking up our time in conjecturing.] Well, my grandfather bad been for some timealj sent from his room, and was returning, perfectlyc when just as he reached the door he li«.ard a strai noise within . He paused and listened . It seemed i if some one were trying to bum a tune in defiance j the asthma. He recollected the report of the i being haunted; but he was no believer in ghosts,^ he pushed the door gently open and peeped in, Egad, gentlemen, there was a gamlwl carryingtj within enough to have astonished St Anthony hinis By the light of the flre he saw a pale weazen-fac fellow in a long flannel gown and a tall white nij;l cap with a tassel to it, who sat by the fire with a b lows under his arm by way of bagpipe, (torn nil he forced the asthmatical music that had bothered!^ grandfather. As he played, too, he kept twitd about with a thousand queer contortions, nodding | head, and bobbing about his tasseled night-cap. My grandfather thought this very odd and i presumptuous, and was about to demand whatt ness he had to play his wind-instrument in am gentleman's quarters, when a new cause of asb ment met his eye. From the opposite side ofj room a long-backed, liandy-legged chair covered i TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 4«9 e huge sleepers. Thr ■ ^(^t, and studded aU over in a coxcombical fashion pt up yawning to their l^tliUtUe brass nails, got suddenly into motion, thrust in the inn was laid on a B^l first a claw foot, then a crooked arm, and at laming of the bold dra- ligigth, making a leg, slided gracefully up to an easy ■cliair of tarnished brocade, with a hole in its bottom, [tart, got into bed, and ■g„iied it gallantly out in a ghostly nunuet about the reat bags of down, under p in the Low Coumries;! 'tween two feather-beds, I jlween two slices of toast I arm-complexioned man,! the very deuce with him. I time it seemed as if a It I r at him, and all the bloodl leat. I ltd all the house was quiet,! le Mynheers from thedif-l swered one anot»»er inalll like so many bull-fropl ;s, he house became, the t father. He waxed waraia 'ih the bed became too I I warmed it loo much? n, inquiringly. )ntrary," replied the Iris! it may, it grew loo Iwl I nding this any longer," SJT of bed, and went slroUii the inquisitive genllemai f, to be sure— or perhaps [ bed— or perhaps-But r_-be never mentioned-ai up our time in conjecturinj. lad been for some time-' was returning, perfectly thedoorhehvardastri and listened. It seemed to hum a tune in defiance ected the report of the was no believer in ghosts, tiy open and peeped in. re was a gambol carrying tonished St Anthony hinif he saw a pale weazen-(i gown and a tall while ni who sat by the fire with a way of bagpipe, hom«i al music that had bothered j .layed, too, he kept twiiit '[ueer contortions, nodduig t his tasseled night-cap. Ight this very odd and 'about to demand what wind-instrument in an( -vhenanewcauseofasio Irom the opposite side rf Indy-lcgged chair covered The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and 0xd his head and his nightcap about like mad. By degrees the dancing mania seemed to seize upon all other pieces of furniture. The antique, long-bo- chairs paired off in couples and led down a coun- dance; a three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, logh horribly puzzled by its supernumerary limb ; le the amorous tongs seized the shovel round the it, and whirled it about the room in a German ;altz. In short, all the moveables got in motion : letting, hands across, right and left, like so many ils; all except a great clothes-press, which kept irtseying and courtseying, in a corner, like a dow- ;r, in exquisite time to the music ; being rather too . julent to dance, or, perhaps, at a loss for a partner. My grandfather concluded*th« latter to be the in; so being, lik? a true Irishman, devoted to the II, and at all times ready for a frolic, he Iwunced into room, called to the nmsician to strike up Paddy Rafferly, capered up to the clothes-press, and seiz- upon two handles to lead her out : when — ihirrl the whole revel was at an end. The chairs, les, tongs, and shovel, slunk in an instant as quietly ito their places as if nothing had happened, and the ician vanished up the chimney, leaving the bel- behind him in his hurry. My grandfather found ilf seated in the middle of the floor with the clo- 'press sprawling before him, and the two liandles :ed off, and in his hands. "Then, after all, this was a mere dream!" said inquisitive gentleman. "Thedivilabitof adream!" replied the Irishman. There never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, luld have liked to see any man tell my grandfa- it was a dream." Well, gentlemen, as the clothes-press was a mighty K^body, and my grandfather likewise, particularly rear, you may easily suppose that two such heavy lies coming to the ground would make a bit of a Faith, the old mansion shook as though it had ken it for an earthquake. Tho whole garrison alarmed. The landlord, who slept below, hur- up with a candle tc inquire the carise, but with Ills haste his daughter had arrived at the scene of r before .him. The landlord was followed by landlady, who was followed by the bouncing bar- who was followed by the simpering chamber- , all holding together, as well as they could, garments as they had first laid hands on; but all terrible hurry to see what the deuce was to pay le chamber of the bold dragoon. ly grandfather related the marvellous scene he had lessed, and the broken handles of the prostrate clothes-press bore testimony to the fact. Thei-e was no contesting such evidence; particularly with a lad of my grandfather's complexion, who seemed able to make good every word either with sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched his head and looked silly, as he was apt to do when puzzled. The landlady scratched— no, she did not scratch her head, but she knit her brow, and did not seem half pleased with the explanation. But the landlady's daughter corrobo- rated it by recollecting that the last person who had dwelt in that chamber was a famous juggler who had died of St Yitus's dance, and had no doubt Infected all the furniture. This set all things to rights, particularly when the chambermaids declared that they had all witnessed strange carryings on in that room; and as they de- clared this " upon their honours," there could not re- main a doubt upon the subject. " And did your grandfather go to bed again in that room?" said the inquisitive gentleman. " That's more than I can tell. Where he passeil the rest of the night was a secret he never disclosed. In fact, though he had seen much service, he was but indifferently acquainted with geography, and apt to make blunders in his travels about inns at night which it would have puzzled him sadly to account for in the morning." " Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep?" said the knowing old gentleman. " Never that I heard of." There was a little pause after this rigmarole Irish romance, when the old gentleman with the haunted head observed, that the stories hitherto related had rather a burlesque tendency. " I recollect an adven- ture, however," added he, " which I heard of during a residence at Paris, for the truth of which I can un- dertake to vouch, and which is of a very grave and singular nature." ^ m TBB ADVENTURE OV THE GERMAN STUDENT. On a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of the French revolution, a young German was returning to his lodgings, at a late hour, across the old part of Paris. The lightning gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder rallied through thelofly narrow streets— but I should first tell you something about this young German. Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good fa- mily. He had studied for some time at Gottingen, but being of a visionary and enthusiastic character, he had wandered into those wild and speculative doctrines which have so often bewildered German students. His secluded life, his intense application, and the singular nature of his studies, had an effect on both mind and body. His health was impaired ; his imagination diseased. He had been indulging in 02 ; 490 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. fanciful speculations on spiritual essences, until, like Swedenborg, he had an ideal world of his own around him. He took up a notion, I do not know from what cause, that there was an evil influence hanging over him ; an evil genius or spirit seeking to ensnare him and ensure his perdition. Such an idea working on his melancholy temperament, produced the most gloomy effects. He became haggard and des[>ond- ing. His friends discovered the mental malady that was pf eying upon him, and determined that the best cure vas a change of scene; he was sent, therefore, to finish his studies amidst the splendours and gaieties of Paris. Wolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out of the revolution. The popular delirium at first caught bis enthusiastic mind, and he was captivated by the political and philosophical theories of the day : but the scenes of blood which followed shocked his sen- sitive nature, disgusted him with society and the world, and made him more than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a solitary apartment in the Pays iMtin, the quarter of students. There, in a gloomy street not far from the monastic walls of the Sor- bonne, he pursued his favourite speculations. Som'v times he spent hours together in the great libraries of Paris, those catacombs of departed authors, rum- maging among their hoards of dusty and obsolete works in quest of food for his unhealthy appetite. He was, in a manner, a literary goul, feeding in the charnel-house of decayed literature. Wolfgang, tliough solitary and recluse, was of an ardent temperament, but for a time it operated mere- ly upon his imagination. He was too shy and igno- rant of the world to make any advances to the fair, but he was a passionate admirer of female beauty, and in his lonely chamber would often lose himself in reveries on forms and faces which he had seen, and his fancy would deck out images of loveliness far surpassing the reality. While liis mind was in this excited and sublimated state, he had a dream which produced an extraordi- nary effect upon him. It was of a female face of transcendent beauty. So strong was the impression it made, that he dreamt of it again and again. It haunted his thoughts by day, his slumbers by night ; in fine, he became passionately enamoured of this shadow of a dream. This lasted so long that it be- came one of those fixed ideas which haunt the minds of melancholy men, and are at times mistaken for madness. Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situa- tion at the time I mentioned. He was returning home late one stormy night, through some of the old and gloomy streets of the Marais, the ancient part of Paris. The loud claps of thunder rattled among the high houses of the narrow streets. He came to the place de Greve, the square where public executions are performed. The lightning quivered about the pinnacles of the ancient Hdtel de Ville, and shed flickering gleams over the open space in front. As Wolfgang was crossuig the square, bel shrunk back with horror at finding himself close by I the guillotine. It was the height of the reign of tcrJ ror, when this dreadful instrument of death stoodl ever ready, and its scaffold was continually runnintr with the blood of the virtuous and the brave, ij had that very day been actively employed in th work of carnage, and there it stood in grim an amidst a silent and sleeping city, waiting for I victims. Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and hevai turning shuddering from the horrible engine, wb he beheld a shadowy form, cowering as it werej the foot of the steps which led up to the scaflbld. succession of vivid flashes of lightning revealed it n distinctly. It was a female figure, dressed in bla She was seated on one of the lower steps of the! fold, leaning forward, her face hid in her lap, j her long dishevelled tresses hanging to the groan streaming with the rain which fell in torrents. Wol|| gang paused. There was something awful in I solitary monument of woe. The female had thei pearance of being alwve the common order. knew the times to be full of vicissitude, and tb many a fair head, which had once been pillowed o down, now wandered houseless. Perhaps this ' some imor mourner whom the dreadful axe hadr dered desolate, and who sat here heart-broken on il strand of existence, from which all that was dear j lier had been launched into eternity. He approaclied, and addressed her in the i of sympathy. She raised her head and gazed viU at him. What was his astonishment at beMdi by the bright glare of the lightning, the veryi which had haunted him in his dreams! It wasii and disconsolate, but ravishingly beautiful. Trembling with violent and conflicting en Wolfgang again accosted her. He spoke somethif of her being exposed at such an hour of the ni;;! and to the fui^ of such a storm, and offered to ( duct her to her friends. She pointed to the i tine with a gesture of dreadful signification. " I have no friend on earth ! " said she. "But you have a home," said Wolfgang. " Yes — in the grave ! " The heart of the student melted at the words. | " If a stranger dare make an offer," said he, "' out danger of being misunderstood, I would offer j humble dwelling as a shelter; myself as a denf friend. I am friendless myself in Paris, and a sir ger in the land; but if my life could be of seni« is at your disposal, and should be sacrificed harm or indignity should come to you." There was an honest eartnestness in the yol man's manner ;hat had its effect. His foreign | cent, too, was in his favour; it showed him not* a hackneyed inhabitant of Paris. Indeed there il eloquence in true enthusiasm (hat is not to bedoi The homeless stranger confided herself impliciil| the protection of the student. TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 491 crossing the square, hel finding himself close b;l height of the reign of terf istiument of death sUiodI was continually run tuous and the brave. It| actively employed in tb re it stood in grim an city, waiting for I ini [S led within him, and hew Lhe horrible engine, vfl m, cowering as it were t» led up to the scaffold, af lightning revealed it m( de figure, dressed in blai [the lower steps of the er face hid in her lap, ses hanging to the groi vhich fell in torrenU. Wi as something awful in oe. The female had lhe re the common order, fall of vicissitude, andtl 1 had once been pillowed touseless. Perhaps this cm the dreadful axe had sat here heart-broken on ,m which all that was dear into eternity, addressed her in the cd her head and gazed astonishment at beholi the lightning, the very ,1 in his dreams! It was avishingly beautiful, ent and conflicting ei ,ed her. He spoke somell I such an hour of the n^ a storm, and offered to She pointed to the readful signification, earth!" said she. me," said Wolfgang. 1" dent melted at the words, ake an offer," said he," sunderslood, I would offer shelter; myself as a dev( 88 myself in Paris, and a St my life could be of serr A should be sacrificed luld come to you." est eartnestness in the yi lad its effect. His forei?" ivour; it showed Wm not K ,t of Paris. Indeed there" lusiasmlhatisnottobedwf r confided herself impW Uulent. He supported her faltering steps across the Pont i^eaf, and by the place where the statue of Henry the ourtli had been overthrown by the iiopulace. The had abated, and the tliunder rumbled at a di- ice. All Paru was quiet; that great volcano of lan passion slumbered for a while, to gather fresh igth for the next day's eruption. The student ucted his charge through the ancient streets of Pays Latin, and by the dusky walls of the Sor- le, to the great dingy hotel which he inhabited. Ik old portress who admitted them stared with sur- al th j unusual sight of the melancholy Wolf- with a female companion. On entering his apartment, the student, for the first I, Mushed at the scantiness and indifference of his If eUing. He bad but one chamber— an old-fashion- galoou— heavily carved, and fantastically furnished lib the remains of former magnificence, for it was of those hotels in the quarter of the Luxembourg which had once belonged to nobility. It was ibered with books and papers, and all the usual atus of a student, and bis bed stood in a recess one end. When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a Iter opportunity of contemplating the stranger, he more than ever intoxicated by her beauty. Her was pale, but of a dazzling fairness, set off by a ion of raven liair that hung clustering about it. eyes were large and brilliant, with a singular ession that approached almost to wilibiess. As a her black dress permitted her shape to be seen, lias of perfect symmetry. Her whole appearance highly striking, though she was dressed in the tyle. The only thing approaching to an lent which she wore, was a broad black band her neck, clasped by diamonds. he perplexity now commenced with the student to dispose of the helpless being thus thrown upon protection. He thought of abandoning his cham- to her, and seeking shelter for himself elsewhere. be was so fascinated by her charms, there seem- |tobe such a spell upon his thoughts and senses, he could not tear himself from her presence. manner, too, was singular and unaccountable. spoke no more of the guillotine. Her grief had The attentions of the student had first won oonHdence, and then, apparently, her heart. She evidently an enthusiast like himself, and enthu- soon understand each other. diemfatuation of the moment, Wolfgang avow- passion for her. He told her the story of his rious dream, and how she had possessed his before he had even seen her. She was strangely by his recital, and acknowledged to have felt palse toward him equally unaccountable. It lhe time for wild theory and wild actions. Old iices and superstitions were dune away ; every was under the sway of the " Goddess of Rea- Among otiier rubbish of the old times, the and ceremonies of marriage began to be con- sidered superfluous bonds for honourable minds. So- cial compacts were the vogue. Wolfgang was loo much of a theorist not to be tainted by the liberal doctrines of the day. " Why should we separate?" said he : ''our hearts are united ; in the eye of reason and honour we are as one. What need is there of sordid forms to bind high souls together?" The stranger listened with emotion : she had evi- dently received illumination at the same school. "You have no home nor family," continued he; "let me be every thing to you, or rather let us be every thing to one another. If form is necessary, form shall be observed— there is my band. I pledge myself to you for ever." " For ever?" said the stranger, solemnly. *' For ever ! " repeated Wolfgang. The stranger clasped the hand extended to her : "Then I am yours," murmured she, and sunk upon his bosom. The next morning the student left his bride sleep- ing, and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spacious apartments, suitable to the change in his si- tuation. When he returned, he found the stranger lying with ^er head hanging over the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He spoke to her, but received no reply. He advanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. On taking her hand, it was cold — there was no pulsation— her face was pallid and ghastly. — In a word— she was a corpse. Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene of confusion ensued. The police was sum- moned. As tlie officer of police entered the room, he started back on beholding the corpse. " Great heaven ! " cried he, " liow did this wo- man come here?" " Do you know any thing about her?" said Wolf- gang, eagerly. " Do I ? " exclaimed the police officer : " she was guillotined yesterday ! " He stepped forward ; undid the black collar round the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor! The student burst into a frenzy. " The fiend ! the fiend has gained possession of me ! " shrieked he : "I am lost for ever." They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had reanimated the dead body to ensnare him. He went distracted, and died in a mad-house. Here the old gentleman with the haunted head finislied his narrative. "And is this really a fact?" said the inquisitive gentleman. " A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. "I had it from the best authority. The student told it me Mmself. I saw him in a mad-house at Paris." 402 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. THR IDVKKTVRK UP THE MYSTERIOUS PICTORE. As one story of the kind produces another, and as all the company seemed fully engrossed by the sub- ject, and disposed to bring their relatives and ances- tors upon the scene, there is no knowing how many more strange adventures we might have heard, had not a corpulent old fox-hunter, who'liad slept soundly through the whole, now suddenly awakened, with a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound broke the charm : the ghosts took to flight, as though it had been cock-crowing, and there was a universal move f Jr bed. " A nd now for the haunted chamber," said the Irish Captain, taking his candle. "Ay, who's to be the hero of the night ? " said the gentleman with the ruined head. "That we shall sec in the morning," said the old gentleman with the nose : " whoever looks pale and grizzly will have seen the ghost." "Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, "there's many a true thing said in jest — In fact one of you will sleep in the room to-night " " What— a haunted room?— a haunted room? — I claim the adventure— and I— and I — and I," said a dozen guests talking and laughing at the same time. " No, no," said mine host, " there is a secret about one of my rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experiment : so, gentlemen, none of you shall know who has the haunted chamber until circumstances reveal it. I will not even know it myself, but will leave it to chance and the allotment of the house- keeper. At the same time, if it will be any satisfac- tion to you, I will observe, for the honour of my paternal mansion, that there's scarcely a chamber in it but is well worthy of being haunted." We now separated for the night, and each went to his allotted room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and I could not but smile at the resemblance in style to those eventfhl apartments described in the tales of the supper- table. It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp-black portraits; a bed of ancient damask, with a tester sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of slate, and a number of massive pieces of old- fashioned furniture. I drew a great claw-footed arm- chair before the wide fire-place; stirred up the fire; sat looking into it, and musing upon the odd stories I had heard, until, partly overcome by the fatigue of the day's hunting, andLpartly by the wine and wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. The uneasiness of my position made my slumber troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and fearful dreams. Now it was that my perfidious dinner and supper rose in rebellion against my peace. I was hag-ridden by a fat saddle of nuitlon ; a plum- pudding weighed like lead upon my conscience ; the merry-thought of a capon filled me with horrible sug- gestions; and a devilled-leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical shapes through my imagination. In short, I had a violent fit of the night-mare. Some strange indefinite evil seemed hanging over nie that I could not avert; something terrible and loalh$oni«j oppressed me that I could not shake off. I was con- scious of being asleep, and strove to rouse myself bu every effort redoubled the evil; until gasping, slrug gling, almost strangling, I suddenly sprang bolt right in my chair, and awoke. The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, ai the wick was divided; there was a great wiading sheet made by the dripping wax on the side towai me. The disordered taper emitted a broad flarii flame, and threw a strong light on a painting on the fire place which I had not hitherto obseived. consisted merely of a head, or rather a face, that ai peared to be staring full upon me, and with an expi sion that was startling. It was without a frame, at the first glance I could hardly persuade myself i| it was not a real face thrusting itself out of the oaken pannel. I sat in my chair gazing at it, and il more I gazed, the more it disquieted me. I liadneT( before been affected in the same way by any paini The emotions it caused were strange and indefii They were something like what I have heard asci ed to the eyes of the basilisk, or like that mystei influence in reptiles termed fascination. I hand over my eyes several times, as if seeking stinctively to brush away the illusion — in vain. Tl instantly veverted to the picture, and its ehillii creeping influence over my flesh and blood was doubled. I looked round the room on other pictui either to divert my attention or to see whether same effect would be produced by them. Soniel them were grim enough to produce the effect, ifi mere grimness of the painting produced it.— No thing— my eye passed over them all with perfect difference, but the moment it reverted to this over the fire-place, it was as if an electric shod; ed through me. The other pictures were dim faded, but this one protruded froma plain back in the strongest relief, and with wonderful triil colouring. The expression was that of agonv' agony of intense bodily pain ; but a menace sw upon the brow, and a few sprinklings of blood ai to its ghastliness. Yet it was not all these ciian istics; it was some horror of the mind, some scrutable antipathy awakened by this picture, vl harrowed up my feelings. I tried to persuade myself that this waschimeril that my brain was confused by the fumes of mine good cheer,and in some measurebytheodd stories; paintings which had been toldatsupper. I detei to shake off these vapours of the mind ; rose fiw chair ; walked about the room ; snapped my fingers;] liedmyself ; laughed aloud. — It was a forced laujh, the echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon af —I walked to the window, and tried to discei landscape through the glass. It was pitch and howling storm without ; and as I heard the TALES OF A TRAVELIJIR. hrough my imagination, of the niglit-mare. Some ned lianging over me thai ng terrible and loallisome] not sJialie off. I was con- strove to rouse myself, bm| evil; until gasping, slrug- [ suddenly sprang bolt u| oke. l-piece had burnt low, ai lere was a great winding- (ig wax on the side towai ,er emitted a broad flarii ng light on a painting ovi i not hitherto obsened. 1(1 or rather a face, that a| p<Jnme,andwilhaiiexi)i It was without a frame, ai I hardly persuade myself irusting itself out of the my chair gazing at it, and tl it disquieted me. Ihadnw he same way by any paint were strange and indefinU ike what I have heard asci asilisk, or like that mystei med fascination. I pi !veral limes, as if seeking k ay the illusion— in vain. Tl the picture, and its chilli er my flesh and blood yfasi and the room on other picU lenlion or to seewhelhet produced by them. Some] gh to produce the effect, id minting produced it.— iSo s over them all with perfect! ment it reverted to this \i ft as as if an electric shock other pictures were dim truded froma plain back-gi •, and with wonderful init 'ession was that of agony- ypain; but a menace sco« few sprinklings of blood al ititwas not all these charaC lorror of the mind, souwj akened by this picture, w« w. ngs jyself that this was chimen usedbylhe fumes of mineb measurebytheoddsloriesi leentoldatsupper. Ideler ^urs of the mind; rose fioB ieroom;snappedmyfmgersj lloud.-It was a forced laugli,! ,ld chamber jarred upon mjj indow, and tried tod -■ e glass. It was pitch datB ,lhout;andasIheardthe< moan among the trees, I caught a reflection of this accursed visage in the pane of glass, as though it were staring through the window at me. Even the reflec- tion of it was thrilling. How was this vile nervous fit, for such I now per- suaded myself it was, to be conquered ? I determin- ed to force myself not to look at the painting, but to nndress quickly and get into bed.— I began to undress, iHit in spite of every elTort I could not keep myself {rem stealing a glance every now and then at the picture ; and a glance was now sufiicient to distress Bie. Even when my back was turned to it, the idea of Ibis strange face behind me, peeping over my shoulder, was insupportable. I tlirew off my clothes iod hurried into bed, but still this visage gazed upon me. I had a full view of it from my bed, and for some time could not take my eyes from it. I had pown nervous to a dismal degree. I put out the light, [and tried to force myself to sleep— all in vain. The ire gleaming up a little threw an uncertain light atwut the room, leaving however the region of the picture in deep shadow. What, thought I, if this be I the chamber about which mine host spoke as having a mystery reigning over it? I had taken his words merely as spoken in jest ; might they have a real im- port? Hooked around. — The faintly-lighted apart- ment had all the qualifications requisite for a haunted (hamber. It began in my infected imagination to lassume strange appearances — the old portraits turn- led paler and paler, and blacker and blacker; the Istieaks of light and shadow thrown among the Qaint articles of furniture gave them more singular ipes and characters. — There was a huge dark lodies-press of antique form, gorgeous in brass and {lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive I me. "Am I, then, " thought I, " indeed the hero of haunted room ? Is there really a spell laid upon ne, or is this all some contrivance of mine host to [lisea laugh at my expense ? " The idea of being Hg-rldden by my own fancy all night, and then ban- |ered on my liaggard looks the next day, was into- ible; but the very idea was sufficient to produce ! effect, and to render me still more nervous.— fPish!" said I, '' it can be no such thing. How old my worthy host imagine that I, or any man, I be so worried by a mere picture ? It is my nn diseased imagination that torments me. " I I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side to try ^ fall asleep; but all in vain ; when one cannot get «p by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about |ill effect the purpose. The fire gradually went out, I left the room in darkness. Still I had the idea of pt inexplicable countenance gazing and keeping ptch upon me through the gloom — nay, what was JBrse, the very darkness seemed to magnify its ler- It was like having an unseen enemy hanging Hit one in the night. Instead of having one picture r to worry me, I had a hundred. I fancied it in rdirection— ** And there it is, " thought I, " and there! and there! with its horrible and mysterious expression still gazing and gazing on me ! No— if I must suffer the strange and dismal influence, it were better face a single foe than thus be haunted by a thousand images of it. " Whoever has been in a stale of nervous agitation, must know that the longer it continues the more un- controllable it grows. The very air of the chamber seemed at length infected by the baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall approaching my face— it seemed breathing upon me. " This is not to be borne, " said I at length, springing out of bed. " I can stand this no longer — I shall only tumble and toss about here all night ; make a very spectre of myself, and become the hero of the haunted chamber in good earnest. — Whatever be the ill consequence, I'll quit this cursed room and seek a night's rest elsewhere — they can but laugh at me, at all events, and they'll be sure to have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night, and show them a haggard and wo-begone vi- sage in the morning. " All this was half muttered to myself as I hastily slipped on my clothes, which having done, I groped my way out of the room, and down stairs to the draw- ing-room. Here, after tumbling over two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to reach a sofa, and stretching myself upon it, determined to bivouac there for the night. The moment 1 found myself out of the neighbourhood of that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All its influence was at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of ins- tinctive caution, turned the key when I closed the door. I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; from that into a drowsiness, and, finally, into a deep sleep ; out of which I did not awake until the housemaid, with her besom and her matin song, came to put the room in order. She stared at finding me stretched upon the sofa, but I presume circum- stances of the kind were not uncommon afler hunt- ing-<linners in her master's bachelor establishment, for she went on with her song and her work, and took no further heed of me. I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber; so I found my way to the butler's quarters, made my toilet in the best way circumstances would permit, and was among the first to appear at the breakfast-table. Our breakfast was a substantial fox-hunter's repast, and the company generally as- sembled at it. When ample justice had been done to the lea, coffee, cold meats, and humming ale, for all these were furnished in abundance, according to the tastes of the different guests, the conversation began to break out with all the liveliness and freshness of morning mirth. " But who is the hero of the haunted chamber, who has seen the ghost last night?" said the inquisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster eyes about the table. The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast 4<>l TALES OF A TRAVELLER. deal of iMintering, criticising of countenances, of mu- tual accusation and retort, took place. Some had drank deep, and some were unshaven ; so ttiat there were suspicious faces enough in tlie assembly. I alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the joke — I felt tongue-tied, embarrassed. A recollection of what I had seen and felt the preceding night still haunted my mind. It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon me. I thought also that our host's eye was turned on me with an air of curiosity. In short, I was conscious that I was the hero of the night, and felt as if every one might read it in my looks. The joke, however, passed over, and no suspicion seemed to attach tu me. I was just con- gratulating myself on my escape, when a servant came in saying, that the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in the drawing-room had left his watch under one of the pillows. My repeater was in his hand. " What ! " said the inquisitive gentleman, "did any gentleman sleep on the sofa?" "Soho! Soho! a hare — a hare!" cried the old gentleman with the flexible nose. I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was rising in great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who sat beside me exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, " 'Sblood, lad, thou art the man as has seen the ghost ! " The attention of the company was immediately turned to me : if my face had been pale the moment before, it now glowed almost to burning. I tried to laugh, but could only make a grimace, and found the muscles of my face twitching at sixes and sevens, and totally out of all control. It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of fox-hunters; lliere was a world of merriment and joking on the subject, and as I never relished a joke overmuch when it was at my own expense, I began to feel a little nettled. I tried to look cool and calm, and to restrain my pique; but the coolness and calm- ness of a man in a passion are confounded treacher- ous. "Gentlemen," said I, with a slight cocking of the chin, and a bad attempt at a smile, " this is all very pleasant — ha! ha! — very pleasant— but I'd have you know, I am as little superstitious as any of you — ha ! ha! — and as to any thing like timidity — you may smile, gentlemen, but I trust there's no one here means to insinuate, that — as to a room's being haunt- ed — I repeat, gentlemen (growing a little warm as seeing a cursed grin breaking out round me), as to a room's being haunted, I have as little faith in such silly stories as any one. But, since you put the mat- ter home to me, I will say that I have met with some- Uiing in my room strange and inexplicable to me. (A shout of laughter.) Gentlemen, I am serious; I know well what I am saying; I am calm, gentlemen (striking my fist upon the table) ; by Heaven, I am calm. lam neither trifling, nor do I wish to be trifled with. (The laughter of the company suppressed, and with ludicrous attempts at gravity.) There is a picture in the room in which I was put last night, that has had an effect upon me the most singular and incomprehensible." "A picture ? " said the old gentleman with thehaiuii- ed head. " A picture ! " crieti the narrator with the nose. "A picture ! a picture!" echoed several voi- ces. Here there was an ungovernable peal of laughter. I could not contain myself. I started up from my seat; looked round on the company with flery indi- gnation; thrust both my hands into my pockets, and I strode up to one of the windows as though I would have walked through it. I stopped short, looked out upon the landscape without distinguishing a feature of it, and felt my gorge rising almost to suffocation. Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He M maintained an air of gravity through the whole of the scene; and now stepped forth, as if to shelter mej from the overwhelming merriment of my compa- nions. "Gentlemen," said he, "IdisUketo spoilsport,! but you have had your laugh, and the joke of ihel haunted chamber has been enjoyed. I must now I take the part of my guest. I must not only vindicjttj him from your pleasantries, but I must reconcile biml to himself, for I suspect he is a little out of humoul with his own feelings; and, above all, I must crarel his pardon for having made him the subject of a kindl of experiment. Yes, gentlemen, there is sometkinjl strange and peculiar in the chamber to which ourl friend was shown last night; there is a picture inni;| house, which possesses a singular and mysterious 'vt fluence, and with which there is connected a vei curious story. It is a picture to wliich I attach) value from a variety of circumstances; and though^ have often been tempted to destroy it, from the ( and uncomfortable sensations which it produces i every one that beholds it, yet I have never been i to prevail upon myself to make the sacrifice. It is^ picture I never like to look upon myself, and wh is held in awe by all my servants. I have therefor banished it to a room but rarely used, and shoi have had it covered last night, had not the nature o our conversation , and the whimsical talk about a hau ed chamber, tempted me to let it remain, by wayt experiment, to see whether a stranger, totally w quainted with its story, would be affected by it," The words of the Baronet had turned every thougl into a different channel. All were anxious to I the story of the mysterious picture ; and, for mysi so strangely were my feelings interested, that I forg to feel piqued at the experiment which my host I made upon my nerves, and jouied eagerly in thegf neral entreaty. As the morning was stonny, i denied all egress, my host was glad of any means j entertaining his company; so, drawing his arm-< towards the fire, he began.— TALES OF A TRAVELLEn. 40S 1 1 was put iMl nighl, le the most lingular and enlleman with thehannt- eil the narrator wUU Ihe •e!" echoed several voi- fernable peal of laughter. I started up from my ompany with fiery indi- nds into my pockets, and I lows as though I would stopped short, looked out ,t distinguishing a feature | jing almost to suffocation, ue to interfere. He M I f through the whole of the I forth, as if to shelter mel nerriment of my compa- , « I dislike to spoilsport, ugh, and the joke of the jn enjoyed. I must now I must not only vindiiau s, but I must reconcile him ,e' is a little out of humoui ^d, above all, I must crave de him the subject of a iiindl lUemen, there is somelhin? the chamber to which our ght; there is a picture in my singular and mysterious i" I there is connected a v( rtcture to which I aUach •ircumslances; and though to destroy it, from the .lions which it produces i yet I have never been " ' make the sacrifice. It is ,k upon myself, and whi servants. I have thereft ,ut rarely used, and sb night, had not the nalurti whimsical Ulk about ahaui to let it remain, by vfay her a stranger, toullynni would be affected by it." met had turned every thougl All were anxious to us picture; and, for my ilings interested, that I fotji jeriment which my host 1« [and jomed eagerly in the ?i morning was stormy - ost was glad of any means y; so, drawing his arm- an.— THI ADTINTVII OK THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. Many years since, when I was a young man, and had just left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour to finish my education. I lielieve my parents had tried iovain to inoculate me with wisdom ; so they sent me 10 mingle with society, in hopes I might take it the Djlura! way. Such, at least, ap|tcars the reason for which nine-tenths of our youngsters are sent abroad. in tlie course of my tour I remaineil some time at Venice. The romantic character of that place de- listed me; I yras very much amused by the air of id<-<;nture and intrigue that prevaile<l in this region of masks and gondolas; and I was exceedingly smitten by a pair of languishing black eyes, that played upon iieart from under an Italian mantle; so I persuad- ed myself that I was lingering at Venice to study men nd manners; at least I |)ersuaded my friends so, and Itbat answered all my pur|H>se8. I was a little prone to be struck by peculiarities in iracter and conduct, and my imagination was so of romantic associations with Italy, that I was al- lys on the look out for adventure. Every tiling led in with such a humour in this old mermaid a city. My suite of apartments were in a proud, lancholy palace on the grand canal, formerly the idence of a magnifico, and sumptuous with the of decayed grandeur. My gondolier was one the shrewdest of his class, active, men'y, intelli- it, and, like his brethren, secret as the grave ; that lo say, secret to all the world except his master. I not had him a week before he put me behind all curtains in Venice. I liked the silence and mys- of the place, and when I sometimes saw from my low a black gondola gliding my^iteriously along Ihe dusk of the evening, with nothing visible but little glimmering lantern, I would jump kito my zendeletia, and give a signal for pursuit—" But running away from my subject with the recol- iion of youthful follies," said the Baronet, checking ilf. " Let us come lo the point." Among my familiar resorts was a cassino under the '8 on one side of the grand square of St Mark. 1 used frequently to lounge and take my ice, on warm summer nights, when in Italy every body abroad until morning. I was sealed here one log, when a group of Ilalians took their seat at a leon tiie opposite side of the saloon. Their con- ition was gay and animated, and carried on with lian vivacity and gesticulation . I remarked among one young man, however, who appeared to le no share, and find no enjoyment in the conver- in, though he seemed to force himself to attend lit. He was tall and slender, and of extremely sing appearance. His features were fine, igh emaciated. He had a profusion of black glossy , that curled lightly about his head, and contrast- vith the extreme paleness of his countenance. His brow was haggard; deep furrows seemed (o have been ploughed into his visage by care, not by age, for he was evidently in the prime of youth. His eye was full of expression and fire, but wild and unsteady. He seemed to be tormented by some strange fancy or apprehension. In spite of every effort lo fix his at- tention on the conversation of his companions, I no- ticed that every now and then lie would turn his head slowly round, give a glance over his shoulder, and then withdraw it with a sudden jerk, as if something painful had met his eye. This was repeated at inter- vals of about a minute, and he appeared hardly to have recovered from one shock, before I saw Um slowly preparing to encounter another. After silling some lime in the cassino, Ihe party paid for the refreshment they had taken, and depart- ed. The young man was the last to leave the saloon, and I remarked him glancing behind him in the same way, just as he passed out of the door. I could not resist the impulse to rise and follow him ; for I was at an age when a romantic feeling of curiosity is easily awakened. The parly walked slowly down the ar- cades, talking and laughing as they went. Tbey crossed the Piazzella, but paused in the middle of it to enjoy tlie scene. It was one of those moonlight nights, so brilliant and clear in the pure atmosphere of Italy. The moonbeams streamed on the tall lower of St Mark, and lighted up the magnificent front and swelling domes of the cathedral. The party express- ed their delight in animated term^ I kept my eye upon the young man. He alone seei.ied abstracted and self-occupied. I noticed the same singular and, as it were, furtive glance over the shoukler, which had attracted my attention in tlie cassino. The party moved on, <ind I followed; they passed along the walk called the Broglio, turned the corner of tlie Du- cal Palace, and getting into a gondola, glided swiftly away. The countenance and conduct of Ibis young man dwelt upon my mind. There was sometJiing in his appearance that interested me exceedingly. I met him a day or two after in a gallery of paintings. He was evidently a connoisseur, for he always singled out the most masterly productions, and the few re- marks drawn from him by his companions showed an intimate acquaintance with the art. His own taste, however, ran on singular extremes. On Salvator Rosa, in his most savage and solitary scenes : on Ra- phael, Titian, and Corrcggio, in Iheir softest delinea- tions of female beauty : on these he would occasion- ally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this seemed only a momentary forgelfulness. Still would recur that cautious glance beliiud, and always quickly with- drawn, as though something ten-ible had met his view. I encountered him frequently afterwards at the theatre, at balls, at concerts ; at the promenades in the gardens of San Georgia ; at the grotesque exhibitions in the square of St Mark; among the throng of mer- chants on the exchange by the Riallo. He seemed, 496 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. in fact, to seek crowds ; to hunt after bu:;;'ile and amo- sement : yet never to take any interest in either the business or the gaiety of the scene. Ever an air of painful thought, of wretched abstraction ; and ever that strange and recurring movement of glancing fearfully over the shoulder. I did not know at first but this might be caused by apprehension of arrest ; or, perhaps, from dread of assassination. But if so, why should he go thus contmually abroad ; why ex- pose himself at all times and in all places? I liecame anxious to know this stranger. I was drawn to him by that romantic sympathy which sometimes draws young men towards each other. His melancholy threw a charm about him in my eyes, which was no doubt heightened by the touching expression of his countenance, and the manly graces of his person ; for manly beauty has its effect even upon men. I had an Englishman's habitual difli- dence and awkwardness of address to contend with ; but I subdued it, and from frequently meeting him in the cassino, gradually edged myself into his ac- quaintance. I had no reserve on his part to contend with. He seemed, on the contrary, to court society ; and, in fact, to seek any thing rather than be alone. When he found that I really took an interest in him, he threw himself entirely on my friendship. He clung to me like a drowning man. He would walk with me for hours up and down the place of St Mark — or he would sit, until night was far ad- vanced, in my apartments. He took rooms under the same roof with me ; and his constant request was that I would permit him, when it did not incommode me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was not that he seemed to take a particular delight in my conversa- tion, but rather that he craved the vicinity of a hu- man being; and, above all, of a being that sympa- thized with him. "I have often heard," said he, " of the sincerity of Englishmen— thank God I have one at length for a friend ! " Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my sympathy other than by mere companionship. He never sought to unl)o$om himself to me : there appeared to be a settled corroding anguish in his bo- som that neither could be soothed " by silence nor by speaking." A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, and seemed to be drying up the very blood in his veins. It was not a soft melancholy, the disease of the affec- tions, but a parching, withering agony. I could see at times that his mouth was dry and feverish; he panted rather than breathed; his eyes were blood- shot; his cheeks pale and livid; with now and then faint streaks of red athwart (hem, baleful gleams of the fire that was consuming his heart. As my arm was within his, I felt him press it at times with a convulsive motion to his side; his hands would clench themselves involuntarily, and a kind of shudder would run through his frame. I reasoned with him about his melancholy, and sought to draw from him the cause; he shrunk from all confiding : '' Do not seek to know it," said he, " you could not relieve it if you knew it ; you would | not even seek to relieve it. On the contrary, I shoald j lose your sympathy, and that," said he, pressing mr hand convulsively, " that I feel has become too dear I to me to risk." I endeavoured to awaken hope within him. He vas young ; life had a thousand pleasures in store for him- there is a healthy reaction in the youthful heart ; it medicines all its own wounds — '' Come, come," said I, " there is no grief so great that youth cannot out- grow it."—" No! no! " said he, clenching his teeth, and striking repeatedly, with the energy of despair on his bosom— " it is here ! here ! deep-routed ; drain- ing my heart's blood. It grows and grows, wliije my heart withers and withers. I have a dreadful monitor that gives me no repose — that follows me step by step— and will follow me step by step, untiij it pushes me into my grave ! " As he said this, he involuntarily gave one of tin fearful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk with more than usual horror. I could not resist temptation to allude to this movement, which I sij| IMsed to be some mere malady of the nerves. Tl moment I mentioned it, his face became crimsoi and convulsed ; he grasped me by both hands— " For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a piercii voice, " never allude to that again. — Let us avoid subject, my friend ; you cannot relieve me, ini you cannot relieve me, birt you may add to the li ments I suffer. — At some future day you shall kooi all." I never resumed the subject; for howeverini my curiosity might be roused, I felt too true a passion for his sufferings to increase them by my trusion. I sought various ways to divert his mi and to arouse him from the constant meditations which he was plunged. He saw my efforts, and conded them as far as in his power, for there nothing moody nor wayward in his nature. On contrary, there was something frank, generous, assuming in his whole deportment. All the ments that he uttered were noble and lofty. claimed no indulgence, he asked no toleration, seemed content to carry his load of misery in silei and only sought to carry it by my side. There a mute beseeching manner about him, as if he cni companionship as a charitable boon ; and a tacit liii fulness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to me for repulsing him. I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It over my spirits ; interfered with all my gay piirsi and gradually saddened my life; yet I could not vail upon myself to shake off a being who seem hang upon me for support. In truth, the gei traits of character that beamed through all tliisj,'! had penetrated to my heart. His bounty was and open-handed : his charity melting and taneous ; not confined to mere donations, whidij miliate as much as they relieve. The lone ofj before alonem lie,( m thai e parted mine, an fellasle hng mi H lu'shand 'feweli, ' on a roil these TALES OF A TRAVELLEIl. 4<)7 to know it," said he, ,u knew it; you would 1 1 the contrary,! should I ;' said lie, pressing my lel Vias become too dear | opewitiiinhim. He was easuies in store for him; I tlie youthful iieart; it s__" Come, come," said t that youth cannot out- l he, clencliing liis leelh, h the energy of despair, lere! deep-rooted; drain-! arows and grows, wliile hers. I i»ave a dreadful! repose— tliat follows ii«| ,w me step by step, -'' untEl luntarily gave one of to iljoulder, and shrunk 1 lor. I could not resist I is movement, wliich I suI^ lalady of tl»e nerves, his face became crimson« ■d me by both hands- claimed he, with a pien halagain.-Letusavo.d« , cannot relieve me, m* ,itt you may add to the 101 ,e future day you shaUkno^ subject; for liowever mi oused.Uelttootruea to increase them by my ms ways to divert his mil the constant meditations He saw my efforts, and in liis power, for there mard in liis nature. On nething frank, generous deportment. All the were noble and loay. he asked no toleration. IV his load of misery in silti '^yitbymyside. Ttoe ,„erabo«thun,asihecr ritableboon;andalaciil.a if he felt grateful to me for It j)ly to be infectious. feredwithallmygayP««' Id my life; yet I could not ake off a being who scent port. In truth, the ge« beamed through alUlnsfe iheart. His bounty ^as ! lis charity melting and to mere donations, *hi» hey relieve. The tone (J Toice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every gift, and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest and litreetest of charities, the charity not merely of the Ihand but of the heart. Indeed his liberality seemed Ijohave something in it of self-abasement and expia- llion. He, in a manner, humbled himself before the iicant. "What right have I to ease and af- ence" — would he murmur to himself—" when in- mce wanders in misery and rags?" The caniival time arrived. I hoped that the gay which then presented themselves might have cheering effect. I mingled with him in the y throng that crowded the Place of St Mark, e frequented operas, masquerades, balls— all in The evil kept growing on him. He became and more haggard and agitated. Often, after [ehave returned from one of these scenes of revelry, iiave entered his room and found him lying on his on the sofa; his hands clenched in his fine hair, his whole countenance bearing traces of the con- ions of his mind. The carnival passed away; the time of Lent suc- ; passion- week arrived ; we attended one even- a solemn service in one of the churches, in the irse of which a grand piece of vocal and instru- ilal music was performed, relating to the death Mir Saviour, d remarked that he was always powerfully af- hy music; on this occasion he was so in an ex- irdiiiary degree. As the pealing notes swelled lagh the lofty aisles, he seemed to kindle with lOur; his eyes rolled upwards, until nothing but vhites were visible; his hands were clasped lo- ir, until the fingers were deeply imprinted in the When the music expressed the dying agony, bee gradually sunk upon his knees ; and at the ibiug words resounding through the church, u mori," sobs burst from him uncontrolled— I never seen him weep before. His had always agony rather than sorrow. I augured well from circumstance, and let him weep on uninterrupted, llie service was ended, we left the churrli. inng on my arm as we walked homewards with filing of a softer and more subdued manner, in- ofthat nervous agitation I had been accustomed ilness. He alluded to the service we had heard. lie," said he, "is indeed the voice of Heaven; before have I fell more impressed by the story atonement of our Saviour— Yes, my friend," he, clasping his hands with a kind of transport, :now that my Redeemer liveth ! " e parted for the night. His room was not far mine, and I heard him fur some time busied in asleep, but was awakened before daylight. |joung man stood by my bedside, dressed for . He held a sealed packet and a large par- hand, which he laid on the table, arewell, my friend," said he, " I am about to hen a long journey; but, Iwfore I go, I leave jjoii these remembrances. In this packet you will find the particulars of my story.— When you read them I shall be far away; do not remember me with aversion — You have been indeed a friend tome. — You have poured oil into a broken heart, but you could not heal it. — Farewell ! let me kiss your hand — I am unworthy to embrace you." He sunk on his knees — seized my hand in despite of my efforts to the contrary, and covered it with kisses. I was so sur- prised by all tlie scene, that I had not been able to say a word.—" But we shall meet agaui," said I hastily, as I saw him hurrying towards the door. " Never, never in this world ! " said he solemnly. — —He sprang once more to my bedside — seized my hand, pressed it to his heart and to his lips, and rush- ed out of ihe room. Here the Baronet paused.' He seemed lost in thought, and sat looking upon the floor, and drum- ming with his fingers on the arm of his chair. "And did this mysterious personage return?" said the inquisitive gentleman. "Never!" replied the Baronet, with a pensive shake of Ihe head — "I never saw him again." " And pray what has all this to do with the pic- ture?" inquired the old gentleman with the nose. "True," said the questioner— " Is it the portrait of that crack-brained Italian ? " "No," said the Baronet, drily, not half liking the appellation given to his hero — " but this picture was enclosed in the parcel he left with me. The sealed packetcontaineditsexplanation. There was a request on the outside that I would not open it until six months had elapsed. I kept my promise, in spite of my curiosity. I have a translation of it by me, and had meant to read it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the chamber; but I fear I have already detained the company too long." Here there was a general wish expressed to have the manuscript read, particularly on Ihe part of the inquisitive gentleman ; so the worthy Baronet drew out a fairly-written manuscript, and, wiping his spectacles, read aloud the following story.— THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN, I WAS born at Naples. My parents, though of noble rank, were limited in fortune, or rather, my father was ostentatious beyond his means, and expended so much on his palace, his equipage, and his retinue, that he was continually straitened in his pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger son, and looked upon with indifference by my father, who, from a principle of family pride, wished to leave all his pro- perty to my elder brother. I showed, when quite a chiUi, an extreme sensibility. Every thing affected me violently. While yet an infant in my mother's arms, and before I had learnt to talk, I could be wrought upon to a wonderful degree of angaish or ^IW TALES OF A TRAVELLER. delight by the power of music. As I grew older, my feelings remained equally acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms of pleasure or rage. It was the amusement of my relations and of the domes- tics to play upon this irritable temperament. I was moved to tears, tickled to laughter, provoked to fury, for the entertainment of company, who were amused by such a tempest of mighty passion in a pigmy frame —they little thought, or perhaps lillle heeded, the dangerous sensibilities they were fostering. I thus became a little creature of passion before reason was developed. In a short time I grew too old to be a plaything, and then I became a torment. The tricks and passions I had been teased into became irksome, and I was disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they had taught me.* My mother died; and my power as a spoiled child was at an end. There was no longer any necessity to humour or tolerate me, for there was nothing to be gained by it, as I was no favourite of my father. I therefore experienced the fate of a spoiled child in such a situation, and was neglected, or noticed only to be crossed and contra- dicted. Such was the early treatment of a heart, which, if I can judge of it at all, was naturally dispos- ed to the extremes of tenderness and affection. My father, as I have already said, never liked me — in fact, he never understood me; he looked upon me as wilful and wayward, as deflcient in natural affec- tion. — It was the stateliness of his own manner, the loftiness and grandeur of his own look, that had re- pelled me from his arms. I always pictured him to myself as I bad seen him, clad in his senatorial robes, rustling with pomp and pride. The magnificence of his person had daunted my young imagination. I could never approach him witli the confiding affection of a child. My father's feelings were wrapped up in my elder brother. He was to be the inheritor of the family title and the family dignity, and every tiling was sa- crificed to him — I, as well as every thing else. It was determined to devote me to the church, that so my humours and myself might be removed out of the way, either of tasking my father's lime and trouble, or interfering with the interests of my brother. At an early age, therefore, before my mind had dawned upon the world and its delights, or known any thing of it beyond the precincts of my father's palace, I was sent to a convent, the superior of which was my un- cle, and was confided entirely to his care. My uncle was a man totally estranged from the world : he had never relished, for he had never tast- ed, its pleasures; and he regarded rigid self-denial as the great basis of Christian virtue. He consider'ed every one's temperament like his own; or at least he made them conform to it. His character and habits had an influence over the fraternity of which he was superior — a more gloomy, saturnine set of beings were never assembled together. The convent, too, was calculated to awaken sad and solitary thoughts. It was situated in a gloomy gorge of those mountains away south of Vesavitis. All distant views were shoti out by sterile volcanic heights. A monntain-streuij raved beneath its walls, and eagles screamed its turrets. I had been sent to this place at so tender an age soon to lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I left behind. As my mind expanded, therefore, i formed its idea of the world from the convent and ii vicinity, and a dreary world it appeared to me. Ai early tinge of melancholy was thus infused into character; and the dismal stories of the monks, devils and evil spirits, with which they affrighted young imagination, gave me a tendency tosuj tion which I could never effectually shake off. Tl took the same delight to work upon my ardent ings, that had been so mischievously executed by father's household. I can recollect the horrors wi which they fed my heated fancy during an em{ of Vesuvius. We were distant from that vol with mountains between us; but its convulsive shook the solid foundations of nature. Eartbqi threatened to topple down our convent towers. lurid, baleful light hung in the heavens at night, showers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in oar row valley. The monks talked of the earth combed beneath us; of streams of molten lava through its veins; of caverns of sulphurong flji roaring in the centre, the abodes of demons and damned; of fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath feet. All these tales were told to the doleful ai paniment of the mountain's thunders, whose lev lowing made the walls of our convent vihrate. One of the monks had been a painter, bat retired from the world, and embraced this life in expiation of some crime. He was a choly man, who pursued his art in the solitude o(| cell, but made it a source of penance to him. employment was to portray, either on canvass waxen models, the human face and human foi the agonies of death, and in all the stages ofdi tion and decay. The fearful mysteries of thedui house were unfolded in his labours. The loall banquet of the beetle and the worm. I turn shuddering even from the recollection of his wi yet, at the lime, my strong but ill-directed inu{ tion seized with ardour upon his instructions iii{ art. Any thing was a variety from the dry and monotonous duties of the cloister. In a while I became expert with my pencil, andj gloomy productions were thought worthy of ing some of the altars of the chapel. In this dismal way was a creature of feeii fancy brought up. Every thing genial and in my nature was repressed, and nothing out but what was unprofitable and iingraci( was ardent in my temperament; quick, impetuous : formed to be a creature all love ai ration ; but a leaden hand was laid on all mj qualities. I was taught nothing but fear and I hated my uncle. I hated the monks. I lul (MV Iforii Iposec WI Jirass joNIDtl Jinwhi lifter a tl liefore t they I ilies wo k loredir calling iy,toat •nyofdi was not mytl ilyaro I watcl and ma its gay lyandsi lliesplen lioD of TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 499 II distant views ^creihat| hts. A mountaiin nd eagles screamed i ace at so tender an age illeclion of the scenes 1 d expanded, therefore, d from the convent and ■Id it appeared to me. Ai was thus infused into stories of the monks, al th which they affrighted me a tendency tosu] effectually shake off. Tl work upon my ardent ischievously executed by Ml recollect the horron ,ed fancy during an eni| 5 distant from that \ol •I us; but its convulsive thi ons of nature. Earthqml jwn our convent towers, gin the heavens at night, shy the wind, fell in our ks talked of the earth h" [ streams of molten lava caverns of sulphurous fli the abodes of demons and (s ready to yawn beneath were told to the doleful tain's thunders, whose low s of our convent vibrate, had been a painter, bnt Id, and embraced this " ome crime. He was a ,uedhisartinthesolitudeol| jurce of penance to him. K>rtray, either on canvass uman face and human for and in all the stages of di fearful mysteries of the clai in his labours. TheW e and the worm. I turn the recollection of his w strong but ill-directed im»| ,ur upon bis instructions ml a variety from the di-y rt ties of the cloister. In » rt with my pencil, m ere thought worthy of of the chapel. of feel! ly was a creature kvery thing genial and ai repressed, and nothing » Lprontable and ungracii Itemperamenl; qH«ck» "'*' llo be a creature all love a I hand was laid on all mj Lght nothing but fear and U hated the monks, iw eoovent in which I was immured. I hated the f orid ; and I almost hated myself for being, as I sup- poted, so bating and hateful an animal. When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I ftt suffered, on one occasion, to accompany one of (^ brethren on a mission to a distant part of the toontry. We soon left behind us the gloomy valley {in which I had been pent up for so many years, and ler a short journey among the mountains, emerged the voluptuous landscape that spreads itself about Bay of Naples. Heavens ! how transported was when I stretched my gaze over a vast reach of de- lus sunny country, gay with groves and vine- with Vesuvius rearing its forked summit to right; the blue Mediterranean to my left, with enchanting coast, studded with shining towns and uous villas; and Naples, my native Naples, ling far, far in the distance. Good God ! was this the lovely world from which liad been excluded ? I had reached that age when sensibilities are in all their bloom and freshness, had been checked and chilled. They now burst with the suddenness of a retarded spring. My , hitherto unnaturally shrunk up, expanded into riot of vague hut delicious emotions. The beauty Dtture intoxicated— bewildered me. The song of their cheerful looks; their happy avo- ; the picturesque gaiety of their dresses; their music; their dances; all broke upon me like -aft. My soul responded to the music, my danced in my bosom. All the men appeared liable, all the women lovely. |l returned to the convent, that is to say, my body led, but my heart and soul never entered there I could not forget this glimpse of a beautiful I happy world — a world so suited to my natural :ter. I had felt so happy while in it; so diffe- a being from what I felt myself when in the ent— that tomb of the living. I contrasted the itenances of the beings I had seen, full of fire freshness, and enjoyment, with the pallid, lea- lack-lustre visages of the monks; the music of dance with the droning cliaunt of the chapel. I before found the exercises of the cloister weari- I, they now became intolerable. The dull round ilies wore away my spirit ; my nerves became ir- by the fretful tinkling of the convent-bell, lore dinging among the mountain echoes, ever- calling me from my repose at night, my pencil ly, to attend to some tedious and mechanical ce- y of devotion. vas not of a nature to meditate long without my thoughts into action. My spirit had been ly aroused, and was now all awake within I watched an opportunity, fled from the con- and made my way on foot to Naples. As I en- ils gay and crowded streets, and beheld the and stir of life around me, the luxury of pala- ihe splendour of equipages, and the pantomimic lion of the motley populace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of enchantment, and solemnly vowed that nothing should force me back to the mo- notony of the cloister. I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I had been so young on leaving it that I knew not its situation. I found some difliculty in getting admitted to my father's presence ; for the domestics scarcely knew that there was such a being as myself in exist- ence, and my monastic dress did not operate in my favour. Even my father entertained no recollection of my person. I told him my name, threw myself at his feet, implored his forgiveness, and entreated that I might not be sent back to the convent. He received me with the condescension of a patron, ratlier than the fondness of a parent; listened patient- ly, but coldly, to my tale of monastic grievances and disgusts, and promised to think what else could be done for me. This coldness blighted and drove back all the frank affection of my nature, that was ready to spring forth at the least warmth of parental kind- ness. All my early feelings towards my father reviv- ed. I again looked up to him as the stately magnifi- cent being that had daunted my childish imagination, and felt as if I had no pretensions to his sympathies. My brother engrossed all his care and love ; he inhe- rited his nature, and carried himself towards me with a protecting rather than a fraternal air. It wounded my pride, which was great. I could brook condescension from my father, for I looked up to him with awe, as a superior being ; but I could not brook patronage from a brother, who I felt was intellec- tually my infecior. The servants perceived that I was an unwelcome intruder in the paternal mansion, and, menial-like, they treated me with neglect. Thus bafHed at every point, my affections outraged wher- ever they would attach themselves, I became sullen, silent, and desponding. My feelings, driven back upon myself, entered and preyed upon my own heart. I remained for some days an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son in my father's house. I was doomed never to be properly known there. I was made, by wrong treatment, strange even to myself, and they judged of me from my strangeness. I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks of my convent gliding out of my father's room. He saw me, but pretended not to notice me, and this very hypocrisy made me suspect something. I had become sore and susceptible in my feelings, every thing inflicted a wound on them. In this state of mind I was treated with marked disrespect by a pam- pered minion, the favourite servant of my father. All the pride and passion of my nature rose in an instant, and I struck him to the earth. My father was passing by ; he stopped not to inipiire the reason, nor indeed could he read the long course of mental sufferings which were the real cause. He rebuked me with anger and scorn ; he summoned all the haughtiness of his nature and grandeur of his look to give weight to the contumely with which he treated me. I felt that I had not deserved it. I felt that I im TAIJIS OF A TRAVELLER. i was not appreciated. I felt that I had that within me which merited better treatment. My heart swelled against a father's injustice. I broke through my ha- bitual awe of him — I replied to him with impatience. My hot spirit Hushed in my cheek and kindled in my eye; but my sensitive heart swelled as quickly, and before I had half vented my passion, I felt it suffocat- ed and quenched in my tears. ?.:y father was asto- nished and incensed at this turning of the worm, and ordered me to my chamber. I retired in silence, choking with contending emotions. I had not been long there when I overheard voices in an adjoining apartment. It was a consultation between my father and the monk, about the means of getting me back quietly to the convent. My reso- lution was taken. I had no longer a home nor a father. That very niglit I left the paternal roof. I got on board a vessel about making sail from the har- bour, and abandoned myself to the wide world. No matter to what port she steered ; any part of so beau- tiful a world was better than my convent. No matter where I was cast by fortune ; any place would be more a home to me than the home I had left behind. The vessel was bound to Genoa. We arrived there after a voyage of a few days. As i entered the harbour between the moles which embrace it, and l)eheld the amphitheatre of palaces, and churches, and splendid gardens, rising one above another, I felt at once its title to the appellation of (jcnoa the Superb. I landed on the mole an utter stranger, without knowing what to do, or whither to direct my steps. No matter : I was released from the thraldom of the convent and the humiliations of home. When I traversed the Strada Balbi and the Slrada Nuova, those streets of palaces, and gazed at the wonders of architecture around me; when I wan- dered at close of day amid a gay throng of the brilliant and the beautiful, through the green alleys of the Acqua Yerde, or among the colonnades and terraces of the magnificent Doria gardens ; I thought it im- possible to be ever otherwise than happy in Genoa. A few days sufficed to show me my mistake. My scanty purse was exhausted, and for the first time in my life I experienced the sordid distresses of penury. I bad never known the want of money, and had never adverted to the possibility of such an evil. I was ignorant of the world and all its ways ; and when tirst the idea of destitution came over my mind, its effect was withering. I was wandering penniless through the streets which no longer deliglited my eyes, when chance led my steps into the magnificent church of the Annunciata. A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment superintending the placing of one of his pictures over an altar. The proficiency which I had acquired in his art during my residence in the convent had made me an enthusiastic amateur. I was struck, at the first glance, with the painting. It was the face of a Ma- donna. So innocent, so lovely, such a divine expres- sion v' anternal tenderness ! I lost, for the moment, all recollection of myself in the enthusiasm of my art, I clasped my hands together, and uttered an ejacnla-l tion of delight. The painter perceived my emotjooj He was flattered and gratified by it. My air am manner pleased him, and he accosted me. I felt much the want of friendship to repel the advances a stranger; and there was something in this one benevolent and winning, that in a moment he gaim my confidence. I told him my story and my situation, conceali only my name and rank. He appeared strongly jnJ terested by my recital, invited me to his house, ji from that time I became his favourite pupil. |j| thought he perceived in me extraordinary talents h the art, and his encomiums awakened all my anloi What a blissful period of my existence was it that passed beneath his roof! Another being seei created within me; or rather, all that was amial and excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse ever I had been at the convent, but how diffei was my seclusion ! My time was spent in storing mind with lofty and poetical ideas ; in meditatini; all that was striking and noble in history and .Ictii in studying and tracing all that was sublime and tiful in nature. I was always a visionary, imagii tive being, but now my reveries and imaginings elevated me to rapture. I looked up to my m; as to a benevolent genius that had opened to me a gion of enchantment. He was not a native of Gei but had been drawn thither by the solicitations of i veral of the nobility, and had resided there butafq years, for the completion of certain works he had (lertaken. His health was delicate, and he liadj confide much of the filling up of his designs lo pencils of his scholars. He considered me as cularly happy in delineating the human coiinlenai in seizing upon diaracleristic, though fleeting pressions, and fixing them powerfully upon my vass. I was employed continually, therefore, inslu ing faces, and often, when some particular gracej beauty of expression was wanted in a countenam was intrusted to my pencil. My benefactor was of bringing me forward; and partly, perhaps, Ihi my actual skill, and partly through his partial pi I began to be noted for the expressions of my tenaiices. Among the various works which he had ui taken, was an historical piece for one of the of Genoa, in which were to be introduced the nesses of several of the family. Among these one intrusted to my pencil. It was that of a yi girl, who as yet was in a convent for her ediical She came out for the purpose of sitting for tliepii I first saw her in an apartment of one of the tuous palaces of Genoa . She stood before a ca< that looked out upon the bay; n stream of vernalj shine fell upon her, and shed a kind of glory her, as it lit up the rich crimson chamber. SI but sixteen years of age— and oh, how lovely scene broke upon me like a mere vision of sprii yoni won ofpt beau desci her ( protr Igaz^ vrass tion. andii term art hi liiink that in villi \ jlurrasi me nil ediier (lalted (iiarms (eted oi Dade If lendern liure til bin don llnniin y, hav ihern Afett' . con\ t TALES OF A TRAVELLER. ''WMk- the enthusiarm of my an.| ir and uttered an ejacula-l ;er perceived my emolionl lified by it- My air andf tie accosted me. I felli lip to repel the advances o 5 sonietliingin this ones hat in a moment he gaiou id my situation, concealii He appeared strongly ii ivited me to his house, le liis favourite pupil. Hi me extraordinary talents (( ms awakened all my awloi f my existence was it Ihal if! Another being seer rather, all that was amial n out. I was as recluse ! convent, but how diftei r time was spent in storing etical ideas; in meditalins i noble in history and ficl all that was sublime and always a visionary, imagii y reveries and imaginings ;, I looked up to my masi lus that had opened to me a He was not a native of Gei iiilherby thesolicitalionsot nd had resided there but a f( ion of certain works lie had I was delicate, and he Wj lining up of his designs to He considered me as eating the human counleiiai acleristic, though fleeling hem powerfully upon mj ontinually, therefore, inslieli hen some particular gracel .vaswantedinacountenai encil. My benefactor was d; and partly, perhaps, ihi arlly through his partial pi Ifor the expressions ot my IS works which he had ui Lai piece for one of llie (were to be introduced tlie Ithe family. Among these Ipencil. It was that of ay in a convent for her educal Ipurpose of sitting for thepi I apartment of one of the! ba. She stood before a cas [the bay; n stream of vernali and shed a kind of glory [ich crimson chamber. SI Bge-and oh, how lovely like a mere vision of 8|iri yoath and beauty. I could have fallen down and worshipped her. She was like one of those ticlions of poets and painters, when they would express the iew idial that haunts their minds with shapes of in- describable perfection. I was permiUed to sketch ber countenance in various positions, and I fondly ptracted the study that was undoing me. The more 1 gazed on her, the more I became enamoured ; (here vras something almost painful in my intense admira- tion. I was but nineteen years of age, shy, diflident, and inexperienced. I was treated with attention by ber mother ; for my youth and my enthusiasm in my art bad won favour for me; and I am inclined to think that there was something in my air and manner that inspired interest and respect. Still the kindness «ith which I was treated could not dispel the em- hirrassment into which my own imagination threw pie when in presence of this lovely being. It eleval- (dlier into something almost more than mortal. She teemed too exquisite for earthly use ; too delicate and exalted for human attainment. As I sat tracing her charms on my canvass, with my eyes occasionally ri- jTeled on her features, I drank in delicious poison that Inade me giddy. My heart alternalely gushed with jteoderness, and ached with despair. Mow I became more than ever sensible of the violent fires that had lain dormant at the bottom of my soul. You who are jbom in a mare temperate climate, and under a cooler ;y, have little idea of the violence of passion in our ithern bosoms. A few days finished my task. Bianca returned to .. convent, but her image remained indelibly im- :d upon my heart. It dwelt in ray imagination; became my pervading idea of beauty. It had an feet even upon my pencil. I became noted for my ilicily in depicting female loveliness : it was but be- iiise I multiplied the image of Bianca. I soothed and [e( fed my fancy by introducing her in all the pro- JQCIions of my master. I have stood, with delight, in of the chapels of the Annunciata, and heard the iwd extol the seraphic beauty of a saint which I painted. I have seen them bow down in adora- m before the painting; they were bowing before loveliness of Oianca. I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost say lirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the tena- of my imagination, that the hnage which was in it continued in all its power and freshness. leed, I was t solitary, meditative being, much given reverie, and apt to foster ideas which had once len strong possession uf me. I was roused from fond, melancholy, delicious dream by the death [my worthy benefactor. I cannot describe the pangs death occasioned me. It left me alone, and al- ilbroken-hearled. He bequeathed to me his little )periy, which, from the liberality of his disposition, bis expensive style of living, was indeed but small: he most particularly recommended me, in <lying, |liie protection of u nobleman who had been his II. The latter was a man who passed for munificent. He was a lover and an encourager of the arts, and evidently wished to be (bought so. He fancied he saw in me indications of future excellence; my pencil had already attracted at(en(ion ; he took me at once under his protection. Seeing (hat I was overwhelm- ed with grief, and incapable of exerting myself in the mansion of my late benefactor, he invited me to so- journ for a time at a villa which he possessed on the border of the sea, in the picturesque neigl >ourhood of Sestri di Ponente. I found at the villa the count's only son, Filippo. He was nearly of my age ; prepossessing in his ap- pearance, and fascinating in his manners; he attached himself to me, and seemed to court my good opinion. I thought there was something of profession in his kindness, and of caprice in his disposition ; but I had nothing else near me to attach myself to, and my heart felt (he need of some(hing (o repose upon. His educadon had been neglected ; he looked upon me as his superior in mental powers and acquirements, and tacitly acknowledged my superiority. I felt that I was his equal in birth, and that gave independence (0 my manners, which had its effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw sometimes exercised on others, over whom he had [tower, were never manifested towards me. We became indmate friends and fre- quent companions. Still I loved (o be alone, and to indulge in (he reveries of my own imagination among the scenery by which I was surrounded. The villa commanded a wide view of (he Mediter- ranean, and of the picturesque Ligurian coast. It stood alone in the midst of ornamented gi ounds, fine- ly decorated with statues and founlains, and laid out into groves and alleys, and shady lawns. Every (hiiig was assembled here (hat could gratify the (aste, or agreeably occupy (he mind. Soodied by (he (ran- (luillity of this elegant retreat, (he (urbulence of my feelings gradually subsided, and blending with the romantic spell which s(ill reigned over my imagina- tion, produced a soft, voluptuous melancholy. I had not been long under the roof of the count, when our solitude was enlivened by another inhabit- ant. It was the daughter of a relative of the count, who had lately died in reduced circumstances, be- queathing this only child (o his protection. I had heard much of her beauty from Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed by one idea of beauty, as not to admit of any other. V'e were in the central saloon of the villa when she arrived. She was still in mourning,, and approached, leaning on the count's arm. As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck by (he elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace with which the wie:5aro, the bewitching veil of Genoa, was folded about her slender form. 'J'hey entered. Heavens! what was my surprise when I beheld Bianca before me ! It was herself; pale with grief, but still more matured in loveliness than wlien I had last l)clield her. The (imc (hat had elapsed had developcti the graces of her person, and the mw- son TALES OF A TRAVELLER. row she had andergone had diffused over her coun- tenance an irresistible tenderness. v Slie blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in whose company she had been accustomed to behold me. For my part, I cannot express what were my emo- tions. By degrees I overcame the extreme shyness that had formerly paralysed me in her presence. We were drawn together by sympathy of situation. We had each lost our best friend in the world ; we were each, in some measure, thrown upon the kindness of others. When I came to know her intellectually, all my ideal picturmgs of her were confirmed. Her newness to the world, her delightful susceptibility to every thing beautiful and agreeable in nature, re- iT'rded me of my own emotions when first I escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of thinking delighted my judgment; the sweetness of her nature wrapped itself round my heart; and then her young, and ten- der, and budding loveliness, sent a delicious madness to my brain. I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as some- thing more than mortal ; and I felt humiliated at the idea of my comparative unworthiness. Yet she was mortal; and one of mortality's most susceptible and loving compounds;— for she loved me ! How first I discovered the transporting truth I can- not recollect. I believe it stole upon me by degrees as a wonder past hope or belief. We were both at such a tender and loving age; in constant intercoui'se with each other; mingling in the same elegant pur- suits; — for music, poetry, and painting, were our mutual delights; and we were almost separated from society among lovely and romantic scenery. Is it strange that two young hearts, thus brought together, should readily twine round each other? Oh, gods, what a dream — a transient dream of un- alloyed delight, then passed over my souL! Then it was that the world around me was indeed a paradise ; for I had woman — lovely, delicious woman, to share it with me ! How often have I rambled along the picturesque shores of Sestri, or climbed its wild moun- tains, with the coast gemmed with villas, and the blue sea far below me, and the slender Faro of Ge- noa on its romantic promontory in the distance; and as I sustained the faltering steps of Bianca, have thought there could no unhappiness enter into so beautiful a world ! How often have we listened to- gether ' . the nightingale, as it poured forth its rich notes among the moonlight bowers of the garden, and have wondered that poets could ever have fancied any thing melancholy in its sqng ! Why, oh why is this budding season of life and tenderness so transient ! why is this rosy cloud of love, tliat sheds such a glow over the morning of our days, so prone to brew up into the whirlwind and the storm ! I was the first to awaken from this blissful deliriam of the affections. I had gained Rianca's heart, what was I to do with it? I had no wealth nor prospect to entitle me to her hand ; was I to take advantage of her ignorance of the world, of her oonfldbg affec- tion, and draw her down to my own poverty ? WaJ this requiting the hospitality of the count? was tbii | requiting the love of Bianca ? Now first I began to feel that even successful lore I may have its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about my heart. I moved about the palace like 1 1 guilty being. I felt as if I had abused its hospitality, as if I were a thief within its walls. I could no long.] er look with unembarrassed mien in the countenance I of the count. I accused myself of perfidy to him, I and I thought he read it in my looks, and began to] distrust and despise me. His manner liad always | been ostentatious and condescending; it now ap.| peared cold and haughty. Filippo, too, became n-l served and distant; or at least I suspected him tobel so. Heavens ! was this the mere coinage of my bnio?! Was I to become suspicious of all the world? Al poor, surmising wretch, watching looks andgesturaJ and torturing myself with misconstructions ? Or, If] true, was I to remain beneath a roof where I vai merely tolerated, and linger there on soflieranGe?! '' This is not to be endured ! " exclaimed I : " I mm tear myself from this state of self-abasement— I vrilj break through this fascination and fly Fiy!- Whilher ? from the world ? for where is the world when I leave Bianca behind me ? '' My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me at the idea of bemg looked upon with contumeiyJ Many times I w^as on the point of declaring my b\ mily and rank, and asserting my equality in the pre sence of Bianca, when I thought her relations < sumed an air of superiority. But the feeling vai transient. I considered myself discarded andc temned by my family ; and had solemnly vowed i ver to own relationship to them until they themselre^ should claim it. The struggle of my mind preyed upon my ha|^ ness and my health. It seemed as if the uncertainll of being loved would be less intolerable than thus t be assured of it, and yet not dare to enjoy the i viction. I was no longer the enraptured admirer ( Bianca ; I no longer hung in ecstasy on the tones ( her voice, nor drank in with insatiate gaze thebeaulj of her countenance. Her very smiles ceased tod light me, for I felt culpable in having won them. She could not but be sensible of the change ini and inquired the cause with her usual franicness aij simplicity. I could not evade the inquiry, for i heart was full to aching. I told her all the confi| of my soul ; my devouring passion, my bitter i upbraiding. "Yes," said I, "I am unworthy | you. I am an offcast from my family— a wand —a nameless, homeless wanderer— with nothingii poverty for my portion; and yet I have dared tok you — have dared to aspire to your love ! " My agitation moved her to tears, but shesavi thing in my situation so hopeless as I had de| it. Brought np in a convent, she knew nothin|;| the world— its wants— its cares : and indeed wImIi TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 80'» gian is a worldly casnist in matters of ^le heart ? ^tj more— she kindled into a sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of my fortunes and myself. We lad dwelt together on the works of the fiimons mas- ters. I had related to her their histories ; the high npatation, the influence, the magnificence, to which (bey had attained. The companions of princes, tlie bTOurites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. All this she applied to me. Her love saw nothing gall their great productions that I was not able to ichieve; and when I beheld the lovely creature glow with fervour, and her whole countenance radiant filh visions of my glory, I was snatched up for the igoinent into the heaven of her own imagination. I ara dwelling too long upon this part of my story ; east i suspected him to beHyet I cannot help lingering over a period of my life, mere coinage of my l)rain?l|)B which, with all its cares and conflicts, I look back with fondness, for as yet my soul was unstained by I crime. I do not know what might have been the jitiult of this struggle between pride, delicacy, and ipKsion, had I not read in a Neapolitan gazette an account of the sudden death of my brother. It was ipanied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence icerning me, and a prayer, should this meet my e, that I would hasten to Naples to comfort an in- and afflicted father. I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but ly brother had never been as a brother to me. I long considered myself as disconnected from him, his death caused me but little emotion. The Ills of my father, inflrm and suffering, touched however to the quick ; and when I thought of that lofty magnificent being, now bowed down desolate, and suing to me for comfort, all my intment for past neglect was subdued, and a glow filial affection was awakened withui me. The predominant feeling, however, that over- iwered all others, was transport at the sudden inge in my whole fortunes. A home, a name, , wealth, awaited me ; and love painted a still rapturous prospect in the distance. I hastened Bianca, and threw myself at her feet. "Oh, nca!" exclaimed I, "at length I can claim you my own. I am no longer a nameless adventurer, neglected, rejected outcast. Look— read — behold that restore me to my name and to my- l,ofherconfldbgaffec. my own poverty? Was I of the count? was thi» | ? , that even successful love I corroding care gathered j about the palace like a had abused its hospiUlily, | ts walls. I could no long, mien in the coontenaDcej myself of perfidy to him, I my looks, and began to I His manner Itad always I idescending ; it now ap-j Filippo, too, became r^| ious of all the world? Al alching looks and gestures;! 1 misconstructions? Or,ilf neath a roof where I wa nger there on sufl'erance?! ed!" exclaimed I: "I will e of self-abasement-I will ination and fly Fly! ,orld? for where is theworW indme?' y proud, and swelled wilhiii ooked upon with contumelyJ 5 point of declaring my b-l rting my equality in the prf I thought her relations , iority. But the feeling wai myself discarded andc nd had solemnly vowed i [to them until they ihemseWej lind preyed upon my happJ seemed as if the uncertainty less intolerable than thus t it not dare to enjoy the ( jr the enraptured admirer < _^in ecstasy on the tones* [with insatiate gaze thebeaulj [er very smiles ceased tod jble in having won them, sensible of the change in I ath her usual frankness aij ^t evade the inquiry, for i I told her all the coniii] Ering passion, my bitter ( [said I, "lam unworthy | Ifrom my family-a wan* 8 wanderer— with nothing II [; and yet I have dared tok Ipire to your love ! " Iher to tears, but she saw 1 50 hopeless as I had d(^ knvent, she knew nothinjj [us cares -.and indeed wbttf Id" 1 1 will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca i in the reverse of my situation, because she f it lightened my heart of a load of care ; for her |rnpart, she had loved me for myself, and had ne- r doubted that my own merits would command I fame and fortune. |lnow felt all my native pride buoyant within me. ;er walked with my eyes bent to the dust; ) elevated them to the skies — my soul was lit up I fresh fires and beamed from my countenance. I wished to impart the change in my circumstances |thecoant; to let him know who and what I was — I to make formal proposals for the hand of Bianca ; but he was absent on a distant estate. I opened my whole soul to Filippo. Now first I told him of my passion, of the doubts and fears that had distract- ed me, and of the tidings that had suddenly dispelled them. He overwhelmed me with congratulations, and with the warmest expressions of sympathy, I embraced him ui the fulness of my heart ;— I felt compunctious for having suspected him of coldness, and asked him forgiveness for having ever doubted his friendship. Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden expansion of the heart between young men. Filippo entered into our concerns with the most eager inter- est. He was our confident and counsellor. It was determined that I should hasten at once to Naples, to re-establish myself in my father's affections, and my paternal home ; and the moment the reconcilia- tion was effected, and my father's consent insured, I should return and demand Bianca of the count. Fi- lippo engaged to secure his father's acquiescence ; in- deed he undertook to watch over our interests, and to be the channel through which we might correspond. My parting with Bianca was tender — delicious — agonizing. It was in a little pavilion of the garden which had been one of our favourite resorts. How often and often did I return to have one more adieu ; to have her look once more on me in speechless emo- tion ; to enjoy once more the rapturous sight of those tears streaming down her lovely cheeks ; to seize once more on that delicate hand, the frankly accorded pledge of love, and cover it with tears and kisses ! Heavens ! there is a delight even in the parting agony of two lovers, worth a thousand tame pleasures of the world. I have her at this moment before my eyes, at the window of the pavilion, putting aside the vines that clustered about the casement, her light form beaming forth in virgin light, her countenance all tears and smiles, sending a thousand and a thou- sand adieus after me, as, hesitating, in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I faltered my way down the avenue. As the bark bore me out of the harbour of Genoa, how eagerly my eye stretched along the coast of Sestri till it discovered the villa gleaming from among trees at the foot of the mountain ! As long as day lasted, I gazed and gazed upon it till it lessened and lessened to a mere white speck in the distance; and still my intense and fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects of the coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or were lost in the evening gloom. On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal home. My heart yearned for the long-withheld blessing of a father's love. As I entered the prond portal of the ancestral palace, roy emotions were so great, that I could not speak. No one knew me ; the servants gazed at me with curiosity and surprise. A few years of intellectual elevation and developement had made a prodigious change in the poor fugitive stripling from the convent. Still that no one should know me in my rightful home was overpowering. I tm TALES OF A TRAVELLER. felt like the prodigal son returned. I was a stranger in the house of my father. I burst into tears and wept aloud. When I made myself known, however, all was changed. I, who had once been almost re- pulsed from its walls, and forced to fly as an exile, was welcomed back with acclamation, with servility. One of the servants hastened to prepare my father fur my reception; my eagerness to receive the paternal embrace was so great, that I could not await his re- turn, but hurried after him. What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered the chamber ! My father, whom I had left in the pride of vigorous age, whose noble and majestic bearing had so awed my young imagi- nation, was bowed down and withered into decrepi- tude. A paralysis had ravaged his stately form, and left it a shaking ruin. He sat propped up in his chair, with pale relaxed visage, and glassy wandering eye. His intellects had evidently shared in the ravage of his frame. The servant was endeavouring to make him comprehend that a visitor was at hand. I totter- ed up to him and sunk at his feet. All his past cold- ness and neglect were forgotten in his present suffer- ings. I remembered only that he was my parent, and that I had deserted him. I clasped his knees : my voice was almost stifled with convulsive sobs. "Pardon— pardon, oh! my father!" was all that I could utter. His apprehension seemed slowly to re- turn to him. He gazed at me for some momenls with a vague, inquiring look ; a convulsive tremor quivered about his lips; he feebly extended a shaking hand, laid it upon my head, and burst into an infan- tine flow of tears. From that moment he would scarcely spare me from his sight. I appeared the only object that his heart responded to in the world; all else was as a blank to him. He had almost lost the powers of speech, and the reasoning faculty seemed at an end. He was mute and passive, excepting that fits of child- like weeping would sometimes C9me over him with- out any immediate cause. If I left the room at any time, his eye was incessantly fixed on the door till my return, and on my entrance there was another gush of tears. To talk with him of my concerns, in this ruined state of mind, would have been worse than useless; le have left him forever so short a time, would have been crupl, unnatural. Here then was a new trial for my affections. I wrote to Bianca an account of my return, and of my actual situation, painting, in colours vivid, for they were true, the torments I suf- fered at our being thus separated ; for to the youthful lover every day of absence is an age of love lost. I enclosed the letter in one to FiKppo, who was the channel of our correspondence. I received a reply from him full of friendship and sympathy; from Bianca, full of assurances of affection and constancy. Week after week, month after month elapsed, with- out making any change in my circumstances. The vital flame which had seemed nearly extinct when first I met my father, kept fluttering on without any apparent diminution. I watched him constanijr, faithfully, I had almost said patiently. I knew tiijt his death alone would set me free — yet I never at any moment wished it. I felt too glad to be able to make I any atonement for past disobedience ; and, denied as 1 1 had been all endearments of relationship in my early I days, my heart yearned towards a father, who in his I age and helplessness had thrown himself entirely oo| me for comfort. My passion for Bianca gained daily more force from I absence: by constant meditation it wore itself adeeperl and deeper channel. I made no new friends nor ac-f quaintances ; sought none of the pleasures of i\aple$,| which my rank and fortune threw open to me. Mine! was a heart that confined itself to few objects, ball dwelt upon them with the intenser passion. Tosjtl by my father, administer to his wants, and to medi-l tate on Bianca in the silence of his chamber, was mJ constant habit. Sometimes I amused myself with myl pencil, in portraying the image that was ever presentj to my imagination. I transferred to canvass e\eryh and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I sliovec them to my father, in hopes of aw^ikening an interei in his bosom for the mere shadow of my love; butt was too far sunk in intellect to lake any more than i child-like notice of them. When I received a letlei from Bianca, it was a new source of solitary luxuryj Her letters, it is true, were less and less frequent, kl they were always full of assurances of unabated afTecJ tion. They breathed not the frank and innoceol warmth with which she expressed herself in comvrJ sation, but I accounted for it from the embarrassmenl which inexperienced minds have often io expn themselves upon paper. Filippo assured me of i unaltered constancy. They both lamented, in I strongest terms, our continued separation, thoughthej did justice to the filial piety that kept me by inyE ther'sside. Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted eKiiej To me they were so many ages. Ardent and impi tuous by nature, I scarcely know how I sliould hatj supported so long an alisence, had I not felt assure that the faith of Bianca was equal to my own. length my father died. Life went from him almoj imperceptibly. I hung over him in mute aftlictioi and watched the expiring spasms of nature. His l< faltering accents whispered repeatedly a blessingij me. — Alas ! how has it been fulfilled ! When I had paid due honours to his remains, d laid them in the tomb of our ancestors, I arran» briefly my affairs, put them in a posture to beeasj at my command from a distance, and embarked o more with a bounding heart for Genoa. Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what wasi^ rapture, when first, in the dawn of morning, U the shadowy summits of the Apennines rising aim like clouds above the horizon ! The sweet brealii| summer just moved us over the long wavering 1 that were rolling us on towards Genoa. By degi the coast of Seslri rose like a creation of enchanlni TALES OF A TRAVELLER. ms tched him consUnlly, patiently. Iknewlhai free— yet I never at any I .rladlobe able to make I aience;and,denieda8l relationship in my early I rds a father, wlioinliisi own liimself entirely on led daily more force from I Lion it wore itself a deeper I le no new friends nor ac- Ihe pleasures of Naples, threw open to me. Mine itself to few objecU, but intenser passion. To sill , his wants, and to m«di-l ;e of his chamber, was ray] si amused myself with my lage that was ever presenl ferred to canvass evei7lool elt in my heart. Isliow ,68 of awakening an inlei shadow of my love; but ect to take any more llm When 1 received a lelli vv source of solitary luxury, re less and less frequent, assurances of unabated allec lot the frank and innocenl expressed herself in com«. jritfromtheembarrassDir inds have often to expi FiUppo assured me of li riiey both lamented inued separation, thoughlhi iety that kept me by my' tjsed in this protracted exil( Lages. Ardent and. mr telyknowhowlsliouldha^ Uencchadlnotfeltassur was e(iual to my own, Life went from him ata over him in mute affliciK le spasms of nature. His [ered repeatedly a blessmg Ibeenfulfdled! , honours to his remains, a I of our ancestors, I arranr Itheminaposluretobeeai [distance, and embarked" leart for Genoa. »itious,andoh!whatvf« [the dawn of morning,! If the Apennines rising iorizon! The sweet breathl over the long wavering [towards Genoa. By "« like a creation of cnchanli from the silver bosom of the deep. I beheld the line of villages and palaces studding its borders. My eye reverted to a well-known fioint, and at length, from ilie confusion of distant objects, it singled out the liUa which contained Bianca. It was a mere speck jiu the landscape, but glimmering from afar, the polar of my heart. Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day, but I liow different the emotions between depart ure and ilurn ! It now kept growing and growing, instead of ningand lesseningon my sight. My heart seemed dilate with it. I looked at it through a telescope, gradually defined one feature after another. The Iconies of the central saloon where first I met Bianca Death its roof; the terrace where we so often had the delightful summer evenings ; the awning It shaded her chamber window; I almost fancied I iV her form beneath it. Could she but know her iver was in the bark whose white sail now gleamed the sunny bosom of the sea! My fond Impatience ased as we neared the coast; the ship seemed to lazily over the billows; I could almost have sprung the sea, and swum to the desired shore. The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the le; but the moon arose in all her fulness and luty, and shed the tender light, so dear to lovers, the romantic coast of Sestri. My soul was in unutterable tenderness. I anticipated the ivenly evenings I should pass in once more wan- ing with Bianca hy the light of that blessed moon. It was late at night before we entered the harbour. early next morning as I could get released from formalities of landing, I threw myself on horse- :, and hastened to the villa. As I galloped round rocky promontory on which stands the Faro, and the coast of Sestri opening up<m me, a thousand ities and doubts suddenly sprang up in my bo- There is something fearful in returning to we love, while yet uncertain what ills or chan- ibsence may have effected. The turbulence of agitation shook my very frame. I spurred my to redoubled speed; he was covered with foam we both arrived panting at the gateway that tu the grounds around the villa. I left my ' ata colla<: J, and walked through the grounds, I might regain tranquillity for the approaching lew. I chid myself for having suffered mere and surmises thus suddenly to overcome me ; I vas always prone to be carried away by gusts efeelitigs. entering the garden, every thing bore the same as when I had left it; and this unchanged aspect igs reassured me. There were the alleys in I had so often walked with Bianca, as we to the song of the nigiitingale; the same under which we had so often sat during the lebeat. There were the same flowers of which w fond, and which appeared still to be under istry of her hand. Every thing looked and of Bianca; hope and joy flushed in my bo- som at every step. I passed a little arbour, in which we had often sat and read together — a book and a glove lay on the bench— It was Bianca's glove; it was a volume of the Metastasio I had given her. The glove lay in my favourite passage. I clasped them to my heart with rapture. " All is safe ! " ex- claimed I; '' she loves me, she is still my own ! " I bounded lightly along the avenue, down which I had faltered so slowly at my departure. I beheld her favourite pavilion, which ha'' witnessed our parting scene. The window was open, with the same vine clambering about it, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. O how transporting was the con- trast in my situation ! As I passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a female voice : they thrilled through me with an appeal to my heart not to be mis- taken. Before I could think, I felt t hey were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered with agitation. I feared to break so suddenly upon her. I softly as- cended the steps of the pavilion. The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; her back was towards me ; she was warbling a soft melancholy air, and was occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that she was copying one of my own paintings. I gazed on her for a moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing : a heavy sigh, almost a sob followed. I could no longer contain myself. " Bianca ! " exclaimed I, in a half-smothered voice. She started at the sound, brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering about her face, darted a glance at me, uttered a piercing shriek, and would have fallen to the earth, had I not caught her in my arms. " Bianca ! my own Bianca ! " exclaimed I, folding her to my bosom ; my voice stifled in sobs of convul- sive joy. She lay in my arms without sense or mo- tion. Alarmed at the effects of my precipitation, I scarce knew what to do. I tried by a thousand endearing words to call her back to consciousness. She slowly recovered, and half-opening her eyes, " Where am I ? " murmured she, faintly. " Here ! " exclaimed I, pressing her to my bosom, " Here— close to the heart that adores you— in the arms of your faithful Ottavio ! " " Oh no ! no ! no ! " shrieked she, starting into sudden life and terror — "away! away ! leave me ! leave me ! " She tore herself from my arms; rushed to a corner of the saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if the very sight of me were baleful. I was thunder- struck. I could not believe my senses. I followed her, trembling, confounded. I endeavoured to take her hand ; but she shrunk from my very touch with horror. "Good heavens, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " what is the meaning of this ? Is this my reception after so long an absence ? Is this the love you professed for me ? " At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. She turned to me a face wild with anguish : "No more of that— no more of that!" gasped she ; "talk not to me of love— I— I— am married ! " ;i06 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. I reeled as if I bad received a mortal blow — a sick- ness struck to my very heart. I caught at a window- frame for support. For a moment or two every thing was chaos around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa, her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing convulsively. Indignation for her fickle- ness for a moment overpowered every other feeling. "Faithless — perjured!" cried I, striding across the room. But another glance at that beautiful being in distress checked all my wrath. Anger could not dwell together with her idea in my soul. " Oh ! Bianca," exclafmed I, in anguish, "could I have dreamt of this? Could I have suspected you would have been false to me?" She raised her face all streaming with tears, all disordered with emotion, and gave me one appealing look. "False to you ! — They told me you weredead ! " " What, " said I, " in spite of our constant corres- pondence ?" She gazed wildly at me : " Correspondence ! what correspondence ? " " Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my letters ? " She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervour. " As I hope for mercy — never ! " A horrible surmise shot through my brain. " Who told you I was dead?" " It was reported that the ship in which you em- barked for Naples perished at sea. " " But who told you the report? " . VV She paused for an instant, and trembled : — " Fi- lippo." " May the God of heaven curse him !" cried I, extending my clenched fists aloft. " O do not curse him, do not curse him ! " exclaim- ed she ; " he is — he is — my husband ! " This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that had been practised upon me. My biood boiled like liquid fire in my veins. I gasped with rage too great for utterance— I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of horrible thoughts that rushed through my mind. The poor victim of deception before me thought it was with her I was incensed. She faintly murmured forth her exculpation. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more than she meant to reveal. I saw with a glance how both of us had been betrayed. "'Tis well," muttered I to myself in smothered accents of concentrated fury. " He shall render an account of all this. " Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in her countenance. " For mercy's sake, do not meet him ! — Say nothing of what has passed— for my sake say nothing to him— I only shall be the sufferer ! " A new suspicion darted across my mind — "What ! " exclaimed I, " do you then fear him? is he unkind to you? Tell me," reiterated I, grasping her hand, and looking her eagerly in the face, "tell me— dares he to use yon harshly ?" " No ! no ! no ! " cried she faltering and embarrassed —but the glance at her face had told me volumes. I saw in her pallid and wasted features, in the | terror and subdued agony of her eye, a whole liisi of a mind broken down by tyranny. Great God] and was this beauteous flower snatched from me ii be thus trampled upon ? The idea roused me to n ness. I clenched my teeth and my hands; I fa at the mouth ; every passion seemed to have resoifi itself into the fury that like a lava boiled v ilhin i heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless airrigl As I strode by the window, my eye darted down t alley. Fatal moment! I beheld Filippo at a distan my brain was in delirium— I sprang from the pavilioi and was before him with the quickness of liglitniq He saw me as I came rushing upon him— he ion pale, looked wildly to right and left, as if he m have fled, and trembling drew his sword. " Wretch ! " cried I, " well may you draw yn weapon ! " I spake notanother word— I snatched forthastiiei put by the sword which trembled in his hand, i buried my poniard in his bosom. He fell wilh t blow, but my rage was unsated. I sprung uponii with the blood-thirsty feeling of a tiger ; redoul my blows ; mangled him in my frenzy, grasped bij by the throat, until, with reiterated wounds i strangling convulsions, he expired in my grasp. remained glaring on the countenance, horrible j death, that seemed to stare back with its proln eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me fionn delirium. I looked round, and beheld Bianca flyi distractedly towards us. My brain whirled— I wij ed not to meet her ; but fled from the scene of lion I fled forth from the garden like another Cain,- hell within my bosom, and a curse upon my liead.| fled without knowing whither, almost without km ing why. My only idea was to get farther audi ther from the horrors I had left behind ; as ifl c throw space between myself and my conscience, | fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days) days among their savage heights. How I exist«l| cannot tell— what rocks and precipices I braved,! how I braved them, I know not. I kept on and j trying to out-travel the curse that clung to me. the shrieks of Bianca rung for ever in my ears. horrible countenance of my victim was for ever I fore my eyes. The blood of Filippo cried toj from the ground. Rocks, trees, and torrents, al| sounded with my crime. Then it was I felt 1 much more insupportable is the anguish of rem than every other mental pang. Oh! could 1 1 have cast off this crime that festered in my i — could I but have regained the innocence thatn ed in my breast as I entered the garden at could I but have restored my victim to life, 1 1 ifl could look on with transport, even thought were in his arms. By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse i into a permanent malady of the mirid— into ( the most horrible that ever poor wretch was ( with. Wherever I went, the countenance of i TALES OF A TRAVELLEU. SOT rd— 1 snatched forlhasUl I trembled in his hand, his bosom. He fell with ; unsated. I sprung uponhi feeling of a tiger ; redoolil m in my frenzy, graspedbi with reiterated wounds f he expired in my grasp. the countenance, horrible stare back with its prolnx ng shrieks roused me from mnd, and beheld Biancaflj s. My brain whirled-Iw ktfle<l from the scene oflion garden like another Cain, , and a curse upon my head, whither, almost withoullinr ea was to get farther and I had left behind; as if 1 CI myself and my conscience, j, and wandered for days ge heights. HowIexisM is and precipices I braved, know not. I kept on and B curse that clung to me. rang for ever in my ears. of my victim was for ever blood of Filippo cried to ocks, trees, and torrents,* ime. Then it was I felt' table is the anguish of rei entalpang. Oh! could 1 ime that festered m my rained the innocence that entered the garden at S ored my victim to life, I h transport, even though ■nzied fever df remorses ,ladyofthemlrld-into< [t ever poor wretch was ( vent, the countenance ofn gUin appeared to follow me. Whenever I turn- inf bead, I beheld it behind me, hideous with the ilortions of (he dying moment. I have tried in i(fy way to escape from this horrible phantom, but Tain. I know not whether it be an illusion of the , the consequence of my dismal education at the ivent, or whether a phantom really sent by Heaven punish me, but there it ever is — at all times— in places. Nor has time nor habit had any effect in iarizing me with iU terrors. I have travelled from to place — plunged into amusements — tried dis- itionand distraction ofevery kind — all — all in vain. once had recourse to my pencil, as a desperate ex- nt. I painted an exact resemblance of this itom face. I placed it before me, in hopes that constantly contemplating the copy, I might di- inbhthe effect of the original. Hut I only doubled lead of diminishing the misery. Such is the curse it has clung to my footsteps— that has made my life burthen, hut the thought of death terrible. God iws what I have suffered— what days and days, nights and nights of sleepless torment— what a er-dying worm has preyetl upon my heart— what anqnenchable fire has hurned within my brain ! knows the wrongs that wrought upon my poor tak nature ; that converted the tenderesl of af- ions into the deadliest of fury. He knows best :ether a frail erring creature has expiated by long- nring torture and measureless remorse the crime i moment of madness. Often, often havi I pros- ited myself in the dust, and implored that he ^voul'i leme a sign of his forgiveness, and let me die llbus far had I written some time since. I had ant to leave this record of misery and crime with ^, to be read when I should be no more. Hy prayer to Heaven has at length been heard. I were witness to my emotions last evening at the |irch, when the vaulted temple resounded with the tls of atonement and redemption. I heard a voice ]ikingtome from the midst of the music; I heard [ising above the pealing of the organ and the voices e choir— it spoke to me intones of celestial me- |y-il promised mercy and forgiveness, but de- ded from me full expiation. I go to make it. To- ow I shall be on my way to Genoa, to surrender ielf to justice. You who have pitied my sufferings, I have poured the balm of sympathy into my ds, do not shrink from my memory with ab- Irenee now that you know my story. Recollect, J when you read of my crime I shall have atoned |il with my blood I Vhen the Baronet had finished, there was a nni- lal desire expressed to see the painting of this jitliil visage. After much entreaty the Baronet KDled, on condition that they should only visit it |by one. He called his housekeeper, and gave her 8 to conduct the gentlemen, singly, to the cham- They all returned varying in their stories. Some affected in one way, some in another ; some more, some less ; but all agreeing that there was a certain something alwut the painting that had a very odd effect upon the feelings. I stood in a deep bow-window with the Baronet, and could not help expressing my wonder. " Af- ter all, " said I, " there are certain mysteries in our nature, certain inscrutable impulses and influences, which warrant one in being superstitious. Who can account for so many persons of different characters being thu<i strangely affected by a mere painting ? " " And especially when not one of them has seen it ! " said Ihe Baronet, with a smile. " How ! " exclaimed I, " not seen it ?" " Not one of them ! " replied he, laying his finger on his lips, in sign of secrecy. " I saw that some of them were in a bantering vein, and I did not chuse that the memento of the poor Italian should be made a jest of. So I gave the housekeeper a hint to show them all to a different chamber ! " Thus end the stories of the Nervous Gentleman. # PART U. - ■ BUCKTHORNE AND mS FRIENDS. / This \«orId is the best that we live in, ' To lend, or to spend, or to fjive in ; But to beg, or to borrow, or gut a man's own, "ris the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. lines from an lim H-'indovi. LITERARY LIFE. Among other subjects of a traveller's curiosity, I had at one time a great craving after anecdotes of li- terary life; and being at London, one of the most noted places for the production of books, I was ex- cessively anxious to know something of the animals which produced them. Chance fortunately threw me in the way of a literary man by the name of Buck- thorne, an eccentric personage, who had lived much in the metropolis, and could give me the natural his- tory of every odd animal to be met with in that wil- derness of men. He readily imparted to me some useful hints upon the subject of my inquiry. " The literary world," said he, " is made up of little confederacies, each looking upon its own mem- bers as the lights of the universe; and considering all others as mere transient meteors, doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, while its own luminaries are to shine steadily on to immortality." " And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a peep into those confederacies you speak of? I presume an intercourse with authors is a kind of intellectual ex- »'*>.' ^!k TALES OF A TRAVELLER. change, where one must bring liis commodities to barter, and always give a quid pro qtio." ■ " Pooh, pooh ! how you mistake," said Bucl(thorne, smiling; " you must never think to become popular among wil» by shining. They go into society to shine themselves, not to admire tlie brilliancy of others. I once thought as you do, and never went into literary society without studying my part before- hand; the consequence was, that I soon got the name of an intolerable proser, and sliould, in a little while, have been completely excommunicated, had I not changed my plan of operations. No, sir, there is no character that succeeds so well among wits 8s that of a good listener; or if ever you are eloquent, let it be when t6te-d-t£te with an author, and then in praise of his own works, or, what is nearly as acceptable, in disparagement of the works of his contemporaries. If ever he speaks favourably of the productions of a particular friend, dissent boldly from him; pronounce his friend to be a blockhead; never fear his being vexed ; much as people speak of the irritability of au- thors, I never found one to take offence at such con- tradictions. No, no, sir, authors are particularly candid in admitting the faults of their friends. " Indeed, I would advise you to be extremely spar- ing of remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic observationson the mostdistinguished writers of the day." " Faith," said I, *' I'll praise none that have not been dead for at least half a century." " Even then," observed Mr Buckthorne, " I would advise you to be rather cautious ; for you must know that many old writers have been enlisted under the banners of different sects, and their merits have be- come as completely topics of party discussion as the merits of living statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have been whole periods of literature absolutely ta- boo'd, to use a South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a man's critical reputation is worth in some circles, to say a word in praise of any of the writers of the reign of Charles the Second, or even of Queen Anne, they being all declared Frenchmen in disguise." " And pray," said I, " when am I then to know that I am on safe grounds, being totally unacquaint- ed with the literary landmarks, and the boundary-line of fashionable taste?" " Oh ! " replied he, •' there is fortunately one tract of literature which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which all the literary meet amicably, and run riot in the excess of their good humour; and this is in the reigns of Elizabeth and James. Here you may praise away at random. Here it is ' cut and come again ; ' and the more obscure the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the more your admiration will smack of the real relish of the connoisseur; whose taste, like that of an epicure, is always for game that has an antiquated flavour, "But, continued he, "as you seem anxious to know something of literary society, I will take an opportunity to introduce you to some coterie, when the talents of the day are assembled. I cannot i mise you, however, that they will all be of the fin order. Somehow or other, our great geniuses ; not gregarious ; they do not go in flocks, hut fly sinj[| ly in general society. They prefer mingling, in, common men, with the multitude, and are apt i carry nothing of the author about them but the i putation. It is only the inferior orders that herd loj gether, acquire strength and importance by ihri confederacies, and bear all the distuictive character! istics of their species." A LITERARY DINNER. A FEW days after this conversation with MrBuci thorne, he called upon me, and took me with biml a regular literary dinner. It was given by a i bookseller, or rather a company of booksellers, wb (irm surpassed in length that of Shadrach, Mesha and Abednego. I was surprised to find between twenty and tbiij guests assembled, most of whom I had never s before. Mr Buckthorne explained this to me, byi forming me that this was a business dinner, or I of field-day, which the house gave about twicel year to its authors. It is true they did occasioi give snug dinners to three or four literary men all time ; hut then these were generally select aiilliof favourites of the public, such as had arrived at i sixth or seventh editions. " There are," said I "certain geographical boundaries in the land of i rature, and you may judge tolerably well of an i thor's popularity by the wine his bookseller s\ him. An author crosses the port line about the 111 edition, and gets into claret; and when he hasreaclj the six or seventh, he may revel in champagne j[ burgundy." " And pray," said I, " how far may these j tlemen have reached that I see around me; are^ of these claret drinkers ? " " Not exactly, not exactly. You find at llieseg,, dinners the common steady run of authors, on two edition men ; or if any others are invited, t are aware that it is a kind of republican meetini You understand me — a meeting of the repnbliij letters; and that they must expect nothing but p substantial fare." These hints enabled me to comprehend more 1 the arrangement of the table. The two ends i occupied by two partners of the house; and Ihej seemed to have adopted Addison's idea as to thej rary precedence of his guests. A popular pod j the post of honour ; opposite to whom was a liot-pi ed traveller in quarto with plates. A grave-l antiquarian, who had produced several solid v(| that were mnch quoted and little read, was tn TALES OF A TRAVELLER. im ou to some coterie, when assembled. I cannot [ they will all be of the fin er, our great geniuses lot go in flocks, but fly sin^ rhey prefer mingling, litj multitude, and are apt i or about them but the reJ inferior orders that herd id I and importance by tbei all the distinctive charactei^ lry dinner. s conversation with MrBoclj me, and took me with him j r. It was given by a i ompany of booksellers, vh h that of Shadrach, Mesb id between twenty and thin St of whom I had never! le explained this to me, Lyi iras a business dinner, or kii lie house gave about twice! t is true they did occasiot hree or four literary men alj ■ere generally select aiitlio , such as had arrived at ili lions. " There are," said boundaries in the land of lij ludge tolerably well of an I the wine his bookseller ?ij jcs the port line about the tlif [laret; and when he hasreaclj may revel in champagne. I, " how far may these „ that I see around me; are i [s?" , jxactly. You find at Ihesegi^ steady run of authors, one if any others are invited, '' kind of republican meelir -a meeting of the repnblii must expect nothing but r 1 me to comprehend more |he table. The two ends ners of the house; and the Jed Addison's idea as to Ihel fs guests. A popular poel Iposite to whomwas ahot-i ■ with plates. A grave-lo produced several solid w led and little read, was tP «ith great i-<>spect, and seated next to a neat dressy gentleman in black, who had written a thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo on political economy, that was getting into fashion. Several three volume duodecimo inen, of fair currency, were placed about the centre of the table; while the lower end was taken up with (inall poets, translators, and authorit „ ! -) had not a» yet risen into much notoriety. The conversation during dinner was by fits and itarts; breaking out here and there in various parts of the table in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had the confidence of a man on good terms vith the world, and independent of his bookseller, vas very gay and brilliant, and said many clever Ihin;^ which set the partner next him in a roar, and delighted all the company. The other partner, liow- ever, maintained his sedateness, and kept carving on, villi the air of a thorough man of business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. His gravity was explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He informe<l me that the concerns of the house were ad- mirably distributal among the partners. " Thus, for instance," said he, "the grave gentleman is the ar>ing partner, who attends to the joints; and the other is the laughing partner, who attends to the jjokes." The general conversation was chiefly carried on at Ihe upper end of the table, as the authors there seem- ed to possess the greatest courage of the tongue. As |lo the crew at the lower end, if they did not make much figure in talking, they did in eating. Never [vas there a more determined, inveterate, thoroughly- iostained attack on the trencher than by this phalanx of masticators. When the cloth was removed, and the wine began to c'rcnlate, they grew very merry and jocose among themselves. Their jokes, how- ever, if by chance any of them reached the upper end {of ihe table, seldom produced much effect. Even the lughing partner did not seem to think it necessary honour them with a smile; which my neighbour ickthorne accounted for, by informing me that there tas a certain degree of popularity to be obtained he- re a bookseller could afford to laugh at an author's in. Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus fated below the salt, my eye singled out one in par- jblar. He was rather shabbily dressed; though he evidently made the most of a rusty black coat, ^YO^e his shirt-frill plaited and puffed out volu- lously at Ihe bosom. His face was dusky, but irid, perhaps a little too florid, particularly about le nose; though the rosy hue gave the greater lustre a twinkling black eye. He had a little the look of boon companion, with that dash of the poor devil it which gives an inexpressibly mellow tone to a I's humour. I had seldom seen a face of richer lise; but never was promise so ill kept. He said ling, ate and drank with the keen appetite of a releer, and scarcely stopped to laugh, even at the jokes from the upper end of the table. I in- quired who he was. Buckthorne looked at him at- tentively : " Gad," said he, " I have seen that face before, but where I cannot recollect. He cannot ]w an author of any note. I suppose some writer of ser- mons, or grinder of foreign travels. " After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud ofinferiorguesis,— authors of smafl volumes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet arrived to he iin|)ortance of a dinner invitation, but were invited occasionally to pass the evening " in a friendly way." They were very respectfid to the partners, and, indeed, seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extravagantly fond of the chil- dren. Some few, who did not feel confidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in corners, talking to one another; or turned over the portfolios of prints which they had not seen above five thousand times, or moused over the music on the forte-piano. The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were the persons most current and at their ease in the draw- ing-room; being men evidently of circulation in the west end. They got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid her a thousand compliments and ci- vilities, at some of which I thought she would have expired with delight. Every thing they said and did had the odour of fashionable life. I looked round in vain for the poor-devil author in the rusty black coat; he had disappeared immediately after leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing further to inte- rest my attention, I took my departure soon after coffee had been served, leaving the poet, and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed, octavo gentleman, masters of the field. THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. I THINK it was the very next evening that, in com- ing out of Covent Garden Theatre with my eccentric friend Buckthorne, he proposed to give me another, peep at life and character. Finding me willing for any research of the kind, he took me through a va- riety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent Garden, until we stopped before a tavern from which we heard the bursts of merriment of a jovial party. There would be a loud peal of laughter, then an in- terval, then another peal, as if a prime wag were tell- ing a story. After a little while there was a song, and at the close of each stanza a hearty roar, and a, vehement thumping on the table. "This is the place," whispered Buckthorne; "it is the club of queer fellows, a great resort of the small wits, third-rate actors, and newspaper critics* of the theatres. Any one can go in on paying a six- pence at the bar for the use of the club." nio TALES OF A TRAVELLER. We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our seats at a lone, table inadusky cornerof the room. The club was assembled round a table, on which stood beverages of various kinds, according to the tastes of the individuals. The members were a set of queer fel- lows indeed ; but what was my surprise on recogniz- ing in the prime wit of the meeting the poor-devil au- thor whom I had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promising face and his complete taciturnity ! Matters, however, were entirely changed with him. There he was a mere cipher; here he was lord of the ascendant, the choice spirit, the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more luminously than his nose. He had a quip and a fillip for every one, and a good thing on every occasion. Nothing could be said or done without eliciting a spark from him; and I so- lemny declare I have heard much worse wit even from noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, were rathei- wet, but they suited the circle over which he presided. The company were in that maudlin nkood, when a little wit goes a great way. Every time he opened his lips there was sure to be a roar ; and even sometimes before he had time to speak. We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee composed by him expressly for the club, and which he sang with two boon companions, who would have been worthy subjects for Hogarth's pencil. As they were each provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure the reading of it : Merrily, merrily push round the glass, And merrily troll the glee ; For he who won't drinli till he wink is an ass : So, neighbour, I drink (o thee. Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose. Until it right rosy shall be ; For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose. Is a sign of good company. We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched under it, and wide apart; liis hands in his breeciies pockets; his head drooped upon his breast ; and gazing with lack-lustre countenance on an empty tankard. His gaiety was gone, his fire completely quenched. My companion approached, and startled him from his fit of brown study, introducing himself on the strength of their having dined together at the booksellers'. "By the way," said he, "it seems to me I have seen you before; your face is surely that of an old ac- quaintance, though, for the life of me, I cannot tell where I have known you." "Very likely," replied he with a smile : "many of my old fi-iends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth, my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If, however, it will assist your re- collection in any way, my name is Thomas Dribble, at your service." " What ! Tom Dribble, who was at old nirchell's school in Warwickshira?" "The same," said the other cooUy. "Why, then, we are old schoolmates, thoiighii's no wonder you don't recollect me. I was your jiuiior by several years; don't you recollect little Jack Buck- thome?" Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow reco- gnition, and a world of talk about old school times and school pranks. Mr Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy sigh, " that times were sadly changed since those days." "Faith, Mr Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a different man here from what you were at dinner. I had no idea that you had so much stuff in yoa. There you were all silence, but here you absolutely I keep the table in a roar." " Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of Hie j head, and a shrug of the shoulder, "I'm a mere glow- worm. I never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a l hard thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at the table of a rich bookseller. Who do you think would I laugh at any thing I could say, when I had some ofl the current wits of the day about me? But liere,[ though a poor devil, I am among still poorer devib] than myself; men who look up to me as a man of let- ters, and a hel-esprit, and all my jokes pass as sterling| gold from the mint." " You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I; "l| have certainly heard more good things from you iliul evening, than from any of those beaux-esprits byf whom you appear to have been so daunted." " Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side : tbeyl are in the fashion — there's nothing like being in fa-f shion. A man that has once got his character up foraf wit is always sure of a laugh, say what he may. Ha may utter as much nonsense as he pleases, and allvii pass current. No one stops to question the coin of i( rich man; but a poor devil cannot pass off eitlien joke or a guinea, without its being examined on bolli sides. Wit and coin are always doubted witli i threadbare coat." "For my part," continued he, givinghis hata twile a little more on one side, "for my part, I hateyo fine dinners ; there's nothing, sir, like the freedonj of a chop-house. I'd rather, any time, have my stes and tankard among my own set, than drink claret an eat venison with your cursed civil, elegant compan]^ who never laugh at a good joke from a poor devil I fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows in a ve| soil; it flourishes in low places, but withers on yoi d— d high, di-y grounds. I once kept high eomp]| sir, imtil I nearly ruined myself; I grew so dull, aii[ vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me but being a rested by my landlady, and thrown into prison ; whe^ a course of catch clubs, eight-penny ale, and | devil company, manured my mind, and brought | back to itself again." As it was now growing late, we parted for i evening, though I felt anxious to know more of ll practical philosopher. I was glad, therefore, win Buckthorne proposed to have another meeting, TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 5il GooUy. choolmates, though il's me. Iwasyouriunior collect liUle Jack Buck- of school-fellow reco- about old school limes ble ended by observing, nes -were sadly changed ill "you seem quite a t you were at dinner, ll so much stuff ill yon. but here you absolutelj ledhe.withashakeoflhe ulder/'l'mamereglovf- daylight. Besides, il's a )f an author to shine atlhe Who do you think would say, when I had some ofl lay about me? But here, I among still poorer devib ik up to me as a man ot let- 1 allmyjokespassassterl ~ If injustice, sir," said I; "I e good things fiom you thi! of those beaux-espnts by .been so daunted." ,ve luck on their side : tbej .'snolhing like being in fa nee got his character upfot ugh, say what he may. Hi nse as he pleases, and alW ops to question the com of ivil cannot pass off either its being examined on boi ire always doubted wiUi tiedl>e,gWinghishatalwi E "for my part, I hate yw thing, sir, like the freedoi Iher, any lime, have my si6' Iwn set, ihan drink claret ai Irsed civil, elegant compan] ])d joke from a poor deviH A good joke grows in aw Iplaces, but withers on y» I once kept high compan „ myself; I grew so dull,* thing saved me but being nd thrown into prison; wli I eight-penny ale, and td ray mind, and brougln ling late, we parted tor nxious to know more ot II was glad, therefore, v( have another meelui? talk over old school-times, and inquired his school- mate's address. The latter seemed at first a little gby of naming his lodgings ; but suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood—" Green-arbour court, sir," ex- dainied he—" Number— in Green-arbour-court. Vou must know the place. Classic ground, sir, clas- sic ground ! It was there Goldsmith wrote his Yicar of Wakefield— I always like to live in literary haunts." I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby quarters. On our way homeward, Buck- thorne assured me that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great wag of the school in their boyish oays, and one of those unlucky urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he perceived me curious res- pecting his old schoolmate, he promised to take me mth him in his proposed visit to Green-arbour- coiirt. A few mornings afterward he called upon me, and %i set forth on our expedition. He led me through J variety of singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages; for he appeared to be perfectly versed in all the intricate geography of the metropolis. At lengtii we came out upon Fleet-market, and travers- r it, turned up a narrow street to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone steps, called Break-neck- Idairs. These, he told me, led up to Green-arbour- icuurt, and that down them poor Goldsmith might many a time have risked his neck. When we enter- ed the court, I could not but smile to think in what oal-of-the-waycorners genius produces her bantlings! [And the Muses, those capricious dames, who, for- )lh, so often refuse to visit palaces, and deny a smile to votaries in splendid studies, and gilded wing-rooms,— what holes and burrows will they [uent, to lavish their favours on some ragged di- iple! This Green-arbour-court I found to be a small ire, of tall and miserable houses, the very intes- les of which seemed turned inside out, to judge [he old garments and frippery that flutteretl im every window. It appeared to be a region of lasherwomen, and lines were stretched about the lie square, on which clothes were dangling to dry. Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place Iween two viragos about a disputed right to a wash- I, and immediately the whole community was in a ibbub. Heads in mob-caps popped out of every idow, and such a clamour of tongues ensued, that [was fain to stop my ears. Every amazon took part [ith one or other of the disputants, and brandished arms, dripping with soap-suds, and fired away her window as from the embrazure of a fortress, [bile the swarms of children nestled and cradled in [ery procreant chamber of this hive, waking with noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the gene- concert. |Poor Goldsmith! what a time must he have had it, with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, lined up in this den of noise and vulgarity ! How inge, that while every sight and sound was suffi- cient to embitter the heart, and fill it with misan- thropy, his pen should be dropping the honey of Hybia ! Yet it is more than probable that he drew many of his inimitable pictures of low life from the scenes which surrounded him in this abode. The circumstance of Mrs Tibbs being obliged to wash her husband's two shirts in a neighbour's house, whore- fused to lend her wash-tub, may have been no sport of fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. His landlady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs' scanty wardrobe have been a fac simile of his own. It was with some difficulty that we found our way to Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in a room that looked upon the court, and when we entered, he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a broken table. He leceived us, however, with a free, open, poor-devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first appear slightly confused; buttoned up his waistcoat a little higher, and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he recollect- ed himself in an instant ; gave a half swagger, half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three- legged stool for Mr Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lum- bering old damask chair, that looked like a dethron- ed monarch in exile; and bade us welcome to his garret. We soon got engaged in conversation . Buckthorne and he had much to say almut early school scenes ; and as nothing opens a man's heart more than recol- lections of the kind, we soon drew from him a brief outline of his literary career. THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. I BEGAN life unluckily by being the wag and bright fellow at school ; and I had the further misfortune of becoming the great genius of my native village. My father was a country attorney, and intended that I should succeed him in business ; but I had too much genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius to force it into the traces : so I fell into bad company, and took to bad habits. Do not mistake me. I mean that I fell into Ihe company of village literati, and village blues, ind took to writing village poetry. It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary. There was a little knot ofchoice spirits of us, who as- sembled frequently together, formed ourselves into a Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society, and fancied ourselves the most learned Philos in existence. Every one had a great character assigned him, sug- gested by some casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow drank an enormous quantity of tea, roll- ed in his arm-chair, talked sententiously, pronouncetl dogmatically, and was considered a second Dr John- son; another, who happened to be a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and was the 512 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. Swift of our association. Thas we had also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons ; and a blue slocking lady, whose drawing-room we frequented, who corresponded about nothing with all the world, and wrote lettei-s with the stiffness and formality of a printed book, was cried up as another Mrs Montagu. I was, by common consent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, the great genius, the pride and hope of the village, through whom it was to become one day as celebrated as Stralford-on-Avon. My father died, and left me his blessing and his business. His blessing brought no money into my pocket; and as to his business, it soon deserted me; for I was busy writing poetry, and could not attend to law, and my clients, though they had great res- pect for my talents, had no faith in a poetical attorney. I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of Melan- choly, and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. The Pleasures of Imagination, the Pleasures of Hope, and the Pleasures of Memory, though each had placed its author in the first rank of poets, were blank prose in comparison. Our Mrs Montagu would cry over it from beginning to end. It was pronounced by all the members of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society, the greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it would make in the great world. There was not a doubt but the London booksellers would be mad after it, and the only fear of my friends wos, that I would make a sacrifice by selling it too cheap. Every time they talked the matter over, they increased the price. They reckon- ed up the great sums given for the poems of certain popular writers, and determined that mine was worth more than all put together, and ought to be paid for accordingly. For my part, I was modest in my ex- pectations, and determined that I would be satisfied with a thousand guineas. So I put my poem in my pocket, and set off for London. My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame and fortune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon old London from the heights of Highgate ! I was like a general, looking down upon a place he ex- pects to conquer. The great metropolis lay stretched before me, buried under a home-made cloud of murky smoke, that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, and formed for it a kind ofarliiicial bad weather. At the outskirts of the city, away to the west, the smoke gradually decreased until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kentish hills. My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of St Paul swelled dimly through (his misty chaos, and I pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that lies about its base. How soon should the Plea- sures of Melancholy throw this world of booksellers and printers into a bustle of business and delight ! How soon should I hear my name repeated by printers' devils throughout Paternoster-row, and Angel-courl, and Ave-Maria-lane, until Amen-corner should echo I back the sound ! Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most I fashionable publisher. Every new author patronizes I him of course. In fact, it had been determinedin { the village circle that he should be the fortunate man, I cannot tell you how vaingloriously I walked the I streets. My head was in the clouds. I felt the airs i of heaven playing about it, and fancied it already en- circled by a halo of literary glory. As I passed bv I the windows of bookshops, I anticipated the timel when my work would be shining among the hot- pressed wonders of the day; and my face, scratched I on copper, or cut on wood, iiguring in fellowshipl witii those of Scott, and Byron, and Moore. When I applied at the publisher's house, there wasl something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginessl of my dress, that struck the clerks with reverenceJ They doubtless took me for some person of conse-| quence : probably a digger of Greek roots, ora pene. trater of pyramids. A proud man in a dirty shirt ij always an imposing character in the world of ietteni one must feti intellectually secure before he can ven-f ture to dress shabbily ; none but a great genius, or] great scholar, dares to be dirty : so I was ushered a| once to the sanctum sanctorum of this high priest o Minerva. The publishing of books is a very different alTaiJ now-a-days from what it was in the time of Beniari Lintot. I found the publisher a fashionably dress man, in an elegant drawing-room, furnished viUJ sofas and portraits of celebrated authors, and casesoj splendidly bound books. He was writing letten 3 an elegant table. This was transacting business i style. The place seemed suited to the magnilio publications that issued from it. I rejoiced at I choice I had made of a publisher, for I always like! to encourage men of taste and spirit. I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical [ that I had been accustomed to maintain in ourvillaj circle; though I threw in it something of a patroni ing air, such as one feels when about to make a maii| fortune. The publisher paused with his pen in li band, and seemed waiting in mute suspense toknoJ what was to be announced by so singular an appaif tion. I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt thatl had but to come, see, and conquer. I made knoif my name, and the name of my poem; produced o precious roll of blotted manuscript ; laid it on tlieli with an emphasis ; and told him at once, to savelin and come directly to the point, the price was ( thousand guineas. I had given him no time to speak, nor did lies so inclined. He continued looking at me k ment with an air of whimsical perplexity; scanned^ from head to foot; looked down at the manuscri|| then up again at me, then pointed to a chair; a whistling softly to himself, went on writing hisietli I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposiii{il I TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 5ir> men-corner should echo ] ed at once to the most y new author patronizes had been determined in lid be the fortunate man. igloriously I walked \k le clouds. I felt the airs I md fancied it already en- ry glory. As I passed by' J i anticipated the time| 'shining among the hot- ,. and my face, scratched I )d, figuring in fellowshipj ,'ron, and Moore, ublisher's house, there wasl ofmyair,andthedingine8s the clerks with reverence. for some person of conse- r of Greek roots, or a pene roudmaninadirlyshirli icter in the world of letters;! ly secure before he can veiij one but a great genius, or J e dirty : so 1 was ushered aj ictorum of this high priest! 3oks is a very different aM itwasinthetimeofBernar iblisher a fashionably dres rawing-room, furnished wiJ plebrated authors, and cases s. He was writing letters s was transacting business « ,ied suited to the magnifi( from it. 1 rejoiced at ll publisher, for I always hk( le and spirit. We with the lofty poetical med to maintain in our \illi in it something of a pall 8 when about to make a mmj r paused with his pen in^ ing in mute suspense to linoi iiced by so singular an appai in a moment, for I felt ihaj knd conquer. I made kn< teofmy poem; produced" lmnuscript;laiditonlhelal told him at once, 10 save lim the point, the price was ( kme to speak, nor did he Led looking at me for a Vnsical perplexity; scanned [keddown atthemanusci then pointed to a chair Lelf went on writing hw I 'ailing Ids reply, supposing was making np his mind ; but he only paused occa- sionally to take a fresh dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the tip of his nose, and then resumed his writing. It was evident his mind was intently occupied upon some other subject; but I had no idea that any other sflbject should be attended to, and my poem lie un- noticed on the table. I had supposed that every thing fould make way for the Pleasures of Melancholy. My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my manuscript, thrust it into my jtockct, and walked out of the room : making some noise as I went out, to let my departure be heard. The publisher, however, vastoo much buried in minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered to walk down stairs without being called back. I sallied forth into the street, but no derk was sent after me; nor did the publisher call alter me from the drawing-room window. I have lieen told since, that he considered me either a mad- man or a fool. I leave you to judge how much he w in the wrong ui his opinion. When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled |dovn in my pride and my expectations, and reduced |iiy terms with the next bookseller to whom I applied. jihad no better success ; nor with a third, nor with a [ixirth. I then desired the booksellers to make an ler themselves ; but the deuce an offer would they ike. They told me poetry was a mere drug ; every ly wrote poetry; the market was overstocked with And then they said, the title of my poem was not ;ing;that pleasures of all kinds were worn thread- ire, nothing but horrors did now-a-days, and even were almost worn out. Tales of Pirates, Rob- ,and Bloody Turks, might answer tolerably well; itthen they must come from some established well- vnname, or the public would not look at them. At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller, read it, and judge for himself. " Why, really, my Mr a— a — I forget your name, " said he, sting an eye at my rusty coat and shabby gaiters, jteally, sir, we are so pressed with business j ust no w , have so many manuscripts on hand to read, that have not time to look at any new productions; but I you can call again in a week or two, or say the lie of next month, we may be able to look over ir writings, and give you an answer. Don't forget, month after next ; good morning, sir ; happy to I you any time you are passing this way. " So say- , he bowed me out in the civilest way imaginable. |$iiort, sir, instead of an eager competition to seciuc poem, I could not even get it read ! In the mean I was harassed by letters from my friends, want- to know when the work was to appear ; who was my publisher ; but, above all things, warning inot to let it go too cheap. there was but one alternative left. I determined iblish the poem myself; and to have my triumph the booksellers, when it should become the [ion of the day. I accordingly published the Plea- oFMelancholy, and ruined myself. Excepting jcopies sent to the reviews, and to my friends in the country, not one, I believe, ever left the book- seller's warehouse. The printer's bill drained my purse, and the only notice that was taken of my work, was conlainedinthe advertisements paid for by myself. I coidd have borne all this, and have attributed it, as usual, to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the want of taste in the public, and could have made the usual appeal to posterity ; but my village friends would not let me rest in quiet. They were pictur- ing me to themselves feasting with the great, com- muning with the literary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. Every little while, some one would call on me with a letter of introduction from the village circle, recommending him to my atten- tions, and requesting that I would make him known in society; with a hint, that an introduction to a celebrated literary nobleman would be extremely agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change my lodgings, drop my correspondence, and disappear al- together from the view of my village admirers. Be- sides, I was anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no means disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem was evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough. It no longer read for in- struction. " They want horrors, do they ? " said I : " r faith ! then they shall have enough of them. " So I looked out for some quiet, retired place, where I might be out of reach of my friends, and have leisure to cook up some delectable dish of poetical" hell- broth." I had some difiiculty in finding a place to my mind, when chance threw me in the way of Canonbury Castle. It is an ancient brick tower, hard by " merry Islington;" the remains of a hunting-seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she look the pleasure of the country when the neighbourhood was all woodland. What gave it particular interest in my eyes was the cir- cumstance that it had been the residence of a poet. It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his Deserleil Village. I was shown the very apartment. It was a relique of the original style of the castle, wilh paneled wainscots and Gothic windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, and with its having been the residence of poor Goldy. " Goldsmith was a pretty poet, " said I to myself, '* a very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion now-a-<lays; but had he lived in these limes of hot hearts and hot heails, he would no doubt have written quite differently. " In a few days I was quietly established in my new quarters ; my books all arranged ; my writing-desk placed by a window looking out into the fields ; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of change and the charms which grace new lotlgings, before one has found out their defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied Guklsmith had rambled. I explored merry Islington ; ale my solitary dinner at the Black Bull, which, according to an TALES OF A TRAVELLER. tradition, was a conntry-seat of Sir Walter Raleigh ; and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old times, in a quaint old room, where many a council had been held. All this did very well for a few days. I was sti- mulated by novelty ; inspired by the associations awakened in my mind by these curious haunts ; and began to think I felt the spirit of composition stirring within me. But Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarming about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window but I was stunned with shouts and noises from the cricket ground ; the late quiet road beneath my window was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues; and, to complete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was al)so- lutely a " show house, " the tower and its contents being shown to strangers at sixpence a-head. There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens and their families, to look about the country from the top of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the telescope, to try if they could discern their own chimneys. And then , in the midst of a v ein of thought, or a moment of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas put to flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping at the door, and asking me if I would " just please to let a lady and gentleman come in, to take a look at Mr Goldsmith's room. " If you know any thing of what an author's study is, and what an author is himself, yon must knew that there was no stand- ing this. I put a positive interdict on my room's being exhibited; but then it was shcvn when I was absent, and my papers put in confusion ; and, on re- turning home one day, I absolutely found a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over my manu- scripts, and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. I tried to make out a little longer, by taking (he key in my pocket; but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day telling some of her customers on the stairs, (hat the room was occupied by an au- thor, who was always in a tantrum if interrupted ; and I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me through (he key- hole. By the head of Apollo, but tliis was quite too much ! With all my eagerness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a-head, and that through a key-hole. So I l)ade adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Islington, and the haunts of poor Gold- smith, without having advanced a single line in my labours. My next quarters were at a small, white- waslied cottage, which stands not far from Ilampstead, just on the brow of a hill ; looking over Chalk Farm and Camden Town, remarkable for (he rival houses of Mother Red Cap and Mother Blank Cap ; and so across CrackscuU Common to the distant city The cottage was in no wise remarkable in i(8elf ; but 1 regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asyh.niufa persecuted author. Hither poor Steele had retreated, and lain perdu, when peiseciited by creditors and bailiffs— those immemorial plagues of authors and free-spirited gentlemen ; and here he had written many numbers of the Spectator. It was from hence, too, that he had dispatched those lidle notes to his lady, so full of affection and whimsicali(y, in which the fond husband, the careless gentleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so oddly blended. I thought, as I lirsteyed the window of his apartmen(, that I could sit within it and write volumes. No such thing ! It was hay-making season, and, as ill-luck would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was a little alehouse, with the sign of (lie Load of Hay. Whether it was there in Steele's time, I cannot say ; but it set all attempts at con- ception or inspiration at defiance. It was the resort of all the Irish hay-makers who mow the broad fields in the neighbourhood; and of drovers and teamsters who travel that road. Here they would gather in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the harvest moon, and sit round a table at the door; and (ipple, and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy songs, and daudle away the hours, until the deep solemn notes of St Paul's clock would warn tiie varlets home. In the day-time I was still less able to write. It was broad summer. The hay-makers were at work in the fields, and the perfume of the new-mown liay brought with it the recollection of my native fields. So, instead of remaining in my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose Hill, and Hampsteaii Heights, and Shepherd's Fields, and all those Arca- dian scenes so celebrated by London bards. I can- not tell you how many delicious hours I have passed,] lying on the cocks of new-mown hay, on the pleasai slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fragrani of the fields, while the sununer-Hy buzzed about me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bosom; and how have gazed witli half-shut eye upon the smoky mi of London, and listened to the distant sound of il population, and pitied the poor sons of earth, tolii in its bowels, like Gnomes in the " dark gold niine.'j People may say what they please about cocknej pastorals, but, after all, tliere is a vast deal ofrui beauty about the western vicinity of London; any one that has looked down upon tlie valley West End, with its soft bosom of green pastun lying open to the south, and dotted with cattle; Il steeple of Ilampstead rising among rich groves the brow of the hill ; and the learned height of Hi row in the distance ; will confess that never has seen a more absolutely rural landscape in tlieviciiii| of a great metropolis. sun, however, I found myself not a whit the ter off for my frequent change of lodgings ; and I gan to discover, that in literature, as in trade, old proverb holds good, " a rolling stone gatlien moss." The tranquil beauty of tht country played the vengeance with nic. I could not moiuit my b II tl 91 U m in afetrd poem, ^ andfclo alioutt at the hag I was ihlic 1 m, wJ id noti insh ied iling into the termagant veui. I could not conceive, ana 'llier, lite tak little of either As III 'ffy mai versati find, w liad din( inieso liter, I was to suhjecl wn, an( iwacqiia 'i find to 'pett I TALES OF A TUAVELLER. tm mmemorial plagues ot ilemen; and here he the Spectator. It was dispatched tliose Utile .clion and whimsicality, ihe careless gentleman, were so oddly blended, window of his apartment, write volumes, ay-making season, and, lunediately opposite »he ,e with the sign of the I 'was there in Steele's t set all attempts at con- Ranee. It was the resort who mow the broad fields of drovers and teamsters ere they would gather in I Kht, or by the light of the [datable at the door; and arrel, and fight, and sin?] away the hours, untd the I aul's clock would warn Ik I siiU less able to write. 11 e hay-makers were at work fumeofthenew-mownliay llection of my native fields I in my room to wnte, I wen I ,rose Hill, and HampsleadI .Fields, and all those Ata- i\ bv London bards. I can- lelicious hours I have passed v.,nownhay,onthepkasanJ lulls, inhaling the fragrancd ;ummer-ny buzzed aboulme edintomy bosom; and howf l,ut eye upon the smoky may Id to the distant sound o ii the poor sons of earth, todoi^ nes in the "dark gold mine, t they please about coc^J Ihereisavastdeaottur' tern vicinity of London; ed down upon U.e valley oft bosom of green pasiuti , and dotted with cattle i rising among rich grov. Ind the learned bcghto will confess that never ha^ rural landscape in the vico^ nd myself not a whit the change of lmlgi»gs;a«d i„ literature, asm tra^ Id ''a rolling stone gathers I of th-". country played tj' I could not mount 'ny In. 1 could not conceive, the smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder ; and the smug citizens in breeches and gaiters put all ideas of heroes and bandits out of my brain. I could think of nothing but dulcet subjects, "^the Pleasures ofSpring"—" the Pleasures of Solitude"— " the Plea- sures of Tranquillity" — "the Pleasures of Sentiment" -nothing but pleasures ; and I had the painful expe- rience of " the Pleasures of Melancholy " 'joo strongly in my recollection to be beguiled by them. Chance at length befriended me. I had frequent- ly, in my ramblings, loitered about Hampstead Hill, which is a kind of Parnassus of the metropolis. At soch times I occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It is a country inn so named : the very spot where that notorious rebel and his followers held their council of war. It is a favourite resort of citizens when rur<iliy inclined, as it commands fine fresh air, and a good view of the city. I sat one day jntlie public room of this inn, ruminating over a beef- steak and a pint of port, when niy imagination kin- dled up with ancient and heroic images. I had long wanted a theme and a hero; both suddenly broke upon my mind : I determined to write a poem on Ihe history of Jack Straw. I was so full oi my subject, that I was fearful of being anticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of the day, in their researches liter ruflian heroes, had ever thought of Jack Straw. I went to work pell-mell, blotted several sheets of paper with choice floating thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be ready at a moment's warning. In a few days' time I sketched out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but to give it flesh aiidklood. I used to take my manuscript, and stroll ahout Caen- wood, and read aloud ; and would dine lit the Castie, by way of keeping up tlie vein of |thought. I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the Mic room. There was no other comi>any but one n, who sat enjoying his pint of port at a wimlow, id noticing the passers by. He was dressed in a in shooting-coat. His countenance was strongly irked : he had a hooked nose ; a romantic eye, ex- iting that it had something of a squint; and alto- ilher, as I thought, a poetical style of head. I was ite taken with the man, for you must know I am little of a physiognomist ; I set him down at once either a poet or a philosopher. As I like to make new acquaintances, considering try man a volume of human nature, I soon fell into iversalion with the stranger, who, I was pleased lind, was by no means difficult of access. After had dined, I joined him at the window, and we ime so sociable t'uat I proposed a Itottle of wine itlier, to which he most cheerfully assented. I was too full of my poem to keep lung quiet on ject, and liegan to talk about the origin of the em, and the history of Jack Straw. I found my |w ac(|iiaintance to be perfectly at home on Ihe lo- and to jump exactly with my humour in every pi. I liecamc elevated by Ihe wine and llio conversation. In the fulness of an author's feelings, I told him of my projected poem, and repeated some passages, and he was in raptures. He was evidently of a strong poetical turn. " Sir," said he, fliling my glass at Ihe same time, "our poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go out of old England for robbers and rebels Ut write about. I like your Jack Straw, sir,— he's a hotre-made hero. I like him, sir — I like him ex- ceedingly. He's English to the back-bone— damme —Give me honest old England after all ! Them's my sentiments, sir." " I honour your sentiment," cried I, zealously; " it is exactly my own. An English ruffian <s as good a ruflian for poetry, as any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archipelago; but it is hard to make our poels think so." " More shame for them ! " replied the man in green. "What a plague would they have? What have we to do with their Archipelagos of Italy and Germany ? Haven't we heaths and commons and highways on our own little island — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them too ? Stick to home, I say — them's my sentiments.— Gome, sir, my service to you— I agree wilh you perfectly." " Poets, in old times, had right notions on this sub- ject," cmtinued I; " witness the fine old ballads about Robin Hood, Allan a'Dale, and other stanch blades of yore." "Right, sir, right," interrupted he; "Robin Hood ! he was the lad to cry stand ! to a man, and never to flinch." "Ah, sir," said I, "they had famous bands of robbers in the good old times; those were glorious poetical days. The merry crew of Sherwood Forest , who led such a roving picturesque life ' under the greenwood tree.' I have often wished to visit their liaunts, and tread the scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clymn of the Clough, and Sir William of Cloudeslie." "Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had several very pr.,lly gangs since their day. Those gallant dugs that kept about the great heaths in the neighbourhood of London, about Bagshot, and Hounslow and Blackheath, for instance. Gome, sir, my service to you. You don't drink. " I suppose," said I, emptying my glass, " I sup- pose you have heard of the famous Turpin, who was born in ^his very village of Hampstead, and who used to lurk with his gang in Epping Forest, about a hun- dred years since ? " "Have I?" aied he, "to be sure I have! A hearty old blade that. Sound as pitch. Old Tur- pentine! as we used to call him. A famoua fine fel- low, sir." " Well, sir," continued I, " I have visited Wal- Ihnm Abbey and Chingford Church merely from the stories I heard when a lioy of his exphtils there, and I have searched Epping Forest for the cavern where, he used to conceal himself. Yon must know," added ;>i6 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. I, " that I am a sort of amateur of highwaymen. They were dasliing, daring fellows : the best apo- logies that we had for the knighls-errant of yore. Ah, sir! the country has been sinking gradually into lameness and common-place. We are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of the post have .-ill dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneak- ing pickpockets ; there 's no such thing as a dashing, gentleman-like robbery committed now-a-days on the King's highway : a man may roll from one end of England to the other in a drowsy coach, or jingling |)ost-chaise, without any other adventure than that of being occasionally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner. We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and robbed by a well-mounted gang of resolute fellows, with pistols in their hands, and crapes over their faces. What a pretty poetical incident was it, for example, in do- mestic life, for a family carriage, on its way to a country-seat, to be attacked about dark; the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a politely-spoken highwayman on a blood mare, who afterwards leaped the hedge and galloped across the country ; to the admiration of Miss Caroline, the daughter, who would write a long and romantic account of the adventure to her friend, Miss Juliana, in town. Ah, sir! we meet with nothing of such incidents now-a-days." " That, sir," said my companion, taking advantage of a pause, when I stopped to recover breath, and to take a glass of wine which he had just poured out, " that, sir, craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they did formerly. They have post- notes, and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where you have nothing but carrion ilesli and feathers for your pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galloon. It turn- ed out the yellow boys bravely. And a private car- riage was a cool hundred or two at least." I cannot express how much I was delighted with the sallies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often frequented the Castle, and would be glad to know more of me; and I promised myself many a pleasant afternoon with him, when I should read him my poem as it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks ; tor it was evident he had the true poetical feeling. " Come, sir," said he, pushing the bottle, " Damme, I like you ! you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed slow in making new acquaintances. One nmst be on the reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your kidney, damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them's my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's health ! I presume one can drink it now-a-days without treason! " " With all my heart," said I, gaily, "and Dick Turpin's into the bargain ! " '' Ah, sir," said the man in green, " those are the kind of men for poetry. The Newgate Calendar, sir! the Wewgate Calendar is your only reading! There's the place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows." We were so much pleased with each other that we sat until a late hour. I insisted on paying the bUj, for both my purse and my heart were full, and I agreed that he should pay the score at our next meet- ing. As the coaches had all gone that run between Hampstead and London, we had to return on foot. He was so delighted with the idea of my poem, tliat he could talk of nothing else. He made me repeat such passages as I could remember ; and though] did it in a very mangled manner, having a wretched ok- mory, yet he was in raptures. Every now and then he would break out with some scrap which he would niistiuote most terribly, would rub his hands and exclaim, " By Jupiter, that's line, that's noble ! Damme, sir, if I can conceive liowyi hit upon such ideas ! " I must confess I did not always relish his misqni tations, wiiich sometimes made absolute nonsense the passages; but what author stands upon tri when he is praised ? Never had I spent a more delightful evening. did not perceive how the lime flew. I could nol bei to separate, but continued walking on, arm in ai with him, past my lodgings, through Camden Tovnj and across CrackskuU Common, talking the wb way about my poem. When we were half way across the common, interrupted me in the midst of a quotation, by me that this had been a famous place for footpads, ai was still occasionally infested by them; and llial man had recently been shot there in attempting defend himself.—" The more fool he ! " cried I; " man is an idiot to risk life, or even limb, to sare paltry purse of money. It's quite a different case fi that of a duel, where one's honour is concerned, fi my part," added I, " I should never think of mal resistance against one of those desperadoes." " Say you so ? " cried my friend in green, tun suddenly upon me, and putting a pistol to mybi " why, then, have at you, my lad ! — come— disbui empty! unsack!" In a word, I found that the Muse had played another of her tricks, and had betrayed m? into hands of a footpad. There was no time to pai he made me turn my pockets inside out; and, heai the sound of distant footsteps, he made one (ti upon purse, watch, and all ; gave me a thwuck ui my unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on theg and scampered away with his booty. I saw no more of my friend in green until a or two afterwards; when I caught a sif^lit of poetical countenance among a ciew of scnipe-; heavily ironed, who were on the way for lraiis| lion. He recognised me at once, tipped me an pudent wink, and asked me how I came on wilh history of Jack Straw's Castle. The catastrophe at CrackskuU Common put an ilwou lich a I 'sal Ipercei< live( iideret lered a'v talking other r creed dov qiioiini eTiol talking le public pen of a liad 1101 press; tliey wi Timson, neglect Wonder y debts I 'n tlie .sii TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 517 is your only reading! bold deeds and dashing I with each other Uiat we listed on paying the bill, r heart were full, and I lie score at our next meet- 1 U gone that run between ve had to return on fool, j iheidea of my poem, lliat j Ise. He made me repeat member ; and though 1 did er, having a wretched me- res. would break out with somel iquote most terribly, wouMj 1, " By Jupiter, that's line,! r if I can conceive howyw it always relish his misquo. i made alisolute nonsense « author sunds upon trifla more delightful evening. • time flew. I could noil led walking on, arm in an ngs, through Camden Towi Common, talkmg the whol way across the common, iidstofaquotaaon,bytelli [famous place for footpads, ai nfested by them; and that shot there in attempting more fool he!" cried 1;" ife, or even limb, to saw t's quite a different case* e's honour is concerned. F( ihouldnever think of inal those desperadoes." my friend in green, tun putting a pistol to my bi )u,mylad!-come-disbui that the Muse had played and had betrayed av, into here was no time to pai' wckets inside out; and, heai itsteps, he made one It. id all ; gave me a thwuck id me sprawling on the gi vith his booty. y friend in green until a N\xea I caught a sight o( imong a crew of scl•ap^gl ,ere on the way for hansf me at once, tipped me an id me how I came on wi s Castle. rackskuU Common pui an looiy summer's campaign. I was cured of my poe- licat enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. 1 vas put out of conceit of my subject, and, what was rorse, I was lightened of my purse, in which was jlwjsl every farthing I had in the world. So I altan- jAned Sir Richard Steele's cottage in despair, and joept into less celebrated, though no less poetical and gry lodgings, in a garret in town. i now determined to cultivate the society of the itfrary, and to enrol myself in the fraternity of au- ihip. It is by the constant collision of mind, light I, that authors strike out the sparks of genius, kindle up with glorious conceptions. Poetry is KKJeiilly a contagious complaint. I will keep com- ly with poets; who knows but I may catch it as liersliave done? I found no difficulty of making a circle of literary [Raintances, not having the sin of success lying at door : indeed the failure of my poem was a kind recommendation to their favour. It is true my V friends were not of the most brilliant names in ralure ; but then if you would take their words for they were like the prophets of old, men of whom world was not worthy ; and who were to live in itnre a^-es, when the ephemeral favourites of the IT should be forgotten. Isoon discovered, however, that the more I mingled literary society, the less I felt capable of writing; poetry was not so catching as I imagined ; and it in familiar life there was often nothing less poet- than a poet. Besides, I wanted the esprit de ijtn turn these literary fellowships to any account. Id not bring myself to enlist in any particular I saw something to likt: in them all, but found itvould never do, for that the tacit condition on ich a man enters into one of these sects is, that he s all the rest. {perceived that there were little knots of authors lived with, and for, and by one another. They iidercd themselves the salt of the earth. They lered and kept up a conventional vein of thinking talking, and joking on all subjects ; and they cried :h other up to the skies. Each sect had its parti- ir creed; and set up certain authors as divinities, fell down and worshipped them; and considered one who did not worship them, or who wor- any other, as a heretic and an inridel. qujling the writers of the day, I generally fonnd 1 eTiolliii;,' names of which I had scarcely heard, talking •■'iglitly of olhei-s who were the favourites jhe public. If I mentioned any recent work from pen of a first-rate author, they had not read it; had not lime to read all that was spawned from iress; he wrote too much to write well; — and lliey would break out into raptures about some Timson, or Tomson, or Jackson, whose works neglected at the present day, but who wjs to be wonder and delight of posterity. Alas ! what y debts is this neglectful world daily acoumulat- « the shoulders of poor posterity ! But, above all, it was edifying to hear with what contempt they would talk of the great. Ye gods! how immeasurably the great are despised by tlie small fry of literature ! It is true, an exception was now and then made of some nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had casually shaken hands at an elec- tion, or hobbed or nobbed at a public dinner, and who was pronounced a "devilish good fellow," and <'no humbug;" but, in general, it was enough for a man to have a title, to be the object of their so- vereign disdain : you have no idea how poetically and philosophically th. ' would talk of nobility. For my part this affected me but little; for though I had no bitterness against the great, and did not think the worse of a man for having innocently been born to a title, yet I did not feel myself at present called up(m to resent the indignities poured upon them by the little. But the hostility to the great writers of the day went sore against the grain with me. I could not enter into such feuds, nor participate in such animosities. I had not become author sufficiently to hate other authors. I could still find pleasure in the novelties of the press, and could find it in my heart to praise a contemporary, even though he were success- ful. Indeed I was miscellaneous in my taste, and could not confine it to any age or growth of writers. I could turn with delight from the glowing pages of Byron to the cool and polished raillery of Pope; and, after wandering among the sacred groves of Paradise Lost, I could give myself up to voluiituous abandon- ment in the enchanted bowers of Lalla Rookli. " I would have my authors," said I, as various as my wines, and, in relishing the strong and the racy, would never decry the sparkling and exhilarating. Port and sherry are excellent stand-by's, and so is Madeira ; but claret and Burgiuidy may be drunk now and then without disparagement to one's pa- late; and Champagne is a beverage by no means to be despised." Such was the tirade I uttered one day, when a little flushed with ale, at a literary club. I uttered it, too, with something of a flourish, for I thought my simile a clever one. Unluckily, my auditors were men who drank beer and hated Pope; so my figure about wines went for nothing, and my critical toleration was looked upon as downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon became like a freethinker in religion, an out- law from every sect, and fair game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences of not hating in lite- rature. I see yon are growing weary, so I will be brief with the residue of my literary career. I will not detain you with a detail of my various attempts to get astride of Pegasus; of the poems I have written which were never printed, the plays I have presented which were never performed, and the tracts I have published which were never purchased. It seemed as if booksellers, managers, and the very public, had entered into a conspiracy to starve me. Still I could not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, nor abaii- 518 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. dun those dreams of renown in which I had indulged. How should I lie able to look the literary circle of my native village in the face, if I were so completely to falsify their predictions? For some time longer, therefore, I continued to write for fame, and was, of course, the most miserable dog in existence, besides being in continual risk of starvation. I accumulated loads of literary treasure on my shelves— loads which were to be treasures to posterity; but, alas ! they put not a penny into my purse. What was all this wealth to my present necessities? I could not patch my elbows with an ode; nor satisfy my hunger with blank verse. " Shall a man fill his belly with the east wind?" says the proverb. He may as well do so as Willi poetry. I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad heart and an empty stomach, about five o'cIocU, and looked wistfully down the areas in the we'it end of the town, and seen through the kitchen windows the fires gleaming, and the joints of meat tUi'ning on the spits and dripping with gravy, and the cook-maids beating up puddings, or trussing turkeys, and Ml for the moment titat if I could but have the run of one of those kitchens, Apollo and the Muses might have the hungry heiglibi of Parnassus for me. Oh, sir! talk of meditations among the tombs — they are nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor devil without penny in pouch, along a line of kitchen-windows toward dinner-lime. At length, when almost reduced to famine and des- pair, the idea all at once entered my head, that per- haps I was not so clever a fellow as the village and myself had supposed. It was the salvation of me. The moment the idea popped into my brain it brought conviction and comfort with it. I awoke as from a dream — I gave up immortal fame to those who could live on air ; took to writing for mere bread ; and have ever since had a very tolerable life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his ease, sir, as he who has no character to gain or lose. I had to train myself to it a little, and to clip my wings short at first, or they would have carried me up into poetry in spite of myself. So I determined to liegin by the opposite extreme, and abandoning the higher regions of the craft, I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper. " Creeper! and pray what is that?" said I. "Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the craft : a creeper is one who furnishes the news- papers Willi paragt'i-iphs at so much a line ; one who goes about in quest of misfortunes; attends the Bow- street Ollice, the Courts of Justice, and every other den of mischief and ini(iuity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. Now and then the Muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly quiet, and then we rather starve ; and sometimes the unconscion- able editors will clip our paragraphs when they arc a little too rhetorical, and snip off two-pence or three- pence at a go. I have many a time had my pot i porter snipped off of my dinner in this way, andhaij had to dine with dry lips. However, I cannot < plain. I rose gradually in the lower ranks of i|| craft, and am now, I think, in the most comfortiU region of literature." "And pray," said I, "what may yon be at | sent?" "At present," said he, " I am a regular- job-wriit and turn my hand to any thuig. I work up writings of others at so much a sheet; turn ofTtniJ lations; write second-rate articles to fill up revieJ and magazines; compile travels and voyages, and fi nish theatrical criticisms for the newspapers, this authorship, you perceive, is anonymous; it gjJ me no reputation except among the trade ; vhei am considered an author of ail work, and am aln sure of employ. That's the only reputation I va) I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or critics, a leave immortal fame to those that chuse to fret i fight about it. Take my word for it, the onlyhaij author in this world is he who is below the care reputation." NOTORIETY. When we had emerged from the literary nestl honest Dribble, and had passed safely through j dangers of Break-neck-stairs, and the labyrinlli Fleet-market, Bucktliorne indulged in manyi ments upon the peep into literary life whicli he| furnished me. I expressed my surprise at finding it so diffen world from what I had imagined. ' ' It isalways i said he, " with strangers. The land of literalui a fairy land to those who view it from a disH but, like all other landscapes, the charm Fades i nearer approach, and the thorns and briars visible. The republic of letters is the must fa( and discordant of all republics, ancient or mode "Yet," said I, smiling, "you would nolliaTd take honest Dribble's experience as a view of| land. He is but a mousing owl ; a mere groun We should ha\e quite a different strain fiomi those fortunate authors whom we see sporting a the empyreal heights of fashion, like swallo\Ysii| blue sky of a summer's day." "Perhaps we might," replied he, "butldoi I doubt whether, if any one, even of the mostsotj^ ful, were to tell his actual feelings, you wonUl find the truth of friend Dribble's philosophy f respect to reputation. One you would find can a gay face to the world, while some vulture j was prjying upon his very liver. Another, win simple enough to mistake fashion for fame, yon^ find watching countenances, and cullivalin^i lions, more ambitious to figura in the Imn i than the world of letters, an<l apt to be leo' |o the sa )r beau fsics, wli gallant llie Of TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 519 nany a time had my pot| iinner in this way, andha!| I. However, I cannot ( in Uie lower ranks of i|| ink, in the most comfoi "what may yott be at| f , " 1 am a regular job-wriie any thing. I work op much a sheet; turn off Iranj ate articles to fill up reviei J travels and voyages, and f^ ns for the newspapers, trceive, is anonymous; it gi^ pt among the trade; whei orofall work, andamalvi l's the only reputation I wai ut dread ofduns or critics,; those that chuse to fretj my word for it, the only had is he who is below the card )T0R1ETY. aerged from the literary w. bad passed safely throush | ck-stairs, and the labyrinlhi ijorne indulged in many into literary life which he I rprise at finding it so differ ad imagined. "Itisalwaysi ngers. The landoflileraln^ 5 who view it from a ndscapes, the charm fades i d the thorns and briars b lie of letters is the most fi republics, ancient or modei liling, " you would nolliavi ■'s experience as a view ol| iou8ingowl;amere|;roui te a different strain from orswiiomwe see sporting a iioffasliion, like swallows ii| jr'sday." ht," replied he, "butld( ny one, even of the most si . actual feelings, you wouH] riend Dribble's philosophy One you would find cai orld, while some vulture s very liver. Another, «t stake fashion for fame, yo»| tenances, and cullivatinr JUS to figure in the hean [letters, and apt to be vei icbed by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or a dis- ited duchess. Those who were rising to fame, would find tormented with anxiety to get higher; Ibose who had gained the summit, in constant •hension of a decline. "Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of no- >ty, and the farce of fashion, are not much better being incessantly harassed by intrusions on their , and interruptions of their pursuits ; for, wlial- may be his feelings, when once an author is led into notoriety, he must go the rounds until idle curiosity of the day is satisfied, and he is ivn aside to make way for some new caprice. the whole, I do not know but he is most fortunate engages in the whirl through ambition, however ting; as it is doubly irksome to be obliged to in the game without being interested in tlie le. i''There is a constant demand in the fashionable Id for novelty ; every nine days must have its ler, no matter of what kind. At one time it is aulhor; at another a fire-eater; at another a com- , an Indian juggler, or an Indian chief; a man the North Pule or the Pyramids : each figures igh his brief term of notoriety, and then makes for the succeeding wonder. You must know we liave oddity-fanciers among our ladies of :, who collect about them all kinds of remarkable ; tiddlers, statesmen, singers, warriors, artists, iphers, actors, and poets; every kind of person- in short, who is noted for something peculiar : t their rouls are like fancy balls, where every comes ' in character.' I have had infinite amusement at these parties in ig how industriously every one was playing a and acting out of his natural line. There is not e complete game at cross-pur[M)ses than the inter- of the literary and the great. The fine gentle- is always anxious to be thought a wit, and the |a fine gentleman. I have noticed a lord endeavouring to look wise to talk learnedly with a man of letters, who was gat a fashionable air, and the tone of a man had lived about town. The peer quoted a score oof learned authors, with whom he would fain night intimate, while the author talked of Sir this, and Sir Harry that, and extolled the Bur- ly he had trunk at Lord Such-a-one's. Each to forget that he could only be interesting to .her in bis proper character. Had the peer been !ly a man of erudition, the author would never hstened to his prosing; and had the author all the nobility in the Court Calendar, it have given him no interest in the eyes of the jnthe same way I have seen a fine lady, remark- Ibr beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy me- Isics, while the philosopher put on an awkward gallantry, played with her fan, and prattled I (lie Opera. I have heard a sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a statesman about tbe national debt; and on joining a knot of scientific old gentle- men conversing in a corner, expecting to hear the discussion of some valuable discovery, I found they were only amusing themselves with a fat story." A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. The anecdotes I had heard of Bnckthorne's early schoolmate, together virilh a variety of |>eculiaritie8 which I had remarV.ed in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know something of his own history. I am a traveller of Ih^^ good old school, and am fond of the custom laid dowi! in books, according to which, whenever travellers met, they sat down forthwith and gave a history of themselves and their adventures. This Ruckthorne, too, was a man much to my taste ; he had seen the world, and mingled with society, yet retained- the strong eccentricities of a man who had lived much alone. There was a careless dash ofgood- humour about him which pleased me exceedingly ; and at times an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his humour, and gave it an additional zest. He was apt to run into long speculations upon society and manners, and to indulge in whimsical views of human nature, yet there was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. It ran more upon the follies than the vices of mankind ; and even the follies of his fellow-man were treated wilh the leniency of one who felt himself to be but frail. He had evidently been a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, witliout being soured there- by : as some fruits become mellower and more gene- rous in their flavour from having been bruised and frost-bitten. I have always had a great relish for the conversa- tion of practical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited by the " sweet uses" of adversity without imbibing its bitterness; who have learnt to estimate the world rightly, yet good-humouredly ; and who, while they perceive the truth of the saying, that '* all is vanity," are yet able to do so without vexation of spirit. Such a man was Buckthorne. ing philosopher ; and if at any time a shade of sadness stole across his brow, it was but transient; like a summer cloud, which soon goes by, and freshens and revives the fields over which it passes. I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gardens — for he was a knowing epicure in nil the cheap pleasures and rural haunts within reach of the metropolis. It was a delightful warm morning in spring; and he was in the happy mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned loose into grass and sunshine. He had been watching a lark wliich, rising from a bed of daisic ind yellow-cups, had sung his way up to a bright snowy cloud floating in the deep blue sky. "Of all birds," said he, "I should liketobealark. In general a laugh- im TALES OF A TRAVELLER. k He revels in the brightest lime of the day, in tlie liappiest season -of the year, among fresh meadows and opening flowers ; and when he lias sated himself with the sweetness of earth, he wings his flight up to Heaven as if he wonld drink in the melody of tiie morning stars. Hark to that note ! How it comes thrilling down upon the ear! What a stream of music, note falling over note in delicious cadence ! Who would trouble his head about operas and con- certs when he could walk in the fields and hear such music for nothing ? These are the enjoyments which set riches at scorn, and make even a poor man uide- pendent : I care not, Forliine, what you do deny i— You cannot rob me of free nature's grace : You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning ficc; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living streams at eve— '* Sir, there are homilies in nature's works worth all the wisdom of the schools, if we could but read them rightly, and one of the pleasantest lessons I ever received in a lime of trouble, was from hearing the notes of a lark." I proflted by this communicative vein to intimate to Buckthornea wish to know something ot the events uf his life, which I fancied must have been an eventful one. He smiled when I expressed my desire. '' I have no great story," said he, " to relate. A mere tissue of errors and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch of it, by which you may judge of the rest." And so, without any further prelude, he gave me the following anecdotes of his early adventures. ' BUCKTIIORNE; S OB, THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. I was born to very little property, but to great ex- pectations—which is, perhaps, one of the most un- lucky fortunes that a man can be born to. My fa- ther was a country gentleman, the last of a very ancient and honourable but decayed family, and re- sided in an old hunting-lodge in Warwickshire. He was a keen sportsman, and lived to the extent of his moderate income, so that I had little to expect from that quarter; but then I had a rich uncle by the mo- ther's side, a penurious, accumulating curmudgeon, who it was confidently expected would make me his heir, because he was an old bachelor, l)ecause I was named after him, and because he hated all the world except myself. He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in misanthropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had never forgiven her marriage with my father, against whom he had a cold, still, immoveable piqnj which had lain at the bottom of his heart, like a sion, in a well, ever since they had been school-boys to ther. My mother, however, considered me as tli mtermediale being that was to bringevery thin;^ ai^aij into harmony, for she looked on me as a pro(li|PY, God bless her ! my heart overflows whenever I tmi her tenderness. She was the most excellent, (Ik most indulgent of mothers. I was her only child : was a pity she had no more, for she had fondness g heart enough to have spoiled a dozen ! I was sent at an early age to a public school, sorelj against my mother's wishes; but my father insistt that it was the only way to make boys hardy. Tlij school was kept by a conscientious prig of theanciei system, who did his duty by the boys intrusted to li care : that is to say, we were flogged soundly vh we did not get our lessons. We were putinlorlas! and thus flogged on in droves along the highways i knowledge, in much the same maimer as cattle i\ driven to market; where those that are heavy ingaj or short in leg, have to suffer for the superior aleij ness or longer limbs of their companions. For my part, I confess it with shame, I was | incorrigible laggard. I have always had the poeiie feeling, that is to say, I have always been an { fellow, and prone to play the vagalmnd. I get away from my books and school wheneverlc and ramble about the fields. I was surrounded | seductions for such a temperament. The sch house was an old-fashioned white-washed mansid of wood and plaster, standing on the skirts of a li tiful village : close by it was the veneral )e ehun with a tall Gothic spire ; before it spread a h\{ green valley, with a little stream glistening alo through willow groves ; while a line of blue liillsti bounded the landscape gave rise to many a sunin day dream as to the fairy land that lay beyond. In spite of all the scourgings I suffered attliatscbj to make me love my book, I cannot but look I on the place with fondness. Indeed, I considd this frequent flagellation as the common lot or| manity, and the regular mode in whiclt scholars i made. My kind mother used to lament over my ddj of the sore trials I underwent in the cause of In ing; but my father turned a deaf ear to her «f tulations. He had been flogged through school t self, and swore there was no other way of i a man of parts; though, let me speak it williall| reverence, my father was but an indifferent illi tion of his theory, for he was considered a grie^ blockhead. My poetical temperament evinced itself at a j early period . The village church was attended ei Sunday by a neighbouring squire, the lord rfl manor, whose park stretched quite to the vif and whose spacious country-seat seemed to tab church under its protection. Indeed, you woulilf thought the church had been consecrated to I TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 521 ,8liH, immoveable pique nofhis heart, like a 8101 ad been school-boys t( er, consitlered me as il ilobringeverythin|5as;aii leil on me as a prodijjy rerllows whenever I ttoI I ihe most excellent, tl 1 was her only cliild stead of to the Deity. The parish-clerk bowed low liefore him, and the vergers liumbletl themselves unto the dust in his presence. He always entered a little late, and with some stir; striking his cane emphatic- illy on the ground, swaying his hat in his hand, and lookin;^ ' )ftily to the right and left as he walked slow- ly up the aisle ; and the parson, who always ate his Sanilay dinner with him, never commenced service yniil lie appeared. He sat with his family in a large ire, for she had fondness (■pj^, gorgeously lined, humbling himself devoutly on ed a dozen ! Iwlvet cushions, and reading lessons of meekness and Idvliness of spirit out of splendid gold and morocco [prayer-books. Whenever the parson spoke of the ^icully of a rich man's entering the kingdom of Heaven, the eyes of the congregation would turn lovartls the "grand pew," and I thoughl the squire med pleased with the application. The pomp of this pew, and the aristocraticd air of family, struck my imagination wonderfully ; and desperately in love with a little daughter of the "e to a public school, snrtlj hes; but my father insisu to make boys hardy. Th| icientiousprigoftlieanciei r by the boys intrusted loh were flogged soundly wb s. Wewereputinloolass Iroves along the highways J e same manner as caUle A B those that are heavy in gif suffer for the superior aleij their companions. .gs it with shame, 1 wasi [have always had the poelid I have always been an 1^ lay the vagalnmd. 1 sand school wheneverit fields. I was surrounded | I temperament. The set lioned white-washed mansiJ landing on the skirts of a heJ it was the venerate tW ire; before it spread a lin^ little stream glistening ak ;; while a line of blue bill egaverisetomanyasumit iry land that lay beyond, urgings I suffered atthatscW book, 1 cannot but look h ,ndness. Indeed, 1 considfi ion as the common lot ot^ lar mode in which scliolarsi ased to lament over my di jjderwentinthecauseofli lurnedadeafearlohere! leen flogged through school I was no other way of m Lgh,leimespeakitwillnlli 'wasbutanindifferentdlw ar he was considered a gti( Lament evinced itself alj [llage church was attended! Kjuring squire, the lord ol| J stretched quite to the m country-seal seemed tol ection. Indeed, you v|o«Wl lad been consecrated 10 II muire's, about twelve years of age. This freak of icy made me more truant from my studies than er. I used to stroll about the squire's park, and oiild lurk near the house, to catch glimpses of this le damsel at the windows, or playing about the iwn, or walking out with her governess. Iliad not enterprise nor impudence enough to ven- from my concealment. Indeed I felt like an ar- il poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's Meta- irphoses, when I pictured myself as some sylvan itv, and she a coy wood-uymph of whom I was in iuit. There is something extremely delicious in ;se early awakenings of the tender passion. I can even at this moment Ihe throbbing of my boyish whenever by chance I caught a glimpse of white frock fluttering among the shrubbery. I ed about in my bisom a volume of Waller, which id purloined from my mother's library ; and I ap- lo my little fair one all the compliments lavished inSacharissa. |Al length I danced with her at a school-ball. I awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak her; I was filled with awe and embarrassment in presence; hut I was so inspired, that my poetical rament for the first time broke out in verse, I fabricated some glowing lines, in which I be- med the little lady under the favourite name of arissa. I slipped the verses, trembling and blush- inlQ her hand the next Sunday as she came out of h. The little prude handed them to her mamma ; mamnvi handed them to the squire ; the squire, had no soul for poetry^ sent them in dudgeon to |schoolmaster ; and the schoolmaster, with a bar- IT worthy of the dark ages, gave me a sound and iliarly humiliating flogging for thus trespassing Parnassus. This was a sad outset for a votary lemuse; il ought to have cured me of my passion try; but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit jDiartyr rising within me. What was as well, I it cured me of my passion for the young lady; for I felt so indignant at the ignominious hors- ing I had incurred in celebrating h?r cliarms, that I could not hold up my head in church. Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the Midsummer holidays came on, and I returned liome. My mother, as usual, inquired into all my school concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows; for boyhood has il.< share of the one as well as of the other. I told her all, and she was indignant at the treatment I had ex- perienced. She fired up at the arrogance of the squire, and the prudery of the daughter; and as to the schoolmaster, she wondered where was the use of having schoolmasters, and why Iwys could not re- main at home, and be educated by tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She asked to see the verses I had written, and she was delighted with them ; for, to confess the truth, she had a pretty taste in poetry. She even showed them to the parson's wife, who pro- tested they were charming; and the parson's three daughters insisted on each having a copy of them. All tliis was exceedingly balsamic, and I was still more consoled and encouraged, when the young la- dies, who were the blue-stockings of the neighbour- hood, and had read Dr Johnson's Lives quite through, assured my mother that great geniuses never studied, but were always idle; upon which I began to sur- mise that I was myself something out of the common run. My father, however, was of a very different opinion ; for when my mother, in the pride of her heart, showed him my copy of verses, he threw them out of the window, asking her "if she meant to make a ballad-monger of the boy ? " But he was a careless, . common-thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever loved him much; my mother absorbed all my filial affection. I used occasionally, during holidays, to be sent on short visits to the uncle, who was to make me his heir; they thought it would keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. He was a withered, anxious-looking old fellow, and lived in a desolate old country-seat, which lie suffered to go to ruin from absoluteniggardliness. He kept but one man-servant, who had lived, or rather starved, with him for years. No woman was allowed to sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived by the gale, in what had been a porter's lodge, and was permitted to come into the house about an hour each day, to make the beds, and cook a morsel of provisions. The park that surrounded the house was all run wild : the trees were grown out of shape; the fish-ponds stagnant; Ihe tuns and statues fallen from their pedestals, and burit^d among the rank grass. The hares and phea- sants were so little molested, except by poachers, that they bred in great abundance, and sported about the rough lawns and weedy avenues. To guard the premises, and frighten off robbers, of whom he was somewhat apprehensive, and visitors, of whom he was in almost equal awe, my uncle kept two or three bloodhounds, who were always prowling round the house, and were the dread of the neighbouring pea- !m TALES OF A TRAVELLER. santry. They were gaunt and half starved, seemed ready to devour one from mere hnnger, and were an efTectnal check on any stranger's approach to this wi- zard castle. Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now and then during tlie holidays. I was, as I be- fore said, the old man's favourite ; that is to say, he did not hate me so much as lie did the rest of the world. I had been apprised of his character, and cautioned to cultivate his good will ; but I was too young and careless to be a courtier, and, indeed, have never been suflicienlly studious of my interests to let them govern my feelings. However, we jogged on very well together, and as my visits cost him almost nothing, they did not seem to be very unwelcome. I brought with me my fishing-rod, and half supplied the table from the fish-ponds. Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle rarely spoke ; he pointed to whatever he wanted, and the servant perfectly understood him. Indeed, his man John, or Iron John, as he was called in the neigh- bourhood, was a counterpart of his master. He was a tall, bony old fellow, with a dry wig, that seemed made of cow's tail, and a face as tough as though it had been made of cow's hide. He was generally clad in a long, patche<l livery coat, taken out of the ward- robe of tlie house, and which bagged loosely about him, having evidently belonged to some corpulent predecessor, in the more plenteous days of the man- sion. From long habits of taciturnity the hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and it cost him as much effort to set them ajar, and to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have done to set open the iron gates of the park, and let out the old family carriage, that was dropping to pieces in the coach-house. I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very desolateness of the establishment had something in it that hit my fancy. When the weather was fine, I used to amuse myself in a solitary way, by rambling about the park, and coursing like a colt across its lawns. The hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise to see a human being walking these for- bidden grounds by daylight. Sometimes I amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at birds with a bow and arrows, for to have used a gun would have been treason. Now and then my path was crosseil by a little red-headed, ragged-tailed urchin, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran wild about the pre- mises. I tried to draw him into familiarity, and to make a companion of him ; but he seemed to have im- bibed the strange unsocial character of every thing around him, and always kept aloof; so I considered him as another Orson, and amused myself with shootingathim withmy bow and arrows, and he would hold up his breeches with one hand, and scamper away like a deer. There was something in all this loneliness and wildness strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and weather-broken, with the names of favoar- ite horses over the vacant stalls; the windows brick- ed and boarded up; the broken roofit, garrisoned hj rooks and jackdaws, all had a singularly forlorn ap. pearance. One would have concluded the house lo be totally uninhabited, were it not for a little ihread of blue smoke, which now and then curled up like] cork-screw, from the centre of one of the widechim- neys, where my uncle's starveling meal was cookiri;>. My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the building, strongly secured, and generally locked. I was never admitted into this strong-hold, where the old man would remain fur the greater part of tiiej time, drawn up, like a veteran spider, in the citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, wi open to me, and I wandered about it unconstrained, The damp and rain which beat in through tliebroki windows, crumbled the paper from the walls, moulder ed the pictures, and gradually destroyed the fui ture. I loved lo roam about the wide waste chai hers in bad weather, and listen to the howling ofij wind, and the banging about of the doors and \vindov< shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how pletely, when I came to the estate, I would renov; all tinngs, and make the old building ring with riment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity. The chamber which I occupied on these visits, % the same that had been my mother's when a gji There was still the toilet-table of her own adorn the landscapes of her own drawing. She had neti seen it since her marriage, but would often ask if every thing Wfis still the same. All was just same, for I loved that chamber on her account, had taken pains to put every thing in order, and mend all the flaws in the windows with my oi hands. I anticipated the time when I should oi more welcome her to the house of her fathers, restore her to this little nestling-place ofherchil hood. At length my evil genius, or what, perhaps, is same thing, the Muse, inspired me with the notiooi rhymingagain. My uncle, who never went to dim used on Sundays to read chapters out of the Bil and Iron John, the woman from the lodge, and self, were his congregation. It seemed lo be all to him what he read, so long as it was someil from the Bible. Sometimes, therefore, it would the Song of Solomon ; and tliis withered anal would read about being " stayed with flaggons, comforted withapples, for hewas sick of love." times he would hobble, with spectacles on through whole chaptei-s of hard Hebrew namnl Deuteronomy, at which the poor woman would and groan, as if wonderfully moved. His &v book, however, was " The Pilgrim's Progress;" when he came to that part which treats of Don Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invariably ofi and his desolate old county-seat. So mucii did] idea amuse me, that I took-to scribbling about it d^ „;g^ j, the trees in the park ; and in a few days had Vrented i TALES OF A TRAVELLER. wiU» the names of favonr jtalls; ihe windows brick oken rooh, garrisoned by d a singularly forlorn ap- ve concluded Ihe house lo re it nut for a little thread andlhencurletlupliltej re of one of the wide chim-l irveling meal was cookinj in a remote corner of Ihel I, and generally locked. I his strong-hold, where the [or the greater part of ti)t{ Bteran spider, in the ciladsl the mansion, however, m ■red about it unconslrained. Ii beat in through the broke apev from the walls, moulderj adualiy destroyed the fun about the wide waste chat il listen to the howling of tl H)ut of the doors and window] fself with the idea how cc I the estate, I would renova B old building ring with ished at its own jocundity. I occupied on these visits, wi ;n my mother's when a !?r et-table of her own adorni iwn drawing. She had ne« iage, but would often ask I the same. All was just tl chamber on her account, every thing in order, and the windows with my oi the lime when I should the house of her fathers, ,le nestling-place of her chil 'nius, or what, perhaps, IS inspired me with the nolioni jcle, who never wentlochuH fead chapters out of the Bil )man from the lodge, and -ation. It seemed to be all [l, so long as it was somell Retimes, therefore, it would and tins withered anaK mg " stayed with flaggoiB, forhewassickoflove." " ible, with spectacles on tevs of hard Hebrew naiml lich the poor woman would iderfully moved. His ia\ The Pilgrim's Progress; It part which treats of Doi Bpair, I thought invariably oil counlfy-seat. So much took-to scribbling aboutit • and in a few days had loine progress in a poem, in which I had given a des- cription of the place, under Ihe name of Doubting Q^le, and personified my uncle as Giant Despair. I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I joon suspected that my nncle had found it, as he lurshly intimated to me that I could return home, and dial I need not come and see him again till he should send for me. Just about this time my mother died. I cannot dwell upon the circimistance. My heart, careless and vayward as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her death was an event that perhaps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With her died all that made home attractive. I had no longer any body whom I was mibitious to please, or fearful to offend. My father lis a good kind of man in his way, but he liad had Inaxims in education, and we differed in material ts. It makes a vast difference in opinion about utility of the rod, which end happens lo fall to le's share. I never could be brought into my fa- r's way of thinking on the subject. I now, therefore, began to grow very impniient of inaining at schoo!, to be flogged for things that I did like. I longed for variety, especially now that I not my uncle's house to resort to, by way of di- jifying the dulness of school, with the dreariness his country-seat. I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, and of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable lire to see different kinds of life, and different or- of society ; and this vagrant humour had been fos- in ine by Tom Dribble, the prime wag and great lius of Ihe school, who had all the rambling pro- iitiesofa poet. I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine sum- s day, and instead of studying the book which lay n before me, my eye was ^'azing through the low on the green fields and blue hills-. How I iried the happy groups seated on the tops of stage- lies, chatting, and joking, and laughing, as they whirled by the school-house on their way to the ropolis ! Even the waggoners, trudging along be- their ponderous teams, and traversing the king- from one end to the other, were objects of envy me : I fancied lo myself what adventures they It experience, and what odd scenes of life they It witness. All this was, doubtless, the poetical perament working within me, and templing me into a world of its own creation, which I mistook llie world of real life. Iiile my mother lived, this strong propensity to [e was counteracted by the stronger attractions of le, and by the powerful ties of affection which iwme lo her side; but now that she was gone, the lions had ceased ; the ties were severed. I had longer an anchorage-ground for my heart, but at Ihe mercy of every vagrant impulse. No- but the narrow allowance on which my father me, and Ihe consequent penury of my purse, ented me from mounting the top of a stage-coach, and launching myself adrift on the great ocean of lifie. Just about this lime the village was agitate<I for a day or two, by the passing through of several cara- vans, containing wild l)easls, and other spectacles, for a great fair annually heUI at a neighbouring town. I had never seen a fair of any con.se(|uence, and my curiosity was powerfully awakened by this husllc of preparation. I gazed with respect and wonder at Ihe vagrant personages who accompanied these ca- ravans. I loitered about the village inn, listening with curiosity and delight to the slang talk and cant jokes of Ihe showmen and their followers ; and I fell an eager desire to witness this fair, which my fancy decked out as something wonderfully line. A holiday afternoon presented, when I could be absent from noon until evening. A waggon was going from the village lo the fair : I could not resist the temptation, nor the elo(]uence of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to Ihe very heart's core. We hired seats, and set off full of boyish expectation. I pro- mised myself that I would but lake a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again before my absence should be noticed. Heavens I how happy I was on arriving at the fair! How I was enchanted with Ihe world of fim and pa- geantry around me ! The humours of Punch, the feats of the equestrians, the magical tricks of the con- jurors! But what principally caught my attention was an itinerant theatre, where a tragedy, panto- mime, and farce, were all acted in the course of half an hour ; and more of the dramatis personam murder- ed, than at either Drury Lane or Covent Garden in the course of a whole evening. I have since seen many a play performed by the best actors in the world, but never have I derived half the delight from any that I did from this first representation. There was a ferocious tyrant in a skull-cap like an inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, magni- ficently embroidered with gill leather; with his face so bewhiskered, and his eye-brows so knit and ex- panded with bnrnl cork, thnl he made my heart quake within me, as he stamped about the little stage. I was enraptured too with the surpassing beauty of a distressed damsel hi faded pink silk, and dirty white muslin, 'lom he held in cruel captivity by way of gaining her affections, and who wept, and wrung her hands, and flourished a ragged white handker- chief, from the top of an impregnable lowerof the size of a bandbox. Even after I had come out from the play, I could not tear myself from the vicinity of Ihe theatre, but lingered, gazing and wondering, and laughing at (he dramatis persons as they performed their antics, or danced upon a stage in front of the booth, to decoy a new set of spectators. I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd of sensations thai kept swarming upon me, that I was like one entranced. I lost my companion , Tom Dribble, in a tumult and scnfHe that took place near one of the shows; but I was too much occupied o24 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. in mind to think long about liim. I strolled about until dark, when the fair was lighted np, and a new scene of magic opened upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths, the brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with dramatic groups Haunting about them in gaudy dresses, contrasted splendidly with the surrounding darkness ; while the uproar of drums, trumpets, fiddles, hautboys, and cymbals, mingled with the harangues of the showmen, the squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laughter of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy distrac- tion. Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to myself and thought of the school, I hastened to return. I inquired for the waggon in which I had come : it had been gone for hours ! I asked the time : it was almost midnight ! A sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get back to school ? I was too weary to make the journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, could I venture to disturb the school-house long after midnight — to arouse that sleeping lion the usher in the very midst of his night's rest ?— the idea was too dreadful for a delinquent school-boy. All the horrors of return rushed upon me. My absence must long before this have been remarked ; — and absent for a whole night ! — a deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before my affrighted fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humiliation in every variety of form, and my heart sickened at the picture, Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boy- hood as painful to our tender natures, as are the sterner evils of manhood to our robuster minils ! I wandered about among the booths, and I might have derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the charms of this world depend upon our- selves ; for I no longer saw any thing gay or delight- ful in the revelry around me. At length I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind one of the large tent* , and, covering myself with the margin of the tent cloth to keep off the night chill, I soon fell asleep. I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the itinerant theatre, rudelyconslructed of boards and canvass. I peeped through an aperture, and saw the whole dramatis person.T, tragedy, comedy, and pantomime, all refreshing themselves after the final dismissal of their auditors. They were merry and gamesome, and made the flimsy theatre ring with their laughter. I was astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce whiskers, who had made my heart quake as he strutted about the boards, now transformed into a fat, good-humoured fellow; Ihe beaming porringer laid aside from his brow, and his jolly face washed ft '^m all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, to see the distressed damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had trembled under his tyranny, and aftlicted m^ so much by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on his knee, and quafling from the same tankard. Harlequin lay asleep on one orihel benches ; and monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins, vetel grouped together, laughing outrageously at a bro«j| story told by an unhappy count, who had been bar-f barously murdered in the tragedy. This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a petpi into another planet. I gazed and listened witli in-l tense curiosity and enjoyment. They had a thousand! odd stories and jokes about the events of the day, andl burlesque descriptions and mimickings of the sp«cla tors who had been admiring them. Their convers tion was full of allusions to their adventures atdilTer-l ent places where they had exhibited ; the character! they had met with in different villages; and theloJ dicrous difficulties in which they had occasiunalljl been involved. All past cares and troubles werenoif turned, by these thoughtless beings, into inaltero merriment, and made to contribute to the gaiety o the moment. They had been moving from fairii| fair about the kingdom, and were the next mornii^ to set out on their way to London. My resolutid was taken. J stole from my nest ; and crept tiiroul a hedge into a neighbouring field, where I went l work to make a tatterdemalion of myself. It my clothes ; soiled them with dirt ; begrimed i face and hands, and crawling near one of the boothi purloined an old hat, and left my new one in ilj place. It was an honest theft, and I hope niayii hereafter rise up in judgment against me. I now ventured to the scene of merry-making,; presenting myself before the dramatic corps, olTerej myself as a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated aJ abashed, for never before ' ' stood I in such a presence,] I had addressed myself to the manager of the i pany. He was a fat man, dressed in dirty \rliilj with a red sash fringed with tinsel swathed roiiJ his body ; his face was smeared with paint, andl majestic plume towered from an old spangled \m bonnet. He was the Jupiter Tonans of this Olyij pus, and was surrounded by the inferior gods i goddesses of his court. He sat on the end of a beni by a table, with one arm a-kimbo, and the otherfl tended to the handle of a tankard, whicii he I slowly set down from his lips, as he surveyed i from bead to foot. It was a moment of awful scr tiny ; and I fancied the groups around all watchi as in silent suspense, and waiting for the inipi nod. He questioned me as to who I was ; what were^ qualifications; and what terms I expected, Ipas^ myself off for a discharged servant from a genlj man's family; and as, happily, one does not leq special recommendation to get admitted into IkkIo pany, the questions on that head were easily satisS^ As to my accomplishments I could spout a littlep ry, and knew several scenes of plays, which 1 1 learnt at school exhibitions, I could dance- That was enough, INo further questions were a me as to accomplishments; it was the very liiin^lj wanted; and as I asked no wages but merely i TALES OF A TRAVELLER. S2S luin lay asleep on one of the rs, and vestal virgins, w J ig outrageously at a brojil count, who had been l»t.| tragedy. ilty to me. It was a peepi azed and listened willi in. iient. They had a llioiisaal Lit the events of the day, anlj d mimickings of the specl ing them. Their convei to their adventures aldifc id exhibited ; the cliaraclei Fferent villages; and the In. ■hich they had oceasionallj cares and troubles were noi itless beings, into mailer ) contribute to the gaiety d been moving from fain and were the next momi[ to London. My resoiulii 1 my nest ; and crept throuj, uring lield, where I went •demalion of myself. IK in with dirt ; begrimed mj iwling near one of the booll and left my new one in il st theft, and I hope may gment against me. le scene of merry-making, i-e the dramatic corps, offeti I felt terribly agitated ai •e ' ' stood I in such a presence. ' to the manager of llie man, dressed in dirty wliit sd with tinsel swathed roui IS smeared with paint, d from an old spangled i Jupiter Tonans of this Olyi ided by the inferior gods He sat on the end of a bei rm a-Uimho, and the other of a tankard, which he I his lips, as he surveyed was a moment of awfid » e groups around all walct and waiting for the im| IS to who I was; what were lat terms I expected. I pas liarged servant from a genl happily, one does nolnquii m to get admitted into bade I that head were easily satis lenlslcould spoutaliulet scenes of plays, which 1 hitions. I could dance- Jo further questions were aS ents; it wasthe very thing ed no wages but merely ' Lid drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bar- Igain was struck in a moment. Be>old me, therefore, transformed on a sudden from a gentleman student to a dancing buffoon; for sach, in fact, was the character in which I made my debut. I was one of those who formed the groups in ihedramas, and was principally employed on the stage in front of the booth to attract company. I was equipped as a satyr, in a dress of drab frieze that (it- led to my shape, with a great laughing mask, orna- gienled with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased vilh the disguise, because it kept me from the dan- ger of being discovered, whilst we were in that part jofthe country; and as I had merely to dance and make antics, the character was favourable to a debut- jant— being almost on a par with Simon Snug's part ifthe lion, which required nothing but roaring. I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden ;liange in my situation. I felt no degradation, for I id seen too little of society to be thoughtful about ilie difference of rank; and a boy of sixleen is seldom rislocralical. I had given up no friend, for there ined to be no one in the world that cared for me Iff that my poor mother was dead ; I had given up pleasure, for my pleasure was to ramble about and lulge the now of a poetical imagination, and I now injoyed it in perfection. 'J'here is no life so truly lelieal as that of a dancing buffoon. It may be said that all this argued groveling incli- lalioiis. I do not think so. Not that I mean to vin- licate myself in any great degree : I know too well hat a whimsical compound I am. But in thisJn- ance I was seduced by no love of low company, nor lis[K)sition to indulge in low vices. I have always lespised the brutally vulgar, and I have always had disgust at vice, whether in high or low life. I was verned merely by a sudden and thoughtless im- iilse. I had no idea of resorting to this profession IS a mode of life, or of attaching myself to these !ople, as my future class of society. I thought lerely of a temporary gratification to my curiosity, d an indulgence of my humours. I had already a Irong relish for the peculiarities of character and the rielies of situation, and I have always been fond of le comedy of life, and desirous of seeing it through I its shifting scenes. In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and ffoons, I was protected by the very vivacity of ima- ination which liad led me among them ; I moved ut, enveloped, as it were, in a protecliiig delusion, hich my fancy spread arounil me. I assimilated to ese people only as they struck me poetically; their himsical ways and a certain piclurt'S(|ueness in Hieir le of life entertained me ; but I was neither amus- nor corrupted by their vices. In short, I mingled iiong tliein, as Prince Hal did among his graceless iales, merely to gratify my humour. I did not investigate my motives in this manner at time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to on about the matter; but I do so now, when I look back with trembling to think of the ordeal to which I unthinkingly exposed myself, and the manner in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am con- vinced, but the poetical temperament, that hurried me into the scrape, brought me out of it without my becoming an arrant vagabond. Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I capered, I danced, I played a thousand fantastic tricks about the stage, in the villages in which we exhibited; and I was universally pronounced the most agreeable monster that had ever been seen in those parts. My disappearance from school had awakened my father's anxiety; for I one day heard a description of myself cried before the very booth in which I was exhibiting, with the offer of a reward for any intelli- gence of me. I had no great scruple about letting my father suffer a little uneasiness on my account ; it would punish him for past indifference, and would make him value me the more when he found me again. I have wondered that some of my comrades did not recognise me in the stray sheep that was cried ; but they were all, no doubt, occupied by their own con- cerns. They were all labouring seriously in their antic vocation; for folly was a mere trade with most of them, and they often grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the contrary, it was all real. I acted con amore, and rattled and laughed from the irrepressible gaiety of my spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started and looked grave on receiving a sudden thwack from the wooden swonl of Harlequin in (he course of my gambols, as il brought to mind the birch of my schoolmaster. But I .soon got accustomed to it, and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling about, which form the prac- tical wit of your itinerant pantomime, with a good humour that made nie a prodigious favourite. The country campaign of the troop was soon at an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs which are held in its vicinity. The grea(er part of our theatrical property was sent on direct, to be in a state of preparation for (he opening of (he fairs ; while a detachment of the company travelled slowly on, foraging among the villages. I was amused with the desultory, haphazard kind of life we led; here to-day, and gone to-morrow. Sometimes re- veling in alehouses, sometimes feasting under hedges ill the green fields. When audiences were crowded, and business prolitable, we fared well ; and when otherwise, we fared scantily, coii,soled ourselves,, and made up with anticipations of the next day's success. At length the increasing frecjuency of coaches hur- rying past us, covered with passengers ; the increas- ing number of carriages, carts, waggons, gigs, ilroves of cattle and Hocks of sheep, all thruiigiiig the road ; the snug country boxes wUh trim flower-garden* twelve feet .s(piarc, and their trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust; and the innumerable senii- : .,;'i 526 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. naries for young ladies and gentlemen situated along the road for the benefit of country air and rural re- tirement; all these insignia announced that the mighty London was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as we proceeded, until I saw the great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of stale, over this queen of cities. In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, a strolling vagabond, on the top of a caravan, with a crew of vagabonds about me ; but I was as happy as a prince ; for, like Prince Hal, I felt myself superior to my situation, and knew that I could at any time cast it off, and emerge into my proper sphere. How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde Park Corner, and I saw splendid equipages rolling by; with powdered footmen behind, in rich liveries, with fine nosegays, and gold-headed canes; and with love- ly women within, so sumptuously dressed, and so surpassingly fair ! I was always extremely sensible to female beauty, and here I saw it in all its power of fascination ; for whatever may be said of " beauty unadorned," there is something almost awful in fe- male loveliness decked out in jewelled state. The swanlike neck encircled with diamonds ; the raven locks clustered wilh pearls; the ruby glowing on (he snowy bosom, are objects which I could never con- template without emotion; and a dazzling white arm claspetl with bracelets, and taper transparent ihigers, laden with sparkling rings, are to me irresistible. My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly beauty that passed before me. It surpassed all that rny.imaginalion had conceived of the sex. I shrunk, for a moment, into shnnie at the company in which I was placed, and repined at the vast distance that seemed to intervene between me and these magnificent beings. I forbear to give a detail of the happy life I led about the skirts of the metropolis, playing at the va- rious fairs held there during the latter part of spring, and the beginning of summer. This continued change from place to place, and scene to scene, fed niy ima- ginalijon with novelties, and kept my spirits in a per- petual slate of excitement. As I was tail of my age, I aspired, at one time, to play heroes in tragedy ; but, after two or three trials, I was pronounced by the manager totally lUifil for the line; und our first tragic actress, who \mis a large woman, and held a small hero in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. The fact is, I had atlempled to give point to lan- guage which had no point, and nature to scenes Avhich had no natine. They said I did not fill out my characters ; and lliey were right. The charac- ters had all been prepared for a different sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round, robustious fellow, with an amazing voice; who stamped and slapped his breast until his wig shook again; and who roared and bellowed out his bombast until every phrase swelled upon the ear like the sound of a kettle drum. I might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his characters. When we had a dialogue together I I was nothing before him, with my slender voial and discriminating manner. I might as well harel attempted to parry a cudgel with a small-sword, m he found me in any way gaining ground upon him I he would take refuge in his mighty voice, and tlirowl his tones like peals of thunder at me, until they wn drowned in the still louder thunders of applause fn the audience. To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shovJ fair play, and that there was management at tlieboi^ torn ; for, without vanity, I think I was a belter acloi than he. As I had not embarked in the vagabon line through ambition, I did not repine at lack orpre-l ferment; but I was grieved to find that a vagrant lifef was not without its cares and anxieties; and thatjeiJ lousies, intrigues, and mad ambition, were to be foui even among vagabonds. Indeed, as I became more familiar with my siluaJ lion, and the delusions of fancy gradually faded awayj I began to find that my associates were not the 1 careless creatures I had at first imagined them. Tliejj were jealous of each other's talents ; they quanella about parts, the same as tiie actors on the granil theatres ; they quarrelled about dresses; and llietfl was one robe of yellow silk, trimmed with red, anit a head-dress of three rumpled ostrich feathers, wliid were contiimally selling the ladies of the company bj the ears. Even tliose who had attained the lii|;iii honours were not more happy than the rest; I Mr Flimsey lumself, our Inst tragedian, and appj rei^ly a Jovial, good-humoured fellow, confessed! nie one day, in the fulness of his heart, tliat liewaj a miserable man. He had a brother-in-law, a itiw five by marriage, though not by blood, who wa^ manager of a theatre in a small country town. AnJ this same brother ("a little more than kin, bull than kind") looked down upon him, and treated li with contumely, because, forsooth, he was l)iil strolling player. I tried to console him willi I thoughts of Ihe vast applause he daily received, 1 it was all in vain. He de('lared that it gave liiin i delight, and that lie should never be a happy niai until tlie name of Flinisoy rivaled the nanieof Crii How little do those before the scenes knowof wlJ passes behind ! how little can they judge, from llJ countenances of actors, of what is passing in lliei hearts! I have known two lovers quarrel like ca| behind the scenes, who were, the moment aller,! fly into each other's embraces. And I have di( aii when our Belvidera was to lake her farewell ki>.sj her Jaffier, lest she should bite a piece oulofli cheek. Our tragedian was a rough joker off I stage ; our prime clown the most peevish mortal I insf. The lalter used to go about snapping and siii ing, wilh a broad laugh painted on his countenaii(< and I can assure you, that whatever may he saidj the />,ravity of a monkey, or the melancholy of a m cat, Ihere is not a more melancholy creature incsi^ cnce Iban a mountebank off duty. pi I was Julii not s ikl 1 1 And |ii mere si lis soon TALES OF A TRAVELLER. S£7 e had a dialogue togelheri , with my slender voi«| •. I might as well haT(| ;1 with a small-sword. ll gaining ground upon hini,| s mighty voice, and throw deratme, until they *« thunders of applause froi )ect that I was not shown] as management at thebotJ I think I was a belter aclor] mbarked in the vagabom id not repine at lack of preJ ;d to lind that a vagrant li(J and anxieties; and tlialjiia-l I ambition, were to be fott ore familiar with my silua fancy gradually faded away, isociales were not thehappi t first imagined them. Tliei n's talents ; they quandli IS tlie actors on the gram .1 about dresses; and tliei ;ilk, Dimmed wilh retl, ai (ipled ostrich feathers, \vliii the ladies of the company b] ,'ho had attained the liighi D happy than the rest; k ir first tragedian, and appaj boured fellow, confessed lessof his heart, that he vr; lad a brother-in-law, a reli) gh not by blood, who « a small country town. An iltle more than kin, hiii u upon him, and treale'l se, forsooth, he was In a to console him wilh ll dause he daily received, 1 leclared that it gave liiin lUl never be a happy m y rivaled the name of Criiii >fore the scenes know of wl e can they judge, from H of what is passing in ll" two lovers (piarrel like ttl were, the moment allei, races. And I have die to lake her farewell kiss lould bile a piece oulol was a rough joker oft the most peevish mortal |, no aluml snapping and sini painted on his counlcnani lal whatever may lie saiii , or the melancholy of i'K* melancholy creature in "I k off duty. The only thing in which ail parties agreed, was to llnckbite the manager, and cabal against his regula- ing. This, however, I have since discovered to be common trait of human nature, and to take place in communities. < It would seem to be the main busi- ofman to repine at government. In all situa- of life into which I have looked, I have found ikind divided into two grand parties : those who , and those who are ridden. The great struggle seems to be which shall keep in the saddle. lis, it appears to me, is the fundamental principle politics, whether in great or little life. However, Jo not mean to moralize — but one cannot always the philosopher. Well then, to return to myself, it was determined, I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and, unluckily, my study was bad, having a very poor memory, I las pronounced unfit for comedy also ; besides, the of young gentlemen was alreadj' engrossed by an ir wilh whom I could not pretend to enter into >' npelilion, he having filled it for almost half a ilary. I came down agaui, therefore, to panlo- le. In consequence, liowever, of the good offices the manager's lady, who had taken a liking to me, jwa.'i promoted from the part of the satyr to that of lover; and with my face patched and painted, a cravat of paper, a steeple-crowned hat, and igiing long-skirted sky-blue coat, was metamor- ied into the lover of Columbine. My part did not for much of the tender and sentimental. T had eiy to pursue the fugitive fair one; to have a door iw and then slammed in my face ; to run my head isionally against a post; to tumble and roll about ih Pantaloon and the clown ; and to endure the ly thwacks of Harlequin's wooden sword. JAsiil luck would have it, my poetical temperament 111 to ferment within nie, and to work out new The inQammatory air of a great metropolis, li to the rural scenes in which the fairs were , such as Greenwich Park, Epping Forest, and lovely valley of West End, hu-1 a powerful effect me. While in Greenwich Park I was witness lie old holiday games of running down hill, and ing in the ring; and then the firmament of bloom- faces and blue eyes thai would be turned towards as I was playing antics on the stage, all these set young blood and my poetical vein in full How. iliort, I played the cluiracter to ti<e life, and bc- ' desperately enamoured of Coir.ml>i»<e. She v as m, well-made, templing girl, with a v g lish ilint: face, and fine chesnut hair cliislci. . all It it. The moment I got fairly smitten there was ind to all playinyr I was such a creature of fancy feeling, that i could not put on a pretended, 11 1 was powerfully .iffecte(l by a real emotion. Id not sport with a fiction that came so near to fact. I became too natural in my acting to snc- And then, what a situation fur a lover I I 'mere stripling, and she played with my passion; ris soon grow more adroit and knowing in these matters than your awkward youngsters. What ago- nies had I to suffer ! Every time that she danced in front of the booth, and made such liberal displays of her charms, I was in torment. To complete my misery, I had a real rival in Harlequin, an active, vigorous, knowing varlet, of six-and-twenty. Wt at had a raw, inexperienced youngster like me to hope fi jm such a competition ? I had still, however, some advantages in my favour. In spite of my change of life, I retained thai indescrib- able somelliing which always distinguishes the gentle- man ; that something which dwells in a man's air and deportment, and not in his clothes; and which it is as difficult for a gentleman to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The company generally felt it, and used to call me Little Gentleman Jack. The girl felt it too, and, in spite of her predilection for my power- ful rival, she liked to flirt with me. This only ag- gravated my troubles, by increasing my passion, and awakening the jealousy of her party-coloured lover. Alas ! think what I suffered at being obliged to keep up an ineffectual chase after my Cohmibine through whole pantomimes ; to see her carried off m the vi- gorous arms of the happy Harlequin; and to he obliged, instead of snatching her from him, to tumble sprawling with Pantaloon and the clown, and bear the infernal and degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath, which, may Heaven confoimd him ! (excuse my passion) the villain laid on wilh a mali- cious good-will : nay, I could absolutely hear him chuckle and laugh beneath his accursed mask — I beg pardon for growing a little warm in my narrative — I wish to be cool, but these recollections will sometimes agitate me. I have heard and read of many desperate and deplorable situations of lovers, but none, I think, in which true love was ever exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial. This could not last long; flesh and blood, at least such flesh and Mood as mine, could not bear il. I had repeated heart-burnings and quarrels with my rival, in which he treated me with the mortifying forbearance of a man towards a child. Had he quarrelled (tulriglit with me, I could have stomached il, at least I slioiild have known what part to lake; but to be humoured and treated as a child in the pre- sence of my mistress, when I felt all the bantam spirit of a little man swelling within me — Gods ! it was •nsufferable ! At length, we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, which was al that time a very fashionable resort, and often beleaguered with gay equijmges from Unvn. Among the spcclators that filled the front row oi'our little canvass theatre one afternoon, when I had to ligure in a pantomime, were a number of young ladies from a Iwarding-school, with their go- verness, (iuess my confusion, when, in the midst of my antics, I beheld among Ihe number my quondam flame ; her whom I had berhymed al school, her for whose charms I liad smarted so. severely, the cruel Sacharissa ! What was worse, I fancied she recol- 528 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. lected me, and was repeating the story of my liumi- lialing flagellation, for I saw her whispering to her companions and her governess. I lost all conscious- ness of the part I was acting, and of the ])Iace where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could have crept into a rat-hole — imluckily, none was open to receive me. Before I could recover froin my confusion, I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and the clown, and I felt the sword of Harlequin making vigorous assaults in a manner most degrading to my dignity. Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyr- dom in this ignominious maimer, in the knowledge and even before the very eyes of this most beautiful, but most disdainful of fair ones? All my long-smo- thered wrath broke out at once ; the dormant feel- ings cf the genlleman arose within me. Stung to the quick by intolerable mortilicalion, I sprang on my feet in an instant; leaped upon Harlequin like a young tiger; tore off his mask; buffeted him in the face; and soon shed more blood on the stage, than bad been spilt upon it during a whole tragic campaign of battle!, and murders. As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise, he returned my assault with interest. I was uolhing ill his hands. I was game, to be sure, for I was a gentleman; but be had the clownish advantage of bone and muscle. I felt as if I could have fought even unlo (he death; and I was likely to do so, for he was, according to the boxing phrase, "putting my head into cliancery," when the gentle Columbine Hew to my assistance. God bless the women! they are al- ways on the side of the weak and the oppressed ! The bailie now became general; the dramatis per- sona' ranged on either side. The manager interpos- ed in vain; in vain were bis spangleil black bonnet and towering while featiiers seen whisking about, and nodding, and bobbing in the thickesl of the light. Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, gods, and goddesses, all joined pell-mell in Ihe fray : never, since the conllicl under Ihe wails of I'roy, bad there been such a chance-medley warfaie of combatants, human and divine. The audience applauded, the ladies shrieked, and fled from the theatre; and a scene of discord ensued tlial bailies all ilcscriplion. ISothing but the interference of the peace-officers restored some degree of order. The havoc, however, (hat had been n)ade among dresses and decorations, put an end to all further acting for that day. The battle over, the next (hing was to impure why it was begun; a common question among politicians afler a bloody and unprofitable war, and one not always easy to be an- swered. It was soon traced to me, and my unac- countable transport of [lassion, wliich they could only attribute to my having run n murk. Ihe manager was Judge and jury, and plaintiff into the bargain ; and in such cases justice is always speedily adminis- tered. He came out of the light as sublime a wreck astheSantissimaTrinidade. Hisgallant plumes, which once towered aloft, were drooping alM)nt his ears; his robe of slate hung in ribands from his back, and but ill concealed the ravages he had suffered in the rear] He had received kicks and cuffs from all sides durin;| the tumult; for every one took the opportunity o(| slily gratifying some lurking grudge on liis fat carcass.l He was a discreet man, and did not chuse to deciarel war with all his company; so he swore all those kicki and cuffs had been given by me, and I let him enjojj the opinion. Some wounds he bore, however, whicJ were the incontestable traces of a woman's warfare] his sleek rosy cheek was scored by trickling fiirrowsj which were ascribed to the nails of my intrepid ain devoted Columbine. The ire of the monarch wai not to be appeased ; he had suffered in his personl and he had suffered in his purse; his dignity, too.hal been insulted, and that went for something; fordJ gnily is always more irascible the more petty jJ potentate. He wreaked his wrath upon the beKinneJ of the affray, and Columbine and myself were disj charged, at once, from the company. Figure me, then, to yourself, a striplinij ofliiiJ more than sixteen, a gentleman by birlh, a va!;alx)ii[ by trade, lurneil adril'i upon the world, niakin;'i best of my way Ihroug'a the crowd of West End faiij my mountebank dress flullerin?; in rags aboui nief the weeping (lolunibine banging upon my arm,! splendid but tattered finery ; ihe tears coursing' oi{ by one down iier face, carrying off the red paint i| torrents, and literally "preying upon her damaj cheek." The crowd made way for us as we passed, anj hooted in our rear. I felt the ridicule of my silui lion, but had loo much gallantry to desert liiis I one, who had sacrificed every thing for me. liaviJ wandered through the fair, we emerged, likeanolii^ Adam and ]']ve, into unknown regions, and "1 world before us, where to chuse.'" Never was a nioi disconsolate pair seen in the soft valley of West Era The luckless Columbine cast back many a liiijorii look at the fair, which seemed to i)ut on a more I usual splendour : its tents, and booths, and pariy-j loured groups, all brigiitening in Ihe sunsiiiiu', glea'ning among the trees; and its gay Hags 3I strea.uers fluttering in the light summer airs. \vf a heavy sigh she would lean on my arm and procoi I had no hope nor consolation to give her; hut si linked herself to my fortunes, and she was looniuj of a woman to desert me. Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the bfi liful fields which lie behind llampstead, and \\nni\ ed on, until the fiddle, and the hautboy, ami shout, and the laugh, were swallowed up in liui sound of I he big bass drum, and even llml died iiii| into a distart rumble. We j)assed along tlie j sant, sequestered walkof Nightingale-lane. Im apj oflovers, what scene could be more propitious' such a pair of lovers! Not a nightingale saiiijtosi us : (he very gipsies, who were encamped ikj during the fair, made no offer to tell the lorluiia such an ill-omened couple, whose fortunes, I siipM they thought too legibly written to need an il TALES OF A TRAVELLER. tm had suffered in the rear uffs from all sides durinjj took the opportunity of ; grudge on his fat carcass. 1 did not chuse to declare] so he swore all those kick y me, and I let him enjoj s he hore, however, which ;es of a woman's warfare: ored by trickling furrows] e nails of my intrepid anij B ire of the monarch r, lad suffered in his person] purse; his dignity, too, had irent for something; fordij iscible the more petty ;lij lis wrath upon the hefjiimer nhine and myself were (lis le company, yourself, a striplinii; of 1 illeman by birth, a \m\m ipon the world, making ili the crowd of West End fair lullerin- iu rags about me i hanging upon my ariiij „ery ; the tears coursiiiL' on carrying off tlie red paiiil "preying upon her dama^ •ay for us as we passed, an iell the ridicule of my silni h gallantry to desert this (i I every thing for me. llavi fair, we emerged, like anolli known regions, ami "had loclmse.'- IN ever was a nil II the soft valley of West! e cast hack many a lini-crii ined to put on a more llil |„ts, and booths, ami parly blening in the sunsliiiif, ai trees; and its gay Hags a the light summer airs. \^ Jean on my arm ami proc( olalion to give her; but shell irtunes, andshewastoomi Ine. then, we traversed the to Ihiiul Uampstead, ami wam and the hautboy, aiul wereswallowedupinlhoJi hum, and even that (lied a' We passed along ilie oflSigbliiiSalc-*""''' ^''"''' ,uld be more propitious otanigblingalesani:tos( who were encainped II m, offer to tell ihe Mm rple, whose fortunes, 1 sii| l,ly written to need an preter; and the gipsy children crawled into their ca- l)im, and peeped out fearfully at us as we went by. for a moment I paused, and was almost tempted to turn gipsy ; but the poetical feeling, for the present, vas fully satisfied, and I passed on. Thus we tra- velled and travelled, like a prince and princess in a Nursery Tale, until we had traversed a part of Uamp- stead Heath, and arrived in the vicinity of Jack Straw's Castle. Here, wearied and dispirited, we sezted ourselves on the margin of the hill, hard by the very mile-stone where Whittington of yore heard the Bow-bells ring out the presage of bis future great- oe. .. Alas ! no bell runganinvilation to us, as we look- ed disconsolately upon the distant city. Old London seemed : > wrap itself unsociably in its mantle of brown smoke, and to offer nu encouragement to such a couple oflatterdemallions. For once, at least, the usual course of the panto- mime was reversed, Harlequin was jllleu, and the lover had carried off Columbine in good earnest. But what vas I to do with her ? I could not take her in my band, return to my father, throw myself on my knees, and crave bis forgiveness and his blessing, according todramatic usage. The very dogs would have chased tucha draggled-tailed beauty from the grounds, la the midst of my doleful dumps, some one tapped mennlhe shoulder, and, looking up, I saw a couple of rough sturdy fellows standing behind me. Not knowing what to expect, I jumped on my legs, and vas preparing again to make battle; but I was tripped up and secured in a twinkling. "Come, come, young master," said one of the fel- lows, in a gruff but good-humoured tone, "don't let's have any of your tantrums ; one would have Itbought you had had swing enough for this bout. iCome; it's high time to leave off harlequinading, and joliome to your father." In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorseless The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I as, and that a reward had been offered throughout | country for any tidings of me ; and they had seen description of me which had been inserted in the iblic papers. Those harpies, therefore, for the re sake of filthy lucre, were resolved to deliver me m into the bands of my father, and the clutches of tj pedagogue. It was in vain that I swore I would not leave my and aftlicled Columbine. It was in vain that tore myself from their grasp, and flew to her; and owed to protect her; and wiped the tears from her leek, and with them a whole blush that might have led with the carnation for brilliancy. My perse- ilorswere inflexible; they even seemed to exult in ir distress; and to enjoy this theatrical display of lirt, and finery, and tribulation. I was carried off despair, leaving my Columbine destitute in the ide world ; but many a look of agony did I cast back her as she stood gazing piteously after me from lebrh'.k of ilampslead Hill; so forlorn, so line, so ;ed, so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. Thus ended my first peep into the world. I re- turned home, rich in good-for-nothing experience, and dreading the reward I was to receive for my im- provement. My reception, however, was quite dif- ferent from what I had expected. My father had a spice of the devil in him, and did not seem to like me the worse for my freak, which he termed "sowing my wild oats." He happened to have some of his sporting friends to dine the very day of my return ; they made me tell some of my adventures, and laughed heartily at them. One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, took to me hugely. I heard him whisper to my fa- ther that I was a lad of mettle, and might make some- thing clever; to which my father replied, that I had good points, but was an ill-broken whelp, and re- quired a great deal of the whip. Perhaps this very conversation raised me a little in his esteem, for I found the red-nosed old gentleman was a veteran fox-hunter of the neighbourhood, for whose opinion my father had vast deference. Indeed, I believe he would have pardoned any thing in me more readily than poetry, which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, housekeeping employment, the bane of all fine manhoiid. He swore it was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, who was one day to have so great an estate, and would be able to keep horses and hounds, aud hure poets to write songs for him into the bargain. I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving propen- sity. I had exhausted the poetical feeling. I had been heartily buffeted out of my love for theatrical display. I felt humiliated by my exposure, and was willing to hide my head any where for a season, so that I might be out of the way of the ridicule of the world ; for I found folks not altogether so indulgent abroad as they were at my father's table. I could not stay at home; the house was intolerably doleful, now that my mother was no longer there to cherish me. Every thing around spoke mournfully of her. The little flower-garden in which she delighted was all in disorder and overrun w ith weeds. I attempted for a day or two to arrange it, but my heart grew heavier and heavier as I laboured. Every little broken-down flower, that I had seen her rear so ten- derly, seemed to plead in mule eloquence to my feel- ings. Theia was a favourite honeysuckle which I bad seen her often training with assiduity, and had heard her say it would be the pride of lier garden. I found it groveling along tlie ground, Umgled and wild, and twining round eveiy worthless weed; and it struck me as an emblem of myself, a mere scat- terling, running to waste and uselessness. I could work no longer in the garden. My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, by way of keeping the old gentleman in mind of me. I was received, as usual, without any expression of dis- content, w'.iich we always considered equivalent to a hearty welcome. Whether he had ever heard of my strolling freak or not I could not discover, he and his 530 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. man were both so taciturn. I spent a day or two roam- ing about the dreary mansion and neglected park, and felt at one time, I believe, a touch of poetry, for I was tempted to drown myself in a fish-pond ; I rebuked I he evil spirit, however, and it left me. I found the same red-headed boy running wild about the park, but I felt in no humour to hunt him at present. On the 4H>ntrary, I tried to coax him to me, and to make friends with him ; but the young savag'^ was untame- able. When I returned from my uncle's, I remained at home for some time, for my father was disposed, he said, to make a man of me. He took me out hunting with him, and I became a great favourite of the red- nosed squire, because I rode at every thing, never re- fused the boldest leap, and was always sure to be in at the death. I used often, however, to offend my father at hunting dinners, by Uking the wrong side in politics. My father was amazingly ignorant, so ignorant, in fact, as not to know that he knew nothing. He was stanch, however, to church and king, and full of old-fashioued prejudices. Now I had picked up a little knowledge in politics and religion, during my rambles with the strollers, and found myself ca- pable of setting him right as to many of his antiquat- ed notions. I felt it my duly to do so ; we were apt, therefore, to differ occasionally in the political discus- sions which sometimes arose at those hunting din- ners. I was at that age wlien a man knows least, and is most vain of his knowledge, and when he is extreme- ly tenacious in defending his opinion upon subjects about which he knows nothing. My father was a hard man for any one to argue with, for he never knew when he was refuted. I sometimes posed him a little, but then he had one argument that always settled the questions ; he would threaten to knock rae down. I believe he at last grew tired of me, be- cause I both outtalked and outrode him. The red- nosed squire, too, got out of conceit of rae, because, in the heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as lie and his horse lay sprawling in the dirt : so I found myself getting into disgrace with all the world, and would have got heartily out of humour with myself, had I not been kept in tolerable self-coneeit by tlie parson's three daughters. They were the same who had admired my poetry on a former occasion, when it had brought me into disgrace at school ; and I had ever since retained an exalted idea of their judgment. Indeed, they were yc ung ladies not merely of tasle, but science. Their education had ^ jen superintended by their mother, wlw was a blue stocking. They knew enough of botany to tell the technical names of all the flowers in the garden, and all tlieir secret concerns into tlie bargain. They knew music too, not mere common- place music, but Rossini and Mozart, and they sang Moore's Irish Melodies to perfection. They had pretty little work-tables, covered with all kind of objects of taste ; specimeiw of lava, and painted epgs, and work- boxes, painted and varnished by themselves. They excelled in knotting and netting, and painted in water- j colours; and made feather fans, and tire-screens, am] worked in silks and worsteds ; and talked French and j Italian, and knew Shakspeare by heart. They even knew something of geology and mineralogy ; and j went about the neighbourhood knocking stones to pieces, to the great admiration and perplexity of the j country folk. I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing their I accomplislunents, but I wish to let you see that tliese were not common-place young ladies, but had preten- sions quite above the ordinary run. It was some I consolation to me, therefore, to find favour in such | eyes. Indeed, they had always marked me out f a genius, and considered my late vagrant freak as I fresh proof of the fact. They observed that Shak- 1 speare himself had been a mere Pickle in his youth- that he had stolen deer, as every one knew, and kept I loose company, and consorted with actors : so I com- forted myself marvellously with the idea of having so | decided a Shakspearean trait in my character. The youngest of the three, however, was my grand I consolation. She was a pale, sentimental girl, vithj long "hyacinthine" ringlets hanging about her face i She wrote poetry herself, and we kept up a poetical | correspondence. She had a taste for the drama too,[ and I taught her how to act several of the scenes inl Romeo and Juliet. I used to rehearse the gardenl scene under her lattice, which looked out from amon;! woodbine and honeysuckles into the churchyard. l| began to think her amazingly pretty as well as cleverJ and I believe I should have finished by falling in lnve| with her, had not her father discovered our theatrici studies. He was a studious, abstracted man, generallfj too much absorbed in his learned and religious laboun to notice the Utile foibles of his daughters, and, per-l haps, blinded by a father's fondness ; but he unex-| pectedly put his head out of his study-window on day in the midst of a scene, and put a stop to ( rehearsals. He had a vast deal of that prosaic ; sense which I forever found a slumbling-block iiiinjl poetical path. My rambling freak had not struck M good man as poetically as it had his daughters. Hi drew Iiis comparison from a different manual. H^ looked upon me as a prodigal son, and doubted whellt I should ever arrive at the happy catastrophe oft! fatted calf. I fancy some intimation was given to my faliiero this new breaking out of my poetical temperamentJ for he suddenly intim?!ed that it was high time [ should prepare for the University. I dreaded a retnit to the school from whence I had eloped : the ridicul of my fellow-scholars, and the glances from Ihe squire'| pew, would have been worse than death to me. was fortunately spared the humiliation. My fallK| sent me to board with a country clergyman, whola three or four other Ijoys under his care. I wenllj him joyfully, for I had often heard my mother m tioi. tiiin wilii esteem. In fact, he had been an admire by themselves. They g, and painted in water- 1 s, and fire-screens, ami 1 and tallied French and B by heart. They even ! and mineralogy ; and ! )od knocking stones lo I »nand perplexity of the erhaps, in detailing their I to let yon see that these !"■ ladies, but had preten- lary run. It was some !, to find favour in such ways marked me out for (ly late vagrant freak as hey observed that Shak- nere Pickle in his youth; }very one knew, and kepi ed with actors : so I com- wilh the idea of having so it in my character, e, however, was my grand ale, sentimental girl, with ts hanging about her fiice. and we kept up a poetical a taste for the drama too, ict several of the scenesin ed to rehearse the garden: liich looked out from amonjj es into the churchyard. I gly pretty as well as clever, e finished by falling in loTe] ler discovered our lUealrica" I, abstracted man, generall: jarned and religious labour of his daughters, and, per ■'s fondness ; but he unex of his study-window cm ;cne, and put a stop to ou ist deal of that prosaic goo ,nd a stumbling-block in m ing freak had not struck;'- it had his daughters. H( |m a diffterent manual. H( jal son, and doubted whetl le happy catastrophe of In was given to my fallwro y my poetical temperamenll [d that it was high time P liversily . I dreaded a relni^ le I had eloped : the ridicnH^ 1 the glances from the squire'l Lorse than death to me. ■ llie humiliation. My fall" [ountry clergyman, who in I under his care. IwcnlJ Iften heard my mother infl^ lfacl,hehadl)cenanadmiitl TALES OF A TRAVELLER. Xil of hers in his younger days, though too humble in fortune and modest in pretensions to aspire to her liand; hnt he had ever retained a tender regard for her. He was a good man ; a worthy specimen of that valuable body of our country clergy who silently and unostentatiously do a vast deal of good ; who are, as it were, woven into the whole system of rural life, and operate upon it with the steady yet unobtrusive influence of temperate piety and learned good sense. He lived in a small village not far from Warwick, one of those little communities where the scanty flock Is, in a manner, folded into the bosom of the pastor. The venerable church, in its grass-grown cemetery, was one of those rural temples which are scattered about our country as if to sanctify the land. I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye at this moment, with his mild benevolent countenance, rendered still more venerable by his silver hairs. I have him before me, as I saw him on my arrival, sealed in (he emliowered porch of his small parsonage, with a flower-garden before it, and his pi>pils gathered round him like his children. I shall never forget his reception of me, for I believe he thought of my poor molher at the time, and his heart yearned towards her child. IIi» eye glistened when he received me at thedoor, and he took me into his arms as the adopted lefaiidof his affections. Never had I been so fortunately placed. He was one of those excellent members of our church, who help out (heir narrow salaries by in- itmcting a few gentlemen's sons. I am convinced those little seminaries are among the best nurseries of talent and virtue in the land. Both heart and mind are cultivated and improved. The preceptor is the pipanion and the friend of his- pupils. His sacred character gives him dignity in their eyes, and his so- Ijemn functions produce that elevation of mind and [iobriety of conduct necessary to those who are to teach ith to think and act worthily. I speak from my own random observation and ex- rience, bnt I think I speak correctly. At any rate, lean trace much of what is good in my own hetero- )us compound to the short time I was under the ruction of that good man. He entered into the and occupations and amusements of his pupils ; won his way into our confidence, and studied hearts and minds more intently than we did our lis. , He soon wounded the depth of my character. I had »me, as I have already hinted, a little liberal in my Mions, and apt to philosophise on both politics and (ligion; having seen something of men and things, i learnt, from my fellow-philosophers, the strollers, Ddespise all vulgar prejudices. He did not attempt I cast down my vainglory, nor to question my riKlit lew of things ; he merely instilled into my mind a lllle information on these topics ; though in a quiet, Voblrusive way, that never ruffled a feather of my |lf-conceil. I was aslonishetl to find what a change jlillle knowledge makes in one's nimle of viewing ptters; and how very difftnenl a subject i.s wlitii one thinks, or when one only talks abont it. I con- ceived a vast deference for my teacher, and was am- bitious of his good opinion. In my zeal to make a favourable impression, I presented him with a whole ream of my poetry. He read it attentively, smiled, and pressed my hand when he returned it to me, but said nothing. The next day he set me at mathe- matics. Somehow or other the process of teaching seemed robbed by him of all its austerity. I was not conscious that he thwarted an inclination or opposed a wish ; but I felt that, for the time, my inclinations were en- tirely changed. I became fond of study, and zealous to improve myself. I made tolerable advances in studies, which I had before considered as unattain- able, and I wondered at my own proficiency. I thought, too, I astonished my preceptor; fori often caught his eyes fixed upon me with a peculiar ex- pression. I suspect, since, that he was pensively trac- ing in my countenance the early lineaments of my molher. Education was not apportioned by him into tasks, and enjoined as a labour, to be abandoned with joy the moment the hour of study was expired. We had, it is true, our allotted hours of occupation, to give us habits of method, and of the distribution of time; but they were made pleasant to us, and our feelings were enlisttid in the cause. When they were over, educa- tion still went on. It pervaded all our relaxations and amusements. There was a steady march of improve- ment. Much of his instruction was given during pleasant rambles, or wlien seated on the margin of the Avon ; and information received in that way, often makes a deeper impression tiian when ac(]uired by poring over books. I liave many of the p«re and eloquent precepts that flowed froifi his lips associated in my mind wilii lovely scenes in nature, which make the recollection of them indescribably delightful. I do nol pretend to say that any miracle was ef- fected with me. After all said and done, I was bnt a weak disciple. My poetical temperament still wrought within me and wrestled hard with wisdom, and, I fear, maintained the mastery. I found nii i he- matics an intolerable task in fine weather. I would be prone to forget my problems, to watch the bii-ds hopping about the windows, or the bees humming about the honeysuckles ; and whenever I could steal away, I would wander about the grassy borders of the Avon, and excuse this truant proponsily to myself with the idea that I was treading classic ground, over which Sliakspearc had wandeied. What luxurious idleness have I indulged, as I lay under the trees and walf'ied the silver waves rippling through the arches of the broken bridge, and laving the rocky bases of old Warwick (laslle; and how often have I Ihought of sweet 8iMkspeare, and in my boyish «-nthusiasm liav»> kiss«d the waves which had washeil his native viilatfc! My go<Hl preceptor wouhl often aorompany nie in liiese desultory rambles. He sought lo Ret hold ot iSSi TALES OF A TRAVELLER. this vagrant mood ofmiiu] and turn it to some account. He endeavoured to teach me to mingle thought with mere sensation ; to moralize on the scenes around ; and to make the beauties of nature administer to the understanding and the heart. He endeavoured to direct my imagination to high and noble objects, and to fill it with lofty images. In a word, he did all he could to make the best of a poetical temperament, and to counteract the mischief which had been done to me by my great expectations. Had I been earlier put under the care of the good pastor, or remained with him a longer time, I really believe he would have made something of me. He had already bronght a great deal of what had been flogged into me into tolerable order, and had weeded out much of the unprofitable wisdom which had sprung up in my vagabondizing. I already began to find that with all my genius a little study would be no disad- vantage to me ; and, in spite of my vagrant freaks, I began to doubt my being a second Shakspeare. Just as I was making these precious discoveries, the good parson died. It was a melancholy day through- out the neighbourhood. He had his little flock of scholars, his children, as he used to call us, gathered around him in his dying moments ; and he gave us the parting advice of a father, now that he had to leave us, and we w^ere to be separated from each other, and scattered about in the world. He took me by the hand, and talked with me earnestly and affectionately, and called to mind my mother, and used her name to enforce his dying exhortations, for I rather think he considered me the most erring and heedless of his flock. He held my hand in his, long after he had done speaking, and kept his eye fixed on me tenderly and almost piteously : his lips moved as if he were silently praying fdr me; and he died away, still hold- ing me by the hand. There was not a dry eye in the church when the funeral service was read from the pulpit from which he had so often preached. When the body was committed to the earth, our little band gathered round it, and watched the coffin as it v/r^ lowered into the grave. The parishioners looked at us with sympathy ; for we were mourners not merely in dress but in heart. We lingered about the grave, and clung to one another for a time weeping and speech- less, and then parted, like a band of brothers parting from the paternal hearth, never to assemble there again. How had the gentle spirit of that good man sweet- ened our natures, and linked our young hearts to- gether by the kindest lies! I have always had a ilirob of pleasure at iiieeling with an old school- mate, even though one of my truant associates; but whenever, in the course of my life, I have encounter- ed one of that little flock with which I was folded <<q the banks of tise Avon, it has been with a gush v>f affection, and a glow of virtue, that for the moment have made me a letter man. I was now seiii to Oxford, and was wondei fully impressed on first entering it as a student. Learning I here puts on all its majesty. It is lodged in palaces; I it is sanctified by the sacred ceremonies of religion; it has a pomp and circumstance which powerfully af- 1 feet the imagination. Such, at least, it had in my eyes, thoughtless as I was. My previous studies with the worthy pastor, had prepared me to regani it with deference and awe. He had been educated | here, and always spoke of the University with fondness and classic veneration. When I beheld llie I clustering spires and pinnacles of this most august or| cities rising from the plain, I hailed them in my eo- thusiasm as the points of a diadem, which tlie nation | bad placed upon the brows of science. For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment Ibrj me. There was a charm about ita monastic build-l ings; its great Gothic quadrangles; its solemn hallsj and shadowy cloisters. I delighted, in the eveningsj to get in places surrounded by the colleges, where alll modern buildings were screened from the sight; andl to see the professors and students sweeping along iil the dusk in their antiquated caps and gowns. I seem-l ed for a time to be transported among the people andl edifices of the old times. I was a frequent attendant! also, of the evening service in the New College Hall;l to hear the fine organ, and the choir swelling an a^ them in that solemn building, where painting, m sic, and architecture, are in such admirable unison. I A favourite haunt, too, was the beautiful walkhor-j dered by lofty elms along the river, behind the | walls of Magdalen College, which goes by the nam of Addison's Walk, from being his favourite res( when an Oxford student. I became also a lounfg in the Bodleian Library, and a great dipper into M though I cannot say that I studied them ; in fad being no longer under direction or control, I wasgn dually relapsing into mere indulgence of the fancfj Still this would have been pleasant and harmles enough, and I might have awakened from mereli terary dreaming to something better. The chan were in my favour, for the riotous times of the Uiii| versity were past. The days of hai'd drinking va at an end. The old feuds of " Town and Gown,', like the civil wars of the White and Red Rose, I died away; and student and citizen slept in peace a whole skins, without risk of being summoned in ll night to bloody brawl. It had become the to study at the University, and the odds werealwajj in favour of my following the fashion. Unluckin however, I fell in company with a special knot (I young fellows, of lively parts and ready wit, whohJ lived occasionally upon town, and become initial!^ into the Fancy. They voted study to be the dull minds, by which they slowly crept up tlie liij while genius arrived at it at a bound. I fell a to play the owl among such gay birds; so I liirewlj my lM)oks, and became a man of spirit. As my father made me a tolerable allowance, withstanding the narrowness of his income, liatij an eye always to my great expectations, I was enali TALES OF A TRAVELLER. SSSi it as a student. Learning I . It is lodged in palaces; ed ceremonies of religion; lance which powerfully af- ch, at least, it liad in my as. My previous studies I ad prepared me to regard >. He liad been educated r the University with filial ation. W hen I beheld llie acles of this most august of I, I hailed them in my en- diadem, which tlie nation | 18 of science, was full of enjoyment twl n about its monastic build-l idrangles; its solemn halls,! I delighted, in the evenings, d by the colleges, where aill creened from the sight; aiHll students sweeping along iij ed caps and gowns. I seem-l orted among the people andl I was a frequent attendant,! ce in the New College Hall;| nd the choir swelling an an Iding, where painting, m i in such admirable unison. I 1, was the beautiful walkhor-l g the river, behind the je, which goes by the nan n being bis favourite re t. I became also a loungi and a great dipper into boo at I studied them ; in fat irection or control, I wasgn ;re indulgence of the fancjj been pleasant and harmie ave awakened from mere iij elhing better. The chaii the riotous times of the Un i days of hard drinking m ids of " Town and Gowi, e White and Red Rose, andcitizen slept in peace. 3k of being summoned inl It had become the fash ty, and the odds werealwajj ring the fashion. Unluckil]^ ipany with a special knoK parts and ready wit, Avhobij I town, and become initiati voted study to be the loi hey slowly crept up the it at a bound. I fell ashaia ruchgaybirdsjsolthrewl a man of spirit. ne a tolerable allowance, (wness of his income, ha' cat expcclations, I was m^ appear to advantage among my companions. I cul- llifated all kinds of sport and exercises. I was one of > most expert oarsmen that rowed on the Isis. I loied, fenced, angled, sliot, and hunted ; and my loms in college were always decorated with whips tail kinds, spurs, fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, foils, I boxing-gloves. A pair of leather breeches would KOI to be throwing one leg out of the half-open awers, and empty bottles lumbered the bottom of [fery closet. My father came to see me at college when I was in t lieiglit of my career. He asked me how 1 came ivilh my studies, and what kind of hunting there ) in the neighbourhood. He examined my various ling apparatus with a curious eye; wanted to owifany of the professors were for.-hnnters, and lihellier they were generally good shots, for he sus- !Cled their studying so much must be hurtful to the ijht. We had a day's shooting together . I delight- jhim with my skill, and astonished him by my learn- ddisquisilionson horse-flesh, and on Manlon's guns; b, upon the whole, be departed highly satisfled with Ly improvement at college. I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long rilhont getting in love. I had not been a very long ea man of spirit, therefore, before I became deeply lamoured of a shopkeeper's daughter in the High- «t, who, in fact, was tlie admiration of many of the deals. I wrote several sonnets in praise of her, and lent half of my pocket-money at the shop, in buying tides which I did not want, that I might have an ortunity of speaking to her. Her father, a severe- wking old gentleman, with bright silver buckles, i a crisp-curled wig, kept a strict guard on her, as |he fathers generally do upon their daughters in Ox- d, and well they may. I tried to get into his good es, and to be social with him, but all in vain. I (several good things in his shop, but he never ghed : he had no relish for wit and humour. He s one of those dry old gentlemen who keep young- i at bay. He had already brought up two or three hnghters, and was experienced in the ways of stu- lenls. He was as knowing and wary as a grey old idger that has often been hunted. To see him on iinday, so stiff and starched in his demeanour, so «ise in his dress, with his daughter under his arm, ^as enough to deter all graceless youngsters from ap- aching. I I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to Hve several conversations with the daughter, as I leapened articles in the shop. I made terrible long irgains, and examined the articles over and over pore I purchased. In the mean time, I would con- ky a sonnet or an acrostic under cover of a piece o kmbric, or slipped into a pair of stockings ; I would Jliisper soft nonsense into her ear as I haggled about ! price; and would squeeze her hand tenderly as I med my half-pence of change in a bit of wliity- "wn pai)er. Let this serve as a hint to all haber- Kiiers who have pretty daughters tor shop-girls, and young students for cnstomers. I do not know whe- ther my words and looks were very eloquent, but my poetry was irresistible; for, to tell the truth, the girl had some literary taste, and was seldom without a book from the circulating library. By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is so potent with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of this fair little haberdasher. We carried on a sen- timental correspondence for a lime across the counter, and I supplied her with rhyme by the stockuig-full. At length I prevailed on her 'o grant an assignation. But how was this to be effected? Her father kept her always under his eye; she never walked out alone; and the liouse was locked up the moment that the shop was shut. All these difficulties served but to give zest to the adventure. I proposed that the assi- gnation should be in her own chamber, into which I would climb at night. The plan was irresistible — A cruel father, a secret lover, and a clandestine meet- ing ! All the little girl's studies from the circulating library seemed about to be realized. But wha' 'lad I in view in making this assignation ? Indeed, I know not. I had no evil intentions, nor can I say that I had any good ones. I liked the girl, and wanted to have an opportunity of seeing more of her ; and the assignation was made, as I have done many things else, heedlessly and without forethought. I asked myself a few questions of the kind, after all my arrangements were made, but the answers were very unsatisfactory. " Ami toruin th's poor thought- less girl ? " said I to myself. " No ! " was the prompt and indignant answer. *' Am I to run away with her? "— " Whither, and to what purpose?"— "Well, then, am I to marry her?''— "Poh! a man of my expectations marry a shopkeeper's daughter ! " " What then am I to do with her? " " Hum— why — let me get into the chamber first, and then con- sider — " and so the self-examination ended. Well, sir, " come what come might, " I stole under cover of the darkness to the dwelling of my dulcinea. All was quiet. At the concerted signal her window was gently opened. It was just above the projecting bow-window of her father's sliop, which assisted me in mounting. The house was low, and I was enabled to scale the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered with a beating heart; I reached the casement ; I hoist- ed my body half into the chamber; and was welcom- ed, not by the embraces of my expecting fair one, but by the grasp of the crabbed-looking old father in the crisp-curled wig. I extricated myself from his clutches, and endea- voured to make my retreat ; but I was confounded by his cries of thieves ! and robbers ! I was bothered too by his Sunday cane, which was amazingly busy about my head as I descended, and against which my hat was but a poor protection. Never before had I an idea of the activity of an old man's arm, and the hardness of the knob of an ivory-headed cane. In my hurry and confusion I missed nn.y footing, and fell sprawling on the paventcnl . I was immediately sur- 53i TALES OF A TRAVELLER. rounded by myrmidons, who, I doubt not, were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no situation to escape, for I had sprained my ancle in the fall, and could not stand. I was seized as a housebreaker ; and to exonerate myself of a greater crime, I had to accuse myself of a less. I made known who I was, and why I came there. Alas ! the varlets knew it already, and were only amusing themselves at my expense. My perfidious muse had been playin<j: me one of her slip- pery tricks. The old curmudgeon of a father liad found my sonnets and acrostics hid away in holes and corners of his shop : he had no tasle for poetry like his daughter, and had instituted a rigorous though silent observation. He had moused upon our letters, de- tected our plans, and prepared every thing for my re- ception. Thus was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the muse. Let no man henceforth carry on a secret amour in poetry ! The old man's ire was in some measure appeased by the pommeling of my head and the anguisli of my sprain ; so he did not put me to death on the spot. He was even humane enough to furnish a shutter, on which I was carried back to college like a wounded warrior. The porter was roused to admit me. The college gate was thrown open for my entry. The affair was blazed about the next morning, and be- came the joke of the college from tJie buttery to the ball. I had leisure to repent during several weeks' con- finement by my sprain, which I passed in translating Boethius' Consolations of Philosophy. I received a most tender and ill-spelled letter from my mistress, who had been sent to a relation in Coventry. She protested her innocence of my misfortunes, and vow- ed to be true to me " till deth. " I took no notice of the letter, for I was cured, for the present, both of love and poetry. Women, however, are more constant in their attaclunents than men, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary. I am assured that she ac- tually remained faithful to her vow for several months; but she had to deal with a cruel father, whose heart was as hard as the knob of Ids cane. Ue was not to be touched by tears or poetry, but absolutely com- pelled Iter to marry a reputable young tradesman, who made her a happy woman in spite of herself, and of all the rules of romance : and, what is more, the mother of several children. They are at this very day a thriving couple, and keep a snug corner shop, just opposite the figure of Peeping Tom, at Coventry. I will not fatigue you by any more details of my studies at Oxford; though they were not always as severe as these, nor did I always pay as dear for my lessons. To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscellaneous manner, gradually getting knowledge of good and evil, until I had attained my twenty-first year. I had scarcely come of age when I heard of the sudden death of my father. The shock was se- vere, for though he liad never treated me with much kindness, still he was my father, and at his death I felt alone in the world. I returned home, and found myself the solitj master of the paternal mansion. A crowd of gkwQ,! feelings came thronging upon me. It was a pij, that always sobered me, and brought me to leH tion ; now especially, it looked so deserted and i lancholy. I entered the little breakrusiiii^^-ruuni There were my father's whip and spurs hangiip | the fire-place; the Stud book. Sporting Magazin and Racing Calendar, his only reading. His rj vourite spaniel lay on the hearth-rug. The poor an! mal, who had never before noticed me, now cani fondling about me, licked my hand, then lookd round the room, whined, wagged his tail slightij and gazed wistfully in my face. I felt the full of the appeal. *' Poor Dash," said " we are I alone in the world, with nobody tu care for us, ai^ w ill take care of one another." — The dog never (|uiii( me afterwards. I could not go into my mother's room— my hei swelled when I passed within sight of the door. i|J portrait hung in the parlour, just over the place wlio she used to sit. As I cast my eyes on it, I tlioud it looked at me with tenderness, and I burst into tearj I was a careless dog, it is true, hardened a perhaps, by living in public schools, and bulTetid about among strangers, who cared nothing fur m but the recollection of a mother's tenderness wasovti coming. I was not of an age or a teniperament to be I depressed. There was a reaction in my system i always brougiit me up again after every pressiin and, indeed, my spirits were most buoyant after | temporary prostration, i settled the concerns ofll estate as soon as possible; realized my prop which was not very considerable, but which appeal a vast deal to me, having a jH>etical eye, that nia>i fied every thing; and finding myself, at the endof| few months, free of all further business or restrain I determined to go to London and enjoy niysc Why should not I ? — I was young, animated, joyn had plenty of fun'Js for present pleasures, andi uncle's estate in tLe perspective. Let those mopei college, and pore ever books, thought I, \siio liai their way to make in the world ; it would be rii( culous drudgery in a youth of ray expectations! Away to London, therefore, I rattled inataoA determined to take the to wn gaily. I passed liin several of the villages where I had played tbe J Pudding a few years before; and I visited thes of many of my adventures and follies, merely k that feelin,' of melancholy pleasure which we bfl in stepping again the footprints of foregone existei even when they have passed among weeds and t I made a circuit in the latter part of my journey, j as to take in West End and Hampstcad, tbe sea of my last dramatic exploit, and of the battle i of the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Ha stead Hill, by Jack Straw's Castle, I paused all s|)Ot where Columbine and I had sat down so if consolately in our ragged finery, and had looked* TALES OF A TRAVELLER. bund myself tlic soliutj gion. Acrowdofglooml pun me. It was a pl^ ind brouglit me to rtil« oked so deserted and i little breakfasting-rouiii hip and spurs lianf5iii(; | book, Sporting Magazin is only reading. His fj learth-rug. The poor ani ■e noticed me, now cam d my hand, then iookel , wagged his tail slightlJ r face. I felt the full fw jsh," said " we are I iiobotly to care for us, agj ;r."— The dog never (luiiie f mother's room— my h« ithin sight of the door. Ij^ ur, just over the place wlia it my eyes on it, I lliou^ irness, and I burst into lead is true, hardened a ublic schools, and buffclid who cared nothing for mij mother's tenderness was ova • a tenkperament to be a reaction in my system again after every pressui were most buoyant after I settled the concerns of ble; realized my pro| iderable, but which appei g a iMjetical eye, that niagi iding myself, at the end ol "urtlier business or restrai London and enjoy rayi vas young, animated, joyi r present pleasures, and spective. Let those moiic loks, thought I, who liai lie world; it would be uth of my expectations refore, Irattledinalai wn gaily. I passed tin here I had played theJi jfore; and I visited the res and follies, merely fi ly pleasure which we bi tprints of foregone exisit sed among weeds and' alter part of my journey, and Hampstcad, Ihesci loit, and of the bailie ve along the ridge of Hi w's Castle, I paused at and I had sat down so d lincry, and had looked' ily on London. I almost expected to see her in, standing: on the hill's brink, " like Niobe, all ; " — mournful as Babylon in ruins ! '» Poor Columbine ! " said I, with a heavy sigh, tlum wert a gallant, generous girl — a true woman ; iiliful to the distressed, and leady (o sacrifice thy- If ill Uie cause of worthless man ! " I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, for was always something of self-reproach with it. drove gaily along the rond, enjoying the stare of lers and stable-boys, as I managed my horses iwiugly down the steep street of Ilanipsteud; >n, just at the skirts of the village, one of the s uf my leader came loose. I pidled up, and tlie animal was restive, and my servant a bungler, Italled for assistance to the robustious master of a I' alehouse, who stood at his door with a tankard his hand. He came readily to assist me, followed bis wife, with her bosom half open, a child in amis, and two more at her heels. I stared for Innment, us if doubting my eyes. I coult' not be iken ; in the fat, lieer-hlown landlord of the ale- I, I recognized my old rival Harlequin, and in slattern spouse, the once trim and dimpling Co- me. he change of my looks from youth to manhood, the change in my circumstances, prevented them recognizing me. They could not suspect in dashing young buck, fashionably dressed and ig his own equipage, the painted beau, with old ied hat, and long, flimsy, sky-blue coat. My yearned with kindness towards Columbine, and as glad to see her establishment a thriving one. soon as the harness was adjusted, I tossed a small of gold into her ample bosom; and then, pre- tng to give my horses a hearty cut of the whip, le the lash curl with a whistling about the sleek of ancient Harlequin. The horses dashed off lightning, and I was whirled out of sight before T of the parties could gel over their surprise at liberal donations. I have always considered this leof the greatest proofs of my poetical genius; as distributing poetical justice in perfection. now entered London en cavalier, and became a upon town. I took fashionable lodgings in the end; employed the first tailor; frequented the liar lounges; gambled a little; lost my money humouredly, and gainrd a number of fashion- good-for-nothing acquaintances. I gained some lation also for r man of science, having become irt boxer in tlie course of my studies at Ox- I was distinguished, therefore, among the gen- n of the Fancy; became hand and glove with lin boxing noblemen, and was the admiration of ives Court. A gentleman's science, however, to get him into sad scrapes ; he is too prone to |the knight-errant, and to pick up quarrels which ienlKic gentlemen would quietly avoid. I iin- k one day to punish the insolence of a porter. as a Ikrcules of a fellow, but then I was so se- cure in my science ! I gained the victory of course. The porter pocketed his humiliation, bound up his broken head, and went about liis business as uncon- cernedly as though nothing had happened; while I went to bed with my victory, and did not dare lu show my battered face for a fortnight : by which I discovered that a gentleman may liave the worst of the battle even when victorious. I am naturally a philosopher, and no one can mora- lize better after a misfortune has taken place : so I lay on my bed and moralized on this sorry ambition, which levels the gentleman with the clown. I know it is the opinion of many sages, who have thought deeply on these matters, that the noble science of boxing keeps up the bull-dog courage of the na- tion ; and far be it from me to decry the advantage of becoming a nation of bull-dugs; but I now saw clear- ly that it was calculated lo keep up the breed of Eng- lishruflians. "W hat is the Fives Court," said I lo my- self, as I turned uncomfortably in bed, " but a college of scoundrelism, where every bully rufTian in the land may gain a fellowship? What is the slang language of 'The Fancy' but a jargon by which fools and knaves commune and understand each other, and en- joy a kind of superiority over the uninitiated? What is a boxing-match but an arena, where the noble and the illustrious are jostled into familiarity with the in- famous and the vulgar ? What, in fact, is the Fancy itself, but a chain of easy communication, extending from the peer down to the pickpocket, through the medium of which a man of rank may find he has shaken hands, at three removes, with the murderer on the gibbet? — "Enough!" ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced through the force of my philosophy, and the pain of my bruises — " I'll have nothing more to do with The Fancy." So when I had recovered from my victory, I turned my atlentiun to softer themes, and became a devoted admirer of the ladies. Had I had more in- dustry and ambition in my nature, I might have worked my way to the very height of fashion, as I saw many laborious gentlemen doing around me. Dat it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy life : there are few beings so sleepless and miserable as youp cultivators of fashionable smiles. I was quite content with that kind of society which forms the frontiers of fashion, and may be easily taken posses- sion of. I found it a light, easy, productive soil. I had but to go about and sow visiting-cards, and I reaped a whole harvest of invitations. Indeed, my figure and address were by no means against me. II was whispered, loo, among the young ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, and wrote poetry ; and the old ladies bad ascertained that I was a young gentle- man of good family, handsome fortune, and " great exptctalions." I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so intoxicating to a young man, and which a man of poetical temperament enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it : that rapid variety of sensations; thai •■' I ^^J'■ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 Ui |2B 12.5 itt U£ 12.2 £f 134 ^ 1^ |2.0 Photographic Sciences Corporalion ^ \ 4 N^ ;\ \ 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WMSTM.N.Y. 14510 (716) •73-4503 ass TALES OF A TRAVELLER. whirl of brilliant objects ; that suoceasion of pungent pleasures! I had.no time Tor thought. I only felt. I never attempted to write poetry; my poetry seemed all to go off by transpiration. I lived poetry ; it was all a poetical dream to me. A mere sensualist knows nothing of the delights of a splendid melropolu. He lives in a round of animal gratiflcations and heartless habits. But to a young man of poetical feelings, it is an ideal world, a scene of enchantment and delusion; his imagination is in perpetual excitement, and gives a spiritual zest to every pleasure. A season of town-life, however, somewhat sobered me of my intoxication; or, rather, I was rendered more serious by one of my old complaints— I fell in love. It was with a very pretty, tltough a very haughty fair one, who had come to London under the care of an old maiden aunt to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in town, and to get married. There was not a doubt of lier commanding a choice of lovers; for she had long been the belle of a little cathedral city, and one of the poets of the place bad absolutely celebrated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. The most extravagant anticipations were formed by her friends of the sensation she would produce. It was feared by some that she might be precipitate in her choice, and take up with some inferior title. The aunt was determined notliing should gain her under a loi-d. Alas! with all her charms, the young lady lacked the one thing needful — she had no money. So she waited in vain for duke, marquis, or earl, to throw himself at her feet. As the season waned, so did the lady's expectations; when, just towards the close, I made my advances. I was most bvourably received by both the young lady and her aunt. It is true, I had no title ; but then such great expectations ! A marked preference was immediately shown me over two rivals, the younger son of a needy baronet, and a captain of dra- goons on half-pay. I did not absolutely take the field in form, for I was determined not to be precipitate; but I drove my equipage frequently tlirough the street in which she lived, and was always sure to see her at the window, generally with a book in her hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent her a long copy of verses; anonymously, to be sure, but she knew my hand-writing. Both aunt and niece, how- ever, displayed the most delightful ignorance on the subject. The young lady showed them to me ; won- dered whom they could be written by; and declared there was nothing in this world she loved so mi^ch as poetry; while the maiden aunt would put her punch- ing spectacles on her nose, and read them, with blun- ders in sense and sound, that were excruciating to an author's ears ; protesting there was nothing equal to them in the whole Elegant Extracts. Tbefashionableseason closed without my adventur- ing to make a declaration, though I ceriainly had en- couragement. I was not perfectly sure that I had effected a lodgment in the young lady's heart, and, to tell the truth, the aunt overdid her part, and vin little too extravagant in her liking of me. I ki that maiden aunts were not apt to be captivated the mere personal merits of their nieces' admi and I wanted to ascertain how much of all this&Ti I owed to driving an equipage, and having great pectations. I had received many hints how charming their tive place was during the summer months; what sant society they had; and what beautiful drr about the neighbourhood. They had not, theitl returned home long, before I made my ap| in dashing style, driving down the principal The very next morning I was seen at prayers, in the same i>ew with the reigning belle. Qui were whispered about the aisles, after service, " is he?" and "What is he?" And the replies asusual, " A yuung gentleman of good family and tune, and great expectations." I was much struck with the peculiarities of reverend little place. A cathedral, with its di encies and regulations, presents a picture of times, and of a different order of tilings. It u i relic of a more poetical age. There still linger it the silence and solemnity of the cloister. In present uistance especially, where the cathedral large, and the town was small, its influence vai more apparent. The solemn pomp of the performed twice a day, with the grand intonals the organ, and the voices of the choir swelling II the magnificent pile, diffused, as it were, a pei sabbath over the place. This routine of soiema remony continually going on, independent, as it of the world ; this daily offering of melody and ascending like incense from the altar, bad a poi effect upon my imagination. The aunt introduced me to her coterie, fonneij families connected with the cathedral, and ol moderate fortune, but high respectability, vbo nestled themselves under the wings of the cal to enjoy good society at moderate expense. It a highly aristocratical little circle; scrupulowi intercourse with others, and jealously cautions admitting any thing common or unclean. It seemed as if the courtesies of the old scbooi taken refuge here. There vere continual intei of civilities, and of small presents of fruits and cacies, and of complimentary crow-quill billels; a quiet, well-bred community like this, living at ease, little duties, and little amusements, ani civilities, fill up the day. I have seen, in lb< of a warm day, a corpulent, powdered footmaa, ing from the iron gateway of a stately maiuioa,j traversing the little place with an air of port, bearing a small tart on a large silver sal' Their evening amusements were sober and tive. They assembled at a moderate hour; the; ladies played music, and the old ladies whitt; an early hour they dispersed. There was no on these social occasions. Two or three old ich| my I TALES OF A TRAVELLER. .■557 nt oyerdid her part, and^j in her Hking of me. I knti re not apt to be captWaledl fits of their nieces* admirai ain how much of all (hisbi* juipage, and having great < f hints how charming their he summer months; what I; and what beautiful (od. They had not, thei before I made my appeal ing down the principal g I was seen at prayers, the reigning belle. Qu t the aisles, after service, " she?" And the repliea mtlemanof good family and jtations." ik with the peculiarities d A cathedral, with its de- M, presents a picture of enl order of things. Itisaiil al age. There still linger lemnity of the cloister. In Bcially, where the cathedral was small, its influence wn lie solemn pomp of the jy, with the grand intonalii Bices of the choir swelling II .diffused, as it were, a pel ace. This routine of solemm ^ingon, independent, as it lily offering of melody andj ise from the altar, had a po' pnation. . ced me to her coterie, fomei] vith the cathedral, and otto lut high respectability, who under the wings of the caih ly at moderate expense. It ;al little circle; scrupulomij lers, and jealously cautious 5 common or unclean, lecourtesiesofthe old school There vere continual interchr small presents of Bruits and limentary crow-quill billeisi »mmunity like this, l'*'"?" I, and little amusements, «» day. Ihaveseen, in ibei jrpulent, powdered foolMB, ;ateway of a sUtely maxm > place with an air of migT -ill tart on a large silver sal' musemeniB were sober aiid _>led at a moderate hour ; the] c, and the old ladies whl»»i dispersed. There was no osions. Two or three old (hairs were in constant activity, though the greater put made their exit in clogs and pattens, with a foot- man or waiting-maid carrying a lantern in advance; lod long before midnight the clank of pattens and ! {^eam of lanterns about the quiet little place told that I itie evening party had dissolved. Still I did not feel myself altogether so much at my lease as I had anticipated, considering the smallness of (he place. I found it very different from other toontry places, and that it was not so easy to make a dash there. Sinner that I was ! the very dignity and decorum of the little community was rebuking to me. I feared my past idleness and folly would rise in. judg- ment against me. I stood in awe of the dignitaries of the cathedral, whom I saw mingling familiarly in Hciety. I became nervous on this point. The creak Maprebcndai^'s shoes, sounding from one end of a qniet street to the other, was appalling to me; and the liight of a shovel-hat was sufncient at any time to Itkck me in the midst of my boldest poetical soarings. And then the good aunt conid not be ([uiet, but |ironld cry me up for a genius, and extol my poetry to very one. So long as she conlined this to the ladies ;did well enough, because they were able to feel appreciate poetry of the new romantic school. Nothing would content the good lady, however, but I must read my verses to a prebendary, who had ig been the undoubted critic of the place. He was ithin, delicate old gentleman, of mild, {lolished man- ), steeped to the lips in classic lore, and not easily It in a heat by any hot-blooded poetry of the day. le listened to my most fervid thoughts and fervid rords without a glow ; shook his head with a smile, (condemned them as not being according to Ho- i, as not being legitimate poetry. Several old ladies, who had lieretefore been my lirers, shook their heads at hearing this; they lid not think of praising any poetry that was not )rding to Horace; and as to any thing illegitimate, I was not to be countenanced in good society. Thanks my stars, however, I had youth and novelty on my |id(! : so the young ladies persisted in admiring my (try in despite of Horace and illegitimacy. I consoled myself with the good opinion of the mg ladies, whom I had always found to be the best of poetry. As to these old scholars, said I, ey are apt to be chilled by being steeped in the cold intains of the classics. Still I felt that I was losing ind, and tliat it was necessary to bring matters to |point. Just at this time there was a public lull, at- led by the best society of the place, and by the itry of the neiglibourhood : I took great pains with |y toilet on the occasion, and I had never looked it' I had determined that night to make my assault on the heart of the young lady, to Itlle it with all my forces, and the next morning to ""ind a surrender in due form. [I entered the ball-room amidst a buzz and flutter, lich generally took place among the young ladies my appearance. I was in flne spirits; for, to tell the truth, I had exhilarated myself by a cheerful glass of wine on the occasion. I talked, and rattled, and said a thousand silly things, slap-<lash, with all the confidence of a man sure of his auditors, — and every thing had its effect. In the midst of my triumph I observed a little knot gathering together in the upper {)art of the room. By degrees it increased. A tittering broke out there, and glances were cast round at me, and then there would be fresh tittering. Some of the yonng ladies would hurry away to distant parts of the room, and whisper to their friends. Wherever they went, there was still this tittering and glancing at me. I did not know what to make of all this. I looked at myself from head to foot, and peeped at my back in a glass, to see ii any thing was odd about my person ; any awkward expos'.ire, any whimsical lag hanging out : — no — every thing was right — I was a perfect picture. I determined that it must he some choice saying of mine that was bandied about in this knot of merry beauties, and I determined to enjoy one of my goo<I things in the rebound. I stepped gently, therefore, up the room, smiling at every one as I passed, who, I must say, all smiled and tittered in return. I ap- proached the group, smirking and perking my chin, like a man who is full of pleasant feeling, and sure of being wcl I received. The cluster of little belles oi)en- cd as I advanced. Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive in the midst of them but my early and tormenting flame, the everlasting Sacharissa ! She was grown, it is true, into the full beauty of womanhood ; but showed, by the provoking merriment of her countenance, (hat she perfectly recollected me, and the ridiculous fla- gellations of which she had twice been the cause. I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridicule that was bnrsting over me. My crest fell. The flame of love went suddenly out of my bosom, or was ex- tinguished by overwhelming shame. How I got down the room I know not : I fancied evei7 one tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I caught a glance of my mistress and her aunt listening to the whispers of Sacharissa, the old lady raising her hands and eyes, and the face of the young one lighted up, as I ima- gined, with scorn ineffable. I paused to see no more, but made two steps from the top of the stairs to the bottom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a retreat, and did not feel the blushes cool from my tingling cheeks, until I had lost sight of the old towers of the cathedral. I now returned to town thoughtful and crest-fallen. My money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and without calculation. The dream of love was over, and the reign of pleasure at an end. I determined to retrench while I had yet a trifle left : so selling my equipage and horses for half their value, I quietly pat the money in my pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, with my great expectations, I could at any time raise funds, either on usury or by borrowing; but I was principled against both one and x» TALES OF A TRAVELLER. the other, and resolved, by strict economy, to make my slender purse hold out until my uncle should give op the ghost, or rather the estate. I staid at home, therefore, and read, and would have written, but I had already sufTered too much from my poetical pro- ductions, which had generally involved me in some ridiculous scrape. I gradually acquired a rusty look, and had a straitened money - borrowing air, upon wliich the world began to shy me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel with the world for its conduct ; it has always used me well. When I have been flush and gay, and disposed for society, it has caressed me ; and when I have lieen pinched and reduced, and wished to be alone, why, it has left me alone ; and what more could a man desire ? Take my word for it, this world is a more obliging world than people generally represent it. Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retirement, and my studiousness, I received news that my uncle was dangerously ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's ofTections to receive his dying breath and his last testament. I found him attended by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; by the woman who oc- casionally worked about the house, and by the foxy- headed tioy, young Orson, whom I had occasionally hunted about the park. Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation as I entered the room, and re- ceived me with something almost like a smile of wel- come. The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the bed ; and the foxy-headed Orson, who had now grown up to be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in stupid va- cancy at a distance. My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The cham- ber was without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick room. The cobwebs flaunted from the ceiling. The tester was covered with dust, and the curtains were tattered. From underneath the bed peeped out one end of his strong-box. Against the wainscot were suspended rusty blunderbusses, horse-pistols, and a cut-and-thrust sword, with which he had fortified his room to defend his life and treasure. He had em- ployed no physician during his illness; and from the scanty relics lying on the table, seemed almost to have denied to himself the assistance of a cook. When I entered the room, he was lying motion- less ; his eyes fixed and his mouth open : at the first look I thought him a corpse. The noise of my en- trance made him turn his head. At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over his face, and his glazing eye gleamed with satisfaction. It was the only smile he had ever given me, and it went to my heart. " Poor old man ! " thought I, " why would you force me to leave you thus desolate, when I see that my presence has the power to cheer you ?" " Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low gasping voice—" I am glad you are come. I shall now die with satisfaction. Look," said he, rais- ing his withered hand, and pointing—" Look in that box on the table : you will find that I have not for- gotten you." I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears Mood in my eyes. I sat down by his bed-side and watched him, but he never s|)oke again. My presence, how> ever, gave him evident satisfaction ; for every now and then, as he looked at me, a vague smile would come over his visage, and he would feebly point to tiie sealed box on the table. As the day wore away, hu life appeared to wear away with it. Towards suntet his hand sunk on the bed, and lay motionless, hu eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained open, andthns he gradually died. I could not but feel shocked at this absolute ei- tinction of my kindred. I dropped a tear of reil sorrow over this strange old man, who had thus ^^ served the smile of kindness to his death-bed ; like an evening sun after a gloomy day, just shining out (o set in darkness. Leaving the corpse in charge of the domestics, I retired for the night. It was a rough night. The winds seemed atitl singing my uncle's requiem about the mansion, and the blood-hounds howled without, as if they knewofj the death of their old master. Iron John aimoitl grudged me the tallow candle to burn in my apart- ment, and light u(i its dreariness, so accustomed he been to starveling economy. I could not sietpj The recollection of my uncle's dying scene, and thej dreary sounds about the house affected my mind. These, however, were succeeded by plans forthefo-l ture, and I lay awake the greater part of the nigbl,{ indulging the poetical anticipation how soon I shoal make these old walls ring with cheerful life, audre-| store the liospitality of my mother's ancestors My uncle's funeral was decent but private. I knti { there was nobody that respectetl his memory, and was determined that none should be summoned sneer over his funeral, and make merry at his grart. He was buried in tlie church of the neighbouring vi lage, though it was not the burying-place of his rawj but he had expressly enjoined that he should not buried with his family : he had quarrelled with of them when living, and he carried his resei even into the grnve. I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of own purse, that I might have done with the uni takers at once, and clear the ill-omened birds the premises. I invited the parson of the parish, the lawyer from the village, to attend at the the next morning, and hear the reading of the I treated them to an excellent breakfast, a profi that had not been seen at the house for many a yi As soon as the breakfast things were removed, I muned Iron John, the Woman, and the boy, fori particular in having every one present and pi regularly. The box was placed on the table— all silence— I broke the seal — raised the lid, and — not the will— ;but my accursed poem of Castle and Giant Despair! Gould any mortal have conceived that tbb withered man, so tacittft-n and apparently so M feeling, could have treasured up for years the tl lollx 'hat too ippo or a ebi Id. lit I me TALES OF A TRAVELLER. S3i) ly heart, and the tears Mood by his bed-side and watched again. My presence, how- lisfaction ; for every now and I a vague smile would come I 'would feeWy point to lh«l Astheday woreawayjhijl ay with it. Towards sunset I aed, and lay motionless, Iml outh remained open, andthn] shocked at this absolute ex- I dropped a tear of real e old man, who had thusre- ness to his death-bed ; like « Domy day, just shining out to ng the corpse in charge otthe the night. ht. The winds seemed aiK iiiem about the mansion, audi ed without, as if they knew 0(1 a master. Iron John alnMMtl r candle to burn in my apart- dreariness, so accustomed y| economy. I could not sleep. f uncle's dying scene, andthel the house affected my mind, e succeeded by plans for thefo-l ■ the greater part of the night,| i anticipation how soon I sIiobI' ring with cheerful life, andre-l if my mother's ancestors, was decent but private. Ikneil it respected his memory, and none should be summoned l|, and make merry at his grave, church of the neighbouring vi' ot the burying-place of his race enjMned that he should not" y : he had quarrelled with" and he carried his reser" jnses of his funeral out of i Ight have done with the nn' (clear the ill-omened birds fto Ved the parson of the parisl village, to attend at the hear the reading of the excellent breakfast, a profu len at the house for many a yd ■fast things were removed, 1 r ,e woman, and the boy, forlij Bvery one present and pr was placed on the table-aHi seal-raised the lid, and f I my accursed poem of DooW spair! ..J II have conceived that thbt Icitaiti and apparently so loj] jasured up for years the t 1^ pleasantry of a boy, to poniah him with such (joel ingenuity ? I now could account for his dying goile, the only one he liad ever given me. He had lieen a gi-ave man all his life ; it was strange that he ihould die in the enjoyment of a joke, and it was liaid that that joke sluMild be at my expense. The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to wmprehend the matter. " Here must be some mis- lake," said the lawyer; "there is no will here." "Oh!" said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty I jaws, " if it is a will you are looking for, I believe I (an find one." He retired with the same singular smile with which Ike bad greeted me on my arrival, and which I now Ljiprehended boded me no good. In a little while he returned with a will perfect at all points, properly Ljgned and sealed, and witnessed and worded with liorrible correctness ; in which the deceased left large legacies to Iron John and his daughter, and the re- {(idueof his fortune to the foxy-headed boy; who, to jny utter astonishment, was his son by this very wo- |iin; he having married her privately, and, as I ve- ly believe, for no other purpose than to have an |hjr, and so balk my father and his issue of the in- itance. There was one little proviso, in which mentioned, that, having discovereil his nephew have a pretty turn for poetry, he presumed he had occasion for wealth; lie recommended him, how- ver, to the patronage of bis heir, and requested that might have a garret, rent-free, in Doubling Castle. GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN. I Ml BucRTHORNE had paused at the death of his de, and the downfal of his great expectations, tiieh formed, as he said, an epoch in his history; I it was not until some little time afterwards, and kaYcry sober mood, that he resumed his party-co- lared narrative. [After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle, i he, when the gate closed between me and what 8 once to have been mine, I felt thrust out naked lo the world, and completely abandoned to fortune. Ihat was to become of me ? I had been brought [to aotliing but expectations, and they had all been Hppointed. I had no relations to look to for coun- jor assistance. The world seemed all to have died |ay from me. Wave after wave of relationship I ebbed off, and I was left a mere hulk upon the knd. I am not apt to be greatly cast down, but kliis time I r^;*, sadly disheartened. I could not Pize my situation, nor form a conjecture how to get forward. I was now to endeavour ake money. The idea was new and strange It WM like being uked to diacover the phi- losopher's stone. I had never thought about money otherwise than to put my hand into my pocket and find it; or if there were none there, to wait until a new supply came from home. I had considered life as a mere space of time to be filled up with enjoy- ments : but to have it portioned out into long hours and days of toil, merely that I might gain bread to give me strength to toil on— to lalwur but for the purpose of perpetuating a life of labour, was new and appalling to me. This may appear a very simple matter to some; but it will be understood by every unlucky wight in my predicament, who has had the misfortune of being born to great expectations. I passed several days in rambling about the scenes of my boyhood; partly because I absolutely did not know what to do with myself, and partly because I did not know that I should ever see them again. I clung to them as one clings to a wreck, though he knows he must eventually cast himself loose and swim for his life. I sat down on a little hill within sight of my paternal home, but I did not venture to approach it, for I felt compunction at the thought- lessness with which I had dissipated my imtrimony : yet was I to blame, when I had the rich possessions of my curmudgeon of an uncle in expectation ? The new possessor of the place was making great alterations. The house was almost rebuilt. The trees which stood about it were cut down : my mo- ther's flower-garden was thrown into a lawn — all was undergoing a change. I turned my back upon it with a sigh, and rambled to another part of the country. How thoughtful a little adversity makes one! As I came within sight of the school-house where I had so often been flogged in the cause of wisdom, you would hardly have recognued the truant boy, who, but a few years since, had eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I leaned over tlie paling of the play-ground, and watched the scholars at their games, and looked to see if there might not be some urchin among them like what I was once, full of gay dreams about, life and the world. The play-ground seemed smaller than when I used to sport about it. The house and park, too, of the neighbouring squire, the father of the cruel Sachhrissa, had shrunk in size and dimi- nished in magnificence. The distant hills no longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! no longer awakened ideas of a fairy land beyond. As I was rambling pensively through a neighbour- ing meadow, in which I had many a time gathered primroses, I met the very pedagogue who had been the tyrant and dread of my boyhood. I had some- times vowed to myself, when suffering under his rod, that I would have my revenge if I ever met him when I had grown to be a man. The time had come; but I had no disposition to keep my vow. The few years which had matured me into a vi- gorous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared to have had a paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered that this poor helpless mortal m TALES OF A TRAVELLER. could have been an object of terror to me; that I should have watcliefi! with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, or dreaded the power of that trembling band. He tottered feebly along the path, and had some difliculty in getting over a stile. I ran and as- sisted him. He looked at me with surprise, but did not recognize me, and made a low bow of humility and thanks. I had no disposition to make myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to boast of. The pains he had taken, and the pains he had inflicted, had been equally useless. His repeated predictions were fully verifled, and I felt that little Jack Buck- thorne, the idle boy, had grown to be a veiy good- for-nothing man. This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I have told yon of my follies, it is meet that I show you how for once I was schooled for them. The most thought- less of mortals will some time or other have his day of gloom, when be will be compelled to reflect. I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of penance to perform, and I made a pilgrimage in expiation of my past levity. Having passed a night at Leaming- ton, I set off by a private path, which leads up a hill through a grove and across quiet fields, till I came to the small village, or rather hamlet, of Lenington. I sought the Village church. It is an uld low edifice of grey stone, on the brow of a small hill, looking over fertile fields, towards where the proud towers of Warwick Gaslle lift themselves against the distant horizon. A part of the churchyard is shaded by large trees. Under one of them my mother l&y buried . You have no doubt thought me a light, heartless being. I thought myself so; but there are moments of adver- sity wiiich let us into some feelings of our nature to which we might otherwise remain peri»etual strangers. I sought my mother's grave : the weeds were al- ready matted over it, and the tombstone was half hid among nettles. I cleared them away, and they stung my hands; but I was heedless of the pain, for my heart ached too severely. I sat down on the grave, and read over and over again the epitaph on the stone. It was simple, — but it was true. I bad written it myself. I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in vain ; my feelings refused to utter themselves in rhyme. My heart had gradually been filling during my lonely wanderings ; it vv^s now charged to the brim, and overflowed. I sunk upon the grave, and buried my face in the tall grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in manhood upon thi?! grave, as I had in infancy upon the bosom of my mother. Alas ! how little do we appreciate a mother's tenderness while living ! how heedless are we in youth of all her anxie- ties and kindness ! But when aihe is dead and gone ; when the cares and coldness of the world come wither- ing to our hearts ; when we find how hard it is to find (rue sympathy ;— how few love us for ourselves; how few will befriend us in our misfortunes— then it is that we think of the mother we have lost, ft j, true I had always loved my mother, even in my moM heedless days; but I felt how inconsiderate and inef- fectual had been my love. My heart melted as I it. traced the days of infancy, when I was led by a mother's hand, and rocked to sleep in a mother't arms, and was without care or sorrow. "0 my mother ! " exclaimed I, burying my face again in thtj grass of the grave; "O that I were once more byi your side ; sleeping, never to wake again on the Ci and troubles of this world." I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, the violence of my emotion gradually exhausted it- self. It was a hearty, honest, natural discharge grief which had been slowly accumulating, and gan me wonderful relief. I rose from (he grave as if had been offering up a sacrifice, and I felt as if sacrifice had been accepted. I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, by one, the weeds from her grave : the tears tricU more slowly down my cheeks, and ceased to be M ter. It was a comfort to think that she had died fore sorrow and poverty came upon her child, that all his great expectations were blasted. I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked nj the landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. Tl whistle of a peasant from an adjoining field cai cheerily to my ear. I seemed to respire hope ai comfort with the free air that whispered through tl leaves, and played lightly with my hair, and di the tears upon my cheek. A lark, rising from field before me, and leaving as it were a stream song behind him as he rose, lifted my fancy witli He hovered in the air just above the place where towers of Warwick Castle marked the horizon, seemed as if fluttering with delight at his own dy. *' Surely, " thought I, " if there were sadi thing as transmigration of souls, this might be ti for some poet let loose from earth, but still rei ing in song, and caroling about fair fields and 1 towers. " At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of rose within me. A thought sprung at once into mind. — " I will become an autlior! " said I, have hitherto indulged in iioetry as a pleasure, ai has brought me nothing but pain ; let me try v\ will do when I cultivate it with devotion as a suit. " The resolution thus suddenly aroused within heaved a load from off my heart. I felt a confii in it from the very place where it was formed, seemed as though my mother's spirit whispered me from her grave. "I will henceforth, " s " endeavour to be all that she fondly imagined i I will endeavour to act as if she were witness of| actions ; I will endeavour to acquit myself in : manner (hat, when I revisit her grave, tliere i least be no compunctious bitterness in my tears," I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn a tation of my vow. I plucked someprimrosaj dat loth gat inity ildi lorn rer liiim' \\m us, an sob loft Iroted TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 841 mother we have lost. IiUl my mother, even in my mottl t how inconsiderate and inef-l re. My heart melted as I n- 1 ancy, wlien I was led by i| )cked to sleep in a mother'il n care or sorrow. " mjl , burying my face again in thtl ' O that I were once more byl !ver to wake again on the carej irld." . )f a morbid temperament, notion gradually exhausted itJ , honest, natural discharge ol slowly accumulating, and gavJ I rose from the grave as if r 1 sacrifice, and I felt as iff epted. n the grass, and plucked, un im her grave : the tears trickl« y cheeks, and ceased tobeWtl •I to think that she had died I erty came upon her child, jctations were blasted, upon my hand, and lookednp luiel beauty soothed me. Thl t from an adjoining field I seemed to respire hope aiil e air that whispered throughtJ lightly with my hair, and dri cheek. A lark, rising from l 1 leaving as it were a stream | le rose, lifted my fancy withl ir just above the place where I Caslle marked the horizon, ng with delight at his own i ought I, " if there were snchl ion of souls, this might betaT lose from earth, but still m oling about fair fields andlw' le long-forgotten feeling of [ thought sprung at once intoi come an author!" said I. * i;ed in i»oetry as a pleasure, an hingbutpainjletmetrywlM tivate it with devotion as a [ JUS suddenly aroused williinj off my heart. I fell a confiJfl' place where it was formed. ny mother's spirit whispcrtdj re. "I will henceforth, " s" all that she fondly imagined! act as if she were witness ofj eavour to acquit myself in f I I revisit her grave, there i iclious bitterness in my tears.] nd kissed the turf in solenuuj 1 plucked 8omeprimro8«j Lrere growing there, and laid them next my heart. Illeft the churchyard with my spirits once more lift- ap, and set out a third time for London in the Iduracter of an author. Here my companion made a pause, and I waited ^anxious suspense, hoping to have a whole volume literary life unfolded to me. He seemed, however, have sunk into a fit of pensive musing, and when, ersome time, I gently roused him by a question or (oasto his literary career, "No, " said he, filing, " over that part of my I wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of craft rest sacred for me. Let those who have erer ventured into the republic of letters still look it as a fairy land. Let them suppose the author very being they picture him from his works — I not the man to mar their illusion. I am not the to hint, while one is admiring the silken web of sia, that it has been spun from the entrails of a irable worm. " "Well," said I, " if you will tell me nothing of ir literary history, let me know at least if you have any further intelligence from Doubting Caslle. " "Willingly, " replied he, " though I have but little loonununicate. " THE BOOBY SQUIRE. I A LONG time elapsed, said Buckthome, without f receiving any accounts of my cousin and his es- ie. Indeed, I felt so much soreness on the subject, Ht I wished if possible to shut it from my thoughts. |tlength chance took me to that part of the country, 1 1 could not refrain from making some inquiries. Illearnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, pf-willed, and clownish. His ignorance and clown- had prevented his mingling with the neigh- nring gentry : in spite of his great fortune, he had Kn unsuccessful in an attempt to gain the hand of (daughter of the parson, and had at length shrunk |lo the limits of such society as a mere man of wealth • gather in a country neighbourhood. iBe kept horses and hounds, and a roaring table, at ^h were collected the loose livers of the country od, and the shabby gentlemen of a village in the pnity. When he could gel no other company, he uld smoke and drink with his own servants, who |tDm fleeced and despised him. Still, with all his larenl prodigality, he had a leaven of the old man Ihim which showed that he was his true-born son. [lived far within his income, was vulgar in his ex- , and penurious in many points wherein a gen- M would be extravagant. His house-servants e obliged occasionally to work on his estate, and t of the pleasure-grounds were ploughed up and Ned to husbandry. w table, though plentiful, wa.s coarse; his liquors strong and bad ; and more ale and whisky were ex- pended in his establishment than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at his own table, and exiicted a rich man's homage from his vulgar and obsequious guests. As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient of the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, and quarrelled with him soon after became to the estate. The old man had retired to the neigh- bouring village, where he lived on the legacy of his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a rat out of his hole in daylight. The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinct- ive attachment to his mother. She resided with him, but, from long habit, she acted more as a ser- vant than as mistress of the mansion; for she toiled in all the domestic drudgery, and was oftener in the kitchen than the parlour. Such was the information which I collected of my rival cousin, who had so un- expectetlly elbowed me out of all my expectations. I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this scene of my boyhood, and to get a peep at the odd kind of life that was passing within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. I determined to do so in dis- guise. My booby cousin had never seen enough of me to be veiy familiar with my countenance, and a few years make great difference between youth and manhood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle, and proud of his stock ; I dressed myself therefor^as a substantial farmer, and with the assistance of a red scratch that came low down on my forehead, made a complete change in my physiognomy. It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of the park, and was admitted by an old woman, who was washing in a dilapidated building which had once been a porter's lodge. I advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely better keeping than during my un- cle's lifetime. The grass was overgrown wilh weeds, and the trees wanted pruning and clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fish-ponds. The road to the house bore very few traces of carnage wheels, as my cousin received few visitors but such as came on foot or horseback, and never used a carriage himself. Once indeed, as I was told, he had the old family carriage drawn out from among the dust and cobwebs of the coach-house, and furbished up, and had driven, wilh his mother, to the village church, to take formal possession of the family pew ; but there was such hooting and laughing after them, as they passed through the village, and such giggling and bantering about the church-door, that the pageant had never made a re-appearance. As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sal- lied out, barking at me, accompanied by the low howl- ing, rather than harking, of two old worn-out blood- hounds, which I recognized for the ancient life-guards of my uncle. The house had still a neglected random ill bH TALES OF A TRAVELLER. appearance, though much altered for the better •ince my last visit. Several of the windows were broKeo and patched up with boards, and others had been bricked up to save taxes. I observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys, a phenomenon rarely wit- nessed in the ancient establisliment. On passing that part of the house where the dining-room was situated, I heard the sound of boisterous merriment, where three or four voices were talking at once, and oatlis and laughter were horribly mingled. The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, a tall hard-flsted country clown, with a li- very-coatput over the under garments of a ploughman. I requested, to see the master of tlie house, but was told he was at dinner with some " gemmen" of the neighbourhood. I made known my business, and sent in to know if I might talk with the master about bis cattle, for I felt a great desire to have a peep at him in his orgies. Word was returned that he was engaged with com- pany, and could not attend to business, hut that if I would step in and take a drink of something, J was heartily welcome. I accordingly entered the hall, where whips and hats of ail kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table; two or three clownish ser- vants were lounging about; every thing had a look of confusion and carelessness. The apartments Uirough which I passed Itad the same air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeep- ing. The once rich curtains were faded and dusty, the fni-niture greased and tarnished. On entering the dining-room I found a number of odd, vulgar- looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several d(tgs were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, and one was gnaw- ing a bone under a side-table. The master of the feast sat at the head of the hoard. He was greatly altered. He had grown thickset and ratlter gummy, with « flery foxy bead of hair. There was a singular mixiure of foolishness, arrogance, and conceit, in his countenance. He was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed with drinking. The whole company stared at me with a whimsical muzzy look, like men whose senses were a little obfuscated by beer rather than wine. My cousin (God forgive me ! the appellation sticks in my throat), my cousin invited me with awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to ihe table and drink. We talked, as usual, about the weather, the crops, politics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accustomed to talk without contradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, " as every gentleman of for- tune should do." Tlie village exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate " very true" to every thing he said. The conversation turaed upon cattle; lie tMasted of bis breed, bis modie of crossing it, and of the general management of hia estate. This uoj luckily drew on a histr 7 of the place and of lb family. He spoke of mj late uncle with the greate irreverence, which I could easily forgive. Hei tional my name, and my blood began to boil. |]J described my frequent visits to my uncle, when | was a lad; and I found the varlet, even at that tii imp as he was, had known that he was to inherit lb estate. He described the scene of my uncle's deatl and the opening of the will, with a degree of ( humour that I had not expected from him; and, vei ed as I was, I could not help joining in the laugh, I I have always relished a joke, even though niad« j my own ex|iense. He went on to speak of my vari pursuits, my strolling freak, and that somenh nettled me; at length he talked of my parents. Her diculed my father; I stomached even that, th with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother wiihl sneer, and in an instant he lay sprawling at my I Here a tumult succeeded : the table was neaill overturned; bottles, glasses, and tankards, rollq crashing and clattering about the floor. Tlie 1 pany seized hold of both of us, to keep ns from doii( any further mischief. I struggled to get loose, forj was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to sti and fight him 011 the lawn. I agreed, for I feitt strength of a giant in me, and I longed to him soundly. Away then we were borne. A ring was fon I had a second assigned me in true boxing stvlj My cousin, as he advanced to fight, said sometliii about his generosity in showing me such fairpb when I had made such an unprovoked attack upi him at his own table. "Stop thei-e," cried I, iol rage. "Unprovoked? know that I am John Bm tliorne, and you liave insulted the memory of 1 mother." The lout was suddenly struck by what I said : drew back, and thought for a moment. " Nay, damn it," said he, " that's too much- clean another thing— I've a mother myself— and i one shall speak ill of her, bad as she is." He paused again; nature seemed to have a 1 struggle in his rude bosom. "Damn it, cousin," cried he, "I'm sorryforwlij I said. Thou'st served me right in knocking 1 down, and I like tliee the better for it. Here's hand : come and live with me, and damn me butl^ best room in the house, and the best horse in t stable, shall be at thy service." I declare to you I was strongly moved at tiiiti| stance of nature breaking her way through i lump of flesh. I forgave the fellow in a momeDtl| two hemous crimes, of having been born in wedio and inheriting my estate. I shook the hand bej fercd me, to convince him that I bore him no ilU and then making my way through tlie gaping en of toad-eaters, bade adieu to my uncle's domaiosj ever.— This is the last I have seen or heard of mjt sin, or of the domestie oancerns of Poubtingi TALES OF A TRAVELLER. m ent of hto estate. This un-i ■y of the place and of tb , late uncle with the grealo luW easily forgive. Hei iy blood began to boil. iiJ visits to my uncle, when ' ihe varlet, even at that tin iwn that he was to inherit tb he scene of my uncle's deail will, with a degree of ( expected from him; and, vex| I help joining in the laugh, f a joke, even though made i went on to speak of my van freak, and that somewh leUlked of my parents. Her stomached even that, th le mentioned my mother «itb| (It he lay sprawling at my I needed : the table was glasses, and tankards, rollej g about the floor. The t Ith of us, to keep us from doi I struggled to get loose, for J My cousin defied me to str I lawn. I agreed, for I fell I' 1 me, and I longed to re borne. A ring was fon gned me in true boxing stvlj vanced to light, said soraelliin I in showing me such fairplaj jch an unprovoked attack up "Stop there," cried l,iD| J? know that I am John Bu ve insulted the memory of i lenly struck by what I said ; ight for a moment. tid he, " that's toomuch-Uv -I've a mother myself-and her, bad as she is." nature seemed to have a )som. cried he, "I'm sorry foe red me right in knocking . the better for it. Here's with me, and damn me ball .use, and the best horse in service." was strongly moved at Uibi .aking her way through fgave the fellow in a moraeull |of having been born in vfedloi state. I shook the hand he te him that I bore him no ill way through the gaping cr [adieu to my uncle's domaiwl 1st I have seen or heard of my r lie concerns of Poubtin* TH£ STROLLING MANAGER. As I was walking one morning with Bnckthorne one of Ihe principal theatres, he directed my ntion to a group of those equivocal beings that ly often be seen hovering about the stage-doors of ilres. They were marvellously ill-favoured in allire, their coats buttoned up to their chins ; llhey wore Iheir hats smartly on one side, and had [ceftain knowing, dirty-gentlemanlike air, which is on (0 the subalterns of Ihe drama. Buckthorne (w them well by early experience. 'These," said he, " are the ghosts of departed and heroes; fellows who sway sceptres and cheons; command kingdoms and armies; and giving away realms and treasures over night, ! scarce a shilling to pay for a breakfast in the oing. Yet they have the true vagabond ahhor- I of all useful and industrious employment; and have their pleasurei< too; one of which is to in this way in Ihe sunshine, at the stage-door, rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical ion all passers-by. Nothing is more traditional I legitimate than the stage. Old scenery, old $, old sentiments, old ranting, and old jokes, ^handed down from generation to generation ; and I probably continue to be so until lime shall be no Every hanger-on of a theatre becomes a wag liDheritance, and flourishes about at tap-rooms and nny clubs with the property jokes of the green- i" H'hiie amusing ourselves with reconnoitring this p, we noticed one in particular who appeared to oracle. He was a weather-beaten veteran, tie bronzed by time and beer, who had no doubt in grey in the parts of robbers, cardinals, Roman ITS, and walking noblemen. [There is something in the set of that hat, and llutn of that physiognomy, that is extremely fami- |lo me," said Bucktiiome. He looked a little "I cannot be mistaken," added he, "that (be my old brother of the truncheon Flimsey, ^c hero of the Strolling Company." Iwas he in fact. The poor fellow showed evi- jsigns that times went hard with him, he was so f and shabbily dressed. His coat was somewhat dbare, and of the Lord Townley cut ; single- ^ed, and scarcely capable of meeting in front of dy, which, from long intimacy, had acquired netry and robustness of a beer barrel. He a pair of dingy-white stockinet pantaloons, iM much ado to reach his waistcoat; a great |iityof dirty cravat; and a pair of old russel-co- I tragedy boots. his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne I him aside, and made himself known to him. 3gic veteran could scarcely recognize him, or that he was really his quondam associate, ! gentleman Jack." Bnckthorne invited him to a neighbouring cofTee-hoaw to talk over old times ; and in the course of a little while we were pot in possession of his history in brief. He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling company for some lime after Buckthorne had left it, or rather had been driven from it so abruptly. At length the manager died, and the troop was thrown into confusion. Every one aspired lo the crown, every one was for taking the lead ; and the manager's wmIow, although a tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, pronounced it utterly impossible for a woman to keep any control over such a set of tempestuous rascalions. " Upon this hint, I spake," said Flimsey. I step- ped forward, and offered my services in the most ef- fectual way. They were accepted. In a week'g lime I marrie<l the widow, and succeeded to tlie throne. " The fimeral baked meals did coldly fur- nish forth the marriage table," as Hamlet says. But the ghost of my predecessor never haunted me; and I inherited crowns, sceptres, bowls, daggers, and all the stage-trappings and trumpery, not omitting the widow, without the least molestation. I now led a flourishing life of it; for our company was prelly strong and attractive, and as my wife and I took Ihe heavy parts of tragetly, it was a great sav- ing to the treasury. We carried off the palm from all the rival shows at country fairs; and I assure you we have even drawn full houses, and been applaud- ed by the critics at Bartlemy Fair itself, though we had Aslley's troop, the Irish giant, and " the death of Nelson " in wax-work, lo contend against. I soon began to experience, however, the cares of command. I discovered that there were cabals break- ing out in the company, headed by the clown, who you may recollect was a terribly peevish, fractious fellow, and always in ill-humour. I hrtd a great mind to turn him off at once, but I could not do with- out him, for there was not a droller scoundrel on the stage. H". ory shape was comic, for he had but to turn his k. '. .pon the audience, and all the ladies were ready . die with laughing. He felt his import- ance, and tpok advantage of it. He would keep the audience in a continual roar, and then come behind the scenes, and fret and fume, and play the very devil. I excused a great deal in him, however, knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this infirmity of temper. _ I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer na- ture to struggle with, which was the aflection of my wife. As ill-luck would have it, slie look it into her head to be very fond of me, and became intolerably jealous. I could not keep a pretty girl in the com- pany, and hardly dared embrace an ugly one, even when my part required it. I have known her reduce a fine lady to tatters, " to very rags," as Hamlet says, in an instant, and destroy one of the very best dresses in the wardrobe, merely because she saw me kiss her at the side scenes; though I give yon my honour it was done merely by way of rehearsal. rM TALES OF A TRAVELLER. { ■ i Ik m This was doubly annoying, because I have a na- tural lilting to pretty faces, and wish to liave them about me; and because they are indispensable to the success of a company at a fair, where one has to vie with so many rival theatres. But when once a jea- lous wife gets a freak in her head, there's no use in talking of interest or any thing else. Egad, sir, I have more than once trembled when, during a fit of her tantrums, she was playing high tragedy, and flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest she should give way to her humour, and stab some fancied rival in good earnest. I went on better, however, than could be expected, considering the weakness of my flesh, and the vio- lence of my rib. I had not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter, whose spouse was continually fer- reting out some new intrigue, and making the hea- vens almost too hot to hold him. At length, as luck would have it, we were per- forming at a country fair, when I understood the theatre of a neighbouring town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to be enrolled in a settled com- pany, and the height of my desire was to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was manager of a regular theatre, and who had looked down upon me. Here was an opportunity not to be neglected. I con- cluded an agreement with the proprietors, and in a few days opened the theatre with great eclat. Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, " the high top-gallant of my joy," as Romeo says. No longer a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but a mo- narch of a legitimate throne, and entitled to call even the great potentates of Covent Garden and Drnry Lane cousins. You, no doubt, think my happiness complete. Alas, sir ! I was one of the most uncom- fortable dogs living. No one knows, who has not tried, tlie miseries of a manager ; but above all of a country manager. No one can conceive the conten- tions and quarrels within doors, the oppressions and vexations from without. I was pestered with the bloods and loungers of a country town, who infested my green-room, and played the mischief among my actresses. But there was no shaking them off. It would have been ruin to affront them ; for though troublesome friends, they would have been danger- ous enemies. I'hen there were the village critics and village amateurs, who were continually torment- ing me with advice, and getting into a passion if I would not take it; especially the village doctor and the village attorney, who had both l)een to London occasionally, and knew what acting should be. I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scape- graces as ever were collected together within the walls of a theatre. I had been obliged to combine my original troop with some of the former troop of the theatre, who were favourites of the public. Here was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. They were all the time either fighting or frolicking with each other, and I scarcely know which mood was least troublesome. If they quarrelled, every thing went wrong ; and if they were friends, tht] were continually playing off some prank upon ea other, or upon me; for I had unhappily acquin among them the character of an easy, good-natui fellow— the worst character tiiat a manager can sess. Their waggery at times drove me almost en for there is nothing so vexatious as the hacknevi tricks and hoaxes and pleasantries of a velerau of theatrical vagaiwnds. I relished them well enoui it is true, while I was merely one of the eoinpaui but as manager I found them detestable. They vn incessantly bringing some disgrace upon the (heal by their tavern frolics, and their pranks about country town. All my lectures about the ioii ance of keeping up the dignity of the profession ai the respectability of the company were in vain. T| villains could not sympathize wiiii the delicate k ings of a man in station. They even trifled with seriousness of stage business. I have had the w piece interrupted, and a crowded audience of at I twenty-five pounds kept waiting, l)ecause the acli had hid away the breeches of Rosalind; and known Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to deliver his liloquy, with a dishclout pinned to his skirts. Si are the baleful consequences of a manager's getijl a character for good-nature. I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great atli who came down starring, as it is called, from don. Of all baneful influences, keep me from of a London star. A first-rate actress going rounds of the country theatres is as bad as a bli comet whisking about the heavens, and shaiiing and plagues and discords from its tail. The moment one of these " heavenly bodies" peared in my horizon, I was sure to be in hot % My theatre was overrun by provincial dandies, per- washed counterfeits of Bond-street loungers, are always proud to be in the train of an actress town, and anxious to be thought on exceeding terms with her. It was really a relief to me some random young nobleman would come in suit of the bait, and awe all this small fry at stance. I have always felt myself more at ease a nobleman than with the dandy of a country ti And then the injuries I suffered in my pei dignity and my managerial authority from tiie of these great London actors ! 'Sblood, sir, I vi longer master of myself on my throne. I v» tored and lectured in my own green-room, an absolute nincompoop on my own stage. no tyrant so absolute and capricious as a Lomlonj at a country theatre. I dreaded the sight of them, and yet if I did not engage them, I was of having the public clamorous against me. drew full houses, and appeared to be making tune; but they swallowed up all the profits bjf insatiable demands. They were absolute tapM to my little theatre , the more it took in the grew. They were sure to leave me with balls Ibei Ibei i,w Ibeir cai hat ich^ [•unpo acqii fOQ m myse ,an lepol [Ibept Faou ates at TALES OF A TRAVELLER. am if they were friends, th 5 off some prank upon eac| r I had unhappily acquin ler of an easy, good-nalun cterUiata manager can | nea drove me almost crazyl vexatious as llie l>ackney([ aleasantriesofaveleraul I relished tliem well enougl merely one of the compaii^ them detestable. Theywa me disgrace upon the Ihead , and their pranks about tl| l\ lectures about the imp } dignity of the professioua iec^mp-'ny were in vain. " palhize wiili the delicate f« on. They even trilled wilhll iisiness. I have had the vib J a crowded audience of at lei ept waiting, liecause the acl^ reeches of Rosalind; and ,\k solemnly on to deliver his lout pinned to his skirts. Si ■quences of a manager's gell -nature. annoyed, too, by the great acli rring, as it is called, from f ,1 intluences, keep me from A first-rate actress going ,ry theatres is as bad as a bli mt the heavens, and shaking (Cords from its tail. of these "heavenly bodies on, I was sure to be in hot w rrim by provincial dandies, feits of Bond-street loungers, be in the train of an actress be thought on exceeding t was really a relief to me nobleman would come in awe all this small fry at vays fell myself more at ease nth the dandy of a country 101 liuries 1 suffered in my per inagerial authority from the enactors! 'Sblood, sir.l^ lyself on my throne. I '» in my own green-room ipooponmyownslage. n Ue and capricious as a Lomii e. 1 dreaded the sight of did not engage them, I WM ,lic clamorous agamst me. *nd appeared to be makmg allowed up all the prohU by They were absolute tapfr' the more it took in the- sure to leave me luasted pnblic, empty benches, and a score or two o( affronts to settle among the town's folk, in con- leqaence of misunderstandings alwut Uie taking of plices. But the worst thing I had to undergo in my ma- nagerial career was patronage. Oh, sir ! of all things deliver me from (he patronage of the great people of i country town. It was my ruin. You must know iliat this town, though small, was filled with feuds, nd parties, and great folks ; being a busy little trad- ing and manufacturing town. The mischief was that Ibrir greatness was of a kind not to be settled by re- itrence to the court calendar, or college of heraldry; Ijl was therefore the most quarrelsome kind of great- lies in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you Ithere are no feuds more furious than the frontier feuds h take place in these " debatable lands" of gen- . The most violent dispute that I ever knew in life was one which occurred at a country town, a question of precedence between the ladies of a iuCicturer of pins and a manufacturer of needles. At the town where I was situated there were per- altercations of the kind. The head manu- irer's lady, for instance, was at daggers-drawings the head shopkeeper's, and both were too rich had too many friends to be treated lightly. The tor's and lawyer's ladies held their heads still high- ;bat they in their turn were kept in check by the of a country banker, who kept her own carriage ; le a masculine widow of cracked character and hand fashion, who lived in a large house, and led to be in some way related to nobility, looked upon them all. To be sure, her manners were over elegant, nor her fortune over large ; but then, ',ber blood— oh, her blood carried it all hollow; vas no withstanding a woman with such blood ber veins. After all, her claims to high connexion were ques- and she had frequent battles for precedence balls and assemblies with some of the sturdy dames ibe neighbourhood, who stood upon their wealth tbeir virtue ; but then she had two dashing daugh- I, who dressed as fine as dragons, had as high blood their mother, and seconded her in every thing : so carried their point with high heads, and every bated, abused, and stood in awe of the Fantad- ach vas the state of the fashionable world in this |[4mportant little town. Unluckily, I was not as llacquainted with its politics as I should have been. 1 found myself a stranger and in great perplexities ; my first season; I determined, therefore, to I myself under the patronage of some powerful e, and thus to take the field with the prejudices i public in my favour. I cast round my thoughts llbe purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon IFantadlin. No one seemed to me to have a more ^Dte sway in the world of fashion. I had always that her party slanuned the box-door the t at the theatre ; that her daughter entered like wihi a tempest with a flutter of red shawls and feathers ; had most beausatteiMlin;ron them ; talked and laughed during the performance, and used quizzing-glasses incessantly. The first evening of my theatre's re- opening, therefore, was announced in staring capitals on the play-hills, cs under (he patronage of " The Honourable Mrs Fantadlin." Sir, the whole community flew to arms .' Presume to patronize the theatre! Insufferable! And (hen for me to dare to term her ' The Honourable!' What claim had she to the title, forsooth ! The fashionable world had long groaned under (he tyranny of (he Fan(adlins, and were glad (o make a common cause agains( this new instance of as!«umption. All minor feuds were forgotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady met together, and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other ; and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted (he (heatre a bore, and determined to encourage nothing but the Indian Jugglers and Mr Walker's Eidouranion. Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the patronage of the Fantadlin family. My house was deserted; my actors grew discontented because they were ill paid; my door became a hammering place for every bailiff in the country ; and my wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting the more I wanted comfort. I tried for a time the usual consolation of a harassed and henpecked man : I took to the botde, and tried to tipple away my cares, but in vain. I don't mean to decry the bottle; it is no doubt an excellent remedy in many cases, but it did not answer in mine. It cracked my voice, coppered my nose, hut neither improved my wife nor my affairs. My establishment became a scene of confusion and peculation. I was considered a mined man, and of course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the troop deserted, nnd, like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms and ac- coutrements with them. In this manner my ward- robe took legs and walked away, my finery strolled all over the country, my swords and daggers glittered in every barn, until, at last, my tailor made "one fell swoop," and carried off three dress coats, half a dozen doublets, and nineteen pair of flesh-coloured pantaloons. This was the " be all and the end all" of my fortune. I no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since stealing is the order of the day, I'll steal too : so I secretly gathered together the jewels of my wardrobe, packed up a hero's dress in a hand- kerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly stole off at dead of night, " tlie bell then beat- ing one," leaving my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious subjects, and my merciless foes the bunibailiffs. Such, sir, was the " end of all ray greatness." I was heartily cured of all passion for governing, and returned once more into the rank:.. I had for some time the usual run of an actor's life : I played in va- rious country theatres, at fairs, and in bams; some- M 916 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. times hard pushed, •ometimes flush, until, on one occasion, I came within an ace of malcing my fortune, and becoming one of the wonders of the age. I was playing tlie iiart of Ricliard the Third in a country Irarn, and in my best style ; for, to tell the truth, I was a little in liquor, and the crilics of the company always observed tliat I played with most efTect when I had a glass lo«) much. There was a thunder of applause when I came to that part where Richard cries for "a horse ! a horse ! " My cracked voice had always a wonderful effect here; it was like two voices run into one ; you would have thought two men had been calling for a horse, or (hat Richard had called for two horses. And when I flung the taunt at Richmond, "Richard is hoarse with calling thee to arms," I thought the barn would have come down about my ears with the raptures of the audience. The very next mornuig a person wailed upon me at my lodgings. I saw at once he was a gentleman by his dress; for he had a large brooch in his bosom, thick rings on his fingers, and used a tpiizzing-giass. And a gentleman he proved to be; for I soon ascer- tained that he was a kept author, or kind of literary tailor to one of the great London theatres; one who worked under the manager's directions, and cut up and cut down plays, and patched and pieced, and new-faced, and turned them inside out; in short, he was one of the readiest and greatest writers of the day. He was now on a foraging excursion in quest of something that might be got up for a prodigy. The theatre, it seems, was in desperate condition— no- thing but a miracle could save it. lie had seen me act Richard the night before, and had pitched upon me for that miracle. I had a remarkable bluster in my style and swagger in my gait. I certainly differed from all other heroes of the barn : so the thought struck the agent to bring me out as a theatrical won- der, as the restorer of natural and legitimate acting, as the only one who could understand and act Shak- speare rightly. When he opened his plan I shrunk from it with becoming modesty, for, well as I thought of myself, I doubted my competency to such an undertaking. I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shakspeare, having played bis cliaracters only after mutilated co- pies, interlarded with a great deal of my own talk by way of helping memory or heightening the effect. "So much the better," cried Uie gentleman with rings on his fingers; "so much the better. New readings, sir !— new readingsl Don't study a line- let us have Shakspeare after your own fashion." "But then my voice was cracked; it could not fill a London theatre." "So much the better! so much the better! The public is tired of intonation— the ore rotuttdo has had its day. No, sir, your cracked voice is the very thing —spit and splutter, and snap and snarl, and ' play the very dog' about the stage, and you'll be the making of us." " But then,"— I could not help blushing to the end of my very nose as I said it, but I was determined to he candid ;—" hut then," added I, "there is onej awkward circumstance; I have an unlucky hal)it-.| my misfortunes, and the exposures to which one subjected in country harns, have obliged me now ai then to — to— take a drop of something comfortabli and so — and so " " What I you drink ? " cried the agent eagerly. I bowed my head in blushing acknowledgment. "So much the belter! so much the lietter! Tl irregularities of genius ! A sober fellow is coranwo place. The public like an actor that drinks. Gin me your hand, sir. You're tiie very man to make dash with." I still hung back with lingering diffidence, di ing myself unworthy of such praise. " 'Sblood, man," cried he, " no praise at all. Y( don't imagine I think you a wonder; I only want public to think so. Nothing is so easy as to piH public, if you only set up a prodigy. Common tali any body can measure by common rule; hut a digy sets all rule and measurement at defiance." These words opened my eyes in an instant; now came to a proper understanding; less flatti it is true, to my vanity, but much more satisfadi to my judgment. It was agreed that I should make my appeani before a London audience, as a dramatic sun bursting from behind the clouds : one diat wasto nish all the lesser lights and false fires of the stij Every precaution was to be taken to possess llie pi lie mind at every avenue. The pit was to be pad with sturdy clappers; the newspapers secured vehement puffers; every theatrical resort to haunted by hireling talkers. In a word, even- gine of theatrical humbug was to be put in adi Wherever I differed from former actors, it was lo maintained that I was right and they were wron°;. I ranted, it was to be pure passion ; If I werevul it was to be pronounced a familiar touch of nali if I made any queer blunder, it was to be a new ing. If my voice cracked, or I got out in my was only to bounce, and grin, and snarl at tlie dience, and make any horrible grimace that into my head, snd my admirers were to call it great point," and to fall back and shout and with rapture. " In short," said the gentleman with the qui) glass, "strike out boldly and bravely: no how or what you do, so that it be but odd andsli If you do but escape pelting the first night, yoar tune and the fortune of the theatre is made. I set off for London, therefore, in company the kept author, full of new plans and newliO| was to be the restorer of Shakspeare and Nature,! the legitimate drama; my very swag^r was heroic, and my cracked voice the standard of tion. Alas, sir, my usual luck attended me: I arrived at the metropolis a rival wonder iudj peared ; a woman who could dance the slack- ID, I ant KlOi an m and and forta %b cew rietj of of ipei wi TALES OF A THAVELLER. Mr it bull was (lelerminedtol •'added I, "tl»"e » om| [ have an unlucky UaWl-| exposures to \v\iich one i IS have obliged me now »i» ofsomeUungcomforUWe cried the agent eagerly, pushing acknowledgment. 1 go much the l»etter! Tl A sober fellow is commonj an actor that drinks. GW u're Ums very man 10 make li lingering difndence,de f such praise. «d he, "no praise at all. .ouawonder;Ionlywantti othingissoeasyaslogulll una prodigy. Common tala .hy common rule; but a p measurement at denance. ed my eye» *"» *" '"***"*' • imderstandingjlessflalle y. but much more satisfad tl should make royappeannj idience, as a dramatic sun j d the clouds ,hls and false nres of the su rs as to be taken to possess emie. The pit was to be pacl • the newspapers secured every theatrical resort to talkers. In a word every mmbugwastobepu mac "lorn former actors, it was to as right and they were wrong, e pure passion; If I were>. need a familiar touch of nati blunder,itwastobeanev .acked,orIgotout.nmyp and grin, and snarl at the anyborrible grimace thaic 1 admirers were to call. t [to fall back and shout andj , the gentleman with the qui: boldly and bravely: no ,^thatitbebutoddandst, ^ pelting tbe first nigh^yout Le of the theatre IS made. Ln, therefore, in Compaq P new plans and new. ^ Lr of Shakspeare and Nature^ 'acked voice the standarf of by usualluck attended rn • Metropolis a rival wondeH Lho could dance the sla* Imdrun upa roni from the stage to the gallery with lire-works all round her. She was seized on by the Ininager with avidity. She was the saving of the lireat national llieatre for the season. Nothing was lulked of but Madame Soqui's fire-works and llesh- Itokwred pantaloons; and Nature, Sliakspearc, the lle^timate drama, and poor Pillgarlick were com- Ifktelyleft in the lurch. When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale, wonders succeeded : horses, and harlequin- », and mummery of all kinds ; until another dra- iilic prodigy was brought forward to play the very ! for which I had been intended. I called upon (kept author for an explanation, but he was deeply in writing a melo-drania or a pantomime, was extremely testy on being interrupted in his liei. However, as the theatre was in some mea- pledged to provide for me, the manager acted, ling tothe usual phrase, " likea man of honour," 1 received an appointment in the corps. It had a turn of a die whether I should be Alexander Great or Alexander the coppersmith— the latter ied it. I could not be put at the head of the , so I was put at the tail of it. In other words, enrolled among the number of what are called fill men: those who enact soldiers, senators, and [uo's shadowy line. I was perfectly satisfied my lot ; for I have always been a bit of a philo- ir. If my situation was not splendid, it at least lecure ; and in fact I have seen half a dozen pro- appear, dazzle, burst like bubbles and pass IT, and yet here I am, snug, unenvied and unmo- 1, at the fool of the profession. 10, no, you may smile; but let me tell you, we men are the only comfortable actors on the We are safe from hisses, and below the hope use. We fear not the success of rivals, nor the critic's pen. So long as we get the words parts, and theyare not often many, it is all we for. We have our own merriment, our own , and our own admirers — for every actor has friends and admirers, from the highest to the The first-rate actor dines with the noble ir, and entertains a fashionable tabic with and songs, and theatrical slipslop. The second- Ktors have their second-rate friends and ad- i, with whom they likewise spout tragedy and ilop— and so down even to us ; who have our and admirers among spruce clerks and aspir- entices— who treat us to a dinner now and ami enjoy at tenth hand the same scraps and and slipslop that have been served up by our fortunate brethren at the tables of the great. w, for the first time in my theatrical life, ex- what true pleasure is. I have known enough riety to pity the poor devils who are called fa- of the public. I would rather be a kitten in of a spoiled child, to be one moment patted ipered, and tlie next moment thumped over with the spoon. I smile to see our leading actors fretting themselves with envy and jealousy about a trumpery renown, questionable in its quality, and uncertain in its duration. I laugh, too, tliough of course in my sleeve, at the bustle and importance, and trouble and perplexities of our manager, who is harassing himself to death in the hopeless effort to please every body. I have found among my fellow subalterns two or three quondam managers, who like myself have wield- ed the sceptres of country theatres, and we have many a sly joke together at the expense of the manager and the public. Sometimes too, we meet, like deposed and exiled kings, talk over the events of our respective reigns, moralize over a tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great and little world; which, I take it, is the essence of practical philosophy. Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. It grieves me much that I could not pro- cure from him further particulars of his history, an<l especially of that part of it which passed in town, lie had evidently seen much of literary life ; and, as he had never risen to eminence in letters, and yet was free from the gall of disappointment, I had hoped to gain some candid intelligence concerning his con- temporaries. The testimony of such an honest chro- nicler would have been particularly valuable at the present time ; when, owing to the extreme fecundity of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criticisms, and biographical sketches that are daily poured forth concerning public characters, it is extremely difficult to get at any truth concerning tbem. He was always, however, excessively reserved and fastidious on this point, at which I very much wonder- ed, authors in general appearing to think each other fair ganoe, and being ready to serve each other up for the am isement of the public. A few mornings after our hearing the history of the ex-manager, I was surprised by a visit from Buck- thorne before I was out of bed. He was dressed for travelling^. " Give me joy ! give me joy ! " said he, rubbing his hands with the utmost glee, " my great expecta- tions are realized ! " I gazed at him with a look of wonder and in- quiry. " My booby cousin is dead ! " cried he ; " may he rest in peace ! he nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse in a fox-chase. By good luck, he lived long enough to make his will. He has made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling of retributive justice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own family or friends know how to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the country to take possession. I've done with authorship. That for the critics ! " said he, snap- ping his fingers. '' Come down to Doubting Castle, when I get settled, and, egad, I'll give yon a rouse. " So saying, he shook me heartily by the hand, and Iraunded off in high spirits. .i 548 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. ■ J ■ 'iwii-l A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. Indeed, it was but lately tliat I received a letter, written in the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate into fine order ; every thing went to his wishes, and, what was more, he was married to Sa- charissa, who it seems had always entertained an ar- dent though secret attachment for him, which he fortunately discovered just after coming to his estate. " I find, " said he, " you are a little given to the sin of authorship, which I renounce: if the anecdotes I have given you of my slory are of any interest, you may make use of them; but come down to Doubling Castle, and "^ee how we live, and I'll give you my whole Lonoon life over a social glass ; and a rattling iiistory it shall be about authors and reviewers. " If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the history he promises, the public shall be sure to hear of it. PART ID. THE ITALIAN BANDITTL THE INN AT TERRAQNA. Cr\ck ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! " Here comes the estafette from Naples," said mine host of the inn at Terracina ; " bring out the relay." The estafette came galloping up the road according to custom, brandishing over his head a short-handled whip, with a long, knotted lash, every smack of which made a report like a pistol. He was a tight, square- set young fellow, in the usual uniform : a smart blue coat, ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up net unlike the tail of a wren; a cocked hat, edged with gv«Id lace; a pair of stiff riding-boots ; but, instead of the u.<ual leathern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of drawers, that scarcely furnished an apology for Modesty to hide behind. The estafette galloped up to the door, and jumped from his horse. "A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair of breeches," said he, " and quickly, per I'amor di Dio. I am behind my time, and must be off! " " San Gennaro!" replied tlie host; " why where hast thou left thy garment? " " Among the robbers between this and Fondi." " What, rob an estafette! I never heard of such folly. What could they hope to get from thee ? " " My leather breeches!" replied the estafette. " They were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of the captain." " Well, these fellows grow worse and woise. To meddle with an estafette ! and that merely for the sake of a pair of leather breeche»! " The robbing of a government messenger seemed to I strike the host with more astonishment than any other I enormity that had taken place on the road ; and, in-f deed, it was t^e first time so wanton an outrage hadl been committed; the robbers generally taking earel not to meddle with any thing belonging to govern-l ment. The estafette was by this time equipped, for he hadj not lost an instant in making his preparations wliilJ talking. The relay was ready ; the rosolio tossed off J he g'. jsped the reins and the stirrup. " Were there many robbers in the band?" salHi handsome, dark young man, stepping forward I the door of the inn. '' As formidable a band as ever I saw," said thee tafette, springing into the saddle. "Are they cruel to travellers?" said a beantilii young yene*'qn lady, who had been hanging oa i gentleman't. ..m. " Cruel, signora!" echoed the estafette, giving J glance at tl't lady as he put spurs to his horse. " Coi| di Bacco ! They stiletto all the men ; and, as to t women " Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack!-| The last words were drowned in the smacking ofi whip, and away galloped the estafette along the to the Por •' iC marshes. "Holy Mrgin!" ejaculated the fair Venetiaii| " what will become of us ! " The inn of which we are speaking stands jiist oai side of the 'alls of Terracina, under a vast preciM ous heigb' jf rocks, crowned with the ruins of castle of .heodoric the Goth. The situation of Te racina I emarkable. It is a little, ancient, lazy In Han tOT , on the frontiers of the Roman territo There jems to be an idle pause in every thing al the iCe. The Mediterranean spreads before it] tb sea without flu \\ or reflux. The port is wil ail, excepting that once in a while a solitai? fell •ay Lc s^en disgorging its holy cargo of baccala, leagre provision for the quaresima, or Lent, iiiiiabitanls are apparently a listless, heedless race,| people of soil sunny climates are apt to be; biitur this passive, indolent exterior, are said to lurkdai ous qualities. They are supposed by many to be ^ better than the banditti of the neighbouring tains, and indeed to hold a secret correspondence' them. The solitary watch-towers, erected herei there along the coast, speak of pirates and that hover about these shores; wliile the low hull stations for soldiers, which dot the distant roa(1,( winds up through an olive grove, intimate that iij ascent there is danger for the traveller, and <» for the bandit. Indeed, it is between this tomj Fondi that the road to Naples is most infested bf I dilti. It has several winding aad solitaq where the robbers are enabled to see the tr» from a distance, from the brows of hills or inii« precipices, and to lie in wait for him at diflicult passes. The Italian robbers are a desperate dais nii lowun IThey llliose llliey Iveo llliei IwlieF pan llbem wed iyth rithi w (y ;es, limbs hen m\ iO ivell At I ai leau II in,tr TALES OF A TRAVELLER. S49 mment messenger seemed to 1 i astonishment than any other I place on the road ; and, io-l le so wanton an outrage hadl Dbbers generally taking <are| J thing belonging to govern-l this time equipped, forhel naking his preparations wliild s ready ; the rosolio tossed off;j d the stirrup, robbers in the band?" salh ; man, stepping forward I md as ever I saw," said thee the saddle. , travellers?" said a beantilt who liad been hanging on I ' echoed the estafette. giving ! put spurs to his horse. " Cor etlo all the men ; and, as to crack! crack! crack! crack! drowned in the smacking of »ped the estafette along the es. ejaculated the fair Veneti if us!" we are speaking stands just oai rerracina, under a vast piecip crowned with the ruins of [he Goth. The situation of Ti It is a little, ancient, lazy ontiers of the Roman terriK n idle pause in every thing al edilerranean spreads before it- er reQux. Theportiswith t once in a while a solilaiy fel ing its holy cargo of baccaia )r the quaresima, or Lent, irently a listless, heedless race, climates are apt to be; biitur t exterior, are said to lurkdaii y are supposed by many to be li ndilti of the neighbouring ir hold a secret correspondence ■y watch-towers, erected here ast, speak of pirates and cor lese shores ; while the low hoi I, which dot the disUnt road, m olive grove, intimate that aj iger for the traveller, and W deed, it is between this town to Naples is most infested by ral winding auil solitai? p _j are enabled to see the W )m the brows of hills or imiKi lie in wait for him at lonelji bers area desperate claa «! Ibat have almo' t formed themselves into an order of loeiety. They wear a kind of uniform, or rather eoglume, which openly designates their profession. This is probably done to diminisli its sculkuig, lawless cbaracter, and to give it something of a military air in the eyes of the common people; or, perhaps, to catch |)y outward show and finery the fancies of the young men of the villages, and thus to gain recruits. Their presses are often very rich and picturesque. They jfear jackets and breeches of bright colours, some- tiines gaily embroidered; their breasts are covered fith medals and relies; their hats are broad-brimmed, rilh conical crowns, decorated with feathers, or va- rioasly-colonred ribands ; their hair is sometimes ga- ibered in silk nets; they wear a kind of sandal of doth or leather, bound round the legs with thongs, lod extremely flexible, to enable them to scramble fith ease and celerity among the mountain precipices ; jiliroad belt of cloth, or a sash of silk net, is stuck full (f pistoki and stilettos ; a carbine is slung at the back ; fhile about them is generally thrown, in a negligent manner, a great dingy mantle, which serves as a pro- teclion in storms, or a bed in their bivouacs among Ithe mountains. They range over a great extent of wild country, jalong the chain of Apennines, bordering on different ites; they know all the difTicult passes, the short Icots for retreat, and the impracticable forests of the moontain summits, where no force dare follow them. They are secure of the good-will of the inhabitants of llMse regions, a poor and semi-barbarous race, whom Ihey never disturb and often enrich. Indeed they ire considered as a sort of illegitimate heroes among llie mountain villages, and in certain frontier towns, where they dispose of their plunder. Thus coun- {tenanced, and sheltered, and secure in the fastnesses if their mountains, the robbers have set the weak lice of the Italian states at deiiance. It is in vain jthat their names and descriptions are posted on the irs of country churches, and rewards offered for |lhem alive or dead ; the villagers are either too much iwed by the terrible instances of vengeance inflicted ly the brigands, or have too good an understanding fith them to be their betrayers. It is true they are w and then hunted and shot down like beasts of ly by the getis-d'armes, their heads put in iron iges, and stuck upon pos s by the road-side, or their limJMhung up to blacken in the trees near the places 'here they have committed their atrocities; but these (hastly spectacles only serve to make some dreary of the road still more dreary, and to dismay the iveller, without deterring the bandit. At the time that the estafette made his sudden ap- iarance, almost in cuerpu, as has been mentioned, le audacity of the robbers had risen to an unparal- iled height. They had laid villas under contribu- in, they had sent messages into country towns, to idesmen and rich burghers, demanding supplies of iney, of clothing, or even of luxuries, with menaces |f vengeance in case of refusal . They had their spies and emissaries in every town, village, and inn, along the principal roads, to give them notice of the move- ments and qu Jity of travellers. They bad plundered carriages, carried people of rank and fortune into the mountains, and obliged them to write for heavy ran- soms, and had committed outrages on females who had fallen into their hands. Such was briefly the state of the robbers, or rather such was the amount of the rumours prevalent con- cerning them, when the scene took place at the inn at Terracina. The dark handsome young man, and the Venetian lady, incidentally mentioned, had arriv- ed early that afternoon in a private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by a single servant. They had been recently married, were spending the honey- moon in travelling through these delicious countries, and were on the'x way to visit a rich aunt of the bride at Naples. The lady was young, and tender, and timid. The stories she had heard along the road had filled her with apprehension, not more for herself than for her husband ; for though she had been married almost a month, she still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached Terracina, the rumours of the road had increased to an alarming magnitude ; and the sight of two robbers' sculls, grinning in iron cages, on each side of the old gateway of the town, brought her to a pause. Her husband had tried in vain to reassure her, they had lingered all the afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of starting that evening, and the parting words of the estafette completed her affright. "Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her arm within her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for protection,— "Let us return to Rome, and give up this visit to Naples. " "And give up the visit to your aunt, too?" said the husband. " Nay,— what is my aunt in comparison with your safety ? " said she, looking up tenderly iu his face. There was something in her tone and manner that showed she really was thinking more of her hus- band's safety at that moment than of her own ; and being so recently married, and a match of pure affec- tion too, it is very possible that she was : al least her husband thought so. Indeed any one who has heard the sweet musical tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian eye, would not wonder at the husband's believing whatever they professed. He clasped the while hand that had been laid within his, put his arm around her slender waist, and drawing her fondly to his bosom, " This night, at least," said he, " we will pass at Terracina." Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! Another apparition of the road attracted the attention of mine host and his guests. From the direction of the Pon- tine marshes a carriage, drawn by half-a-dozen 1101*868, came driving at a furious rate ; the postillions smacking their whips like mad, as is the case when 530 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. R- . I oonscioos of the greatness or of the munincence of their fare. It was a landaalet, with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly-fmished, yet proudly simple construction of the carriage; the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and conve- nien es ; the loads of box-coats on the dickey ; the fresh, burly, bluff-looking face of the master at the window; and the ruddy, round-headed servant, in close-cropped hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters, all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage of an Englishman. " Horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, as the landlord came bowing to the carriage-door. " Would not his Eccellenza alight and take some refreshment ? " " No— he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi." " But the horses will be some time in getting ready." "Ah! that's always the way; nothing but delay in this cursed country." "If his Eccellenza would only walk into the house " "No, no, no! — I tell you no!— I want nothing but horses, and as quick as possible. John, see that the horses are got ready, and don't let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over the time, I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster." John touched his hat, and set off to obey his mas- ter's orders with the taciturn obedience of an Eng- lish servant. In the mean time, the Englishman got out of the carriage, and walked up and down before the inn with his hands in his pockets, taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him and his equi- page. He was tall, stout, and well made ; dressed with neatness and precision ; wore a travelling cap of the colour of gingerbread; and bad rather an un- happy expression about the corners of his mouth ; partly from not having yet made his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the end of a journey; or, to use the regular phrase, " to get on." Perhaps too he was a little sore from having been fleeced at every stage. After some time, the servant returned from the stable with a look of some perplexity. " Are the horses ready, John?" " No, sir— I never saw such a place. There's no getting any thing done. I think your honour had l)etter step into the house and get something to eat; it will be a long while before we get to Fundy." " D— n the house— it's a mere trick— I'll not eat any thing, just to spite them," said the Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect of being so long with- out his dinner. " They say your honour's very wrong," said John, " to set off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen." " Mere tales to get custom." " The estafette which passed us was stopped by A whole gang," said John, increasing his emphasis | with each additional piece of information. " I don't believe a word of it." " They robbed him of his breeches," said John,! giving, at the same time, a hitch to his own wak-| band. "All humbug!" Here the dark handsome young man stepped for-l ward, and addressing the Englishman very poliieiyl in broken English, invited bun to-partake of a repast! he was about to make. "Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting hbj hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a slig side glance of suspicion at the young man, as if he| thought, from his civility, he must have a design up his purse. " We shall be most happy, if you will do ug thai favour," said the lady in her soft Venetian diaiectj There was a sweetness in her accents that was i persuasive. The Englishman cast a look upon ha countenance; her beauty was still more eloquenlj His features instantly relaxed. He made a po|{ bow. " With great pleasure, Signora," said he. In short, the eagerness to " get on" wassuddenlJ slackened; the determination to famish himself as bj as Fondi, by way of punishing the landlord, wasabao' doned ; John chose an apartment in the inn for hi^ master's reception; and preparations were made I remain there until morning. The carriage was unpacked of such of its contenl^ as were indispensable for the night. There was ibi Msual parade of trunks and writing-desks, and | foiios, and dressing-boxes, and those other oppressiv^ conveniences which burthen a comfortable man. Thi observant loiterers about the inn-door, wrapped i in great dirt-coloured cloaks, with only a hawk's e;| uncovered, made many remarks to each other on t quantity of luggage, that seemed enough for an annjj The domestics of the inn talked with wonder of till splendid dressing-case, with its gold and silver fiir| niture, that was spread out on the toilet-table, i the bag of gold that chinked as it was taken out gj the trunk. The strange milor's wealth, and Ibj treasures he carried about him, Avere the talk, ibi evening, over all Terracina. The Englishman took some time to make his : tions and arrange his dress for table; and, after c siderable labour and effort in putting himself at I ease, made his appearance, with slirf white crarij his clothes free from the least speck of dust, and i justed with precision. He made a civil bow on ( tering, in the unprofessing English way, whicli I fair Venetian, accustomed to the complimentary i lutations of the continent, considered extremely c The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, dinner, as the Englishman called it, was now serve! heaven and earth, and the waters under llie eatll had been moved to furnish it; for there were I TALES OF A TRAVELLER. m." , assed us was stopped by a I increasing his einplia8u| of informalion. dofit." his breeches," said John,! . a hitch to Wsownwaktr me young man stepped for- ,e Englishman very politely,! "d him toTiarlake of a r€pa8l| e Englishman, thrusting his )ocket8, and casting a 8li| at the young man, asiflid ^, he must have a design uj lappy, if you will do us thai in her soft Venetian dialect, in her accents that was mi Ushman casta look upon h( uty -was still more eloquent, relaxed. He made a polil leasure,Signora,"saidhe, less to " get on" was suddenly lination to famish himself as fai nishing the landlord, wasatai 1 apartment in the inn for hi id preparations were made ' jrning. inpackedofsuchofitscontenl for the night. There xsas it 5 and writing-desks, and poi jxes, and those other oppres8iv( urthen a comfortable man. Th out the inn-door, wrapped cloaks, with only a hawk'sejj w remarks to each other on' lat seemed enough for an arm] inn talked with wonder of „, with its gold and silver toj ad out on the toilet-table, aH chinked as it was taken out |angc milor's wealth, and ibout him, were the talk, H iracina. . ,. u, jk some time to make his aWi dress for table; and, after ffort in putting himself at ,rance, with stiff white cm llhe least speck of dust, and' He made a civil bow on •essing English way, which )med to the complimentary ent, considered extremely- was termed by the Italian, Ihman called it, was now serv id the waters under the eai irnishit; for there were " of the air, and beasts of the field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's servant, loo, had turned the kit- clien topsy-turvy In his zeal to cook his master a lieeCsteak; and made his appearance, loaded with ketchup, and soy, and Cayenne pepper, and Harvey yace, and a bottle of port wine, from that ware- liouse the carriage, in which his master seemed de- jirous of carrying England about the world with Ijin. Indeed the repast was one of those Italian far- [ngoes which require a little qualifying. The tureen soup was a black sea, with livers, and limbs, and lents of all kinds of birds and beasts floating like cks about it. A meagre winged animal, which IT host called a delicate chicken, had evidently died a consumption. The macaroni was smoked. The fsteak was tough buffalo's flesh. There was lat appeared to be a dish of stewed eels, of which Englishman ate with great relish ; but had nearly nded them when told that they were vipers, ;ht among the rocks of Terracina, and esteemed |reat delicacy. There is nothing, however, that conquers a tra- 's spleen sooner than eating, whatever may be cookery; and nothing brings him into good hu- T with his company sooner than eating together: Englishman, therefore, had not half fmished his land his bottle, before he began to think the [uelian a very tolerable fellow for a foreigner, and wife almost handsome enough to be an English- n. h the course of the repast, the usual topics of tra- lers were discussed, and among others, the re- of robbers, which harassed the mind of the fair letian. The landlord and waiter dipped into the iversation with that familiarity permitted on the lent, and served up so many bloody tales as served up the dishes, that they almost fright- away the poor lady's appetite. le Englishman, who had a national antipathy to thing that is technically called '' humbug," lis- to them all with a certain screw of the mouth, iive of incredulity. There was the well-known of the school of Terracina, captured by the rob- and one of the students coolly massacred, in to bring the parents to terms for the ransom rest. And another, of a gentleman of Rome, teceived his son's ear in a letter, with informa- that his son would be remitted to him in this !,by mstalments, until he paid the required ran- i fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these |; and the landlord, like a true narrator of the pie, doubled the dose when he saw how it ope- He was just proceeding to relate the misfor- I of a great English lord and his family, when Englishman, tired of his volubility, interrupted jand pronounced these accounts to be mere tra- 18' tales, or the exaggerations of ignorant pea- |and designing inn-keepers. The landlord was pant at the doubt levelled at his stories, and the innuendo levelled at his clolh ; he cited, in corrobo- ration, half a dozen tales still more terrible. " I don't believe a word of them," said the Eng- lishman. " But the robbers have been tried and executed." "All a farce!" "But their heads are stuck up along the road !" " Old sculls, accumulated during a century." The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at the door, "San Gennaro! quanto sono singolari quesli Inglesi ! " A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of more travellers; and, from the variety of voices, or rather of clamours, the clattering of hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and the general uproar both within and without, the arrival seemed to be nu- merous. It was, in fact, the procaccio and its convoy ; a kind of caravan which sets out on certain days for the transportation of merchandise, with an escort of sol- diery to protect it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves of its protection, and a long file of car- riages generally accompany it. A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or waiter returned; being hurried hither and thither by that tempest of noise and bustle, which takes place in an Italian inn on the arrival of any considerable accession of custom. When mine host re-appeared, there was a smile of triumph on his countenance. " Perhaps, " said he, as he cleared the table, " perhaps the signor has not heard of what has hap- pened ? " " What? " said the Englislunan, drily. " Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresh exploits of the robbers. " " Pish ! " " There's more news of the English Milor and his family, " said the host exultingly. ' ' ' " An English lord ? What English lord ? " " Milor Popkin." " Lord Popkins ? I never heard of such a title ! " " O sicuro! a great nobleman, who passed through here lately with mi ladi and her daughters. A ma- gnifico, one of the grand counsellors of London, an almanno ! " " Almanno— almanno ?— tut — he means alder- man. " " Sicuro — Aldermanno Popkin, and the Princi- pessa Popkin, and the Signorine Popkin ! " said mine liost, triumphantly. He now put himself into an attitude, and would have launched into a full detail, had he not been thwarted by the Englishman, who seemed determin- ed neither to credit nor indulge him in his stories, but drily motioned for him to clear away the table. An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked : that of mine host continued to wag with increasing volubility, as he conveyed the relics of the repast out of the room; and the last that could be dictinguished of his voice, as it died away along the corridor, was TALES OF A TRAVELLER. I 1 the iteration of the favonrite word, Popkin— Popkin — Popkin— pop— pbi>— pop. The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the house with stories, as it had with guests. The Eng- lishman and his companions walked after supper up and down tlie large hall, or common room of the inn, which ran through the centre of the building. It was spacious and somewhat dirty, with tables placed in various parts, at which groups of travellers were seat- ed ; while others strolled about, waiting, in famished impatience, for their evening's meal. It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all ranks and countries, who had arrived in all kind of vehicles. Though distinct knots of travellers, yet the travelling together, under one common escort, had jumbled them into a certain degree of companionship on the road : besides, on the continent travellers are always familiar, and nothing is more motley than the groups which gather casually together in sociable conversation in the public rooms of inns. The formidable number, and formidable guard of the procaceio, had prevented any molt 'ation from banditti ; but every party of travellers ha its tale of wonder, and one carriage vied with anu.aer in its budget of assertions and surmises. Fierce, whisker- ed faces had been seen peering over the rocks; car- bines and stilettos gleaming from among the bushes ; suspicious-looking fellows, with flapped hats and scowling eyes, had occasionally reconnoitred a strag- gling carriage, but had disappeared on seeing tlte guard. The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that avidity with which we always pamper any feel- ing of alarm; even the Englishman began to feel in- terested in the common topic, and desirous of getting more correct information than mere flying reports. Conquering, therefore, that shyness which is prone to keep an Englishman solitary in crowds, he ap- proached one of the talking groups, the oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with long aquiline nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent eye, beaming from under a green velvet travelling-cap, with gold tassel. He was of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by choice, and something of an improvisatore. In the present instance, however, he was talking in plain prose, but lioltling forth with llie fluency of one who talks well, and likes to exert his talent. A ques- tion or two from the Englishman drew copious replies; for an Englishman sociable among strangers is regard- ed as a phenomenon on tlie continent, and always treated with attention for the rarity's sake. The im- provisatore gave much the same account of tlie ban- ditti that I have already furnished. " But why does not the police exert itself, and root them out? " demandet! the Englishman. " Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are too strong, " replied the other. " To root them out would be a more difficult task than you imagine. They are connected and almost identified with the mountain peasantry and the people of the villages. The numerous bands have an understanding viiij each other, and with the country round. A gen] darme cannot stir without their being aware of i They have their scouts every where, who lurk ab towns, villages, and inns, mingle in every crowd, an pervade every place of resort. I should not be saj prised if some one should be supervising us at i moment. " The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, j turned pale. Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a livelj Neapolitan lawyer. " By the way, " said he, " I recollect a little i venture of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, \rhiij happened in this very neighbourhood ; not far fro the ruins of Theodoric's Castle, which are on the I of those great rocky heights above the town. " A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the i venture of the doctor by all excepting the improvi tore, who, being fond of talking and of hearing hiij self talk, and accustomed, moreover, to haratij without interruption, looked rather annoyed at I checked when in full career. The Neapolitan, hoij ever, took no notice of his chagrin, but related thet lowing anecdote. TBB ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. My friend, the Doctor, was a thorough antlq a little rusty, musty old fellow, always groping an ruins. He relished a building as you Englisiu relish a cheese,— the more mouldy and crumbliq was, the more it suited his taste. A shell ofaoj nameless temple, or the cracked walls ofabn down amphitheatre, would throw him into raptui and he took more delight in these crusts and chei parings of antiquity, tlian in the best-conditioned^ dern palaces. He was a curious coUector of coins also, andj just gained an accession of wealth that almost t his brain. He had picked up, for instance, seij Roman Consulars, half a Roman As, two '. which had doubtless belonged to the soldiers of fl nibal, having been found on the very spot where j had encamped among the Apennines. He had, i over, one Samnite, struck after the Social \Var,| a Philistis, a queen that never existed; butabon he valued himself upon a coin, indescribable lt| but the initiated in these matters, bearing a ^ on one side, and a Pegasus on the other, and \ by some antiquarian logic, the little man addn an historical document, illustrating the pr Christianity. All these precious corns he carried about bill leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of liii| black breeches. Hvea laffiiiiK IcifilUi alion |lolhe. mor I poetic jdisper cul 00 th ills by [undisc liuriai every TALES OF A TRAVELLER. KKX ave an underslanding wiiJ ke country round. A genJ jut their being aware of it] ■very where, who lurk ab 1, mingle in every crowd, an resort. I should not be snr| old be supervising us at I n looted round fearfully, an ,re was interrupted by aUvelj 1 he, " I recollect a little actor, a friend of mine, wl neighbourhood; not farfr 's Castle, which are on the •ights above the town. ' rse, expressed to hear the a by all excepting the improvis of talking and of hearing lii omed, moreover, to harat looked rather annoyed at career. The Neapolitan, hoi >fhischagrin,but related thel IB ADVENTBHE OP TLE ANTIQUARY. octor, was a thorough antiq old fellow, always groping am J a buUding as you Englisbi^ ,e more mouldy andcrumbi lited his taste. A shell of an | ,r the cracked walls of a 1 , would throw him into raptu 'elight in these crusts and ch« than in the best-conditioned^ IS collector of coins also, and| Ission of wealth that almosUi picked up, for instance, half a Roman As, two iss belonged to the soldiers ofi found onthe very spot where! Ing the Apennines. He had, a/ [struck after the Social War, that never existed; hut aboTi upon a coin, indescribable l.| n these matters, bearing a i Pegasus on the other, and lan logic, the little man addu iment, illustrating the pr" lus coins he carried about H lurieddeepinapocketofM I1ie last maggot he bad taken into bis brain, was I to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi, which are said to exist to this day among the mountains of I the Abruzzi; but about which a singular degree of 1 obscurity prevails.' He had made many discoveries concerning them, and had recorded a great many I valuable notes and memorandums on the subject, in I a voluminous book, which he always carried about vith him ; either for the purpose of frequent refer- Iflioe, or through fear lest the precious document 1 should fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. He I bad, therefore, a large pocket in the skirt of his coat. If here he bore about this inestimable tome, banging ja^inst his rear as be walked. Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, jlhe good little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, Imoanted one day the rocky ciifTs which overhang the Lwn, to visit the castle of Theodoric. He was grop- |ii^ about the ruins towards the hour of sunset, lluried in his reflections, his wits no doubt wool-ga- llbering among the Goths and Romans, when he sard footsteps behind him. He turned, and beheld Ave or six young fellows, ifrough, saucy demeanour, clad in a singular man- |ger, half peasant, half huntsman, with carbines in leir hands. Their whole appearance and carriage left him no doubt into what company he had fallen. The Doctor was a feeble little man, poor in look, 1 poorer in purse. He had but little gold or silver ' Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that of tetistence of traces of llie ancient Pelasgian cities in tlie Apen- s; anil many a wistfiil eye is cast by the traveller, versed in jiliquarian lore, at the richly-wooded mountains of the Abruzzi, II forbidden fairy land of research. These spots, so Iteautiful ISO inaccessible, from the rudeness of their inhabitants and the i of banditti which infest them, are a region of fable to the kned. Sometimes a wealthy virtuoso, whose purse and whose qutnee could command a military escort, has penetrated to • individual point among the mountains ; and soi^etimes a idertng artist or student, under protection of poverty or insig- nce, has brought away some vague account, only calculated kvealieeneredgc to curiosity and conjecture. m tliosc who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities, it liffinned, that the formation of the different kingdoms in the onnesus gradually caused the expulsion of the Pelasgi from !; but that their great migration may be dated from the liittg the wall round Acropolw. and that at this period they into Italy. To these, in the spirit of theory, they would ; the introduction of the elegant arts into the country. It is lent, however, that, as barbarians flying before the first dawn Iciilliiation, they could bring little with them superior to the Initions of the aborigines, and nothing that would have surviv- |lothe antiquarian through such a lapse of ages. It would ap- ' more probable, that these cities, improperly termed Pelas- wcre coeval with many that have been discovered,— the nlic Aricia, built by Mippolytus before the siege of Troy, and Ipoelic Tibur, /Ksculale and Procnes, built by Telegonus after Idispersion of the Greeks. These, lying contiguous to inhabit- 1 cultivated spots, have been discovered. There are others, I on the ruins of which the later and more civilized Grecian nisli have engrafted themselves, and which have become ro by thoir merits or their medals. But that there are many lundlscovered, imbedded in the Abnizzi, it is the delight of the Aquarians to fancy. Strange that such avirginsoil for research, k an unknown realm ofknowledge, should at this day remain t «cry centre of hackneyed Italy ! to be robbed of; but then he had his curious ancient coin in his breeches pocket. He had, moreover, cer- tain other valuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with figures on it large enough for a clock ; and a set of seals at the end of a steel chain, that dangled half way down to his knees. All these were of precious esteem, being family relics. He had also a seal-ring, a veritable antique intaglio, that covered half his knuckles. It was a Venus, which the old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a vo- luptuary. But what he most valued was his inesti- mable collection of hints relative to the Pelasgian ci- ties, which he would gladly have given all the money in his pocket to have had safe at the bottom of his trunk in Terracina. However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a '' buon giorno." They returned his salutation, giving the old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his heart leap into his throat. They fell into conversation, and walked for some time together among the heights, the Doctor wish- ing them all the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to a small osteriaon the mountain, where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine together : the Doctor consented, though he would as soon have been invited to drink hem- lock. One of the gang remained sentinel at the door : the others swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the corner of the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew benches round the board, called lustily for wine, and, hailing the Doctor as though he had been a boon companion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down and making merry. The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but with fear and trembling ; sitting uneasily on the edge of his chair ; eyeing ruefully the black-muzzled pistols, and cold, naked stilettos; and supping down heartburn with every drop of liquor. His new com- rades, however, pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. They sang, they laughed ; told ex- cellent stories of their robberies and combats, mingled with many ruffian jokes ; and the little Doctor was fain to laugh at all their cut- throat pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom. By their own account, they were young men from the villages, who had recently taken up this line of life out of (he wild caprice of youth. They talked of their murderous exploits as a sportsman talks of his amusements : to shoot down a traveller seemed of little more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture of the glorious roving life they led, free as birds ; here to-day, gone to-morrow; ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, scouring the valleys; the world their own wherever they could lay hold of it ; full purses— merry companions— pretty women* 7« TALES OF A TRAVELLER. The little antiqaary got fuddled ^rilh their talk and their wine, for they did not spare hampers. He half forgot his fears, his seal-ring, and his family-watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities, which was wanning nnder him, for a time faded from his me- mory in the glowing picture that they drew. He declares that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber mania among the mountains; for he felt at the time, that, had he been a young man, and a strong man, and had there been no danger of the galleys in the back-ground, he should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit. At length the hour of separating arrived. The Doctor was suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his valuables, and, above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He endeavoured, however, to look cool and unconcerned ; and drew from out his deep pocket a long, lank, leathern purse, far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which a few coin chinked with the trembling of his hand. The chief of the party observed his movement, and laying his hand upon the antiquary's shoulder, " Harkee! Signer Dottore!" said he, " we have drunk together as friends and comrades; let us part as such. We understand you. We know who and what you are, for we know who every body is that sleeps at Terracina, or that puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you carry all your wealth in your head : we camiot get at it, and we should not know what to do with it if we could. I see you are uneasy about your ring; but don't worry yourself, it is not worth taking; you think it an antique, but it's a counterfeit — a mere sham." Here the ire of the antiquary arose : the Doctor forgot himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven and earth ! his Venus a sham ! Had they pronounced the wife of his bosom " no better than she should be," he could not have been more indignant. He fired up in vindication of his intaglio. " Nay, nay," continued the robber, " we have no time to dispute about it ; value it as you please. Come, you're a brave little old signor— one more cup of wine, and we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments —You shall not pay a grain— You are our guest— I insist upon it. So— now make the best of your way back to Terracina; it's growing late. Buonviaggio! And harkee ! take care how you wander among these mountains,— you may not always fall into such good company." They shouldered their guns ; sprang gaily up the rocks ; and the little Doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoicing that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his treatise, unmolested ; but still indignant that they should have pronounced his Venus an im- postor. The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of impatience during this recital. He saw his theme in danger of being taken out of his hands, which, to ml able talker, is always a grievance, but to an impn.] visatore is an absolute calamity : and then for it toliel taken away by a Neapolitan, was still more vexalioos-l the inhabitants of the different Italian states liaviagl an implacable jealousy of each other in all things,! great and small. He look advantage of the fin pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of i thread of the conversation. " As I observed before," said he, '' the prowlio of the banditti are so extensive, they are so much i league with one another, and so interwoven will various ranks of society — " " For that matter," said the Neapolitan, "I bjvJ heard that your government has had some under] standing with those gentry; or, at least, has winka at their misdeeds." " My government ! " said the Roman, impatienlljj " Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi— " " Hush ! " said the Roman, holding up his fin and rolling his large eyes about the room. " Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly moured in i\ome," replied the Neaimlitan, sturdilJ " It was openly said, that the cardinal had been m the mountains, and had an interview with muti the chiefs. And I have been told, moreover, ihi while honest people have been kicking their heels ^ the cardinal's antechamber, waiting by the hour I admittance, one of those stiletto-looking fellows I ellwwed his way through the crowd, and entet( without ceremony into the cardinal's presence." " I know," observed the improvisatore, "ihj there have been such reports, and it is not imp that government may have made use of these men | particular periods; such as at the time of your I abortive revolution, when your carbonari were] busy with their machinations all over the counir The information which such men could collect, \ were familiar, not merely with the recesses ands places of the mountains, but also with the darki dangerous recesses of society ; who knew every i picious character, and all his movements and all | lurkings; in a word, who knew all that was| in tlie world of mischief; — the utility of suchmeBl instruments in the hands of government was tooj^ vious to be overlooked ; and Cardinal Gonsalvi, ) politic statesman, may, perhaps, have made usel them. Besides, he knew that, with all their atrodll the robbers were always respectful towards] church, and devout in their religion." "Religion! religion!" echoed the English " Yes, religion," repeated the Roman, have each their patron saint. They will cross th selves and say theirprayers, whenever, in their i tain haunts, they hear the matin or the ave^ bells sounding from the valleys; and will oRenj scend from their retreats, and run eminent i visit some favourite shrine. I recollect an in in point. " I was one evening in the village of Fn Vi> TALES OF A TRAVELLER. SB& I of his hands, which, to an I grievance, but to an impro-l lamity : and then for it tobel an, was still more vexalioosj lifferent Italian states havingl of each other in all thjnp,| look advantage of the Qn 1 to catch hold again of an. re," 8aidhe,"theprowl« densive, they are so much iij er, and so interwoven will said the Neapolitan, "I hatJ rnmenl has had some underj lntry;or, atleast, haswinka ' said the Roman, impalienll; Cardinal Gonsalvi— " Roman, holding up his fingti yes about the room. it what I heard commonly eplied the Neaiwlitan, stunffl] that the cardinal had been up lad an interview with some lave been told, moreover, t' iiave been kicking their beds amber, wailing by the hour liose stiletto-looking fellows 1) irough the crowd, and enlei ilo the cardinal's presence " rved the improvisaloie, reports, and it is not im] y have made use of these men uch as at the time of your li when your carbonari were ichinations all over the counl lich such men could collect, erely with the recesses and ains, but also with the dark jfsociety; who knew every nd all his movements and all whoknew all thai was ploll •hief;— the utility of such mesj [hands of government was too ed- and Cardinal Gonsahi ,ay, perhaps, have made use] new that, with all their alrocil always respectful towards in their religion." ion!" echoed the Enghsl repeated the Roman Ton saint. They will cross « prayers, whenever, i» their near the matin or the ave thevalleys; and will often treats, and run eminent shrine. I recollect an II lening in the village of Fi irbich stands on the beautiful brow of a hill rising fiam the Campagna, just below the Abruzzi moun- tains. The people, as is usual in flne evenings in our Italian towns and villages, were recreating tliem- lelves in the open air, and chatting in groups in the public square. While I was conversing with a knot offriends, I noticed a tall fellow, wrapped in a great Dinlle, passing across the square, but scuiking along io the dusk, as if anxious to avoid observation. The people drew back as he passed. It was whispered to Be that he was a notorious bandit." "But why was he not immediately seized?" said the Englishman. " Because it was nobody's business ; because no- lody wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades; ikecause there were not sufiicient gendarmes near to iBSure security against the number of desperadoes he Light have at hand ; because the gendarmes might have received particular instructions with respect him, and might not feel disposed to engage in a irdous conflict without compulsion. In short, I [ill give you a thousand reasons rising out of the ite of our government and manners, not one of :h after all might appear satisfactory." The Englishman shrugged his shoulders witli an of contempt. "I have been told," added the Roman, rather ikiy, " that even in your metropolis of London, iorious thieves, well known to the police as such, the streets at noon-day in search of tlieir prey, are not molested, unless caught in the very act robbery." The Englishman gave another shrug, but with a ferent expression. " Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf, prowling through the fold, and saw him enter church. I was curious to witness his devotion, know our spacious magnificent churches. The in which he entered was vast, and shrouded in dusk of evening. At the extremity of the long a couple of tapers feebly glimmered on the id altar. In one of the side chapels was a votive le placed berore the image of a saint. Before this the robber had prostrated himself. His mantle ily falling off from his shoulders as he knelt, ealed a form of Herculean strength; a stiletto and lol glittered in his belt ; and the ligiit falling on countenance, showed features not unhandsome, trongly and fiercely characterised. As he lyed, he became vehemently agitated; his lips livered ; sighs and murmurs, almost groans, burst him; he beat his breast with violence; then his hands and wrung them convulsively, as extended them towards the image. Never had I such a terrific picture of remorse. I felt fear- ofbeing discovered watching him, and withdrew. iy afterwards I saw him issue from the church ftppedin his mantle. He re-crossed the square, and doubt returned to llie mountains with a disburthen- conscience, ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime." Here the Neapolitan was about to get hokl of the conversation, and had just preluded with the omin- ous remark, " That puts me in mind of a circum- stance," when the improvisatore, too adroit to suffer himself to be again superseded, went on, pretending not to hear the interruption. " Among the many circumstances connected with the banditti, which serve to render the traveller un- easy and insecure, is the understanding which they sometimes have with inn-keepers. Many an isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman territories, and especially about the mountains, are of a danger-^ ous and perfidious character. They are places where the banditti gather information, and where the un- wary traveller, remote from hearing or assistance, is betrayed to the midnight dagger. The robberies committed at such inns are often accompanied by the most atrocious murders; for it is only by the complete extermination of their victims that the assassins can escape detection. I recollect an adven- ture," added he, " which occurred at one of these solitary mountain inns, which, as you all seem in a mood for robber anecdotes, may not be uninteresting." Having secured the attention and awakened the curiosity of the by-standers, he paused for a moment, rolled up his large eyes as improvisatori are apt to do when they would recollect an impromptu, and then related with great dramatic effect the follow- ing story, which had, doubtless, been well prepared and digested beforehand. TflE BELATED TRAVELLERS. It was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by mules, slowly toiled its way up one of the passes of the Apennines. It was through one of the wildest defiles, where a hamlet occurred only at distant in- tervals, perched on the summit of some rocky height, or the while towers of a convent peeped out from among the thick mountain foliage. The carriage was of ancient and ponderous construction. Its faded embellishments spoke of former splendour, but its crazy springs and axletrees creaked out the tale of present decline. Within was sealed a tall, thin old gentleman, in a kind of military travelling dress, and a foraging cap trimmed with fur, though the grey locks which stole from under it hinted that his fight- ing days were over. Beside him was a pale beautiful girl of eighteen, dressed in something of a northern or Polish costume. One servant was seated in front, a rusty, crusty-looking fellow, with a scar across his face, an orange-tawny schnur-hart, or pair of musta- chios, bristling from under his nose, and altogether the air of an old soldier. It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman ; a wreck of one of those princely families which had lived with almost oriental magnificence, but had been ■ii'^ S36 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. broken down and impoverished by the disasters of Poland. The Count, like many other generous spi- rits, had been found guilty of the crime of patriotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his country. He had resided for some time in the first cities of Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom all his cares and pleasures were now centred. He had taken her into society, where her beauty and iier accom- plishments had gained her many admirers; and had she not been the daughter of a poor broken-down Polish nobleman, it is more than probable that many 'would have contended for her hand. Suddenly, however, her health had become delicate and droop- ing; her gaiety Hed with the roses of her cheek, and she sunk into silence and debility. The old Count saw the change with the solicitude of a parent. " We must try a change of air and scene," said he; and in a few days the old family carriage was rumbling among the Apennines. Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had been bom in the family, and grown rusty in its service. He bad followed his master in all his for- tunes ; had fought by his side ; had stood over him when fallen in battle ; and had received, in his de- fence, the sabre-cut which added such grimness to his countenance. He was now his valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. The only being that rivalled his master in his affections was his youthful mistress. She had grown up under Iiis eye, he had led her by the hand when she was a child, and he now looked upon her with the fondness of a parent. Nay, he even took the freedom of a parent in giving his blunt opinion on all matters which he thought were for her good ; and felt a parent's vanity in seeing her gazed at and admired. The evening was thickening; they had been for some time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, along the edge of a tumbling stream. The scenery was lonely and savage. The rocks often beetled over the road, with flocks of white goals browsing on their brinks, and gazing down upon the travellers. They had between two and three leagues yet to go before they could reach any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro, a tippling old fellow, who had re- freshed himself at the last halting-place with a more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing and talk- ing alternately to his mules, and suffering them to lag on at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent en- treaties of the Count, and maledictions of Caspar. The clouds began to roll in heavy masses among the mountains, shrouding their summits from the view. The air of these heights, too, was damp and chilly. The Count's solicitude on his daughter's account over- came his usual patience. He leaned from the car- riage, and called to old Pielro in an angry tone. "Forward!" said he. fore we arrive at our inn." "Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer. "Where?" demanded the Count. " Yonder/' said Pietro, pointing to a desolate "It will be midnight be- pile of building about a quarter of a league distant. I " That the place?— why, it looks more like a roinl than an inn. I thought we were to put up for the | night at a comfortable village." Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations! and ejaculations, such as are ever at the tip of ihtj tongue of a delinquent muleteer. " Such roads! and! such mountains ! and then his poor animals were way-l worn, and leg-weary; they would fall lame; tbeyl would never be able to reach the village. And tbei what could his Eccellenza wish for better than t inn ; a perfect castello— a palazzo — and such people !- and such a larder ! — and such beds !— His Eccellen might fare as sumptuously, and sleep as soundly tl,e as a prince ! " The Count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to get his daughter out of the night air; s in a little while the old carriage rattled and jingle into the great gateway of the inn. The building did certainly in some measure ansm to the muleteer's description. It was large enougfl for either castle or palace; built in a strong, simple and almost rude style; with a great quanlitj of waste room. It had, in fact, been, in fon times, a bunting-seat of one of the Italian princi There was space enough within its walls and ia il| out-buildings to have accommodated a little army, scanty household seemed now to people this dreai mansion. The faces that presented themselves on t arrival of the travellers were begrimed with dirt, i scowling in their expression. They all knev ol| Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as 1 entered, singing and talking, and almost whoopin! into the gateway. The hostess of the inn waited herself on the Coin and his daughter, to show them the apartmeolj They were conducted through a long gloomy ( ridor, and then through a suite of chambers openiij into each other, with lofty ceilings, and great Ixai extending across them. Every thing, however, I a wretchetl squalid look. The walls were damp a bare, excepting tliat here and there hung some^ painting, large enough for a chapel, and blacken out of all distinctness. They chose two bed-rooms, one within anotlH the inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads \ massive and misshapen ; but on examining the I so vaunted by old Pietro, they found them stufl with fibres of hemp knotted in great lumps. Countshrugged his shoulders, but there was no cIk left. The chilliness of the apartments crept to Ibl bones; and they were glad to return to a coir chamber, or kind of hall, where there was a lire bin ing in a huge cavern, miscalled a chimney. A qo tity of green wood had just been thrown on, wbj puffed out volumes of smoke. The room correspi ed to the rest of the mansion. The floor was[ and dirty. A great oaken table stood in the ceolBMay • immovable from its size and weight. TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 6S7 [uarter of a league dIsUni. I y, it looks more like a roinl Bve were to put up for the| lage." tring of piteous exclamaUoral i are ever at the tip of thel uleteer. ' ' Such roads ! and| n his poor animals were way- Ihey would fall lame; Iheyl reach the village. And then nza wish for better than I palazzo— and such people !- 1 such beds !— HisEccellen ily, and sleep as soundly tl,( isily persuaded, for he m ighter out of the night air; d carriage rattled and jingli of the inn. tainly in some measure ans\r( ription. It was large enougl alace; built in a strong, le style; with a great quanlit ,ad, in fact, been, in for of one of the Italian priw ugh within its walls and in it iccommodated a little army, mednow to people this dra hat presented themselves on rs were begrimed with dirt, pression. They all knew d gave him a welcome as talking, and almost whooiii inn waited herself on the Coi .0 show them the aparlmen^ d through a long gloomy ( gh a suite of chambers openiJ lofty ceilings, and great beaH Everything, however,! ,k. The walls were damp a here and Ihere hung somegn h for a chapel, and blacken bed-rooms, one within anolh [daughter. The bedsteads \ |)en;but on examining the 1 »ietro, they found ihem stu^ knotted in great lumps. Ihoulders, but there was no cm the apartments crept to itii tre glad to return to a coma )iall, where there was a fire bo miscalled a chimney. AqM [had just been thrown on, v^ V smoke. The room correspi mansion. The floor was ( oaken table stood in the ( Isize and weight. The only thing that contradicted this prevalent air U indigence was the dress of the hostess. She was jiilaltcrn of course; yet her garments, though dirty negligent, were of costly materials. She wore reral rings of great value on her fingers, and jewels iber ears, and round her neck was a string of large ris, to which was attached a sparkling crucifix, had the remains of beauty; yet there was some- in the expression of her countenance that in- red the young lady with singular aversion. She oflicious and obsequious in her attentions ; and the Count and his daughter felt relieved, when (consigned them to thecare of a dark, sullen-looking rant -maid, and went off to superintend the supper. Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, tT through negligence or design, subjected his ter and mistress to such quarters; and vowed by mustachios to have revenge on the old variet the >nt they were safe out from among the moun- Hekept up a continual quarrel with the sulky Tant-maid, which only served to increase the si- (er expression with which she regarded the tra- eiS) from under her strong dark eye-brows. As to the Count, he was a good-humoured passive reller. Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his it, and rendered him tolerant of many of those ilty evils which make prosperous men miserable. tiirew a large, broken arm-chair to the fire-side for I daughter, and another for himself, and seizing an lous pair of tongs, endeavoured to re-arrange ivood so as to produce a blaze. His efforts, how- tr, were only repaid by thicker puffs of smoke, almost overcame the good gentleman's pa- . He would draw back, cast a look upon his ate daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid ^rtment, and shrugging his shoulders, would give a 1 stir to the fire. |OFall the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, [is none greater than sulky attendance : the good uiit for suuie time bore the smoke in silence, rather address himself to the scowling servant-maid. [length he was compelled to beg for drier firewood. e woman retired muttering. On re-entering the hastily, with an armful of faggots, her foot she fell, and striking her head against the ler of a chair, cut her temple severely. The blow ^ned her for a time, and the wound bled profusely. len she recovered, she found the Count's daughter iiinistering to her wound, and binding it up with f own handkerchief. It was such an attention as [woman of ordinary feeling would have yielded; [perhaps there was something in the appearance pe lovely being who bent over her, or in the tones ler voice, that touched the heart of the woman, I to be ministered to by such hands. Certain it ihe was strongly affected. She caught the delicate 1 of the Polonaise, and pressed it fervently to her [May San Francesco watch over you, Signora!" ned she. A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was a Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The court- yard was in an uproar; the house in a bustle. The landlady hurried to attend such distin- guished guests; and the poor Count and his daughter, and their supper, were for the moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear ; but it was impos- sible to convince the hostess of the superiority of his old master and young mistress to the whole nobility of Spain. The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to the window just as the new-comers had alighted. A young cavalier sprang out of thecarriage, and hand- ed out the princess. The latter was a little shrivelled old lady, with a face of parchment, and a sparkling black eye ; she was richly and gaily dressed, and walk- ed with the assistance of a gold-headed cane as high as herself. The young man was tall and elegantly form- ed. The count's daughter shrunk back at sight of him, though the deep frame of the window screened her from observation. She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at the contrast between the splendid equipage of the princess, and the crazy, rheumatic-looking old vehicle of her father, which stood hard by. Whatever might be the reason, the young lady closed the casement with a sigh. She returned to her chair, — a slight shivering passed over her delicate frame : she leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair, rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand, and looked mournfully into the fire. The Count thought she appeared paler than usual. — "Does any thing ail thee, my child?" said he. " Nothing, dear father ! " replied she, laying her hand within his, and looking up smiling in his face ; but as she said so, a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, and she turned away her head. " The air of the window has chilled thee," said the Count, fondly, " but a good night's rest will make all well again." The supper-table was at length laid, and the supper about to be served, when the hostess appeared, with her usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in the new-comers ; but the night air was cold, and there was no other chamber in the inn with a fire in it. She had scarcely made the apology when the Princess entered, leaning on the arm of the elegant young man. The Count immediately recognized her for a lady whom he had met frequently in society both at Rome and Naples ; and at whose conversaziones, in fact, he had constantly been invited. The cavalier, too, was her nephew and heir, who had been greatly admired in the gay circles both for his merits and prospects, and who had once been on a visit at the same time with his daughter and himself at the villa of a noble- man near Naples. Report had recently affianced him to a rich Spanish heiress. The meeting was agreeable to both the Count and I' m^ SS6 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. the Princess. The former was a gentleman of the old school, courteous in the extreme ; tite PrinceM had been a belle in her youth, and a woman of fashion all her life, and liked to be attended to. The yoimg man approached the daughter, and be- gan something of a complimentary observation; but his manner was embarrassed, and his compliment ended in an indistinct murmur ; while the daughter bowed without looking up, moved her lips without articulating a word, and sunk again into her chair, where she sat gazing into the fire, with a thousand varying expressions passing over her countenance. This singular greeting of the young people was not perceived by the old ones, who were occupied at the time witli thdir own courteous salutations. It was arranged (hat they should sup together ; and as the Princess travelled with her own cook, a very tolerable supper soon smoked upon the board. This, too, was assisted by choice wines, and liqueurs, and delicate confitures brought from one of her carriages; for she was a veteran epicure, and curious in her relish for the good things of this world. She was, in fact, a vivacious little old lady, who mingled the woman of dissipation with the devotee. She was actually on her way to Loretto to expiate a long life of gallantries and peccadilloes by a rich offering at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, rather a luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the primitive pilgrims, with scrip and staff, and cockle-shell ; but then it would be unreason- able to expect such self-denial from people of fashion ; and there was not a doubt of the ample efTicacy of the rich crucifixes, and golden vessels, and jeweled orna- ments, which she was bearing to the treasury of the blessed Virgin. The Princess and the Count chatted much during supper about the scenes and society in which they had mingled, and did not notice that they had all the con- versation to themselves : the young people were silent and constrained. The daughter ate nothing in spile of the politeness of the Princess, who continually pressed her to taste of one or other of the delicacies. The Count shook his head. " She is not well this evening, " said he. " I thought she would have fainted just now as she was looking out of the window at your carriage on its ar- rival. " A crimson glow flushed to the verj' temples of the daughter, but she leaned over her plate, and her presses cast a shade over her countenance. When supper was over, they drew their chairs ^bont the great fire-place. The flame and smoke had subsided, and a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful warmth. A guitar, which had been brought from the Count's carriage, leaned against the wall ; the Princess perceived it : " Can we not have a little music before parting for the night ? " demanded she. The Count was proud of his daughter's accom- plishment, and joined in the request. The young man made an effort of politeness, and taking up the guitar, presented it, though in an embarrassed man- ner, to the fair musician. She would have declin it, but was too much confused to do so ; indeed i was so nervous and agitated, that she dared not I her voice to make an excuse. She touched the in strument with a faltering hand, and, after preludioi a little, accompanied herself in several Polish ain Her father's eyes glistened as he sat gazing on htrl Even the crusty Caspar lingered in the room, partij through a fondness fur the music of his native < try, but chiefly through his pride in the musiciai Indeed, the melody of the voice, and the delicacy ( the touch, were enough to have charmed more tidious ears. The little Princess nodded her head a tapped her hand to the music, though exceedir out of time; while the nephew sat buried in prorouu contemplation of a black picture on the opposite wal " And now," said the Count, patting herd fondly, " one more favour. Let the Princess lie that little Spanish air you were so fond of. You caa'| think," added he, " what a proficiency she has i in your language; though she has been a sad; and neglectetl it of late." The colour flushed the pale cheek of the daughia She hesitated, murmured something ; but with sw den effort collected herself, struck the guitar boldljj and began. It was a Spanish romance, with son thing of love and melancholy in it. She gave I first stanza with great expression, for the tremnlooi melting tones of her voice went to the heart ; buth articulation failed, her lip quivered, the song i away, and she burst into tears. The Count folded her tenderiy in his arms, art not well, my child," said he, " and I am taskiij thee cruelly. Retire to thy chamber, and Godli thee !" She bowed to the company without i her eyes, and glided out of the room. The Count shook his head as the door cin " Something is the matter with that child," saidb " which I cannot divine. She has lost all health a spirits lately. She was always a tender flower, i I had much pains to rear her. Excuse a falb foolishness," continued he, '' but I have seen i trouble in my family ; and this poor girl is all thal| now left to me ; and she used to be so lively-" " Maybe she's in love !" said the little Pri with a shrewd nod of the head. " Impossible ! " replied the good Count artla " She has never mentioned a word of such a tbiifl me." How little did the worthy gentleman dream of j thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love con which agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid | scarcely breathes unto herself ! The nephew of the Princess rose abruptly i walked aliout the room. When she found herself alone in her chamber, j feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, forth with violence. She opened the casement,! the cool air might blow upon her throbbing t Perhaps there was some little pride or pique i -.^^ I TALES Of a traveller. sso I. She would have declin (nfused lo do » ; indeed tit aled, that she dared not acase. She touched the g hand, and, after preludi lerseir in several Polish aii netl as he sat gazing on herj r lingered in the room, parti the music of his native jh his pride in the musici the voice, and the delicacy ;li to have charmed more s Princess nodded her head he music, though exceed! nephew sat buried in profoi ck picture on the opposite r, the Count, patting her cIk avour. Let the Princess hi you were so fond of. You can' what a proilciency she has hough she has been a sad gi te." the pale cheek of the daughl Hired something ; but with lerself, struck the guitar boldl] a Spanish romance, with sor elanclioly in it. She gave tl at expression, for the tremiiloi voice went to the heart ; bull ler lip quivered, the song t into tears. I her tenderly in his arms Id," said he, "and lam Uski to thy chamber, and Godli to the company without ■"■ out of the room, his head as the door cl( matter with that child," said ine. She has lost all heallb was always a tender flower, to rear her. Excuse a fall |ued he, " but I have seen y; and this poor girl is all IW d she used to be so lively-" In love !" said the little Prr of the head. replied the good Count arj( ntioned a word of such a thiiij| e worthy gentleman dream ot a griefs, and mighty love concr gin heart, and which a tumd nto herself, the Princess rose abnipU! 'oom. y^ I herself alone in her chamW, " lady, 80 long restrained, ° She opened the casement, blow upon her throbbing '"" some Utile pride or pique ffUh her emotions; though her gentle nature did liot seem calculated to harbour any such angry in- iMte. '<He saw me weep!" said she, with a sudden intling of the cheek, and a swelling of the throat, ."but no matter !— no matter ! " And so saying, she threw her white arms across window-frame, buried her face in them, and indoned herself to an agony of tears. She re- lined lost in a reverie, until the sound of her Ta- r's and Caspar's voices in the adjoining room gave len that the party had retired for the night. The lis gleaming from window to window, showed it they were conducting the Princess to her apart- its, which were in the opposite wing of the inn ; she distinctly saw the figure of the nephew as passed one of the casements. She heaved a deep heart-drawn sigh, and was it to close the lattice, when her attention was ight by words spoken below her window by two ins who had just turned an angle of the building. "But what will become of the poor young lady?" a voice which she recognized for that of the ser- il-woman. "Poo! she must take her chance," was the reply old Pietro. "But cannot she be spared ? " asked the other en- lingly; "she's so kind-hearted ! " Cospetto ! what has got into thee ? " replied the petulantly : " would you mar the whole busi- for tlte sake of a silly girl ?" By this time they got so far from the window that the Polonaise Id hear nothing further. There was something in this fragment of conver- that was calculated to alarm. Did it relate to :ir?— and if so, what was this impending danger which it was entreated that she might be spar- ? She was several times on the point of tapping her father's door, to tell him what she had heard ; she might have been mistaken ; she might have indistinctly; the conversation might have al- to some one else ; at any rale, it was loo inde- |ile to lead to any conclusion. While in this state irresolution, she was startled by a low knocking I the wainscot in a remote part of her gloomy iber. On holding up the light, she beheld a ill door there, which she had not before remarked. as bolted on the inside. She advanced, and de- ided who knocked, and was answered in the voice ilie female domestic. On opening the door, the in stood before it pale and agitated. She en- sofUy, laying her finger on her lips in sign of ion and secrecy. Fly!" said she : "leave this house instantly, or are lost!" >e young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded ixplanalion. I have no time," replied the woman, "I dare I shall be missed if I linger here— but fly in- ly, or you are lost." "And leave my fkiher ? " "Where is he?" " In the adjoining chamber." " Call him, then, but lose no time." The young lady knocked at her father's door. He was not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and told him of the fearful warning she had received. The Count returned with her into her chamber, followed by Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset by robbers. They were to he introduced after midnight, when the attendants of tlie Princess and the rest of the travellers were sleeping, and would be an easy prey. "But we can barricado the inn, we can defend ourselves," said the Count. " What! when the people of the inn are in league with the banditti?" "How then are we to escape? Can we not order out the carriage audi depart? " "San Francesco! for what? To give the alarm that the plot is discovered ? That would make the robbers desperate, and bring them on you at once. They have had notice of the rich booty in the inn, and will not easily let it escape them." " But how else are we to get off?" " There is a horse behind the inn," said the wo- man, " from which the man has just dismounted who has been to summon the aid of part of the band who were at a distance." " One horse ; and there are three of us ! " said the Count. "And the Spanish Princess!" cried the daughtei anxiously — "How can she be extricated from the danger ? " " Diavolo! what is she to me?" said the woman in sudden passion. " It is you I come lo save, and you will betray me, and we shall all be lost ! Hark ! " continued she, "I am called — I shall be discovered —one word more. This door leads by a staircase lo the court-yard. Under the shed in the rear of the yard, is a small door leading out to the fields. You will find a horse there; mount it; make a circuit un- der the shadow of a ridge of rooks that you will see; proceed cautiously and quietly until you cross a brook, and find yourself on the road just where there are three white crosses nailed against a tree; then put your horse to his speed, and make the best of your way lo the village — but recollect, my life is in your hands — say nothing of what you have heard or seen, whatever may happen at this inn." The woman hurried away. A short and agitated consultation look place between the Count, his daugh- ter, and the veteran Caspar. The young lady seem- ed to have lost all apprehension for herself in her so- licitude for the safely of the Princess. "To fly in selfish silence, and leave her to be massacred ! " — A shuddering seized her at the very thought. The gal- lantry of the Count, too, revolted at the idea. He could not consent to tnm his back upon a parly of TALES OF A TOAVELITJl. i helpless travellers, and leave them In ignorance of the danger which hung over them. " But what is to liecoine of the young lady," said Caspar, " if the alarm is given, and the inn thrown in a tumult ? VVlut may happen to her in a cliance- medley affray?" Here the feelings of the father were roused : he looked upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at the chance of her falling into the hands of ruflians. The daughter, however, thought nothing of her- self. "The I'rincess! the Princess!— only let the Princess know her danger."— She was willing to share it with her. At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faith- ful old servant. No time was to be lost— the first thing was to gel the young lady outof danger. "Mount the horse," said he to (he Count, " take her behind you, and fly! Make fur (he village, rouse the inha- bi(an(s, and send assistance. Leave me here to give the alarm to (he Princess and her people. I am an old soldier, and I (hink we shall be able to stand siege until you send us aid." The daughter would again have insisted on staying with the Princess — " For what? " said old Caspar bluntly, " You could do no good — You would be in the way — We should have to take care of you instead of ourselves." There was no answering these objections : (he Count seized his pistols, and taking his daughter un- der his arm, moved towards the staircase. The young lady paused, stepped back, and said, faltering with agitation — " There is a young cavalier with the Prin- cess — her nephew— perhaps he may — " " I understand you. Mademoiselle," replied old Caspar with a signiflcant nod; "not a hair of his head shall suffer harm if I can help it ! " The young lady blushed deeper than ever : she had not anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the blunt old servant. "That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She would have added something, or made some explanation ; but the moments were precious, and her father hurried her away. They found their way through the court-yard to the small postern-gate, where (he horse stood, fasten- ed to a ring in the wall. The Count mounted, took his daughter behind him, and they proceeded as quietly as i)Ossible in the direction which the woman had pointed out. Many a fearful and anxious look did the daughter cast back upon the gloomy pile of building : the lights which had feebly twinkled through the dusty casements were one by one disappearing, a sign that the house was gradually sinking to repose; and she trembled with impatience, lest succour should not arrive until that repose had been fatally inter- rupted. They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the rocks, protected from observation by their over- hanging shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the place where three white crosses nailed against a tree told of some mnrder that had been mitted there. Just as they had reached this ill-oi ed spot they behelil several men in the gloom cumii down a craggy delile among (he rocks. " VVhogoes there !" exclaimed a voice, 'llie Q put spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang K ward and seized the bridle. The horse beci restive, started back, and reared, and had not i young lady clung to her father, she would lu< l)een thrown off. The Count leaned forward, put pistol to the very head of the rufiian, and flred latter fell dead. The horse sprang forwanl. T< or three shots were flred which whistled by theft gitives, nut only served to augment their speed, reached the v.:.age in safety. The whole place was soon aroused ; but such wi the awe in which (he banditti were held, that the habitants shrunk at the idea of encountering ilii A desperate band had for some time infested that through the mountains, and (he inn had lung suspec(eil of l)eing one of those horrible places whi the unsuspicious wayfarer is entrapped and silenl disposed of. The rich ornaments worn by the slalli hostess of the inn had excited heavy suspicu Several instances had occurred of small parties travellers disappearing niysteriously on that who, it was sup|M)sc<l at lirst, had been carried olT (he robbers for the sake of ransom, but who liadnei been heard of more. Such were the tales buzzed the ears of the Count by the villagers as he endeavi ed to rouse them to the rescue of the Princess and train from their perilous si(uatiun. The dau; seconded the exertions of her father wiUi all (he quence of prayers, and tears, and beauty. En moment that elapsed increased her anxiety uiitUJ became agonizing. Fortunately, there was a of gendarmes resting at the village. A number of young villagers volunteered to accompany tiiem, the liKle army was put in motion. The Count ing deposited his daughter in a place of safety, too much of the old soldier not to hasten to the of danger. It would be difficult to paint the aii agitation of the young lady while awaiting the suit. The party arrived at the inn just in time, robbers, finding their plans discovered, and the vellers prepared for their reception, had become and furious in their attack. The Princess's had barricadoed themselves in one suite of ments, and repulsed the robbers from the doors windows. Caspar had shown the generalship veteran, and the nephew of the Princess tlied valour of a young soldier. Their ammunition, ever, was nearly exhausted, and they would found it diflicult to hold out much longer, whenaj charge from the musketry of the gendarmes them the joyful tidings of succour. A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers surprised in the inn, and had to stand siege in turn; while their comrades made desperate atie Iter bb le. Imomi in it, Wi TALES OF A TRAVELLEH. ;iiil cmunlerihal had been ley had reacheil UiIb ill-oi eraJ men in tlie gloom comii nong lUe rocks, exclaiineil a voice. Tlie i)ul one of U»e men sprang ft biitUe. Tlie horse Vwi mid reared, and had noi i her father, she would lu B Count leaned forward, put of tlie rufllan, and fired, liorse sprang forward. T lied which wliistled by tlwd I to augment their speed. safety. as soon aroused; butsucliii banditti were held, that the Ihe idea of encountering llui 1 for 8ou>e time infested that ins, and the inn had long le of those horrible plam wh( yfarer is entrapped and silenl h ornaments worn by the slaiti bad excited heavy suspici ad occurred of small partiw iiig mysteriously on that il at first, had been carried off lake of ransom, but who had ne' Such were the tales Imzzwi I'tby the villagers as he endeav , the rescue of the Princess and eiilous situation. The daugl ons of her father with all Ihe and tears, and beauty. Et( ed increased her anxiety unlil] Fortunately, there was a' gat the village. A number oti mteered to accompany them put in motion. The Counl laughter in a place of safely, .soldier not to hasten to the id be difficult to paint the an ung lady while awaiting the led at the inn just in time. leir plans discoveretl, and the! their reception, had becomeo- Bir attack. The Princess's lemselves in one suite of ap td the robbers from the dooB had shown the generalshipj ephew of the Princess the (la koldier. Their ammunition, Exhausted, and they would I hold out much longer, when Jl iiisketry of the gendarmes r lings of succour. Ued, for part of the robbers kn, and had to sund siege wl 'omrades made desperate all 10 relieve Ihetn from under cover of the neighbouring rocki and thicket*. I cannot pretend to give a minute account of tlie fight, at I have heard it related in a variety of ways. SuOice it to say, the robbers were defeated; several of them killed, and several taken prisoners; which iHt, together with the people of Ihe inn, were either Qccuted or sent to the galleys. I picked up these particulars in the course of a joomey which I made some time alter the event had tiken place. I passed by the very inn. It was then inuintled, excepting one wing, in which a body of jtndarmes was stationed. They pointed out to me the shot-holes in the window-frames, the walls, and the pannels of the doors. There were a number of withered limbs dangling from the branches of a neigh- bouring tree, and blackening in the air, which I was told were the limbs of the robbers who had been iliin, and the culprits who had been executed. The whole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. "Were any of the Princess's party killed?" in- fired Ihe Englishman. "As far as I can reoollect, there were two or three." "Not the nephew, I trust ? " said the fair Venetian. "Oh no : he hastened with the Count to relieve anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of vic- The young lady had been sustained through- it the interval of suspense by the very intensity of feelings. The moment she saw her father re- ling in safety, accompanied by the nephew of the iDcess, she uttered a cry of rapture and fainted, ippily, however, she soon recovered, and what is , was married shortly after to the young cava- ; and the whole party accompanied the old Prin- iii her pilgrimage to Loretto, where her votive !rings may still be seen in the treasury of the Santa It would be tedious to follow the devious course of e conversation as it wound through a maze of sto- ! of the kind, until it was taken up by two other iiTellers who had come under convoy of the Pro- m : Mr Ilobbs and Mr Dobbs, a linen-draper and |i;reen-grocer, just returning from a hasty tour in I and the Holy Land. They were full of the f of Alderman Popkins. They were astonished at the robbers should dare to molest a man of his ortance on 'Change, he being an eminent dry- Uter of Throgmorton-street, and a magistrate to TUB I In fiict, the story of the Popkins family was but too It was attested by too many present to be for Inoment doubted; and from the contradictory and ordant testimony of half a score, all eager to re- eit, and all talking at the same time, the English- I was enabled to gather the followbg particulars. '■» "^ . .':.7i ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. It was but a few days before, that the carriage of Alderman Popkins liad driven up to the inn of Ter- racina. Those who have seen an English family carriage on the continent must luve remarked tlio sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England ; a little morsel of the old island rolling about the world. Every thing about it compact, snug, Hnished, and fitting. The wheels turning on patent axles without ratlling; the body, hanging so well on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting from every shock; the ruddy faces gaping from the windows— sometimes of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, and sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden just from boarding-school. And then the dickeys loaded with well-dressed servants, beef- fed and bluff; looking down from their heights with contempt on all the world around; profoundly igno- rant of the country and the people, and devoutly cer- tain that every thing not English must be wrong. Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had preceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnificent account of the riches and greatness of his master; blundering with an Italian's splendour of imagination about the alder- man's titles and dignities. The host had added his usual share of exaggeration ; so that by the time the alderman drove up to the door, he was a Milor— Magnifico — Principe— the Lord knows what ! The alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man's life was worth, he said, to stop him on the king's highway : he would complain of it to the am- bassador at Naples; he would make a national affair of it. The Principessa Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure in the protection of her husliand, so onmipotent a man in the City. The Signorine Popkins, two flne bouncing girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons in boxing; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scaramouch of an Italian robber would dare to meddle with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian grimace, and the carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on. They passed through several very suspicions places without any molestation. The Miss Popkins, who were very romantic, and had learnt to draw in water- colours, were enchanted with the savage scenery around ; it was so like what they had read in Mrs Rad- cliffe's romances; they should like of all things to make sketches. At length the carriage arrived at n place where the road wound up a lon^ hill. Mrs Popkins liad sunk into a sleep; the young ladies were lost in the "Loves of Ihe Angels;" and the dandy ■^K .W2 TALES OF A TBAVELLER. •v»n hectoring the postillions from tlie coach-box. The alderman got ont, as he said, to stretch his legs up the hill. It was a long, winding ascent, and obliged him every now and then to slop and blow and wipe his forehead, with many a pish! and phew! being rather pursy and short of wind. As the car- riage, however, was far behind him, and moved slowly imder the weight of so many well-stufTed trunks and well-stuffed travellers, he had plenty of time to walk at leisure. On ajutting point of rock that overhung the road, nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the route began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Pop- kins was one of your shrewd travellers who always like to be picking up small information along the road ; so he thought he'd just scramble up to the honest man, and have a litUe talk with him by way of learn- ing the news and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the peasant, he did not half like his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks, wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow> and a fierce moustache to be seen. He had whistled several times to his dog, which was rov- ing about the side of the hill. As the alderman ap- proached, he rose and greeted him. When standing erect, he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, however, being a short man, might be deceived. I'he latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, or even on 'Change in London ; for he was by no means well-pleased with his company. How- ever, he determined to put the best face on matters, and was beginning a conversation about the state of the weather, the baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in that part of the country, when he heard a violent screaming. He ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over, beheld his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held down the fat footman, another had the dandy by his starched cravat, with a pistol to his head ; one was rummaging a portmanteau, ano- ther rummaging the Principessa's pockets; while the two Miss Popkins were screaming from each window of the carriage, and their waiting-maid squalling from the dickey. Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and the magistrate roused within him. He grasped his cane, and was on the point of scrambling down the rocks, either to assault the robbers, or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly seized by the arm. It was by his friend the goatherd, whose cloak, falling open, discovered a belt stuck full of pistols and sti- lettos. In short, he found himself in the clutches of the captain of the band, who had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travellers, and to give notice to his men. A sad ransacking look place. Trunks were turned inside out, and all the flnery^nd frippery of the Pop- kins family scattered about (he road. Such a chaos of Venice beads and Roman mosaics, and Paris bon- nets of the young ladies, mingled with the alder- man's night caps and lambs' wool stockings, and the dandy's hair-brushes, stays, and starched cravats. The genllemen were eased of their purses and their watches, the ladies of their jewels; and the whole party were on the point of being carried np into the mountain, when, fortunately, the appear- ance of soldiery at a distance obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils they had secured, and leare the Popkins family to gather together the remnants of their effects, and make thebestcf their way toFondi. When safe arrivc'd, the alderman made a terrible blustering at tl.e inn; threatened to complain to the ambassador at iNaples, and was ready to shake hir cane at the whole country. The dandy had roanjj stories to tell of his scuffles with the brigands, wiioj overpowered him merely by numbers. As to tliel Miss Popkins, they were quite delighted with thi adventure, and were occupied the whole evening jnl writing it in their journals. They declared theq tain of the band to be a most romantic-looking manJ they dared to say some unfortunate lover, or exiii nobleman ; and several of the band to be very hand' some young men—" quite picturesque ! " "In verily," said mine host of Terracina, "t!ie| say the captain of the band is un galantuomo." " A gallant man !" said the Englishman indig' nanlly: "I'd have your gallant man hanged like dog ! " "To dare to meddle with Englishmen!" sai Mr Hobbs. " And such a family as the Popkinses!" said) Dobbs. " They ought to come upon the county for mages ! " said Mr Hobbs. " Our ambassador should make a complaint to (I government of Naples," said Mr Dobbs. " They should be obliged to drive these rasci out of the country," said Hobbs. *' If they did not, we should declare war agaii them," said Dobbs. " Pish !— humbug!" muttered the Englishman himself, and walked away. the in. ihe m\ nlow The Englishman had been a little wearied by II story, and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, d was glad when a summons to their supper reliev^ him from the crowd of travellers. He walked i with his Venetian friends and a young Frenciinuii| an interesting demeanour, who had become sociil with them in the course of the conversation, directed their steps toward the sea, which was III j by the rising moon. As they strolled along the beach, they camtj where a party of soldiers were stationed in a ( Thejr were guarding a number of galley-slaves,' were permitted to refresh themselves in the ev« breeze, and sport and roll upon the sand. 1 1 IN rson 'la, a ;mo Mlie ui!'^- ' TALES OF A TRAVELLER. anxi an mosaics, and Paris bon- mingled with the alder- bs' wool Blockings, and the IS, and starched cravats, eased of their purses and 8 of their jewels; and the 5 point of being carried op ti, fortunately, the appear- tance obliged the robbers to Ihey had secured, and leave her together the remnants ol! le best cf their way toFondi. he alderman made a terriWej hreatened to complain to the and was ready to shake hi- intry. The dandy had many affleswith the brigands, who ely by numbers. As to the| ere quite delighted with the iccupied the whole evening inl nals. They declared the capj a most romantic-looking man, e unfortunate lover, or exil(' ,1 of the band to be very ■ a uile picturesque!" ninehostofTerracina, "ihei bandisungalaHtMOino. " said the Englishman indigj our gallant man hanged like jddle with Englishmen!" sail y as the Popkinses come upon the county for di )bs. should make a complaint toll ,"saidMrDobbs. obliged to drive these rase said Hobbs. we should declare war agaii ; ! " muttered the Englishman away. it" ul ;s The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the group of wretches at their sports. "It is difTicult," said he, " toconceive a more friglitful mass of crime than is here collected. Many of these have probably been robbers, such as you have heard described. Such is, loo often, the career of crime in this country. The parricide, llie fratricide, the infanticide, the mis- creant of every kind, first flies from justice and turns mountain bandit; and then, when wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his brother desper- adoes; belfa^ii them to punishment, and thus buys a commutation of his own sentence from death to the galleys ; happy in the privilege of wallowing on the sliore an hour a day, in this mere state of animal enjoyment." The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the horde of wretches at their evening amusement. "They seemed," she said, "like so many serpents vrithing together." And yet the idea that some of ihem had been robbers, those formidable beings that haunted her imagination, made her still cast another fearful glance, as we contemplate some terrible beast of prey, with a degree of awe and horror, even though tiged and chained. The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti ihich they had heard at the inn. The Englishman Icondemned some of them as fabrications, others as iiaggerations. As to the story of the improvisatore, pronounced it a mere piece of romance, originating the heated brain of the narrator. " And yet," said the Frenchman, " there is so much lance about the real life of those beings, and about singular country they infest, that it is hard to tell hat to reject on the ground of improbability. I have an adventure happen to myself which gave me opportunity of getting some insight into their man- n and habits, which I found altogether out of the ion run of existence." There was an air of mingled frankness and modesty lut the Frenchman which had gaineil the good will the whole party, not even excepting the English- n. They all eagerly inquired after the particulars the circumstance he alluded to, and as they strolled wly up and down the sea-shore, he related the lowing adventure. rd had been a little wearied by II tra zeal of his countrymen, ai mmons to their supper reh«^ d of travellers. He walked* lends and a young Frenchmanj ianour, who had become soojr ,urse of the conversation, in toward the sea, which was lil| along the beach, they caraej lldiers were stationed mac Iff a number of galley-slaves,' Irefresh themselves in the ev« Ind roll upon the sand. THE PAINTER S ADVENTURE. |1 \H an historical painter by profession, and resided rsome time in the family of a foreign prince at his |lla, about fifteen miles from Rome, among some of 6 most interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated ^ the heights of ancient Tusculum. In its ncighbour- I are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, Sylla, Ln- llliis, Rullnus, and other illustrious Romans, who pi refuge here occasionally from their toils, in the m of a soft and liixiuioiis rP|Hise. From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed by the pure mountain- breeze, the eye looks over a romantic landscape full of poetical and historical associations. The Albanian mountains; Tivoli, once the favourite residence of Horace and Meco^nas ; the vast, deserted, melancholy Campagna, with the Tiber winding through it, and St Peter's dome swelling in the midst, the monument, as it were, over the grave of ancient Rome. I assisted the prince in researches which he was making among the classic ruins of his vicinity : his exertions were highly successful. Many wrecks of admirable statue.* and fragments of exquisite sculpture were dug up; monuments of the taste and magnili- cence that reigned in the ancient Tusculan abodes. He had studded bis villa and its grounds with statues, relievos, vases, and sarcophagi, thus retrieved from the bosom of the earth. Tlie mode of life pursued at the villa was delight- fully serene, diversified by interesting occupations and elegant leisure. Every one passed the day ac- cording to his pleasure or pursuits ; and we all as- sembled in a cheerful dinner-party at sunset. It was on the fourthof November, a beautiful serene day, that we hnd assembled in the saloon at the sound of the first dinner-bell. The family were surprised at the absence of the prince's confessor. They waited for him in vain, and at length placed themselves at table. They at first attributed his absence to his having prolonged his customary walk ; and the early part of the dinner passed without any uneasiness. When the dessert was served, however, without his making his appeal ance, they began to feel anxious. They feared he might have been taken ill in some alley of the woods, or that he might have fallen into the hands of robbers. Not far from the villa, with the interval of a small valley, rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, the strong-hold of banditti. Indeed, the neighbourhood had fur some lime |>ast been infested 1 , them; and Barbone, a notorious bandit chief, had oii3n been met prowling about the solitudes of Tus- culum . The daring enterprises of these ruffians were well known : the objects of their cupidity or ven- geance were insecure even in i)alaces. As yet they had respected the possessions of the prince ; but the idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about thv neighbourhood was sufticient to occasion alarm. The fears of the company increasud as evening closed in. The prince ordered out forest guards and domestics with flambeaux to search for the confessor. They had not departed long when a slight noise was heard in the corridor of the ground-floor. The fa- mily were dining on the fust floor, and the rcinainin;; domestics were occupied in attendance. There was no one on the ground-floor at this moment but the housekeeper, the laundress, and three field-labourers who were resting themselves, and conversing with the women. i heard the noise from below, and presuming it to he occasioned by the return of the absentee, I left the table and hastened down stairs, eager to K«in inlclli- .r m .•i04 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. gence tiiat might relieve Uie anxiety of the prince and tirincess.. I had scarcely reached the last step, when I beheld before me a man dressed as a bandit; a <»rbine in his hand, and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His countenance had a mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation : he sprang upon me, and ex- claimed exnltingly, " Ecco il principe ! " I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavoured to summon up coolness and presence of mind. A glance towards the lower end of the cor- ridor showed me several ruflians, clothed and armed in the same manner with the one who had seized me. They were guarding the two females, and the iield-labourers. The robber, who held me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether or not I were the prince : his object evidently was to carry off the prince, and extort an immense ransom. He was enraged at receiving none but vague replies, for I felt the importance of misleading him. A sudden thought struck me how I might extricate myself from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, but I was vigorous. His companions were at a di- stance. By a sudden exertion I might wrest myself from him, and spring up the staircase, whither he would not dare to follow me singly. The idea was put in practice as soon as conceived. The ruffian's throat was bare; with my right hand I seized him by it, with my left hand I grasped the arm which held the carbine. The suddenness of my attack took him completely unawares, and the strangling nature of my grasp paralyzed him. He choked and faltered. I felt his hand relaxing its hold, and was on the point of jerking myself away, and darting up the staircase, liefore he could recover himself, when I was suddenly seized by some one from behind. I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once re- leased, fell upon me with fury, and gave me several blows with the butt end of his carbine, one of which wounded me severely in the forehead and covered me with blood. He took advantage of my being stunned to rifle me of my watch, and whatever valuables I had about my person. When I recovered from the effect of the blow, I heard the voice of the chief of the banditti, who ex- claimed — ** Quelio e il principe; siamo contenti; an- diamo!" (It is Uie prince; enough; let us be off.) The band immediately closed round me and dragged nie out of the palace, bearing off the three labourers likewise. I had no hat on, and the blood flowed from my wound ; I managed to stanch it, however, with my pocket-handkerchief, which I bound round my fore- Jiead. The captain of the band conducted me in triumph, supposing me to be the prince. We had t^one some distance before he learnt his mistake from one of the labourers. His rage was terrible. It was too late to return to the villa and endeavour to re- trieve his error, for by this lime the alarm must have liccn given, and every one in arms. He darted at me a ferocious look— swore I had deceived him, and caused him to miss his fortune — and told me to pre- i pare for death. The rest of the robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands upon then- poniards, and I knew that death was seldom an empty threat witli these ruflians. The labourers saw the peril into which their information had betrayed me, and eagerly I assured the captain that I was a man for whom tlie prince would pay a great ransom. This produced 1 1 pause. For my part, I cannot say that I had been I nmch dismayed by tlieir menaces. I mean not to I make any boast of courage ; but I have been so school. I ed to hardship during the late revolutions, and have I l)eheld death around me in so many perilous and di-l sastrous scenes, that I have become m some measure] callous to its terrors. The frequent hazard of lifel makes a man at length as reckless of it as a gamblerl of his money. To their threat of death, I replied,! " that the sooner it was executed the belter." Tbisl reply seemed to astonish the captain ; and the prospectl of ransom held out by the labourers had, no doubt, al still greater effect on him. He considered for a mo-l ment, assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign t his companions, who had remained wailing for Dijfj death-warrant, "Forward!" said he, "wewi see about this matter by and by ! " We descended rapidly towards the road of La Mo lara, which leads to Bocca Priori. In the midst this road is a solitary inn. The captain ordered tl troop to lialt at the distance of a pistol-shot from it] and enjoined profound silence. He approached threshold alone, with noiseless steps. He examiiM the outside of the door very narrowly, and then turning precipitately, made a sign for the troop to tinue its march in silence. It has since been tained, that this was one of those infamous inns whic are the secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper I an understanding with the captain, as he mosl pt bably had with the chiefs of the different bai When any of the patroles and gendarmes were qua tered at his house, the brigands were warned of it I a preconcerted signal on the door; when there vi no such signal, they might enter with safety, and sure of welcome. After pursuing our road s little further we st off towards the woody mountains which envelop Ro ca Priori. Our march was long and painful; vii many circuits and windings : at length we clamber a steep ascent, covered with a thick forest ; and wt we had reached the centre, I was told to seat mys on the ground. No sooner had I done so than, at{ sign from their chief, the robbers surrounded and spreading their great cloaks from one to other, formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to vt their bodies might be said to serve as columns, captain then struck a light, and a flambeau wasj immediately. The mantles were extended to | vent the light of the flambeau from being seentlin the forest. Anxious as was my situation, I couMj look round upon this screen of dusky drapery,! lievcd by the bright colours of the robbers' garim ptaii peatc eme. proat borrc able lay at ilier loris iiglii 80 lliesi I made TALES OF A TRAVELLER. tVj^ rlune— and told me to pre- of the robbers were equally ds upon their poniards, and >ldom an empty threat witli aourers saw the peril intu ad betrayed me, and eagerly I was a man for whom Uw itraiusom. This produced a cannot say that 1 had been r menaces. I mean not to re ; but I have been so school- »e late revolutions, and havel . in so many perilous and di- ave become in some measure! The frequent hazard of lifcl as reckless of it as a gambler ir threat of death, I replied, (executed the belter." ThisI I the captain; and the prosi he labourers had, no doubt, al im. He considered for a mo-| ■r manner, and made a sign had remained wailing for m] rward!" said he, "we\»i lyandby!" lly towards the road of La M( Rocca Priori. In the midst inn. The captain ordered ti istance of a pistol-shot from itj ,d silence. He approached " noiseless steps. He exami or very narrowly, and then made a sign for the troop to ence. It has since been asm] )ne of those mfamousinwsvrhie of banditti. The innkeeper hi Lh the captain, as he most pi chiefs of the different bai roles and gendarmes werequj brigands were warned of It on the door; when there w ht enter with safely, and' (ni; road a little further we /mountains which envelope •ch was long and painful;* ndings: at length we clamlKi •d with a thick forest; and wi centre, I was told 10 seat my sooner had I done so than, al if, the robbers surrounded " great cloaks from one to of pavilion of mantles, tow said to serve as columns. . light, and a flambeau was .mantles were extended to" Iflambeaufrombeingseentlir as was my situation, I couWi is screen of dusky drapery colours of llw robbers' garir gleaming of their weapons, and the variety of ig-marked countenances, lit up by the flambeau, lilbout admiring the picturesque effect of the scene. fas quite theatrical. The captain now held an inkhom, and giving me and paper, ordered me to write what he should ite. I obeyed. It was a demand, couched in lyle of robber eloquence, " that the prince should three thousand dollars for my ransom ; or that death should be the consequence of a refusal." Iknew enough of the desperate character of these igg to feel assured this was not an idle menace, ir only mode of insuring attention to llieir de- is to make the infliction of the penally in- iiable. I saw at once, however, that the demand ns preposterous, and made in improper language. Hold the captain so, and assured him that so ex- iTagant a sum would never be granted. — "That I neither a friend nor relative of the prince, but jiere artist, employed to execute certain paintings. 1 1 had nothing to offer as a ransom but the price uiy labours : if this were not suflicient, my life at their disposal ; it was a thing on which I set little value." Iwas ths more hardy in my reply, because I saw it coolness and hardihood had au eflect upon the n. It is true, as I flnished speaking, the cap- laid his hand upon his stiletto; but he restrained If, and snatching the letter, folded it, and or- me in a peremptory tone to address it to the . He then dispatched one of the labourers it to Tusculum, who promised to return with possible speed. iTbe robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, I was told that I might do the same. They id their great cloaks on the ground, and lay down me. One was stationed at a little distance keep watch, and was relieved every two hours, strangeness and wildness of this mountain bi- among lawless beings, whose hands seemed ready to grasp the stiletto, and with whom life so trivial and insecure, was enough to banish The coldness of the earth and of the dew, ever, had a still greater effect than mental causes Idislurbing my rest. The airs wafted to these plains from the distant Mediterranean, diffused real chilliness as the night advanced. An expe- {nt suggested itself. I called one of my fellow- ners, the labourers, and made him lie clown be- (me. Whenever one of my limbs became chilled, iproached it to the robust limb of my neighbour, I borrowed some of his warmth. In this way I iable to obtain a little sleep. [lay at length dawned, and I was roused from my )ii)er by the voice of the chieftain. He desired |to rise and follow him. I obeyed. On consi- liis pliysio;^nomy attentively, it appeared a I softened. lie even assisted me in scrambling i steep forest, among rocks and brambles. Habit [made him a viu;urous mountaineer; but I foimd it excessively toilsome to climb these nigged height«. We arrived at length at the summit of tlie mountain. Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art suddenly awakened ; and I forgot in an instant all my perils and fatigues at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of the mountains of Abruzzi . It was on these heights that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and pointed out Rome to his fol- lowers. Th«- eye embraces a vast extent of country. The miner height of Tusculum, with its villas anJ its sacred ruins, lie below ; the Sabine hills and the Albanian mountains stretch on either hand; and beyond Tusculum and Frascati spreads out the im- mense Campagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and there a broken aqueduct stretching across it, and the towers and domes of tlie eternal city in the midst. Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, and bursting upon my sight as I looked forth from among the majestic forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made still more savage by groupsof banditti, armed and dressed in their wild picturesque manner, and you will not wonder that the enthusiasm of a painter for a moment overpowered all his other feelings. The banditti were astonished at my admiration of a scene which familiarity had made so common in their eyes. I took advantage of their halting at tliis !:pot, drew forth a quire of drawing-paper, and began to sketch the features of the landscape. The height on which I was seated was wild and solitary, separated from the ridge ofTuscuhim by a valley nearly three miles wide, though the distance appeared less from the purity of the atmosphere. This height was one of the favourite retreats of the banditti , commanding a look-out over the country; while at the same time it was covered with forests, and distant from the po- pulous haunts of men. While I was sketching, my attention was called off fi)r a moment by the cries of birds, and the »»lealings of sheep. I looked around, but could see nothing of the animals which uttered them. They were re- peated, and appeared to come from the summits of the trees. On looking more narrowly, I perceived six of the robbei-s perched in the lops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest of the mountain, and conunanded an uninterrupted prospect. From hence they were keeping a look-out, like so many vultures; casting Iheir eyes into the depths of the valley below us ; communicating with each other by signs, or holding discourse in soimds which might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of the mcmtain flocks. After they had re- connoitred the neighbouriioml, and finished their sin- gular discourse, they descended from their airy perch, and returned to their prisoners. The captain posted three of them at three naked sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard us with what appeared his most trusty companion. I had my book of sketches in my hand ; he re«iurst- h^ f'! ^i;i 411'! m A ■ I i' «f 4 il: >»!«". im TALES OF A TRAVELLER. etl (0 see it, and after having ran his eye over It, ex- pressed hiniselfcoovinced of the truth of iny assertion that I was a painter. I tliought I saw a gleam of good feeling dawning in him, and determined to avail myself of it. I knew that the worst of men have their good points and their accessible sides, if one would but study them carefully. Indeed there is a singular mixture in the character of the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity he often mingles traits of kind- ness and good-humour. He is not always radically bad ; but driven to his course of life by some unpre- meditated crime, the effect of those sudden bursts of passion to which the Italian temperament is prone. This has compelled him to take to the mountains, or, as it is technically termed among them, " andare in campagna." He has become a robber by profession ; but like a soldier, when not in action, he can lay aside his weapon and bis flerceness, and become like other men. I took occasion, from the observations of the captain on my sketchings, to fall into conversation with him. I found him sociable and communicative. By degrees I became completely at my ease with him. I had fancied I perceived about him a degree of self-love, which I determined to make use of. I assumed an air of careless frankness, and told him, that, as an artist, I pretended to the power of judging of the physiognomy; that I thought I perceived something in his features and demeanour which announced him worthy of higher fortunes; that he was not formed to exercise tlie profession to which he had abandoned himself; that he had talents and qualities fitted for a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but to change his course of life, and, in a legitimate career, the same courage and endowments which now made him an object of terror, would assure him the applause and admiration of society. I had not mistaken my man; my discourse both touched and excited him. He seized my hand, press- ed it, and replied with strong emotion—" You have guessed the truth; you have judged of me rightly." He remained for a moment silent; then with a kind of effort, he resumed — " I will tell you some par- ticulars of my life, and you will perceive that it was the oppression of others, rather than my own crimes, which drove me to the mountains. I sought to serve my fellow-men, and they have persecuted me from among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, and the robber gave me the following anecdotes of his history. THE STORY OF TEIE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. I AN a native of the village of Prossedi. My father was easy enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably and inde|>endently, cullivalitig our fields. pspai bre. All went on well with m until a new chief of i| Sbirri was sent to our village to take command oftl police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into evei '^ thing, and practising all sorts of vexations and oppre '. sions in the discharge of his oflice. I was at ih time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love justice and good neighbourhood. I had also a tin education, and knew something of history, so as to able to judge a little of men and their actions, i this inspired me with hatred for this paltry deiip My own family, also, became the object of his $u! cion or dislike, and felt more than once the arbitn abuse of his power. These things worked toget in my mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My cl racter was always ardent and energetic, and, ai upon by the love of justice, determined me, b; blow, to rid the country of the tyrant. Full of my project, I rose one morning before of day, and concealing a stiletto under my wai$i - -here you see it ! — (and he drew forth a long ki poniard) I lay in wait for him in the outskirts of village. I knew all his haunts, and his habit of mi ing his rounds and prowling about like a wolf ui grey of the morning. At length I met him, attacked him with fury. He was armed, butlti him unawares, and was full of youth and vigour, gave him repeated blows to make sure work, and him lifeless at my feet. When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I turned with all haste to the village, but ha>l tliel luck to meet two of the Sbirri as I entered it. TU accosted me, and asked if I had seen their chief, | assumed an air of tranquillity, and told liiemlb not. They continued on their way, and within a ll hours brought back the dead body to Prossedi. Tb suspicions of me being already awakened, I was] rested and thrown into prison. Here I lay sevel weeks, when the Prince, who was Seigneur! Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings against i I was brought to trial, and a witness was prodit who pretended to have seen me flying with precipi tion not far from the bleeding body; and sol^ condemned to the galleys for thirty years. "Curse on such laws!" vociferated thel foaming with rage : " Curse on such a governu and ten thousand curses on the Prince who cauj me to be adjudged so rigorously, while so many* Roman princes harbour and protect assassins all sand times more culpable! What had J done | what was inspired by a love of justice and myc try? Why was my act more culpable thaBJ of Brutus, when he sacrificed Cicsar to the cam liberty and justice?" There was something at once both lofty and Ij crous in the rhapsody of this robber chief, tluisi dating himself with one of the great names otij quity. It showed, however, that he had at I merit of knowing the remarkable facts in the I of bis country, his narrative. He became more calm, and re ^jiaL. TALES OF A TRAVELLER. m US until a new chief of Hi ilage to take command of raryfeilow, prying into ev( sorts of vexations and oppri )f his office. I was at il ge, and had a natural love lourhood. I had also a liii methingofhistory,8oa8lo men and their actions, lalred for this paltry des] lecarne the object of his m more than once the arbilnj hese things worked togell )ed after vengeance. Mycl lent and energetic, and, a( astice, determined me, by •y of the tyrant. I rose one morning before ig a stiletto under my waist and he drew forth a long kf t for him in the outskirts of IS haunts, and his habit o[ fowling about like a wolf in g. At length I met him, °ry. He was armed, but lie vas full of youth and vigour, lows to make sure work, andl ied that I had done for him, I e to the village, but ha^ ««! the Sbirri as I entered it. Tl iked if I had seen their chief. ranquillity, and told theml dontheirway,andwUluna the dead body to ProssedLTI lUg already awakened, I was into prison. Herellaysev Prince, who was Seigneur! judicial proceedings againsl ial, and a witness was prodi ive seen me flying with precii he bleeding body ; and sol alleys for thirty years, laws!" vociferated the " Curse on such a governi :urses on the Prince who cai o rigorously, while so many iir and protect assassins a ulpable! What had I done ,y a love of justice and my y act more culpable than esacrillcedQesartolheai" king at once both lofty andt |dy ofthis robber chief, lluisJ V one of the great names otj however, that he had at leaj Ihe remarkable facts in the hii became more calm, ami re I was conducted to Givita Yeochia in fetters. My was burning with rage. I had been married six months to a woman whom I passionately fed, and who was pregnant. My family was in ir. For a long time I made unsuccessful efforts break my chain. At length I found a morsel of 1, which I hid carefully, and endeavoured, with pointed flint, to fashion it into a kind of file. I ipied myself in this work during the night-time, when it was finished, I made ont, after a long , to sever one of the rings of my chain. My flight successful. I wandered for several weeks in the mountains surround Prossedi, and found means to inform wife of the place where I was concealed. She often to see me. I had determined to put niy- at the head of an armed band . She endeavoured , a long time, to dissuade me, but finding my reso- fixed, she at length united in my project of ;eance, and brought me, herself, my poniard. her means I communicated with several brave iws of the neighbouring villages, whom I knew be ready to take to the mountains, and only pant- for an opportunity to exercise their daring spirits. !SOon formed a combination, procured arms, and liave had ample opportunities of revenging our- fes for the wrongs and injuries which most of us suffered. Every thing has succeeded with us now ; and had it not been for our blunder in iking you for the Prince, our fortunes would been made. ire the robber concluded his story. He had himself into complete companionship, and lired me he no longer bore me any grudge for the r of which I had been the innocent cause. He D professed a kindness for me, and wished me to iiin some time with them. He promised to give la sight of certain groitos which Ihey occupied nd Villetri, and whither they resorted during the t\ais of their expeditions. He assured me that Tied a jovial life there; had plenty of good cheer; on beds of moss ; and were waited upon by ngand beautiful females, whom I might take for jconfessed I felt my curiosity roused by his de- of the groitos and their inhabitants : they ized those scenes in robber story which I had al- s looked upon as mere creations of the fancy. I |ild gladly have accepted his invitation, and paid t to these caverns, could I have felt more secure r company. {began to find my situation less puinfiil. I had nUy propitiated the good-will of the chieftain, I hoped that he might release me for a moderate A new alarm, however, awaited me. While aptain was looking out with impatience for the I of the messenger who had been sent to the «, the sentinel who had been posted on the side of the mountain facing the plain of La Molara came running towards us with precipitation. "We are betrayed ! " exclaimed he. " The police of Frascati are after as. A party of carabineers have just stopped at the inn below the mountain." Then, laying his hand on his stiletto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that if they made the least movement towards the mountain, my life and the lives of my fellow-pri- soners should answer for it. The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demean- our, and approved of what his companion said ; but when the latter had returned to his post, he turned to me with a softened air : " I must act as chief," said he, " and humour my dangerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill our prisoners, rather than suffer them to be rescued ; but do not be alarmed. In case we are surprised, keep by me. Fly with us, and I will consider myself responsible for your fife." There was nothing very consolatory in this arrange- ment, which would have placed me between two dan- gers. I scarcely knew, in case of flight, from whidi I should have most tu apprehend, the carbines of the pursuers, or the stilettos of the pursued. I remained silent, however, and endeavoured to maintain a look of tranquillity. For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and anxiety. The robbers, crouching among their leafy coverts, kept an eagle watch upon the carabineers below, as they loitered about the inn ; sometimes lolling about the portal ; sometimes disappearing fur several minutes ; then sallying out, examining their weapons, pointing in different directions, and appa- rently asking questions about the neighbourhood. Not a movement, a gesture, was lost upon the keen eyes of the brigands. The carabineers having finished their refreshment, seized their arms, continued along the valley toward the great road, and gradually left the mountain behind them. '' I felt almost certain," said the chief, " that they could not be sent after us. They know too well how prisoners have fared in our hands on similar occasions. Our laws in this respect are inflexible, and are necessary for our safety. If we once flinched from them, there would no longer be such thing as a ransom to be procured." There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I was preparing to resume my sketching, when the captain drew a quire of paper from his knapsack. ' Come," said he, laughing, " you are a painter, — take my likeness. The leaves of your portfolio are small,— draw it on this." I gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom presents itself to a painter. I recollected that Salvator Rosa in his youth had vol- untarily sojourned for a time among the banditti of Calabria, and had tilled his mind with the savage scenery aud savage associates by which he was sur- rounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the thought. I found the captain the most docile of sub- jects, and, after various shiftings of position, I placed him in an attitude to my mind. ! in m ^rM ■■51;' TALES OF A TRAVELLER. Picture to yourself a stem muscular figure, in fan- ciful bandit costume ; witli pistols and poniards in belt; his brawny neck bare ; a handkerchief loosely thrown round it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of travellers; relics and medals hanging on his breast ; his hat decorated with various coloured ribands; his vest and short breeches of bright colours and finely embroidered ; his legs in buskins or leggings. Fancy him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, leaning on his carbine, as if meditating some exploit ; while far below are beheld villages and villas, the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Campagna dimly extending in the distance. The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seem- ed to admire himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished, when the labourer arrived who had been sent for my ransom. He had reached Tusculum two hours after midnight. He brought me a letter from the Prince, who was in bed at the time of his arrival. As I luid predicted, he treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hundred dollars for my ransom. Hav- ing no money by him at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, payable to whomsoever should conduct me safe and sound to Rome. I presented the note of hand to the chieftain : he received it with a shrug, " Of what use are notes of hand to us ?" said he. '' Who can we send with you to Rome to receive it ? We are all marked men ; known and de- scribed at every gate and military post, and village church-door. No ; we must have gold and silver ; let the sum be paid in cash, and you shall be restored to liberty." The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me, to communicate his determination to the Prince. When I had finished the letter, and took the sheet from the quire, I found on tlie opposite side of it the portrait which I bad just been tracing. I was about to tear it off, and give it to the chief. " Hold !" said lie, " let it go to Rome : let them see what kind of looking fellow I am. Perhaps the Prince and his friends may form as good an opinion of me from my face as you have done." This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was vanity iurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful chief of banditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight and precaution, in the common wish to be admired. He never reflected what use might be made of tliis portrait in his pursuit and conviction. The letter was folded and directed, and the mes- senger departed again for Tusculum. It was now eleven o'clock in the morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety, I began to feel a craving appetite. I was glad therefore to hear the captiin talk something about eating. He observed that for three days and nights they had been lurkuig about .among rocks and woods, meditating their ex- pedition to Tusculum, during which time all their provisions had been exhausted. He should now take measures to procure a supply. I^eaving me therefore in charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared i have implicit confidence, he departed, assuring i that in less than two hours we should make a dinner. Where it was to come from was an enig to me, though it was evident these beings had i secret friends and agents throughout the country. Indeed, the inhabitants of these mountains, aodj the valleys which they embosom, are a rude, haifcij ilized set. The towns and villages among the fore of the Abruzzi, shut up from the rest of the vn are almost like savage dens. It is wonderful i such rude abodes, so little known and visited, gb be embosomed in the midst of one of the most i veiled and civilized countries of Europe. Amongij regions the robber prowls unmolested ; not a i taineer hesitates to give him a secret harboor j assistance. The shepherds, however, who tendt flocks among the mountains, are the favourite en saries of the robbers, when they would send i sages down to the valleys either for ransom or supplJ The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as t scenes they frequent. They are clad in a rudegarbl black or brown sheep-skin ; they have high coni hats, and coarse sandals of cloth bound round th legs with thongs similar to those worn by therobb They carry long staves, on which as they lean, form picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, a they are followed by their ever-constant compan the dog. They are a curious questioning set, gladl any time to relieve the monotony of their solitadef the conversation of the passers-by ; and the i lend an attentive ear, and put on as sagacious i inquisitive a look as his master. But I am wandering from my story. I wasn left alone with one of the robbers, the conlidenj companion of the chief. He was the youngest and n vigorous of the band; and though his counten had something of that dissolute fierceness wM seems natural to this desperate, lawless mode ori| yet there were traces of manly beauty about it. an artist I could not but admire it. I had remarl ia him an air of abstraction and reverie, and at tiij a movement of inward suffering and impatience, now sat on the ground, his elbows on his knees, | head resting between his clenched fists, and bis (i fixed on the earth with an expression of sad aodj ter rumination. I had grown familiar with him 6 repeated conversations, and had found him sap in mind to the rest of the band. I was an to seize any opportunity of soun>^ing the fee of these singular beings. I fancier' I read ioj counten'>ncc of this one traces of self-condemni and .■■:■' <wr 66 ; and the ease with which I hadd fortVi the confidence of the chieftain encourage(l| to hope the same with his fo' lower. After a little preliminary conversation, I venl to ask him if he did not feel regret at having t ed his family, and taken to this dangerous pr "I feel," replied he, "but one regret, and ttiil| end only with my life." As he said this, he | TALES OF A TRAVELIJiR. m) ide, in whom he appeared e, he departed, assuring 9ur8 we should make a I to come from was an eni| evident these beings had Its throughout the country ints of tliese mountains, and embosom,are a rude, half di I and villages among the foi ID from the rest of the w( e dens. It is wonderful ittle known and visited, si midst of one of the mosl intries of Europe. Among owls unmolested; not a five him a secret harbour herds, however, who tend mtains, are the favourite , when they would send eys either for ransom or the Abruzzi are as wild as They are clad in a rude garb| ip-skin; they have high aals of cloth bound round t! ilar to those worn by the rol fes, on which as they lean, jects in the lonely landscape, a f their ever-constant comf a curious questioning set ihe monotony of their solitude the passers-by ; and the d(^ ar, and put on as sagacious his master, ing from my story. I was of the robbers, the confideni lef. Hewastheyoungcstandi liis clenched fists upon his bosom, drew his breath lihrough his set teeth, and added, with a deep emo- |lioa, "I have something within here that stifles me; |it is like a burning iron consuming my very heart. I [toaid tell you a miserable story— but not now — an- Idber time." He relapsed into his former position, and sat with jlusbead between his hands, muttering to himself in en ejaculations, and what appeared at times to curses and maledictions. I saw he was nut in a to be disturbed, so I left him to himself. In a llle while the exhaustion of his feelings, and pro- ibly the fatigues he had undergone in this expedi- I, began to produce drowsiness. He struggled ilh it for a time, but the warmth and stillness of l^lay made it irresistible, and he at length stretch- hunself upon the herbage and fell asleep. I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. ly guard lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous lbs relaxed by sleep— his bosom open for the blow carbine slipped from his nerveless grasp, and [ing by his side— his stiletto half out of the pocket which it was usually carried. Two only of his irades were in sight, and those at a considerable ice on the edge of the mountain, their backs led to us, and their attention occupied in keeping look-out upon the plain. Through a strip of in- ening forest, and at the foot of a sleep descent, I leld the village of Rocca Priori. To have secured carbine of the sleeping brigand; to have seized his poniard, and have plunged it in his heart, ould have been the work of an instant. Should he without noise, I might dart through the forest, down to Rocca Priori before my flight might be vered. In case of alarm, I should still have a start of the robbers, and a chance of getting ivond the reach of their shot. Here then was an opportunity fur both escape and lance ; perilous indeed, but powerfully tempting, my situation been more critical I could not have iled it. I reflected, however, for a moment, alteuipt, if successful, would be followed by the iliceof my two fellow-prisoners, who were sleep- profoundly, and could not be awakened in time escape. The labourer who had gone after the im might also fall a victim to the rage of the rob- , without the money which he brought being led. Besides, the conduct of the chief towards me le me feel confident of speedy deliverance. These lions overcame the first powerful impulse, and I the turbulent agitation which it had awakened, again took out my materials for drawing, and myself with sketching the magnificent pro- It was now about noon, and every thing had into repose, like the bandit that lay sleeping he- me. The noontide stillness that reigned over mountains, the vast landscape below, gleaming distant towns, and dotted with various habita- andsigns of life, yet all sosilenl, had a powerful upon my mind. The intermediate valleys, too, which lie among the mountains, have a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are heard at mid-day to break the quiet of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a solitary muleteer, lagging with Iiis lazy animal along the road, which winds through the centre of the valley; sometimes the faint piping of a shepherd's reed from the side of the mountain, or sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, followed by a monk with bare feet, and bare, shining head, and carrying provisions to his convent. i > I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleeping companions, when at length I saw tlie captain of the band approaching, followed by a peasant lead- ing a mule, on which was a well-filled sack. I at first apprehended that this was some new prey fallen into the hands of the robbers ; but the contented look of the peasant soon relieved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our promised repast. The brigands now came running from the three sides of the moun- tain, having the quick scent of vultures. Every one busied himself in unloading the mule, and relieving the sack of its contents. The first thing that made its appearance was an enormous ham, of a colour and plumpness that would have inspired tlie pencil of Teniers ; it was followed by a large cheese, a bag of boiled chesnuts, a little barrel of wine, and a quantity of good household bread . Every thing was arranged on the grass with a degree of symmetry; and the captain, presenting me his knife, requested me to help myself. We all seated ourselves round the viands, and nothing was heard fur a time but the sound of vigorous mastication, or the gurgling of the barrel of wine as it revolved brisk- ly about the circle. My long fasting, and the moun- tain air and exercise, had given me a keen appetite ; and never did repast appear to me more excellent or picturesque. From time to time one of the band was dispatched to keep a look-out upon the plain. No enemy was at hand, and the dinner was undisturbed. The peasant received nearly three times the value of his provisions, and set off down the mountain highly satisfied with his bargain. I felt uivigorated by the hearty meal I had made, and notwithstanding the wound I had re- ceived the evening before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely interested and gratified by the singular scenes continually presented to me. Every thing was picturesque about these wild beings and their haunts. Their bivouacs ; their groups on guard ; their indolent noontide repose on Ihe mountain-brow; their rude repast on the herbage among rocks and trees; every thing presented a study for a painter: but it was towards the approach of evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Cam- pagna, shed its rich yellow beams on Ihe woody sununit of the Abruzzi. Several mountains crowned with snow shone brilliantly in the distance, contrast- ing their brightness with others, which, thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of purple and violet. As 72 \H 'i-. *'li ■,5* TALES OF A TRAVELLER. the evening advanced, the landscape darkened into a sterner character. The immense solitude aronnd ; the wild mountains broken into rocks and precipices, intermingled with vast oaks, corks, and chesnul^; and the groups of banditti in the fore-ground, re- minded me of the savage scenes of Salvator Rosa. To beguile the time, the captain proposed to his comrades to spread before me their jewels and cameos, as I must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and able to form an estimate of their value. He set the example, the others followed it ; and in a few mo- ments I saw the grass before me sparkling with jewels and gems that would have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine lady. Among them were several precious jewels, and antique intaglios and cameos of great value; the spoils, doubtless, of travellers of distinction. I found that they were in the habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns ; but as these in general were thinly and poorly peopled, and little frequented by travellers, they could offer no market for such valuable articles of taste and luxury. I suggested to them the certainty of their readily obtaining great prices for these gems among the rich strangers with whom Rome was thronged. The impression made upon their greedy minds was immediately apparent. One of the band, a young man, and the least known, requested permission of the captain to depart the following day, in disguise, for Rome, for the purpose of traffic ; promising, on the faith of a bandit (a sacred pledge among them), to return in two days to any place he might appoint. The captain consented, and a curious scene took place : the robbers crowded round him eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels as they wished to dispose of, and giving him instructions what to demand. There was much bargaining and exchanging and selling of trinkets among them ; and I beheld my watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, purchased by the young robber-merchant of the ruffian who had plun- dered me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived a faint hope, that if it went to Rome, I might somehow or other regain possession of it. ' In the mean time day declined, and no messenger returned from Tusculum. The idea of passing an- other night in the woods was extremely dishearten- ing, for I began to be satisfied with what I had seen of robber-life. The chieftain now ordered his men to follow him, that he might station them at their posts ; adding, that if the messenger did not return before night, they must shift their quarters to some other place. I was again left alone with the young bandit who had before guarded me : he had the same gloomy air and haggard eye, with now and then a bitter sardonic • The hopes of the artist were not disappointed— the robber was stopped at one of the gatas of Home. Something in his loolcs or deportment bad excited suspicion. lie was searched, and the valuable trinkets found on him sufficienUy evinced his character. On applying to the police, the artist's watch was returned to him. smile. I was determined to probe this ulcerated heari.l and reminded him of a kind of promise he had giveif me to tell me the cause of his suffering. It seen to me as if these troubled spirits were glad of any ( portunity to disburthen themselves, and of liaviiij some fresh, undiseased mind, with which they couU communicate. I had hardly made the request, whei he seated himself by my side, and gave me his stun in, as nearly as I can recollect, the following words] STORY OF THE YOUNG RORBER. I WAS born in the Utile town of Frosinone, wliic lies at the skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had i a little property in trade, and gave me some educ tion, as he intended me for the church ; bat II kept gay company too much to relish the cowl, so| grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heedlej fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, but gm humoured in the main ; so I made my way vei7 vi for a time, until I fell in love. There lived in t town a surveyor or landbailiff of the prince, who t a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen :$||| was looked upon as something belter than the comit run of our townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely j home. I saw her occasionally, and became mai love with her— she looked so fresh and tender, and] different from the sun-burnt females to whom 1 1 been accustomed. As my father kept me in money, I always dn well, and took all opportunities of showing myself^ to advantage in the eyes of the little beauty. I g to see her at church; and as I could play a lillle up the guitar, I gave a tune sometimes under her windi of an evening ; and I tried to have interviews i her in her father's vineyard, not far from the tot where she sometimes walked. She was evida pleased with me, but she was young and shy ; ; iter father kept a strict eye upon her, and took : at my attentions, for he bad a bad opinion of me, ij looked for a better match for his daughter. 1 1 furious at the difficulties thrown in my way, hati l)een accustomed always to ea»y success amon; j women, being considered one of the smarlest ;« fellows of the place. Her father brought home a suitor for her, a i| farmer, from a neighbouring town. The we day was appointed, and preparations were nialii I got sight of her at her window, and I tiioughtj looked sadly at me. I determined the match sN not take place, cost what it might. I met her inli ed bridegroom in the market-place, and could oiil| strain the expression of my rage. A few lioti passed between us, when I drew my stilettoand^ bed him to the heart. I fled to a neighbouring c for refuge, and with a little money I obtained i iution, but I did not dare to venture from inyasi He |tere( Itm; IsiJei •ered llier lelyt TALES OF A TKAVELLER. 571 lo probe this ulcerated heari.l At that time our captain was forming his troop, kind of promise he had givtnlHe bad known me from boyiiood ; and, hearing of my of liis suffering. It seemedlsitualion, came to me in secret, and made sucli offers, d spirits were glad of any oJlbat I agreed to enrol myself among his followers. I themselves, and of havJlodeed, I had more than once thought of taking to mind with which they couMtbis mode of life, having known several brave fellows ■ of the mountains, who used to spend their money lardly made the request, whi ly side, and gave me his stui ecollect, the following words, IE YOUNG ROBBER. little town of Frosinone, wlii Abrufzi. My father had ma ade, and gave me some educ me for the church; bulT ) much to relish the cowl, so| .out the place. I was a lieedle elsome on occasion, but in J so I made my way very we ell in love. There lived in i sndbailiffoftheprince,whol a beautiful girl of sixteen omething belter than the comi I, and was kept almost entirely | c'casionally, and became madlyj looked so fresh and tender, andj jun-burnt females to whom II ,t me in money, I always dre )portunities of showing myselli eyes of the little beauty. I us I ; and as I could play a little n| tune sometimes under her wini I tried to have interviews vineyard, not far from the lo' nes walked. She was evidr lUt she was young and sliy ..let eye upon her, and took all ,r he bad a bad opinion of me, natch for his daughter. I" ullies thrown in my way, h* ilways to easy success among idered one of the smartest yi" Jght home a suitor for her, a ighbouring town. The wed^ ["and preparations were mall t't her window, and Ilhought' I determined the malcli sir ^ what it might. Imei»«^,V''li [he market-place, and could nfl] Ion of my rage. A few Uol^ 1 whenldrewmystiletioand Irt Ifledtoaneighbouriiigcl lith a little money I obtained V dare to venture from my as? G^ely among us youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my asylum late one night, repaired to theappoint- jol place of meeting, took the oaths prescribed, and became one of the troop. We were for some time in ia distant part of the mountains, and our wild adven- llarous kind of life hit my fancy wonderfully, and diverted my thoughts. At length they returned with II their violence to the recollection of Uoselta : the Ulitnde in which I often found myself gave me time |lo brood over her image; and, as I have kept watch It night over our sleeping camp in the mountains, my lings have been roused almost to a fever. At length we shifted our groimd, and determined make a descent upon the road between Terracina Naples. In the course of our expedition we d a day or two in the woocly mountains which atiove Frosinone. I cannot tell you how I felt hen I looked down upon the place, and distinguish- llie residence of Rosetta. I determined to have interview with her;— but to what purpose? I ild'liot expect that she would quit her home, and impany me in my hazardous life among the moun- ns. She had been brought up too tenderly for that; when I looked upon the women who were as- iated with some of our troop, I could not have le the thoughts of her being their companion. All urn to my former life was likewise hopeless, for a was set upon my head. Still I determined to her ; the very hazard and fruitlessness of the thing ide me furious to accomplish it. About three weeks since, I persuaded our captain drawdown to the vicinity of Frosinone, suggesting chance of entrapping some of its principal inha- lints, and compelling them to a ransom. We were ing in ambush towards evening, not far from the leyanl of Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from my ipanions, and drew near to reconnoitre the place her frequent walks. How my heart beat when the vuies I beheld the gleaming of a white I knew it must be Rosetta's ; it being rare any female of the place to dress in white. I ad- iced secretly and without noise, until, pulling le the vines, I stood suddenly before her. She lered a piercing shriek, but I seized her in my arms. It my hand upon her mouth, and conjured her to s'dent. I poured out all Ihe frenzy of my passion; red to renounce my mode of life ; to put my fate jher hands; lo tly with her where we might live in ty together. All that I could say or do would pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright to have taken possession of her breast. She iggled partly fr m my grasp, and filled the air !i her cries. In an instant the captain and the rest of my com- panions were around us. I would have given any thing at that moment had she been safe out of our hands, and in her father's house. It was too late. The captain pronounced her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to the mountains. I represented to him that she was my prize ; that I had a previous claim to her; and I mentioned my former attach- ment. He sneered bitterly in reply ; observed tliat brigands had no business with village intrigues, and that, according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of the kind were determined by lot. Love and jealousy were raging in my heart, but I had to chuse between obedience and death. I surrendered her to the cap- tain, and we made for the mountains. She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble and faltering that it was necessary to sup- port her. I could not endure the idea that my com- rades should touch her, and assuming a forced tran- quillity, begged that she might be conHded to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. The cap- tain regarded me, for a moment, with a searching look, but I bore it without flinching, and he con- sented. I took her in my arms; she was almost senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder ; I felt her breath on my face, and it seemed lo fan the flame which devoured me. Oh God ! to have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to think it was not mine! We arrived at the foot of the mountain. I ascended il with difflculty, particularly where the woods were thick, but I would not relinquish my delicious bur- then. I reflected with rage, however, that I must soon do so. The thoughts that so delicate a creature must be abandoned to my rude companions maddened me. I felt tempted, the stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through tiiem all, and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the idea before I saw its rashness; but my brain was fevered with the thought that any but myself should enjoy her charms. I endeavoured to outstrip my companions by the quickness of my movements, and to get a little distance a-head, in case any favourable opportunity of escape should pre- sent. Vain effort! The voice of the captain sud- denly ordered a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly opened a languid eye, but vas without strength or motion. I laid her upon the grass. The captain darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with my companions in search of some shepherd, who might be sent to her father's to demand a ransom. I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence was certain death — but to leave her alone, in the power of the captain !— I spoke out then with a fer- vour, inspired by my passion and my despair. I re- minded the captain that I was the first lo seize her ; that she was my prize; and that my previous attach- ment lo her ought to make her sacred among my com- panions. I insisted, therefore, that he should pledge A\f. his word to respect her, otherwise I should refuse "I *f 37ii TALES OK A TRAVELLEK. m ubedience to liis orders. His only reply was to cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. What could I do ? I felt the madness of re- sistance. I was menaced on all hands, and my com- panions obliged me to follow them. She remained alone with the chief— yes, alone — and almost life- less! — Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by his emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his forehead; he panted rather than breathed; his brawny bosom rose and fell like the waves of a troubled sea. When he had become a little calm, he continued his recital. I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran witli the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back before what I dreaded might take place. I had left my companions far behind, and I rejoined them before they had reached one half the distance I had made. I hurried them back to the place where we had left the captain. As we approached, I beheld him seated by the side of Rosetla. H's triumphant look, and the desolate condition of the unfortunate girl, left me no doubt of her fate. I know not how I restrained my fury. It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her band, that she was made to trace a few characters, requesting her father to send three hundred dollars as her ransom. The letter was dispatched by the shepherd. When he was gone, the chief turned sternly to me. " You have set an example," said he, "of mutiny and self-will, which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, this bullet would have been driven through your brain. But you are »i\ oid friend; I have borne patiently with your fury and your folly. I have even protected you firom a foolish passion that would have unmanned you. As to this girl, the laws of our association must have their course." So saying, he gave his commands: lots were drawn, and the helpless girl was abandoned to the troop. Here the robber paused again, panting with fhry, and it was some moments before he could resume his story. Hell, said he, was raging in my heail. I beheld the impossibility of avenging myself; and I felt that, according to the articles in which we stood bound to one another, the captain was in the right. I rushed with frenzy from the place; I threw myself upon the earth; tore up the grass with my hands; and beat my head and gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale, dishevelled, her dress torn and disor- dered. An emotion of pity, for a moment, subdued my fiercer feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying it to her lips, endeavoured to make her swallow a little. To what a condition was she reduced ! she, whom I had once seen the pride of Frosinone ; who but a sbortj time before I had beheld sporting in her fatber'ij vineyard, so fresh, and beautiful, and happy! Her teeth were clenched ; her eyes fixed on the ground; her form without motion, and in a state of absolai insensibility. I hung over her in an agony of n lection at all that she had been, and of anguish ai what I now beheld her. I darted round a look horror at my companions, who seemed like so man< fiends exnlting in the downfal of an angel ; and I fe| a horror at myself for being their accomplice. The captain, always suspicious, saw, with usual penetration, what was passing within me, ai ordered me to go upon the ridge of the woods, keep a look-out over the neigld)ourhood, and avail the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of course] stilling the fury that raged within me, though I fell for the moment, that he was my most deadly foe. On my way, however, a ray of reflection across my mind. I perceived that the captain w, but following, with strictness, the terrible lavs which we had sworn fidelity. That the passion b] which I had been blinded might, with justice, ha' been fatal to me, but for his forbearance; that he penetrated m'^ soul, and had taken precautions, sending n-, out of the way, to prevent my comniil] ting any ex:ess in my anger. From that imiant felt that I \>S9 capable of pardoning him. Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the To of the mountain. The country was solitary and cure, and in a short time I beheld the shepiierd at distance crossing the plain. I hastened to meet hi He had obtained nothing. He had found the k\ plunged in the deepest distress. He had read II letter with violent emotion, and >hen, calming self with a sudden exertion, he had replied coldly " My daughter Itas been dishonoured by wretches ; let her be returned without ransom,' let her die ! " I shuddered at this reply. I knew that, accordii to the laws of our troop, her death was inevil Our oaths required it. I felt, nevertheless, that having been able to have her to myself, I could come her executioner ! The robber again paused with agitation. I musing upon his Lst frightful words which proTi to what excess the passions may be carried, escaped from all moral restraint. There was a h( rible verity in this story that reminded me of some the tragic fictions of Dante. We now come to a fatal moment, resumed bandit. After the report of the shepherd, I reti ed with him, and the chieftaui received from his the refusal of the father. At a signal which we understood, we followed him to some distance the victim. He there pronounced her sentence death. Every one stood ready to execute iiis oi but I interfered. I observed that there was thing due to pity as well as to justice. That I will ready as any one to approve the implacable Iflater TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 573 Frosinone; who but a short held sporting in her father*! 1 beautiful, and happy! Her lereyes fixed on the ground; ion, and in a state of absolol< over her in an agony of rec had been, and of anguish «| er. I darted round a look ons, who seemed like so tnani downfal of an angel ; and I fell being their accomplice. ys suspicious, saw, with at was passing within me, )on the ridge of the woods, the neighbourhood, and awi lepherd. I obeyed, of course] raged within me, though I fell he was my most deadly foe, ever, a ray of reflection c perceived that the captain v, strictness, the terrible laws n fidelity. That the passion inded might, with justice, ha\ for his forbearance; that hel , and had taken precautions, le way, to prevent my commilj ly anger. From that iiulant le of pardoning him. se thoughts, I arrived at thefo :he country was solitary and s time I beheld the shepherd at > plain. I hastened to meet hii hing. He had found the fill )est distress. He had read motion, and ihen, calming exertion, he had replied coidlyj IS been dishonoured by tf e returned without ransom, is reply. I knew that, accorij troop, her death was inevilj it. I felt, nevertheless, than have her to myself, I could 1 er! n paused with agitation. li St frightful words which proj passions may be carried,*" ral restraint. There was a 1 lory that reminded me of soniej f Dante. to a fatal moment, resumed I report of the shepherd, I retui je chieftain received frorabisl^ jther. Ata signal which wej owed him to some distance iril ere pronounced her senteBttI stood ready to execute his on)* I observed that there was sn well as to justice. Thatlj»| to approve the imp' which was to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our pri- jooers; but that though the sacrifice was proper, it ooght to be made without cruelty. " The night is ap- proaching," continued I; "she will soon be wrapped iosleep; let her then bedispatched. All I now claim on the score of former fondness for her is, let me strike the blow. I will do it as surely, but more ten- Iderly than another. " Several raised their voices ligainst my proposition, but the captain imposed si- llence on them. He told me I might conduct her Ijnto a thicket at some distance, and he relied upon Idj promise. I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a Ibrlorn kind of triumph at having at length become Ibtr exclusive possessor. I bore her off into the Ithickness of the forest. She remained in the same litate of insensibility or stupor. I was thankful that Ifhe did not recollect me, for had she once murmured liny name, I should have been overcome. She slept jitlen^'th in the arms of him who was to poniard her. lany were the conflicts I underwent before I could ring myself to strike the blow. But my heart had le sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, 1 1 dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other raid become her executioner. When her repose continued for some time, I separated myself tntly from her, that I might not disturb her sleep, 1 seizing suddenly my poniard, plunged it into her m. A painful and concentrated murmur, but ritbout any convulsive movement, accompanied her St sigh.— So perished this unfortunate ! He ceased to speak. I sat, horror-stnick, cover- ing my face with my hands, seeking, as it were, to de from myself the frightful images he had present- ito my mind. I was roused from this silence by le voice of the captain : " You sleep," said he, " and |t is lime to be off. Come, we must abandon this ght, as night is setting in, and the messenger is lotreturned. I will post some one on the mountain- Ige to conduct him to the place where we shall pass le night." I This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at art with the dismal story I had heard. I was ha- I and fatigued, and the sight of the banditti be- 1 to grow insupportable to me. I The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly tended the forest, which we had mounted with so nch difficulty in the morning, and soon arrived in [hat appeared to be a frequented road. The robbers needed with great caution, carrying their guns ked, and looking on every side with wary and upicious eyes. They were apprehensive of encoun- ^ing the civic patrole. We left Rocca Priori behind There was a fountain near by, and as I was ex- isively thirsty, I begged permission to stop and link. The captain himself went and brought me pter in his hat. We pursued our route, when, at the extremity of an alley which crossed Uie road, I perceived a female on horseback, dressed in white. She was alone. I recollected the fate of the poor girl in the story, and trembled for her safety. One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and plunging into the bushes, he ran precipitately in the direction towards her. Stopping on the border of the alley, he put one knee to the ground, presented his carbine ready to menace her, or to shoot her horse if she attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her approach. I kept my eyes fixed on ly;r with intense anxiety. I felt tempted to shout and warn her of her danger, though my own destruction would have been the consequence. It was awful to see this tiger crouching ready for a bound, and the poor innocent victim wandering unconsciously near him. Nothing but a mere chance could save her. To my joy the chance turned in her favour. She seemed almost ac- cidentally to take an opposite path, which led outside of the wood, where the robber dared not venture. To this casual deviation she owed her safety. I could not imagine why the captain of the band had ventured to such a distance from the height on which he had placed the sentinel to watch the return of the messenger. He seemed himself anxious at the risk to which he exposed himself. His movements were rapid and uneasy ; I could scarce keep pace with him. At length, after three hours of what might be termed a forced march, we mounted the extremity of the same woods, the summit of which we had occu- pied during the day; and I learnt with satisfaction that we had reached our quarters for the night. " You must be fatigued, " said the chieftain; but it was necessary to survey the environs, so as not to be surprised during the night. Had we met with the famous civic guard of Rocca Priori, you would have seen fine sport. " Such was the indefatigable precau- tion and forethought of this robber chief, who really gave continual evidence of military talent. The night was magnificent. The moon, rising above the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand features of the mountain ; while lights twink- ling here and there, like terrestrial stars, in the wide dusky expanse of the landscape, betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds. Exhausted by fatigue, and by the many agitations I had experienced, I prepared to sleep, soothed by the hope of approaching deli- verance. The captain ordered his companions to col- lect some dry moss ; he arranged with his own hands a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave me his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but feel both surprised and gratified by such unexpected attentions on the part of this benevolent cut-throat ; for there is nothing more striking than to find the ordinary cha- rities, which are matters of course in common life, flourishing by the side of such stern and sterile crime. It is like finding the tender flowers and fresh herbage of the valley growing among the rocks and cinders of the volcano. Before I fell asleep I had some further discourse ' iC. J fi;;- 37i TALES OF A TRAVELLEH. with the captain, who Memed to feel great confldenoe in me. He referred to our previous conversation of the morning ; told me he was weary of liis liazardous profession ; tliat he liad acquired suflicienl property, and was anxious to return to tite world, and lead a peaceful life in the bosom of his family. He wished to know whether it was not in my power to procure for him a iiassport to the United Stales of America. I applauded liis good intentions, and promised to do every thing in my power to promote its success. We then parted for the night. I stretched myself upon my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt like a bed of down; and, sheltered by the roblier-mantle from all humidity, I slept soundly, without waking, until the signal to arise. It was nearly ^ix o'clock, and the day was just dawn- ing. As the place where we had passed the night was too much exposed, we moved up into the thick- ness of the woods. A (ire was kindled. While there was any flame, the mnntles were again extended round it ; but when nothing remained but glowing cinders, they were lowered, and the robbers seated themselves in a circle. The scene before me reminded me of some of those described by Homer. There wanted only the victim on the coals, and the sacred knife to cut off the succulent parts, and distribute them around. My companions might have rivalled the grim warriors of Greece. In place of the noble repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamenmon, I beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the ham which had sustain- ed so vigorous an attack on the preceding evening, accompanied by the relics of the bread, cheese, and wine. We had scarcely commenced our frugal break- fast, when I heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep, similar to what I had heard the day before. The captain answered it in the same tone. Two men were soon after seen descending fmm the wooily height, where we had passed the preceding evening. On nearer approach, they proved to be the sentinel and the messenger. The captain rose, and went to meet them. He made a signal for his comrades to join him. They had a short conference, and then returning to me with eagerness, " Your ransom is paid, " said he ; " you are free ! " Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot tell you what a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared not to finish my repast, but prepared to depart. The captain took me by the hand, requested per- mission to write to me, and begged me not to forget the passport. I replied, that I hoped to be of effect- ual service to him, and that I relied on his honour to return the prince's note for five hundred dollars, now that the cash was paid. He regarded me for a mo- ment with surprise, then seeming to recollect himself, E (jiusio, " said he, " eccolo—'addio ! " ' He deliver- ed me the note, pressed my hand once more, and we separated. The labourers were permitted to follow ■-•' f • 11 is just— there it is— adieu ! me, and ye resumed with joy our road toward Tiu- culuni. The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party cor tinned, for a few moments, to pace the shore in li-i lence. The story had made a deep impression, parJ ticularly on the Venetian lady. At that part whicU related to the young girl of Frosinone, she was violeiuj ly affectetl. Sobs broke from her ; she clung closers her husband, and as she looked up to him as fur pr» tection, the moonbeams shining on her bcautirull]j fair countenance, showed it paler tlian usual, wiiili tears glittered in her fine dark eyes. " Coraggio, mia vita ?" said he, as he gently an fondly tapped the white hand that lay upon his arm. The party now returned to the inn, and separah for the night. The fair Venetian, though of sweetest temperament, was half out of humour witt the Englishman, for a certain slowness of failli whid he had evinced throughout the whole evening, sin could not understand this dislike to " humbug," he termed it, which held a kind of sway over iijoi and seemed to control his opinions and his vcrj actions. " I'll warrant," said she to her husband, as I retired for the night, " I'll warrant, with all his a^ fected indifference, this Englishman's heart woi quake at the very sight of a bandit." Her husband gently , and good-humouredly, checked her. " I have no patience with these Englishmen," saij she, as she got into bed — " they are so cold andinf sensible ! " THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN. In the morning all was bustle in the inn atTerracin The procaccio had departed at day-break on its roalj towards Rome, but the Englishman was yet to slai and the departure of an English equipage is aiwajj enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this occasiof there was more than usual stir, for the Englislimaij having much property about him, and having I convinced of the real danger of the road, had nppiiei to the police, and obtained, by dint of liberal pay.i escort of eight dragoons and tw^elve feot-sokliers,) far as Fondi. Perhaps, too, there might have I a little ostentation at bottom, though, to say the trullj he had nothing of it in his manner. He moved ab taciturn and reserved as usual, among the gapi crowd ; gave laconic orders to John, as he pact^ away the thousand and one indispensable convei ences of the night; double-loaded' his pistols great sang froid, and deposited them in the poch of the carriage, taking no notice of a pair of keen e gazing on him from among the herd of loitei idlers. TALI':S OK A TRAVELLER. K75 illi joy our road toward Tih-| ed 10 speak. The party cor inU, to pace the shore in li^ made a <leep impression, parJ an lady. At that part whick I of Frosinone, she was vi( e from lier ; she clung closer i e looked up to him as for pro ns shining on her bcaulifullj tved it paler than usual, wliail ne dark eyes. la!" said he, as he gently ai e hand that lay upon his a rned to the inn, and separal fair Venetian, though of I, was half out of humour \ certain slowness of faith wliic jhout the whole evening. Sk ihis dislike to " humhug," held a kind of sway over liii rul his opinions and his V( id she to her husband, as tlwl " I'll warrant, with all his ; this Englishman's heart wo ht of a bandit." ,and good-humouredly,check« :e with these Englishmen," saij bed—" they are so cold and id THE 3F THE ENGLlSllMAJi. m bustle in the inn atTerracii parted at day-break on its le Englishman was yet to slai an English equipage is alwa] m in a bustle. On this occask usual stir, for the Englishmi ty about him, and having be langer of the road, had appli ained, by dint of liberal pay, ons and twelve feot-soldiers, )8, too, there might have ' bottom, though, to say the I in his manner. He moved a as usual, among the g orders to John, as he pact md one indispensable com double-loaded his pistols ■ d deposited them in the pocki g no notice of a pair of keen e] among the herd of loitf^ The fair Venetian now came up with a request, Igiade in her dulcet tones, that he would permit their Icarriage to proceed under protection uf his escort. ^The Englishman, who was busy loading another pair ' pistols for Ills servant, and held the ramroc' he- |l«een his teeth, noddetl assent, as a matter of course, Ihil without lifting up his eyes. The fair Venetian hu a little piqued at what she supposed indifference : L<'0 Diu!" ejaculated she softly as she retired, I'Quanlo sono insensibili quest! Inglesi !" At length, off they set in gallant style. The eight jragoons prancing in front, the twelve foot-soldiers Igarcliing in rear, and the carriage moving slowly in (Centre, to enable the infantry to keep pace with litem. They had proceeded but a few hundred 8, when it was discovered that sonic indispensa- I article had been left behind. In fact, the Eng- nan's purse was missing, and John was dispatched tllie inn to search for it. This occasioned a little ay, and the carriage of the Venetians drove slowly John came back out of breath and out of hu- iDur. The purse was not to he found. His master i irritated ; he recollected the very place where it by; he had not a doubt that the Italian servant had icketed it. John was again sent back. He re- ned once more without the purse, but <vi(l> the liord and the whole household at his heels. A lousand ejaculations and protestations, accompanied fall sorts of grimaces and contortions — " No purse I been seen — his Eccellenza must be mistaken." 'No— his Eccellenza was not mistaken— the purse r on the marble table, under the mirror, a green nree, half full of gold and silver." Again a thou- grimaces and contortions, and vows by San nnaro, that no purse of the kind had been seen. Englishman became furious. "The waiter 1 pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — the inn I of thieves— it was a vile country— he had been lealed and plundered from one end of it to the ler— but he'd have satisfaction— he'd drive right I the police." I He was on the point of ordering the postillions to I back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion icarriage, and the purse of money fell chinking gtlie floor. I the blood in his body seemed to rush into his -" Curse the purse," said he, as he snatched it He dashed a liandful of money on the ground the pale cringing waiter-" There— be off !" 1 lie, " John, order the postillions to drive on." I Above half an hour had been exhausted in this al- ation. The Venetian carriage had loitered along; < passengers looking out from time to time, and [jpecling the escort every moment to follow. They 1 gradually turned an angle of the road that shut lein out of sight. The little army was again in ntion, and made a very picturesque appearance as I vound along at the bottom of the rocks ; the morn- ; sunshine beaming upon the weapons of the Wdiery. The Englishman lolled back in bis carriage, vexed with himself at what had passed, and consequently out uf humour with all the world. As tins, liuw- ever, is no uncommon case with gentlemen who tra- vel fur their pleasure, it is hardly worthy of remark. They liad wound up from the coast among the hills, and came to a part of the road that admitted oi loine prospect a-head. " I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," utid John, leaning down from the coach-box. "PLsh!" said the Englishman, testily— " don't plague me about the lady's carriage ; must I be con- tinually pestered with the concerns o' strangers? " John said not another word, for he understood his master's moud. The road grew more wild and lonely; they were slowly proceeding on a foot-pace up a hill; the dragoons were some distance a-head, and had just reached the summit of the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and galloped for- ward. The Englishman was roused from his sulky reverie. He stretched his head from the carriage, ^vhich had attaineil the brow of the hill. Before him extended a long hollow defde, commanded on one side by rugged precipitous heights, covered with bushes and scanty forest. At some distance he be- held the carriage of the Venetians overturned. A numerous gang of desperadoes were rilling it; the young man and his servant were overpowered, and partly stripped; and the lady was in the hands of two of the ruftians. The Englishman seized his pis- tols, sprang from the carriage, and called upon John to follow him. In the mean time, as the dragoons came forward, the robbers, who were busy with the carriage, quit- ted their spoil, formed themselves in the middle of the road, and taking a deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another was wounded, and the whole were for a moment checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers loaded again in an instant. The dragoons discharged their carbines, but without apparent effect. They received another volley, which though none fell, threw them again into confusion. The robbers were loading a second time, when they saw the foot soldiers at hand. '^Scampa via!" was the word : they al)andoned their prey, and retreated up the rocks, the soldiers after them. They fought from cliff to cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers turn- ing every now and then to fire upon their pursuers; the soldiers scrambling after them, and discharging their muskets whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a soldier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below, whenever a robber came in sight. The Englishman had hastened to the scene of ac- tion, and the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled past him as he advanced. One object, how- ever, engrossed his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian lady in the hands of two of the robbers, who, during the confusion of the fight, carried her ■tJh ■y-f It 'i 1 576 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. shrieking up the mountain . He saw her dress gleam- ing among the bushes, and he sprang up the rocks to intercept the robbers, as they bore off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep, and the entanglements of the bushes, delayed and impeded him. He lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, which grew fainter and fainter. They were off to the left, while the reports of muskets showed that the battle was raging to the right. At length he came upon what appeared to be a rugged footpath, faintly worn in a gully of the rocks, and beheld the ruHians at some distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them hearing his approach, let go his prey, advanced towards him, and levelling the carbine which had been slung on his back, fired. The ball whizzed through the Englishman's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He returned the fire with one of his pistols, and tite ro*^her fell. The other bri- gand now dropped the lady, and drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary with deliberate aim. The ball passed between his left arm and his side, slightly wounding the arm. The Englishman advanced, and discharged his remaining pistol, which wounded the robber, but not severely. The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his adversary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight wound, and defended himself with his pistol, which had a spring-bayonet. They closed with one another, and a desperate struggle ensued. The robber was a square-built, thick-set man, powerful, muscular, and active. The Englishman, though of larger frame and greater strength, was less active and less accus- tomed to athletic exercises and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practised and skilled in the art of defence. They were on a craggy height, and the Englishman perceived that his antagonist was striving to press him to the edge. A side-glance showed him also the robber whom he had first wounded, scramb- ling up to the assistance of his comrade, stiletto in hand. He had in fact attained the summit of the cliff, he was within a few steps, and the Englishman felt that his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly the report of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The shot came from John, who had arrived just in time to save his master. The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and the violence of the contest, showed signs of falter- ing. The Englishman pursued his advantage, press- ed on him, and as his strength relaxed, dashed him headlong from the precipice. He looked after him, and saw him lying motionless among the rocks below. The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He found her senseless on the ground. With his ser- vant's assistance he bore her down to the road, where her husband was raving like one distracted. He had sought her in vain, and had given her over for lost; and when he beheld her thus brought back in safety, his joy was equally wild and ungovernable. He would have caught her insensible form to his bosom had not the Englishman restrained him. The latter now really aroused, displayed a true tenderness aa manly gallantry, which one would not have expecte ftom his habitual phlegm. His kindness, howevei was practical, not wasted in words. He dispalchi John to the carriage for restoratives of all kinds, and totally thoughtless of himself, was anxious only abog his lovely charge. The occasional discharge of fire arms along the height, showed that a retreating iigli was still kept up by the robbers. The lady gave $i|;i of reviving animation. The Englishman, eager get her from this place of danger, conveyed her to own carriage, and, committing her to the care of husband, ordered the dragoons to escort them Fondi. The Venetian would have insisted on t! Englishman's getting into the carriage ; but the latl refused. He poured forth a torrent of thanks and nedictions; but the Englishman beckoned to the tillions to drive on. John now dressed his master's wounds, vhii were found not to be serious, though he was faii with loss of blood. The Venetian carriage had righted, and the baggage replaced; and, getting ii ii , they set out on their way towards Fondi, lea< the foot-soldiers still engaged in ferreting out the ditli. Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian completely recovered from her swoon . She made usual question — " Where was she ? " " In the Englishman's carriage." '* How had she escaped from the robbers ? " " The Englishman had rescued her." Her transports were unbounded ; and mingled them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude her deliverer. A thousand times did she repi herself for having accused him of coldness and ini sibility. The moment she saw him she rushed ii his arms with the vivacity of her nation, and lii about his neck in a speechless transport of gratilui Never was man more embarrassed by the embr< of a fine woman. " Tut !— tut !" said the Englishman. " You are wounded !" shrieked the fair Veneli as she saw blood upon his clothes. " Pooh ! nothing at all !" "My deliverer ! — my angel!" exclaimed clasping him again round the neck, and sobbing his bosom. " Pish !" said the Englishman with a good moured tone, but looking somewhat foolish, " thb| all humbug." The fair Venetian, however, has never since cused the English of insensibility. TALES OF A TRAVELLER. layed a true tenderness an )ne would not have expects m. His kindness, ho\vever| id in words. He dispatchd restoratives of all kinds, andj nself, was anxious only ab I occasional discharge of fin showed that a retreatini; figtij robbers. The lady gave s The Englishman, eager i of danger, conveyed her tol imiltinghertothecareotl dragoons to escort themi I would have insisted on thi [ito the carriage ; but the latte )rlh a torrent of thanks andli iglishman beckoned to the i his master's wounds, wh • serious, though he was faiij 'he Venetian carriage hadl age replaced; and, getting iirtj eir way towards Fondi, lea^i ingaged in ferreting out the I Fondi, the fair Venetian 1 from her swoon. She made U '! ?" lan's carriage." Baped from the robbers ? " n had rescued her." re unbounded ; and mingled Stic ejaculations of gratitude lousand times did she repi cused him of coldness and m nt she saw him she rushed vacity of her nation, and hi eechless transport of gralilui e embarrassed by the embn tiid the Englishman. Jed!" shrieked the fair Veneli In his clothes. lat all !" ■ my angel!" exclaimed l-ound the neck, and sobbing (j Englishman with a goodli [king somewhat foolish, " tbis| 1, however, has never since i I insensibility. PART IV. THE MONEY-DIGGERS. nd umong the Paper* of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker. Now I remember those old women's words Who in my youth would tell me winter's laics : And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night About the place where treasure hath been hid. Hablow's Jew of Malta. IIELL^ATE. I ABOUTsix miles from the renowned city of the Man- Uo«s, in that sound or arm of the sea which passes itveen the main land and Nassau, or Long Island, iisa narrow strait, where the current is violently npressed between shouldering promontories, and biy perplexed by rocks and shoals. Being, [the best of times, a very violent, impetuous cur- )it,it takes these impediments in mighty dudgeon; iling in whirlpools; brawling and fretting in rip- i; raging and roaring in rapids and breakers ; and, [short, indulging in all kinds of wrong-headed Qxysms. At such times, woe to any unlucky vessel iitventures within its clutches ! JTbis termagant humour, however, prevails only at aln times of tide. At low water, for instance, it Ik pacific a stream as you would wish to see ; but llhe tide rises, it begins to fret ; at half tide it roars Rh might and main, like a bully bellowing for more but when the tide is full, it relapses into It, and, for a time, sleeps as soundly as an alder- I after dinner. In fact, it may he compared to a elsome toper, who is a peaceable fellow enough len he has no liquor at all, or when he has a skin- , but who, when half-seas-over, plays the very il. This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking lie strait, was a place of great danger and perplex- |to the Dutch navigators of ancient days ; hectoring r lulv-built barks in the most unruly style ; whirl- |them about in a manner to make any but a Dutch- I giddy, and not unfrequently stranding them irocks and reefs, as it did the famous squadron of ffe the Dreamer, when seeking a place to found I city of the Manhaltoes. Whereupon, out of r spleen they denominated it Helle-gat, and so- nlygave it over to the devil. This appellation [since been aptly rendered into English by the e of Hell-gate, and into nonsense by the name of ^'-gate, according to certain foreign intruders, I neither understood Dutch nor English— may St [bolas confound them ! bis strait of Hell-gate was a place of great awe I perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood ; hav- ing been much of a navigator on those small seas, and having more than once run the risk of shipwreck and drowning in the course of certain holiday-voya- ges, to which, in common with other Dutch urchins, I was rather prone. Indeed, partly from the name, and partly from various strange circumstances con- nected with it, this place had far more ten-ors in the eyes of my truant companions and myself, than had Scylla and Charybdis for the navigators of yore. In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck of a vessel which had been entangled in the whirlpools, and stranded during a storm. There was a wild story told to us of this being the wreck of a pirate, and some tale of bloody murder which I can- not now recollect, but which made us regard it with great awe, and keep far from it in our cruisings. In- deed, the desolate look of the forlorn hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were enough to awaken strange notions. A row of timber-heads, blackened by time, just peered above the surface at high water ; but at low tide a considerable part of the hull was bare, and its great ribs, or timbers, part- ly stripped of their planks, and dripping with sea- weeds, looked like the huge skeleton of some sea- monster. There was also the stump of a mast, with a few ropes and blocks swinging about, and whistling in the wind, while the sea-gull wheeled and screamed around the melancholy carcass. I have a faint recol- lection of some hobgoblin tale of sailors' ghosts being seen about this wreck at night, with bare sculls, ami blue lights in their sockets instead of eyes, but I have forgotten all the particulars. In fact, the whole of this neighbourhood was, like the Straits of Pelorus of yore, a region of fable and romance to me. From the strait to the Manhaltoes the borders of the Sound are greatly diversified, being broken and indented by rocky nooks overhung witli trees, which give them a wild and romantic look. In the time of my boyhood, they abounded with tradi- tions about pirates, ghosts, smugglers, and buried money ; which had a wonderful effect upon the young minds of my companions and myself. As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent research after the truth of these strange trtditions ; for I have always been a curious investigator of the valuable but obscure branches of the history of my native province. I found infinite diWculty, however, in arriving at any precise information. In seeking lo dig up one fact, it is incredible the number of fables that I unearthed. I will say nothing of the Devil's Stepping-stones, by which the ardi-iiend made his retreat from Connecticut to Long Island, across the Sound ; seeing the subject is likely to be learnedly treated by a worthy friend and contemporary histo- rian, whom I have furnished with particulars thereof.' • For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil and his stcpplng-stoncs, sec the valuable Memoir read before the New York Historical Society, since the death of Mi\ Knickerhockfr. I»y hlsO:icnd, an eminent Jurist pfthe place. TS t - .: I :|1 o7« TALES OF A TRAVELLER. Neither will I say any thing of the black man in a three-cornered hat,-8eated in the stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be seen about Hell-gate in stormy weather, and who went by the name of the pirate's spuke (i. e. pirate's ghost), and whom, it is said, old Governor Stuyvesant once shot with a silver bullet; l)ecausel never could meet with any person of staunch credi- bility who professed to have seen this spectrum, unless it were the widow of ManusConklen, the blacksmith, of Frogsneck ; but then, poor woman, she was a Utile purblind, and might have iieen mistaken ; though ihey say she saw farther than oLi • v folks in the dark. All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard to the tales of pirates and their buried money, about which I was most curious ; and the following is all that I could for a long time collect that had any thing like an air of authenticity. KIDD THE PIRATE. In old times, just after the territory of the New Netherlands had been wrested (n. ., the hands of their High Mightinesses, the Lords States-General of Hol- land, by King Charles the Second, and while it was as yet in an unquiet state, the province was a great resort of random adventurers, loose livers, and all that class of haphazard fellows who live by their wits, and dislike the old-fashioned restraint of law and Gospel. Among these, the foremost were the buc- caneers. These were rovers of the deep, who, per- haps, in time of war had been educated in those schools of piracy, the privateers; but having once tasted the sweets of plunder, had ever retained a hankering after it. There is but a slight step from the privateersman to the pirate : both fight for the love of plunder; only that the latter is the bravest, as he dares both the enemy and the gallows. But in whatever school they had been taught, the buccaneers who kept aliout the English colonies were daring fellows, and made sad work in times of peace among the Spanish settlements and Spanish merchant- men. The easy access to the harbour of the Man- hattoes, the number of hiding-places about its waters, and the laxity of its scarcely organized government, made it a great rendezvous of the pirates; where they might dispose of their booty, and concert new depre- dations. As Ihey brought home with them wealthy lading of all kinds, the luxuries of the tropics, and the sumptuous spoils of the Spanish provinces, and dis- posed of them with the proverbial carelessness of freebooters, they were welcome visitors to the thrifty traders of the Manhattoes. Crews of these despera- does, therefore, the runagates of every rnnntry and every clime, might b^ seen swaggering in open day about the streets of the little bin-gli, cll><)wing its quiet mynheers; trafficking away their rich outlandish plunder at half or quarter price to the wary mercltant ; and then squandering their prize-money in lavem,'!,[ drinking, gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, andl astounding the neighbourhood with midnight lijravij and ruffian revelry. At length these excesses rose >o such a height as become a scandal to the provinces, and to call loudl< for the interposition of government. Measures wei accordingly taken toputastoptothewidely-extendi evil, and to ferret thisvermin broodoutof the colonies. Among the agents employed to execute this por. pose was the notorious Captain Kidd. He had loi been an equivocal character; one of those nondescrij animals of the ocean that are neither fish, flesh, a fowl. He was somewhat of a trader, something moi of a smuggler, with a considerable dash of thepii roon. He had traded for many years among t|| pirates, in a little rakish, musquitto-built vessel, tii could run into all kinds of waters. He knew all tl haunts and lurking-places ; was always hookinga!« on mysterious voyages , and as busy as a Mother G chicken in a storm This nondescript personage was pitched upoo government as the vei7 man to hunt the pirates sea, upon the gomi old maxim of " setting a rogue catch a rogue ; " or as otters are sometimes used catch their cousins-gennan, the fish. Kidd accordingly sailed for New York, in 469S, a gallant vessel called the Adventure Galley, «i armed and duly commissioned. On arriving at old haunts, however, he shipped his crew on terms ; enUsted a number of his old comrades, of the knife and the pistol ; and then set sail for East. Instead of cruising against pirates, he tui pirate himself; steered to the Madeiras, to Bonai and Madagascar, and cruised about the entranct the Red Sea. Here, among other maritime beries, he captured a rich Quedah merchai manned by Moors, though commanded by an lishman. Kidd would fain have passed this olf worthy exploit, as being a kind of crusade a; the infidels; but government had long since lostalii lish for such Christian triumphs. After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, changing from ship to ship, Kidd had the hari to return to Boston, laden with booty, with a of swaggering companions at his heels. Times, however, were changed. The buccal could ao longer show a whisker in the colonies impunity. The new governor, Lord Bellamonl, signalized himself by his zeal in extirpating offenders; and was doubly exasperated against having been instrumental in appointing him i« trust which he had betrayed. No sooner, thei did he show himself in Boston, than the alarini given of his re-appearance, and measures were to arrest this cut-purse of the ocean. The character which Kidd had acquired, however, the desperate fellows who followed like bull' his heels, caused a little delay in his arrest. II advantage of this, it is said, to bury the greali ^"reil lol TALES OF A TRAVELLER. S7{) leiv prize-money in taverns,! ing, swearing, shouling, ami jrhood with midnighl bfavf of bis treasures, and tlien carried a high head about ibe streets of Boston. He even attempted to defend himself when arrested, but was secured and thrown into prison, with his followers. Such was tlie for- midable character of this pirate and his crew, that it was thought advisable to dispatch a frigate to bring ihem to England. Great exertions were ma..>: to . r r h 1 ° ^'/^'^ '"*" ^'^"^ justice, but in vain; he and bis rmin brood out of the coloniesB^gjgg ^^^.^ ^^..^j^ condemned, and lianged at ployed to execute ll«8 P^fceculion Dock in London. Kidd died hard, for the Kida. e . ""^tope with which he was first tied up broke with bis weight, and he tumbled to the ground. He was tied iesroseiosuchaheiglitast provinces, and to call loiidljl rovernment. Measures wer^ tasloptolhewidely-extende mp Captain icter ; one of those nondescnp hat are neither fish, flesh, noi hatofatrader, something motj considerable dash of lhepi(d d for many years among tiJ sb musquitto-built vessel, l^ 9 of waters. He knew all ik- aces; was always hookingab i, and as busy as a Mother Cai ,ersonage was pitched upon; erv man to bunt the piratol Id maxim of "setting a roguej IS oilers are somelimes ■erman, the fish. sailed for New York, in 4695,1 led the Adventure (jalley, %i nmissioned. On arriving aH T, be shipped his crew on I uimber of bis old comrades ■ pistol; and then set sail fori iruising 'against pirates, be tun red to the Madeiras, to Bonai nd cruised about the entran« re, among other maritime - d a rich Quedah merchai though commanded by an ,uld fain have passed Ibis off , being a kind of crusade aj vernment bad long since loslalli lian triumphs. ,e seas, trafficking bis prizM, to ship, Kiddhad the hard, , laden with booty, with a ipanions at bis heels. %ere changed. Thebuc( ,iow a whisker in the colonies w governor. Lord Bellamoni, bv his zeal in exlirpaling^ 8 doubly exasperated againslH umenlal in appointing l«m» d betrayed. No sooner, ther* 'elf in Boston, than the aW 'aiance, and measures were .nurse of the ocean. iMi iiadd had acquired, howev«j loNvs who followed like bull-* alitiledelayinhisarresl. I i, i8 8aid,loburythcgveaiei| a second time, and more effectually ; from hence ime, doubtless, the story of Kidd's having a charmed !, and that he bad to be twice hanged. Such is the main outline of kidd's history; but it given birth to an innumerable progeny of tradi- Tbe report of his having buried great Irea- of gold and jewels before his arrest, set the ins of all the good people along the coast in a fer- it. There were rumours on rumours of great of money found here and there, sometimes in part of the country, sometimes in. another ; of with Moorish inscriptions, doubtless the spoils Ills eastern prizes, but which the common people iked upon with superstitious awe, regarding the irish letters as diabolical or magical characters. Some reported the treasure to have been buried in lilary, unsettled places about Plymouth and Cape ; but by degrees various other parts, not only on eastern coast, but along the shores of the Sound, even of Manhatta and Long Island, were gilded these rumours. In fact, the rigorous measures Lord Bellamont had spread sudden consternation ig the buccau ^rs in every part of the provinces : had secreted thei'- Tuoney and jewels in lonely 1-of-lhe-way places, al)out the wild shores of the rs and sea-coast, and dispersed themselves over face of the country. The hand of justice pre- ited many of them from ever returning to regain buried treasures, which remained, and remain to tliis day, objects of enterprise fur the ley-digger. his is the cause of those frequent reports of trees rocks bearing mysterious marks, supposed to in- ite the spots where treasure lay hidden ; and ly have been the ransackings after the pirates' iy. In all the stories which once abounded of enterprises, the devil played a conspicuous part. ler he was conciliated by ceremonies and invoca- or some solctnn compact was made with him. he was ever prone to play the money-diggers slippery trick. Some would dig so far as to to an iron chest, when some baffling circum- was sure to take place. Either the earth Id fall in and fill up the pit, or some direful noise iparilion would frighten the party from the place: limes the devil himself would appear, and bear jM-i/e when within their very grasp; and if I revisited the place the next day, not n trace would be foundof their labours of the preceding night. All these rumours, however, were extremely vague, and for a long lime tantalized without gratify- ing my curiosity. There is nothing in this world so hard to get at as truth, and there is nothing in this world but truth that I care for. I sought among all my favourite sources of authentic information, the oldest inhabitants, and particularly the old Dutch wives of the province; but though I flatter myself that I am better versed than most men in the curious history of my native province, yet for a long time my inquiries were unattended with any substantial result. At length it happened that, one calm day in the latter part of summer, I was relaxing myself from the toils of severe study, by a day's amusement in fishing in those waters which had been the favourite resort of my boyhood. I was in company with se- veral worthy iMi'-gbers of my native city, among whom were more than one illustrious member of the corporation, whose names, did I dare to mention them, would do honour to my humble page. Our sport was indifferent. The fish did not bite freely, and we frequently changed ov.r iishing-ground with- out bettering our luck. We were at length anchored close under a ledge of rocky coast, on the eastern side of the island of Manbalta. It was a still warm day. The stream whirled and dimpled by us with- out a wave or even a ripple; and every tiling was so calm and quiet, that it was almost startling when the kingfisher would pitch himself from the branch of some dry tree, and after suspending himself for a mo- ment in the air to take his aim, would souse into the smooth water after bis prey. While we were lolling in our boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the day, and the dulness of our sport, one of our party, a worthy alderman, was overtaken by a slum- ber, and, as he dozed, suffered the sinker of his drop- line to lie upon the bottom of the river. On awaking, he found he had caught something of importance from the weight. On drawing it to the surface, we were much surprised to find it a long pistol of very curious and outlandish fashion, which from its rusted condition, and its stock being worm-eaten and covered with barnacles, appeared to have lain a long time under water. The unexpected appearance of this do- cument of warfare, occasioned much speculation among my pacific companions. One supposed it to have fallen there during the revolutionary war; an- other, from the peculiarity of its fashion, attributed it to the voyagers in the earliest days of the settle- ment; perchance to the renowned Adrian Block, who explored the Sound, and discovered Block Island, since so noted for its cheese. But a third, »rier re- garding it for some time, pronounced it to be of ve- ritable Spanish workmanship. "I'll warrant," said be, "if this pistol could talk, it would tell strange stories of hard fights among the Spanisli Dons. I've no doubts but it is a relic of the buccaneers of old limes— who knows but it belonged to Kidd himself?" - . - - . ■,\-, 1 ft ill :m TALES OF A TRAVELLER. "Ah ! thai Kidd was a resolute fellow," cried an old iron-faced C»pe-God whaler.—" There's a fine old song about him, all to the tune' of— My name is Captain Kidd, As I sailed, as 1 sailed— And then it tells all about how he gained the devil's Kood graces by burying the Bible : I had the Bible in my hand, As I sailed, as I sailed. And I buried it in the sand As I sailed.— Odsfish, if I thought this pistol had belonged to Kidd, I should set great store by it, for curiosity's sake. By the way, I recollect a story about a fellow who once dug up Kidd's buried money, which was written by a neighbour of mine, and which I learnt hy heart. As the fish don't bite just now, I'll tell it to you by way of passing away the lime." — And so .siiying, he gave us the following narration. TIIE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. A FEW miles from Boston in Massachusets, there is a deep inlet, winding several miles into the interior of the country from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this inlet is a beautiful dark grove ; on the op|(osite side the land rises abruptly from the water's edge into a high ridge, on which grow a few scattered oaks of great age and immense size. Under one of ihese gigantic trees, according to old stories, there was a great amount of treasure buried by Kidd the pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money in a boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the hill ; the elevation of the place permitted a good look-out to be kept that no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees formed good land-marks by which the place might easily be found again. The old stories add, moreover, that the devil presided at the hiding of the money, and took it under his guard- ianship ; but this it is well known he always does with buried treasure, particularly when it has been ill-gotten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover bis wealth; being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out to England, and there hanged for a i>irate. About th»year 1737, just at the time that earth- quakes were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall sinners down upon their knees, there lived .'ear this place a meagre, miserly fellow, of the name «»r Tom Walker. He had a wife as miserly as him- self: they were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each other. Whatever the woman could lay hands on, she hid away; a hen could not cackle but li he was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. Her husband was continually prying about to detect hcrl secret hoards, and many and fierce were the confliciil that took place about what ought to have been coq-I mon property. They lived in a forlorn-looking housel that stood alone, and had an air of starvation. Afe«| straggling savin-trees, emblems of sterility, grewl near it; no smoke ever curled from its chimney; ngf traveller stopped at its door. A miserable liorsej whose ribs were as articulate as the bars of a | iron, stalked about a field, where a thin carpet i moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds of puddlngJ stone, tantalized and balked his hunger; and som times he would lean his head over the fence, piteouslyat the passer-by, and seem to petition (l^ liverance from this land of famine. The house and its inmates had altogether a name. Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce i temper, loud of tongue, and strong of arm. Hd voice was often heard in wordy warfare with I husband; and his face sometimes showed signs i their conflicts were not confined to words. Noo ventured, however, to interfere betwee:i them. Th lonely wayfarer shrunk within himself at the lion clamour and clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of ( cord askance; and hurried on his way rejoicing, if j bachelor, in his celibacy. One day tliat Tom Walker had been to a dis part of the neighbourhood, he took what he sidered a short cut homeward, through the swamJ Like most short cuts, it was an ill-chasen route. Tb[ swamp was thickly grown with great gloomy | and hemlocks, some of them ninety feet high, wbi made it dark at noon-day, and a retreat for all I owls of the neighbourhood. It was full of pits a quagmires, partly covered with weeds and ma where the green surface often betrayed the travel!^ into a gulf of black, smothering mud; there vej also dark and stagnant pools, the abodes of the I pole, the bull-frog, and the water-snake; wlie the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half-drown half rotting, looking like alligators sleeping iii I mire. Tom had long been picking his way cantioa through this treacherous forest ; stepping from l< to tuft of rushes and roots, which afforded precari foot-holds among deep sloughs ; or pacing carefiiil like a cat, along the prostrate trunks of trees ; stai now and then by the sudden screaming of tlieb tern, or the quacking of a wild duck, rising on ll wing from some solitary pool. At length hearriij at a piece of firm ground, which ran out like a [ sula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It hadb one of the strongholds of the Indians during I wars with the first colonists. Here they had tli up a kind of fort, which they had looked up almost impregnable, and had used as a place ofl fuge for their squaws and children. ]Noiliiii;| niuiiied of the old Indian fort but a few enih menis, gradually sinking to the level of liiej rounding earth, and already overgrown in ivirl| TALES OF A TRAVELLER. i»l oaks and other forest trees, tWe foliage of which formed a contrast to the dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker reached the old fort, and he paused therefore affhile to rest himself. Any one but he would have fell unwilling to linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed down from the time of the Indian wars ; when it was asserted that the savages held incantations here, rtnd made sacriflces to the evil spirit. Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be trou- bled with any fears of the kind. lie reposed himself fdrsome time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listen- ing to the boding cry of the tree-toad, and delving Willi Ills walking-staff iato a mound of black mould at lib feet. As he turned up the soil unconsciously, liis Starr struck against something hard. He raked it out of the vegetable mould, and lo! a cloven scull, with an Indian tomahawk buried deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the weapon showed the time that ink within himself at the honiflliad elapsed since this death-blow had been given. -clawing ; eyed the den of db Uwas a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that had taken place in this last foothold of the Indian ily prying about to detect her ly and fierce were the conflict! what ought lo have been con- lived in a forlorn-looking house liad an air of starvation. A few , emblems of sterility, grew T curled from its chimney; no U door. A miserable horse, rticulate as the bars of a grid I field, where a thin carpet o ,g the ragged beds of pudding balked his hunger; and sowfr his head over the fence, loot ;r-by, and seem to petition de nd of famine. inmates had altogether a was a tall termagant, fierce o gue, and strong of arm. He rd in wordy warfare with he ce sometimes showed signs tha not confined to words. Nooa Lo interfere between them. Th lurried on his way rejoicing, if «ey. n Walker had been to a disU mrhood, he took what he homeward, through the swamij s, itwasanill-chasen route. Thf grown with great gloomy j [ of them nmety feet high, wh n-day, and a retreat for all i (urhood. It was full of pils a overed with weeds and m« rface often betrayed the trawllj , smothering mud; there wej ant pools, the abodes of the I and the water-snake; wl« and hemlocks lay half-drown g like alligators sleeping iii I been picking his way canlioi erous forest ; stepping from roots, which afforded precai eep sloughs; or pacing carefi prostrate trunks of trees ; sli he sudden screaming of the ng of a wild duck, rising on liurypool. At length he ai round, which ran out like a losoni of the swamp. It had Ids of the Indians during II colonists. Here they had thi which they had looked u] , and had used as a place 0(1 laws and children. Nolhin? Indian fort but a few enil inking to the level of the 01 varriors. " Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to shake the dirt from it. " Let that scull alone ! " said a gruff voice. Tom lifted up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seat- ed directly opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceedingly surprised, having neither heard nor seen any one approach ; and he was still more per- plexed on observing, as well as the gathering gloom would permit, that the stranger was neither negro nor Indian. It is true he was dressed in a rude half Indian garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed round his body; but his face was neither black nor copper- colour, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with wot, as if he had been accustomed to toil among fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from his head in all directions, and bore an axe on his shoulder. He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of peat red eyes. " What are you doing on my grounds ? " said the Uack man, with a hoarse growling voice. " Your grounds ! " said Tom with a sneer. " No more your ^'rounds than mine ; they belong to Deacon Peabody. " " Deacon Peabody be d d, " said the stranger, " as I flalter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his own sins and less to those of his neigh- Iwnrs. Look yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring. " Tom looked in the direction that the stranger point- , and beheld one of the great trees, fair and flour- iiiliing without, but rotten at the core, and saw that t iiad been neariy hewn through, so that the first id already overgrown in patiBiigh wind was likely to blow it down. On the bark of the tree was scored the name of Deacon Peabody, — an eminent man, who had waxed wealthy by driv* ing shrewd bargains with the Indians. He now look- ed round, and found most of the tall trees marked with the name of some great man of the colony, and all more or less scored by the axe. The one on which he had been seated, and which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the name of Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty rich man of that name^ who made a vulgar display of wealth, which it wa» whispered he had acquired by buccaneering. "lie's just ready for burning !" said the black man, with a growl of triumph. " You see I am like- ly to have a good stock of firewood for winter. ' ' " But what right have you, " said Tom, " to cut down Deacon Peabody's timber ? " " The right of a prior claim, " said the other. '^ This woodland belonged lo me long before one of your white-faced race |Hit foot upon the soil. " " And pray who are you, if I may be so bold ? " said Tom. " Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild huntsman in some countries; the black miner in others. In this neighbourhood I am known by the name of the black woodman. J am he to whom the red men consecrated this spot, and in honour of whom they now and then roasted a white man, by way of sweet-smelling sacrifice. Since the red men have been exterminated by you white savages, I amuse myself by presiding at the persecutions of quakers and anabaptists : I am the great patron and prompter of slave-dealers and the grand master of the Salem witches. " " The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake not, " said Tom, sturdily, *' you are he commonly called Old Scratch." " The same, at your service ! " replied the black man, with a half civil nod. Such was the opening of this interview, according to the old story ; though it has almost too familiar an air to be credited. One would think that to meet with such a singular personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any man's nerves; but Tom was a hard-minded fellow, not easily daunted, and he had lived so long with a termagant wife, that he did not even fear the devil. It is said that after this commencement they had a long and earnest convcisation together, as Tom re- turned homeward. The black man told him of great sums of money which had been buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak trees on the high ridge, not far from the morass. All these were under his com- mand, and protected by his power, so that none could find them but sudi as propitiated his favour. These he offered to place within Tom Walker's reach, hav- ing conceived an especial kindness for him ; but they were to be had only on certain conditions. What these conditions were may easily be surmised, though Tom never disclosed them publicly. They must have been very hard, for he required time lo think of ili} t I 11 i\ im TALES OF A TRAVELLER. them, and he was not a man to stick at trifles where money was in view. When they had reached the edge of tlie swamp, tlie sti anger paused — " What proof have I that all you Lave been telling me is true ? " said Tom. ''There is my signature," said the black man, pressing his iin;7er on Tom's forehead. So saying, he turned off among the thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, down, into the earth, until nothing but his head and slioulders could be seen, and so on, until he totally disappeared. When Tom reached home, lie found the black print of a finger, burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing could (»bliterate. The flrst news his wife had to tell him was the sudden death of Absidom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It was announced in tht^ papers with the usual flourish, that '' A great mai.\ had fallen in Israel." Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just hewn down, and which was ready for burn- ing. " Let (he freel)ooter roast, " said lom, " who cares ! " He now felt convinced that all he had heard and seen was no illusion. He was not prone to let his wife into his confldence, but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it with her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention of hidden gold, and she urged her husband to comply with the black man's terms, and secure what would make them wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt disposed to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined not to do so to oblige his wife; so he flatly refused, out of the mere spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the quarrels they had on the subject, but the more she talked, the more resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. At length she determined to drive the bargain on her own account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to herself. Being of the same fearless tem- per as her husband, she set off for the old Indian fort towards the close of a summer's day. She was many hours absent. When she came back, she was re- served and sullen in her replies. She spoke some- thing of a black man, whom she had met about twi- light, hewing at the root of :. tall tree. He was sulky, however, and would not come to terms : she was to go again with a propitiatory offering, but what it was she forbore to say. The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, but in vain; midnight came, but she did not make her appearance : morning, noon, night returned, but still she did not come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, especially as he found she had carried off in her apron the silver teapot and spoons, and every portable article of value. Another night elapsed, another morning came; but no wife. In a woni, she was never heard of more. What was her real fate nobody knows, .in conse- quence of so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts which have become confounded by a va- riety of historians. Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled mazes of the swiimp, and sunk into some pit or slough; others, more unclia- ritable, hinted that she had eloped with the household booty, and made off to some other province ; while others surmised that the tempter had decoyed hn into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her Itat was found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a great black man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late that very evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a bundle tied in a check apron, with an air of surly triumph. The most current and probable story, however, observes, that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his wife and his property, that he set out at length to seek them both at the Indian fort. Dur- ing a long summer's afternoon he searched about the gloomy plact, but no wife was to be seen. He called her name repeatedly, but she was nowhere to be heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as he flew screaming by ; or the bull-frog croaked dole- fully from a neighbouring pool. At length, it is said, just in the brown hour of twilight, when the owls began to hoot, and the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted by the clamour of carrion-crows tiiat were hovering about a cypress-tree. He looked up and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron, and hang- ing in the branches of the tree, with a great vulture perched hard by, as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped with joy; for he recognized his wife's apron, and supposed it to contain the household valunbies. '' Let us get hold of the property," said he consol- ingly to himself, "and we will endeavour to do with- out the woman." As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its wide wings, and sailed off screaming into the deep shadows of the forest. Tom seized the check apron, but woful sight! found nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it! Such, according to the most authentic old story, was all that was to be found of Tom's wife. She had probably attempted to deal with the black man as she had been accustomed to deal with her hus- band ; but though a female scold is generally consi- dered a match for the devil, yet in this instance sIk appears to have had the worst of it. She must have died gam^- , however ; for it is said Tom noticed many prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, and found haiulsful of hair, that looked as if they had been plucked from the coarse black shock of the woodman. Tom knew his wife's prowess by exm rience. He shrugged his shoulders, as he looked nj the signs of a fierce clapper-clawing. " Egad," sai he to himself, " Old Scratch must have had a lou| lime of it ! " Tom consoled himself for the loss of his prop«t!| with the loss of bis wife, for he was a man of forti' lude. He even felt something like gratitude lowai ilu hii al wii vli lia( wh I tag iiij be Dial aloi He im bisi B mi «hi The lioni lliei whit obslj bis I prop liie: not refiu lhe( dealc Fi insisi mm Ihei. cnliai To 'cm TALES OF A TRAVELLER. rid- ding to know. It is one of | come confounded by a va- e asserled that she lost her I mazes of the swsiinp, and | ►ugh; others, more unclia- id eloped with the household I iome other province ; while e tempter had decoyed her on the top of which her liat iflrmation of this, it was said an axe on his slioulder, was ng coming out of the swamp, 1 a clieck apron, willi an air | id probable story, however, ilker grew so anxious about his properly, that he set om )oth at the Indian fort. Dur- ernoon he searched about ihe ife was to be seen. He called but slie was nowliere lo be )ne responded to his voice, as or the bull-frog croaked doi^ ngpool. At length, ills said, ir of twilight, when the owls bats to flit about, his attention ilamour of carrion-crows that cypress-tree. He looked up ed in a check apron, and liang- ihe tree, with a great vulture • keeping watch upon it. He B recognized his wife's apron, lain the houseliold valuables, the property," said he consol- we will endeavour to do with- the tree, the vulture spread liled off screaming into the deep Tom seized the check apron, nothing but a heart and liver the most aulhenlic old story, 1)6 found of Tom's wife. She 10 deal wiih the black manl ttomed to deal with her hus] [male scold is generally consi- ] devil, yet in this instance slie lie worst of it. She must have Ifor it is said Tom noticed many Wply stamped about the tret, J hair, that looked as if they li»l Ihe coarse black shock of the! |w his wife's prowess by expfrj his shoulders, as he looked al| apper-clawing. "Egad," sal' Icralch must have had a tou| Ulf for the loss of his property [ife, for he was a man of forii Imcthinglikegraliludelowai' the black woodman, who, he considered, had done lijm a kindness. He sought, therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance with him, but for some lime without success ; the old black legs played shy, for whatever people may think, he is not a'ways to be bad for calling for : he knows how to play his cards when pretty sure of his game. At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's tagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to any thing rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met the black man one evening in his usual wood- man's dress, with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering alon;; the edge of the swamp, and humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's advances with great in- difference, made brief replies, and went on humming his tune. By degrees, liowever, Tom brought him to busi- I ness, and they began to haggle about the terms on which the former was to have the pirate's treasure. There was one condition which need nut be men- tioned, being generally understood in all cases where the devil grants favours; but there were others about which, though of less importance, he was inflexibly obstinate. He insisted that the money found through his means should be employed in his service. He proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in the black traffic ; that is to say, that he should fit out a slave-ship. This, however, Tom resolutely refuted : he was bad enough in all conscience ; but the devil himself could not tempt him lo turn slave- Idealer. Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not linsist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should Itnra usurer ; the devil being extremely anxious for 18 increase of usurers, looking upon them as his pe- liar people. To this no objections were made, for it was just to om's taste. "You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next Imonth," said the black man. "I'll do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom alker. " You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." "Egad, I'll charge four!" replied Tom Walker. " You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive ihe merchant to bankruptcy — " "I'll drive him to the d— I," cried Tom Walker. "You are the usurer for my money!" said the lack legs with delight. " When will you want Ihe lino?" "This very night." ^ '- « ' : " "Done!" said the devil. " Done ! " said Tom Walker.— So they shook hands, |nd struck a bargain. A few days' lime saw Tom Walker seated behind lis desk in a counting-house in Boston. His reputa- n for a ready-moneyed man, who would lend mo- y out for a good consideration, soon spread abroad. ivery liody remembers the time of Governor Bel- [>er, when money was particularly scarce. It was a lime of paper credit. The country had been de- luged with government bills; Ihe famous Land Bank had been established; there had been a rage for spe- culating; the people had run mad with schemes for new setllemenis; for building cities in the wilderness ; land-jobbers went about with maf)s of grants, and lownshi|>s, and El Dorados, lying nobody knew where, but which every body w^as ready to purchase. In a woi-d, the great speculating fever which breaks out every now and then in the country had raged to «n alarming degree, and every body was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from nothing. As usual, the fever had subsided ; the dream had gone off, and the imaginary fortunes with it; the patients were left in doleful plight, and the whole country resounded with the consequent cry of "hard limes." At this propitious lime of public distress did Tom Walker set up as a usurer in Boston. His door waH soon thronged by customers. The needy and the ad- venturous; the gambling speculator ; the dreamini; land-jobber; the thriftless tradesman; Ihe merchant with cracked credit; in short, every one driven l*> raise money by desperate means and desperate sacri- fices, hurried lo Tom Walker. Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy ; and he acted like a " friend in need; " thai is to say, he always exaclc:! good pay and good security. In proportion lo the distress of the applicant was Ihe hardness of his terms. He accumulated bonds and mortgages; gradually squeezed his customers closer and closer; and sent Ihem at length dry as a sponge from his door. In this way he made money hand over liand ; be- came a rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon 'Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house out of ostentation, but left the greater part of it unfinished and unfurnished out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage in Ihe fulness of his vainglory, though he nearly starved the horses which drew it ; and as the ungrensed wheels groaned and screeched on the axle-trees, you would have thought you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was squeezing. As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having secured the good things of this world, he be- gan to feel anxious about those of the next. He thought with regret on the bargain he had made with his black friend, and set his wits to work to cheut him out of the conditions. He became, therefore, all of a sudden a violent church-goer. He prayed loudly and strenuously, as if heaven were to be taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell when he had sinned most during the week by the cla- mour of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians who had been modestly and steadfastly travelling ZkDnward, were struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenly outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. Tom was as rigid in reli- gious as in money mallei's; he was a stern super\'isor and censurer of his neighbours, and seemed lo think every sin entered up lo their account became a credit m ,l!it. I ii ■I .■(Si TALES OF A TRAVELLER. on liis own side of the page. He 'iven talked of the expediency of reviving the persecution of quakers and anabaptists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as noto- rious as his riches. Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, therefore, it is said he always carried a small BiUe in hiscoat-pocket. He had also a great folio Bible on his counting-house desk, and would fre- quently be found reading it when people called on business. On such occasions he would lay his green spectacles in the book to mark the place, while he turned round to drive some usurious bargain. Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old days, and that fancying his end approaching, he had his horse new-shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost; because he supposed that, at the last day, the world would be turneid up- side down, in which case he would find his horse standing ready for mounting, and he was determined, at the worst, to give his old friend a run for it. This, however, is probably a mere old wives' fable. If he really did take such a precaution, it was to- tally superfluous ; at least so says the authentic old legend, which closes his story in the following man- ner. On one hot afternoon in the dog-days, just as a terrible black thunder-gust was coming up, Tom sat in his counting-house, in his white linen cap, and India silk morning-gown. He was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by which he would complete the ruin of an unlucky land speculator, for whom he had professed the greatest friendship. The poor land-jobber begged him to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy and ir- ritated, and refused another day. " My family will be ruined, and brought upon the parish," said the land-jobber. "Charity begins at home," replied Tom. ''I must take care of myself ui these liard tunes." *' You have made so much money out of me," said the speculator. Tom lost his patience and his piety. " The d— 1 take me," said he, " if I Iiave made a farthing." Just then there were three loud knocks at the street- door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black man was holding a black horse, which neighed and stamped with impatience. " Tom, you're come for !" said the black fellow, gruffly. Tom shrank back, but too late. He had left his little Bible at the bottom of his coat-pocket, and his big Bible on the desk, buried under the mort- gage he was about to foreclose : never was sinner taken more unawares ; the black man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave the horse a lash, and away he galloped, witi) Tom on his back, in the midst of the thunder-storm. The clerks stuck their [tens Itehind their ears, and stared after him from the windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing down the streets, his white cap bobbing up and down, his morning-gown fluttering in the wind, and his steed striking fire out of the pavement at every bound. When the clerks turned to look for the black man, he had disappeared. Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mort- gage. A countryman, who lived on the border of I the swamp, reported, that in the height of the thun- 1 der-gust he had heart! a great clatteringof hoofs, and a howling along the road, and that when he ran to the window, he just caught sight of a figure such as I have described, on a horse that galloped like road across the fields, over the hills, and down into the black hemlock swamp, towards the old Indian fort; and that shortly after, a thunder-bolt fell in that direction, which seemed to set the whole forest in a blaze. The good people of Boston shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders ; but had been so much ac- customed to witches and goblins, and tricks of the devil in all kinds of shapes from the first settleoieol of the colony, that they were not so much homr-j struck as might have been expected. Trustees w appointed to take charge of Tom's effects. Therel was nothing, however, to administer upon. Od| searching his coffers, all his bonds and mortgages wei found reduced to cinders. In place of gold and sO ver, his iron chest was filled with chips and shavings two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half- starved horses ; and the very next day his greatj house took fire, and was burnt to the ground. Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotti wealth. Let all griping money-brokers lay this sti to heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. Tiwl very hole under the oak-trees, from whence he di Kidd's money, is to be seen to this day ; and tlHj neighbouring swamp and old Indian fort are oft haunted in stormy nights by a figure on horsebackj in morning-gown and white cap, which is, doublle the troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the slor] had resolved itself into a proverb, and is the origin o that popular saying, so prevalent throughout Nei^ England, of " The Devil and Tom Walker." Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the purpoij of the tale told by the Cape-Cod whaler, im were divers trivial particulars which I have omitK and which whiled away the morning very pleasaniljj until, the time of tide favourable to fishing being f ed, it was proposed that we should go to land i refresh ourselves under the trees, till the noon-l heat should have abated. We accordingly landed on a delectable part ofllj island of Manhatta, in that shady and emboweti tract formerly under the dominion of the ancient f mily of the Hardenbrooks. It was a spot well ko to me in the course of the aquatic expeditions ofi boyhood. Not far from where we landed there i Ij M- lan pam ku Qd TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 58^> rom Walker, dashing down p bobbing up and down, his <■ in tl»e wind, and his sleetl pavement at every bound, to look for the black man, turned to foreclose the raort- who lived on the border of [jat in the height of the Ihun- jreat clatteringof hoofs, anda I , and that when he ran to tlie It sight of a figure such as 1 1 lorse that galloped like road I the hills, and down into the towards the old Indian fori; , a thunder-bolt fell in tlwil id to set the whole forest in a| Boston shook their heads and irs; but had been so much ac- 1 ami goblins, and tricks of thej apes from the first setllemenll ey were not so much horror-l Been expected. Trustees werel arge of Tom's effects. Therej er, to administer upon. Onl ill his bonds and mortgageswt lers. In place of gold and sd- s filled with chips and shavings: his sUble instead of Ws haiW 1 the very next day his greal| was burnt to the ground, f Tom Walker and his ill-gottei ing money-brokers lay this 8t( of it is not to be doubted. Tlie] >ak-trees, from whence he di be seen to this day ; and Hi » and old Indian fort are oft( ghts by a figure on horseback] a white cap, which is, doubtlesr f the usurer. In fact, the stoi [to a proverb, and is the origin so prevalent throughout Nei (evil and Tom Walker." an old Dutch family vault, constrncted on the side of a bank, which had been an object of great awe and fable among my school-boy associates. We had peeped into it during one of our coasting voyages, and had been startled by the sight of mouldering cof- fins, and musty bones within ; but Avliat had given it (be most fearful interest in our eyes, was its being in some way connected with the pirate wreck which lay rotting among the rocks of Hell-gate. There were stories, also, of smuggling connected with it ; parti- cularly relating to a time when this retired spot was owned by a noted burgher, called Ready-money Pro- vost, a man of whom it was whispered, that he had many and mysterious dealings with parts beyond seas. All these things, however, had been jumbled together in our minds,in that vague way in which such themes are mingled up in the tales of boyhood. While I was pondering upon these matters, my companions had spread a repast from the contents of oar well-stored pannier, under a broad chesnut on the green sward, which swept down to the water's (dge. — Here we solaced ourselves on the cool grassy carpet during the warm sunny hours of mid-day. While lolling on the grass, indulging in that kind of inosing reverie of which I am fond, I summoned up the dusky recollections of my boyhood respecting this place, and repeated them, like the imperfectly- remembered traces of a dream, for the amusement of my companions. When I had finished, a worthy old burgher, John Josse Yandermoere, the same vho once related to me the adventures of Dolph Heyliger, broke silence, and observed, that he recol- lected a story of money-digging, which occurred in this very neighbourhood, and might account for some I of the traditions which I had heard in my boyhood. j As we knew him to be one of the most authentic nar- rators in the province, we begged him to let us have the particulars, and accordingly, while we solaced ourselves with a clean long pipe of Blase Moore's best tobacco, the authentic John Josse Yandermoere re- lated the following tale. 1 1 can recollect, was the pnrpoj the Cape-Cod whaler, m articulars which I have omitu ,*ay the morning very pleasanlM le favourable to fishing beingr Ithat we should go to land nder the trees, tUl the noon-i sndedonadelectablepartoffl in that shady and embowen -the dominion of the ancients [rooks. It was a spot well knoj 1 of the aquatic expeditions oil- from where we landed there * WOLFERT WEBBER; oa. GOLDEN DREAMS. In the year of grace, one thousand seven hundred land— blank — for I do not remember the precise date; ftwever, .it was somewhere in the early part of the last century, there lived in the ancient city of the tanhaltoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber by pame. He was descended from old Cobus Webber p the Brille in Holland, one of the original settlers, imous for introducing the cultivation of cabbages, nd who came over to .he province during the pro- tectorship of Oloffe Yan Kortlandt, otherwise called the Dreamer. The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself and his cabbages had remained ever since in the family, who continued in the same line of hus- bandry, with that praiseworthy perseverance for which our Dutch burghers are noted. The whole family-genius, during several generations, was de- voted to the study and development of (his once noble vegetable, and to this concentration of intellect may, doubtless, be ascribed the prodigious size and renown to which the Webber cabbages attained. The Webber dynasty continued in uninterrupted succession ; and never did a line give more unques- tionable proofs of legitimacy. The eldest son suc- ceeded to the looks as well as (he territory of his sire; and had the portraKs of (his line of'lranquil polenta(es been (aken, they would have presented a row of heads marvellously resembling, in shape and magnitude, the vegetables over which they reigned. The seat of government continued unchanged in the family mansion, a Dutch-built house, with a front, or rather gable-end, of yellow brick, tapering to a point, with the customary iron weathercock at the top. Every thing about the building bore the air of long-settled ease and security. Flights of martins peopled the little coops nailed against its walls, and swallows built their nests under the eaves : and every one knows that these house-loving birds bring good- luck to the dwelling where they take up their abode. In a bright sunny morning, in early summer, it was delectable to hear their cheerful notes as (hey spor(ed about in the pure sweet air, chirping forth, as it were, the greatness and prosperity of the Webbers. Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family vegetate under the shade of a mighty button- wood tree, which, by little and little, grew so great, as entirely to overshadow their palace. The city gradually spread its suburbs round their domaui. Houses sprang up to interrupt their prospects ; the rural lanes in the vicinity began to grow into (he bustle and populousness of streets; in short, with all the habits of rustic life, they began to find themselves the inhabitants of a city. Still, however, they main- tained their hereditary character and hereditary pos- sessions, with all the tenacity of petty German princes in the midst of the empire. Wolfert was the last of the line, and succeeded to the patriarchal bench at the door, under the family-tree, and swayed the sceptre of his fathers, a kind of rural potentate in the midst of a metropolis. To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he had taken unto himself a helpmate, one of that ex- cellent kind called stirring women; that is to say, she was one of those notable little housewives who are always busy when there is nothing to do. Her activity, however, took one particular direction; her whole life seemed devoted to intense knitting : whether at home or abroad, walking or sitting, her needles were continually in motion ; and it is even ll t I I tm TALES OF A TRAVELLER. afHrmed that, by her unwearied industry, she very nearly supplied her household with stockings through- out the year. This worthy couple were blessed with one daughter, who was brought up with great ten- derness and care ; uncommon pains had been taken with her education, so that she could stitch in every variety of way, make all kinds of pickles and pre- serves, and mark her own name on a sampler. The influence of her taste was seen, also, in the family- garden, where the ornamental began to mingle with the useful ; whole rows of flery marigolds and splen- did hollyhocks bordered the cabbage-beds, and gi- gantic sun-flowers lolled their broad jolly faces over the fences, seeming to ogle most affectionately the passers-by. Thus reigned and ve^tated Wolfert Webber over his paternal acres, peaceful and contentedly. Not but that, like all other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares and vexations. The growth of his native city sometimes caused him annoyance. His little territory gradually became hemmed in by streets and houses, which intercepted air and sunshine. He was now and then subjected to the irruptions of the border population that infest the skirts of a metropolis ; who would sometimes make midnight forays into his do- minions, and carry off captive whole platoons of his noblest subjects. Vagrant swine would make a des- cent, too, now and then, when the gate was left open, and lay all waste before them; and mischievous ur- chins would often decapitate the illustrious sun-flow- ers, the glory of the garden, as they lolled their heads so fondly over the walls. Still all these were petty grievances, which might now and then ruffle the sur- face of his mind, as a summer breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill-pond, but they could not disturb the deep-seated quiet of his soul. He would but seize a trusty staff that stood behind the door, issue suddenly out, and anoint the back of the aggressor, whether pig or urchin, and then return within doors, marvel- lously refreshed and tranquillized. The chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert, how- ever, was the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of living doubled and trebled ; but he could not double and treble the magnitude of his cabbages ; and the number of competitors prevented the increase of price. Thus, therefore, while every one around him grew richer, Wolfert grew poorer ; and he could not, for the life of him, perceive how the evil was to be remedied. This growing care, which increased from day to day, had its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher; insomuch, tliat it at length implanted two or three wrinkles in his brow, things unknown before in the family of the Webbers ; and it seemed to pinch up the corners of his cocked hat into an expression of anxiety totally opposite to the tranquil, broad-brimmed, low- crowned beavers of his illustrious progenitors. Perhaps even this would not have materially dis- turbed the serenity of his mind, had he had only him- self and his wife to care for ; but there was his daughter gradually growing to maturity; and all the world knows that when daughters liegin to ripen, no fniit nor flower requires so much looking after. I have no talent at describing female charms, else fain would I depict the progress of this little Dutch beauty. How her blue eyes grew deeper and deeper, and her cherry lips redder and redder; and how she ripenetl and ri- pened, and rounded and rounded, in the opening breath of sixteen summers ; until in her seventeenth spring she seemed ready to burst out of her bodice like a half-blown rose-bud. Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she was then, tricked out on a Sunday morning in the here- ditary tineryoftheold Dutch clothes-press, of wliicli her mother had confided to her the key. The wed- ding-dress of her grandmother modernized for use, with sundry ornaments, handed down as heir-loomg in the family; her pale brown hair, smoothed wiili buttermilk in flat waving lines, on each side of her fair forehead ; the chain of yellow virgin gold that en- circled her neck; the little cross that just rested ii the entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it would sanctify the place ; the — but, pooh — it is not for an old man like me to be prosing about female beauty. Suffice it to say. Amy had attained he^s^ venteenth year. Long since had her san^pler exliibii- ed hearts in couples, desperately transfixed \iith arrows, and true-lover' s-knots, worked in deep blue silk ; and it was evident she began to languish for some more interesting occupation than the rearing of sunflowers, or pickling of cucumbers. At this critical period of female existence, when the heart within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the miniature which hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a single image, a new visitor began to make his appearance under the roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk Waldron, the only son of a poor widow; but who could boast of more fathers than any lad ii the province ; for his mother had had four husbands, and this only child ; so that, though born in her last wedlock, he might fairly claim to be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultivation. This son of four fa-j thers united the merits and the vigour of all his siresl If he had not had a great family before him, he seem-l ed likely to have a great one after him ; for yon liadl only to look at the fresh bucksome youth, to see that| he was formed to be the founder of a mighty race. This youngster gradually became an intimate visilorl of the family. He talked little, but he sat long. H(f filled the father's pipe when it was empty; gathen up the mother's knitting-needle or ball of worstedj when it fell to the ground; stroked the sleek coatc the tortoise-shell cat ; and replenished the teapot fiii| the daughter, from the bright copper kettle thatsabj before the fire. All these quiet little offices may sei of trifling import ; but when true love is translate^ into Low Dutch, it is in this way that it eloquently e presses itself. They were not lost upon the Webh family. The winning ydungster found marvello favour in the eyes of the mother ; the tortoise-shell t pew nn, in TALES OF A TRAVELLER. rj87 laturity; and all the world lent liegin to ripen, no frail ich looking after. I have no lie charms, else fain would I s lillle Dutch beauty. How »r and deeper, and her cherry and how she ripened and ri id rounded, in the opening ers ; until in her seventeenth ly to burst out of her bodice lud. Id I but show her as she was Sunday morning in the herb Dutch clothes-press, of which A to her the key. The 'ved- dmolher modernized for m, I, handed down as heir-loomg e brown hair, smoothed willi ing lines, on each side of her n of yellow virgin gold that en- little cross that just rested at L valley of happiness, as if it ice; the— but, pooh— it is not ne to be prosing about female say. Amy had attained her se- ; since had her san.pler exiiibil- desperately transfixed with r's-knots, worked in deep blue lent she began to languish for r occupation than the rearing ol ig of cucumbers, kd of female existence, when the \'s bosom, like its emblem, the ;s without, is apt to be engrossed new visitor began to make his roof of Wolfert Webber. This he only son of a poor widow; of more fathers than any lad in mother had had four husbands, io that, though born in her last airiy claim to be the tardy fruitj iltivation. This son of four fa- ts and the vigour of all his sires. ,eat family before him, he seem- ■eat one after him; for yon had esh bucksome youth, to seellial the founder of a mighty race. lually became an intimate visitor Ikedlillle, buthesatlong. Hr e when it was empty; gatliei* ling-needle or ball of worsted ound; stroked the sleek coal ; and replenished the teapot I'e bright copper kettle that sal hese quiet little offices may see It when true love is Iranslati in this way that it eloquently were not lost upon the Webl ig youngster found marvdl be mother; the tortoise-shell albeit the most staid and demure of her kind, gave indubitable signs of approbation of his visits; the lea- kettle seemed to sing out a cheery note of welcome at bis approach; and if the shy glances of the daughter might be rightly read, as she sat bridling, and dimp- linir, and sewing by her mother's side, she was not a wbil behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or the tea- kettle in good-will. Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on; profoundly wrapped up in meditation on the growth of the city, and his cabbages, he sal looking in the fire and puffing his pipe in silence. One night, liowever, as the gentle Amy, according to custom, lighted her lover to Ihe outer door, and he, according to custom, took his parting salute, the smack resounded so vigor- ously through the long, silent entry, as to startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. He was slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. It had never entered into his head, that this mere child, who, as it seemed, but the other day, had been climbing about his knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, could, all at once, be thinking of lovers and matrimony. He rubbed his eyes; examined into the fuct; and really found, that while he had been dreaming of other malters, she had actually grown to be a woman, and what was worse, had fallen in love. Here arose new cares for poor Wolfert. He was a kind father; but he was a pru- dent man. The young man was a lively, stirring lad; but then he had neither money nor land. Wol- fert's ideas all ran in one channel ; and he saw no al- ternative, in case of a marriage, but to portion off the young couple with a corner of his cabbage-garden, the whole of which was barely suflicient for the sup- port of his family. Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip fills passion in the bud, and forbade the young- [ster the house ; though sorely did it go against his btherly heart, and many a silent tear did it cause in the bright eye of his daughter. She showed herself, |however, a pattern of filial piety and obedience. She lever pouted and sulked ; she never Hew in the face f parental authority; she never fefi into a passion, or H into hysterics, as many romantic novel-read young idies would do. Not she, indeed ! She was none ich heroical rebellious trumpery, I'll warrant you. In the contrary, she acquiesced like an obedient iugiiter ; shut the street door in her lover's face ; id if ever she did grant him an interview, it was itheroutof the kitchen-window, or over the garden nee. Wolferl was deeply cogitating these matters in his lind, and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as e wended his way one Saturday afternoon to a rural n, about two miles from the city. It was a favour- resort of the Dutch part of the community, from ing always held by a Dutch line of landlords, and Gaining an air and relish of the good old times. It as a Dutch-built house, that had probably been a ntry-seat of some opulent burgher in the early me of the settlement. It stood near a point of land called Corlear's Hook, which stretches out into the Sound, and against which the tide, at its llux and re- flux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. The venerable and somewhat crazy mansion was distinguished from afar by a grove of elms and sycamores, that seemed to wave a hospitable invitation, while a few weeping willows, with their dank, drooping foliage, resem- bling falling waters, gave an idea of coolness that ren- dered it an atUactive spot during the heats of summer. Here therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old inhabitants of the Manhattan, where, while some played at shuffle-lmard, and quoits, and nine-pins, oUiers smoked a deliberate pipe, and talked over pub- lic affairs. It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows was stripped of its leaves, which whirl- ed in rustling eddies about the fields. The nine-pin alley was deserted, for the premature chilliness of the day had driven the company within doors. As it was Saturday afternoon, the habitual club was in session, composed, principally, of regular Dutch burghers, though mingled occasionally with persons of various character and country, as is natural in a place of such motley population. Beside the fire-place, in a huge leather-bottomed arm-chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the ve- nerable Remm, or, as it was pronounced, Ramni Rapelye. He was a man of Walloon race, and il- lustrious for the antiquity of his line, his great grand- mother having been the first white child born in the province. But he was still more illustrious for his wealth and dignity : he had long filled the noble of- fice of alderman, and was a man to whom the Go- vernor himself took off his hat. He had maintained possession of the leather-bottomed chair from time immemorial ; and had gradually waxed m bulk as he sat in this seat of government ; until, in the course of years, he filled its whole magnitude. His word was decisive with his subjects ; for he was so rich a man that he was never expected to support any opinion by argument. The landlord waited on him with pecu- liar ofliciousness ; not that he paid better than bis neighbours, but then the coin of a rich man seems always to be so much more acceptable. The land- lord had ever a pleasant word and a joke to insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. It is true, Ramm never laughed ; and, indeed, ever maintained a mas- tiff-like gravity and even surliness of aspect ; yet he now and then rewarded mine host with a token of approbation ; which, though nothing more nor less than a kind of grunt, still delighted the landlord more than a broad laugh from a poorer man. " This will be a rough night for the money-dig- gers, " said mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the house and rattled at the windows. " What! are they at their work again?" said an English half-pay captain with one eye, who was a very frequent attendant at the inn. " Ay, are they, " said the landlord, " and well «:, j»8 TALES OF A TRAVELLEK. may they be. They've h 1 luck of late. They say a great pot of money has been dug up in the Held just behind Stuyvesant's Orchard. Folks think it must have been buried there in old times, by Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch governor. " " Fudge ! " said the one-eyed man-of-war, as he added a small portion of water to a liottom of brandy. " Well, you may believe or not, as you please, " said mine host, somewhat nettled ; " but every body knows that the old governor buried a great deal of his money at the lime of the Dutch troubles, when the English red-coats seized on the province. They say too, the old gentleman walks ; ay, and in the very same dress that he wears in the picture that hangs up in the family-house. " " Fudge ! " said the half-pay officer. " Fudge, if you please ! But didn't Corny Van Zandt see him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with his wooden leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that flashed like fire? And what can he be walking for, but because people have been troub- ling the place where he buried his money in old times ? " Here the landlord was interrupted by several gut- tural sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening that he was labouring with the unusual production of an idea. As he was 'oo great a man to be slighted by a prudent publican, mine host respectfully paused until he should deliver himself. The corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now gave all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the point of an eruption. First there was a certain heaving of theabdomen, nol unlike an earthquake; then was emitted a cloud of tobacco- smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then there was a kind of rattle in the throat, as if the idea were work- ing its way up through a region of phlegm; then there were several disjointed members of a sentence thrown out, ending in a cough : at length his voice forced its way in the slow lut absolute tone of a man who feels the weight of his purse, if not of his ideas; every portion of his speech being marked by a testy puff of tobacco-smoke. " Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking?" — Puff— "Have people no respect for persons?" — Puff— puff— "Peter Stuyvesant knew better what to do with his money than to bury it." — Puff— "I know the Stuyvesant family."— Puff— "Every one of them."— Puff- "Not a more respectable family in the province." —Puff— "Old standers. " — Puff— "Warm house-holders." — Puff— "None of your up- starts."— Puff— puff— puff— " Don't talk to me of Peter Stuyvesant's walking."— Puff— puff— puff- puff. Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow, clasped up his mouth till it wrinkled at each corner, and redoubled his smoking with such vehemence, that the cloudy volumes soon wreathed round his head as the smoke envelops the awflil summit of Mount Etna. A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this very rich man. The subject, however, was ti interesting to be readily abandoned. The converse tion soon broke forth again from the lips of Peech; Prauw Van Hook, the chronicler of the club, one o those prosy, narrative old men who seem to be trouble< with an incontinence of words as they grow old. Peechy could at any lime tell as many stories in ai evening as his hearers could digesit in a month. Hi now resumed the conversation by aflirming, that ti his knowledge money had at different times been dn{ up in various parts of the island. The lucky person who had discovered them had always dreamt of then three limes beforehand; and, what was worthy remark, those treasures had never been found but b some descendant of the good old Dutch families which clearly proved that they bad been buried Dutchmen in the olden time. "Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen!" cried the hall pay officer. "The Dutch had nothing to do wi them. They were all buried by Kidd the pirad and his crew." Here a key-note was touched which roused tl whole company. The name of Captain Kidd vi like a talisman in those times, and was associai with a thousand marvellous stories. The half-pay licer took the lead, and in his narrations fathei upon Kidd all the plunderings and exploits of Mor Black-beard, and the whole list of bloody buccane The officer was a man of great weight among peaceable members of the club, by reason of his m like character and gunpowder tales. All his goli stories of Kidd, however, and of the booty he buried, were obstinately rivalled by the tales of P( chy Prauw ; who rather than suffer his Dutch genitors to be eclipsed by a foreign freebooter, riched every field and shore in the neighbourbi with the hidden wealtlt of Peter Stuyvesant and contemporaries. Not a word of this conversation was lost upon W'l fert Webber. He returned pensively home, magnificent ideas. The soil of his native isli seemed to be turned into gold-dust, and every fii to teem with treasure. His head almost reeled at thought, how often he must have heedlessly rami over places where countless sums lay scarcely covei by the turf beneath his feet. His mind was in uproar with this whirl of new ideas. As he came sight of the venerable mansion of his forefathei's, the little realm where the Webbers had so long so contentedly flourished, his gorge rose at the rowness of his destiny. " Unl ucky Wol fert ! ' ' exclaimed he. " Others go to bed and dream themselves into whole mil of wealth; they have but to seize a spade in the moi ing, and turn up doubloons like potatoes ; but Ihi must dream of hardship and rise to poverty— m dig thy fields from year's end to year's end, and raise nothing but cabbages ! " Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy hei and it was long before the golden visions that TALES OF A TRAVELLER. tm The subject, however, was toe »«d W» l*"'" permltled liim to sink into repose, ily abandoned. The conversa ■ «"ne visions, however, extended into his sleep- again from the lips of Peechj H'oughls, and assumed a more definite form, e chronicler of the club, one dreamt that lie had discovered an immense trea- old men wlio seem to be trouble* ' «" the centre of his garden. At every strolce of words as they grow old. *>« sHe he laid bare a golden ingot; diamond ly lime tell as many stories in ai «"* sparkled out of the dust; bags of money 8 could digest in a month. 11 '«• "P "'«'«■ •^'•'e*' corpulent with pieces-of-eighl, iversalion by afllrming, that I enerable doubloons; and chests, wedged close /had at different times been dii| i moidores, ducats, and pislareens, yawned be- r the island. The lucky person •"» ravished eyes, and vomited forth their glit- Ihem had always dreamt of thei '» contenu. ind- and what was worthy « Nfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had res had never been found but b 'earttogo about his daily concerns, which ap- the good old Dutch familiej wl so paltry and profilless, bat sat all day long in I that they had been buried b chimney-corner, picturing to himself ingoU and en time. H of gold in the fire. your Dutchmen ! " cried Uie hall ''e "«*» "'8''^ his dream was repeated. He was Dutch had nothing to do wil all buried by Kidd the pirali was touched which roused thi riie name of CapUin Kidd wij those times, and was associaU rvellous stories. The half-pay ( , and in his narrations fathen underings and exploits of Mor^ e whole list of bloody buccane I man of great weight among of the club, by reason of his w» junpowder tales. All his gold fvever, and of the booty he ately rivalled by the tales of Pet alher than suffer his Dutch sed by a foreign freebooter, md shore in the neighbourh allh of Peter Sluyvesant andli conversation was lost upon Wd returned pensively home, full ( The soil of his native isli :d into gold-dust, and every 1 re. His head almost reeled at I le must have heedlessly ramb unlless sums lay scarcely coven his feet. His mind was in irl of new ideas. As he camei lie mansion of his forefalhei-s, re the Webbers had so long < [ished, his gorge rose at the i y- 1 1 " exclaimed he. " Others c themselves into whole rnift but to seize a spade in the mon ubloons like potatoes ; but ihoi Iship and rise to poverty-mii! ear's end to year's end, andj^ bages ! " went to bed with a heavy he fore the golden visions that in his garden, digging, and laying open stores idden wealth. There was something very sin- ir in this repetition. He passed another day of lie; and though it was cleaning day, and the , as usual in Dutch households, completely turvy, yet he sat unmoved amidst the general r. |he third night he went to bed with a palpitating ■I. He put on his red night-cap, wrong side out- , fur good luck. It was deep midnight before nxious mind could settle itself into sleep. Again Idcn dream was repeated, and again he saw his len teeming with ingots and money-bags. f'olfert rose the next morning in complete be- lerinent. A dream, three times repeated, was T known to lie, and if so, his fortune was made. is agitation, he put on his waistcoat with the bind before, and this was a corroboration of good . He no longer doubled that a huge store of ey lay buried somewhere in his cabbage field, y waiting to be sought for; and he repined at ig so long been scratching about the surface of il instead of digging to the centre. He took his at lite breakfast-table, full of these speculations ; his daughter to put a lump of gold into his tea; Ion handing his wife a plate of slai^jacks, begged to help herself to a doubloon, grand care now was, how to secure this im- Ireasure without its being known. Instead of Iking regularly in his grounds in the day-time, low stole from his bed at night, and with spade pickaxe, went to work to rip up and dig about paternal acres from one end to the other. In a lime, the whole garden, which had presented a goodly and regular appearance, with its pha- of cabbages, like a vegetable army in battle ar- was reduced to a scene of devastation ; while elentless Wolfert, with nighl-cap on head, and rn and spade in lu .id, stalked through theslaugh- lanks, ihe destroying angel of his own vegeta- orld. [very morning bore testimony to the ravages of the preceding night, in cabbages of all ages and con- ditions, from the tender sprout to the full-grown head, piteously rooted from their quiet beds, like wortldess weeds, and left to wither in the sunshine. It was in vain Wolfert's wife remonstrated; it was in vain his darling daughter wept over the destruc- tion of some favourite marigold. " Thou shalt have gold of another guess sort," he would cry, chucking her under the chin. " Thou shalt have a siring of crooked ducats for thy wedding necklace, my child ! " His family began really to fear that the poor man's wits were diseased. He muttered in his sleep at night about mines of wealth ; about pearls, and diamonds, and bars of gold. In the day-time he was moody and abstracted, and walked about as if in a trance. Dame Webber held frequent councils with all the old women of the neighbourhood. Scarce an hour in the day but a knot of them might be seen, wag- ging their white caps together round her door, while the poor woman made some piteous recital. The daughter, too, was fain to seek for more frequent consolation from the stolen interviews of her favoured swain. Dirk Waldron. The delectable little Dutch songs with which stie used to dulcify the house grew less and less frequent; and she would forget her sew- ing, and look wistfully in her father's face, as he sat pondering by the lire-side. Wolfert caught her eye one day fixed on him thus anxiously, and for a mo- ment was roused from his golden reveries. " Cheer up, my girl," said he, exullingly; " why dost thou droop ? Thou shalt hold up thy head one day with, the BrinckerhofTs and the Schermerhorns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams— By St Nicholas, but the Palroon himself shall be glad to get thee for his son! ' Amy shook her head at this vainglorious boast, and was more than ever in doubt of Ihe soundness of the good man's intellect. In the mean time, Wolfert went on digging and digging; but the field was extensive, and as his dream had indicated no precise spot, he had to dig at ran- dom. The winter set in before one tenth of the scene of promise had been explored. The ground became frozen bard, and the nights too cold for the labours of the spade. No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of spring loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe in the meadows, but Wol- fert resumed his labours'with renovated zeal. Still, however, Ihe hours of industry were reversed. In- stead of working cheerily all day, planting and setting out his vegetables, he remained thoughlfully idle, until the shades of night summoned him to his secret labours. In this way he continued to dig, from night to night, and week to week, and month to month, but not a sliver did he find. On the contrary, the more he digged, the poorer he grew. The rich soil of his garden was digged away, and the sand and gravel from beneath were thrown to the surface, un- til the whole field presented an aspect of sandy bar- renness. 390 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. la the mean time the seasons gradually rolled on. The little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early spring, croaked as bull-frogs daring the sum- mer heats, and then sunk into silence. The peach- tree budded, blossomed, and bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came, twittered about the roof, built their nest, reared their young, held their con- gress along the eaves, and then winged their flight in search of another spring. The caterpillar spun its winding-sheet, dangled in it from the great button- wood tree before the house, turned into a moth, flut- tered with the last sunshine of summer, and disap- peared; and, finally, the leaves of the button-wood tree turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, and, whirling about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was at hand. Wolfert gradually woke from his drea.n of wealth as the year declined. lie had reared no crop for the supply of his household during the sterility of winter. The season was long and severe, and, for the first time, the family was really straitened in its comforts. By degrees a revulsion of thought took place in Wol- fert's mind, common to those whose golden dreams have been disturbed by pinching realities. The idea gradually stole upon him that he should come to want. He already considered himself one of the most unfor- tunate men in the province, having lo^it such an in- calculable amount of undiscovered treasure ; and now, when thousands of pounds had eluded his search, to be perplexed for shillings and pence was cruel in the extreme. Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he went about with a money-seeking air ; his eyes bent down- wards into the dust, and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men are apt to do when they have no- thing else to put into them. He could not even pass the city alms-house without giving it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his future abode. The strange- ness of his conduct and of his looks occasioned much speculation and remark. For a long time he was sus- pected of being crazy, and then every body pitied him; at length it began to be suspected that he was poor, and then every body avoided him. The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him outside of the door when he called ; entertained him hospitably on the threshold ; pressed him warmly ty the hand al parting; shook their heads as he walked away, with the kind-hearted expression of "Poor Wolfert!" and turned a corner nimbly, if by chance they saw him approaching as lliey walked the streets. Even the barber and cobbler of the neighbourhood, and a tattered tailor in an alley hard by, three of the poorest and merriest rogues in the world, eyed him with that abundant sympathy which usually attends a lack of means ; and theje is not a doubt but their pockets would have been at his command, only that they happened to be empty. Thus every body deserted the Webber mansion, ns if poverty were contagious, like the plague; every mi body but honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept ap| stolen visits to the daughter, and, indeed, seemed wax more affectionate as the fortunes of his mistn were in the wane. Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had fj quented his old resort, the rural inn. He was taki a long lonely walk one Saturday afternoon, musi over his wants and disappointments, when his k ^^^ took, instinctively, their wonted direction, and awaking out of a reverie, he found himself before I door of the inn. For some moments he hesilal whether to enter, but his heart yearned for com) nionship; and where can a ruined man find belt *' companionship than at a tavern, where there isn ther sober example nor sober advice to put him out countenance? Wolfert found several of the old frequenters off inn at their usual post, and seated in their \tn places ; but one was missing, the great Ramm I pelye, who for many years had filled the lealb bottomed chair of state. His place was supplied! a stranger, who seemed, however, completely j home in the chair and the tavern. He was raft under size, but deep-chested, square, and mused His broad shoulders, double joints, and bow-kn gave tokens of prodigious strength. His face i dark and weather-beaten ; a deep scar, as if fromlj slash of a cutlass, had almost divided his nose, made a gash in his upper lip, through which his let shone like a bulldog's. A mop of iron-grey hair| a grizzly finish to his hard-favoured visage, dress was of an amphibious character. He worel old hat edged with tarnished lace, and cocked inn tial style on one side of his head ; a rusty blue n tary coat with brass buttons, and a wide pair olslil petticoat trowsers, or rather breeches, for they i gathered up at the knees. He ordered every I about him with an authoritative air; talked in a I tling voice, that sounded like the crackling of llm under a pot; d d the landlord and servants i perfect impunity; and was wailed upon with gn obsequiousness than had ever been shown to I mighty Ramm himself. Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know \ and what was (his »:ranger, who had thus usuij absolute sway in this ancient domain. Peecliy Pn took him aside into a remote corner of the I and there, in an under voice, and with great caulij imparted to him all that he knew on the siibjd The inn had been aroused, several moiilhs belii on a dark stormy night, by repeated long sh« that seemed like the bowlings of a wolf. Tliey c from the water-side ; and at length were distingiiisk to be hailing the house in the sea-faring manna House-a-hoy ! The landlord turned out willi I head-waiter, tapster, ostler, and errand-boy, thi to say, with his old negro. Cuff. On approaching place from whence the voice proceeded, they fnf this amphibious-looking personage atthe water'se quite alone, and seated on a great oaken sea-< TALES OF A TRAVELLER. mi Waldron, who still kept apll jghter, and, indeed, seemedj I as ihe fortunes of his mistn" elapsed since Wolfert had , the rural inn. He was taki ilie Saturday afternoon, mui disappointments, when his heir wonted direction, and ■rie, he found himself before [)r some moments he hesilal lU his heart yearned for coi e can a ruined man iind bel at a tavern, where there is }W he came there, whether he had been set on ore from some boat, or had floated to land on his ^est, nobody could tell, for he did not seem dis- , to answer questions ; and there was something I his looks and manners that put a stop to all ques- ling. Suffice it to say, he took possession of a rner room of the inn, to which his chest was re- nved with great difficulty. Here he had remained er since, keeping about the inn and its vicinity ; elimes, it is true, he disappeared for one, two, or jree days at a time, going and returning without ^ing any notice or account of his movements. He ays appeared to have plenty of money, though ja of very strange outlandish coinage ; and he re- lor sober advice to put him oulBj^jiy pgjj i,jg jjjn every evening before turning in. eral of the old frequenters of j post, and seated in their us^ s missing, the great Ramm 1 ,y years had tilled the lealh late. His place was suppliedl eemed, however, completely! and the tavern. He was raftf p-chested, square, and muscnl R, double joints, and bow-kw digious strength. His face )eaten ; a deep scar, as if froralj lad almost dividetl his nose, upper lip, through which his 18 5's. A mop of iron-grey haii - I his hard-favouretl visage, inhibious character. He \\m\ tarnished lace, and cocked inii of his head; a rusty bluet buttons, and a wide pairofs! or rather breeches, for tliey\ knees. He ordered every 1 authoritative air ; talked in a I nded like the crackling of lli the landlord and servants md was waited upon with gi n had ever been shown to iself. ily was awakened to know ;ranger, who had thus usui is ancient domain. Peechyi'i to a remote corner of the li der voice, and with great cauti all that he knew on the siibj aroused, several months bel night, by repeated long slii -bowlings of a wolf. Tliey( ; and at length were distingiii! house in the sea-faring maniii he landlord turned out wilh er, ostler, and errand-boy ' negro, Cuff. On approachmi ! the voice proceeded, ihey f« king personage at the water'"" seated on a great oaken sea-ti had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having log a hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, il decorated the walls wilh rusty pistols and cut- 's of foreign workmanship. A great part of his le was passed in this room, seated by the window, h commanded a wide view of the Sound, a short fashioned pipe in his mouth, a glass of rum toddy his elbow, and a pocket- telescope in bis hand, ih which he reconnoitred every boat that moved the water. Large square-rigged vessels seemed excite but little attention; but the moment he Tied any thing with a $!iould«r-of-mutton sail, or |t a barge, yawl, or jolly-boat hove in sight, up it the telescope, and he examined it with the it scrupulous attention. II this might have passed without much notice, in tiiose times the province was so much the re- ef adventurers of all characters and climes, tliat oddity in dress or behaviour attracted but small ntion. In a little while, however, this strange lonster, thus strangely cast upon dry laud, began ncroach upon the long-established customs and iomers of the place, and to interfere, in a dicta- I manner, in the affairs of the nine-pin alley and bar-room, until in the end he usurped an abso- command over the whole inn. It was all in to attempt to withstand his authority. He was exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous and peremp- iike one accustomed to tyrannize on a quarter- ; and there was a dare-devil air about every i^he said and did, that inspired a wariness in all landers. Even the half-pay officer, so long the of the club, was soon silenced by him ; and the t burghers stared with wonder at seeing their mmable nian-of war so readily and quietly ex- lished. And then the tales that he would tell enough to make a peaceable man's hair stand !nd. There was not a sea-fight, or marauding eebooting adventure that had happened within last twenty years, but he seemed perfectly versed He delighted to talk of the exploits of the buc- ers in the West Indies and on the Spanish Main. bis eyes would glisten as he described the way- g of treasure-ships, the desperate fights, yard- and yard-arm, broadside and broadside ; the boarding and capturing of huge Spanish galleons! With what chuckUng relish would he describe the descent upon some rich Spanish colony ; the rifling of a church ; the sacking of a convent ! You would have thought you heard some gormandizer dilating upon the roasting of a savoury goose at Michaelmas, as he described the roasting of some Spanish Don to make him discover his treasure — a detail given with a minuteness that made every rich old burgher pre- sent turn uncomfortably in his chair. All this would be told with infinite glee, as if he considered it an excellent juke; and then he would give such a tyran- nical leer in the face of his next neighbour, that the poor man would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint-heartedness. If any one, however, pretended to contradict him in any of his stories, he was on fire in an instant. His very cocked hat assumed a mo- mentary fierceness, and seemed to resent Ihe contra- diction. " How the devil should you know as well as I ? — I tell you it was as I say ;" and he would at the same time let slip a broadside of thundering oaths and tremendous sea-phrases, such as had never been heard before within these peaceful walls. Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he knew more of these stories than mere hear- say. Day after day their conjectures concerning him grew more and more wild and fearful. The strange- ness of his arrival, the strangeness of his manners, the mystery that surrounded him, all made him something incomprehensible in their eyes. He was a kmd of monster of the deep to them — he was a merman — he was Behemoth — he was Leviathan — in short, Uiey knew not what he was. The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea-urchin at length grew quite intolerable. He was no respect- er of persons ; he contradicted the richest burghers without hesitation ; he took possession of the sacred elbow-chair, which, time out of mind, had been Ihe seat of sovereignly of the illustrious Ramm R.ipelye, — nay, he even went so far in one of his rough jocu- lar moods, as to slap thai mighty burgher on the back, drink his toddy, and wink in his face. — a thing scarce- ly to be believed. From this time Ramm Rapelye appeared no more at the inn ; and his example was followed by several of the most eminent customers, who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out of their opinions, or being obliged to laugh at another man's jokes. The landlord was almost in despair ; but he knew not how to get rid of the sea-mon- ster and his sea-chest, who seemed both to have grown like fixtures or excrescences on his establish- ment. Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert's ear by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by the button in a corner of the hall ; cast- ing a wary glance now and then towards the door of the bar-room, lest he should be overheard by the ter- rible hero of his tale. Wolfert took his scat in a remote part of the room in silence, impresseil with profound uwe of this un- it Is i!fi ' il w 592 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. known, so versed in freebooting hislory. It was to him a wonderful instance of the revolutions of mighty empires, to find the venerable Ram Rapelye thus ousted from the throne, and a rugged tarpawling dic- tating from his elbow-chair, hectoring the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil little realm with brawl and bravado. The stranger was, on this evening, in a more than usually communicative mood, and was narrating a number of astounding stories of plunderings and burnings on the high seas. He dwelt upon them with peculiar relish ; heightening the frightful par- ticulars in proportion to their effect on his peaceful auditors. He gave a long swaggering detail of the capture of a Spanish merchantman. She was lying becalmed during a long summer's day, just off from an island which was one of the lurking places of the pirates. They had reconnoitred her with their spy- glasses from the shore, and ascertained her character and force. At night a picked crew of daring fellows set off for her in a whale-boat. They approached with muffled oars, as she lay rocking idly with the undulations of the sea, and her sails flapping against the masts. They were close under her stern before the guard on deck was aware of their approach. The alarm was given ; the pirates threw hand-gre- nades on deck, and sprang up the main-chain sword in hand. The crew flew to arms, but in great confu- sion; some were shot down, others took refuge in the tops, others were driven overboard and drowned, while others fought hand to hand from the main- deck to the quarter-deck, disputing gallantly every inch of ground. There were three Spanish gentle- men on board with their ladies, who made the most desperate resistance. They defended the companion- way, cut down several of their assailants, and fought like very devils, for they were maddened by the shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons was old, and soon dispatched. The other two kept their ground vigorously, even though the cap- tain of the pirates was among the assailants. Just then there was a shout of victory from the main- deck—" The ship is ours !" cried the pirates. One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and sur- rendered ; the other, who was a hot-headed young- ster, and just married, gave the captain a slash in the face that laid all open. The captain just made out to articulate the words " no quarter !" " And what did they do with the prisoners ?" said Peechy Prauw, eagerly. " Threw them all overboard !" was the answer. A dead pause followed this reply. Peechy Prauw shrunk quietly back, like a man who had unwarily stolen upon the lair of a sleeping lion. The honest burghers cast fearful glances at the deep scar slashed across the visage of the stranger, and moved their chairs a little farther off. The sea- man, however, smoked on, without moving a mus- cle, as though he either did not perceive, or did not regard, the unfavourable effect he had produced his hearers. The half-pay officer was the first to break silence, for he was continually tempted to make in fectual head against this tyrant of the seas, and regain his lost consequence in the eyes of his i cient companions. He now tried to match | gunpowder tales of the stranger, by others eqw tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero, conco ■ ' ing whom he seemed to have picked up many ofi floating traditions of the province. The seaman I iil< always evinced a settled pique against the one-t] ^ warrior. On this occasion he listened with pecu impatience. He sat with one arm akimbo, the 04 elbow on a table, the hand holding on to the sg pipe he was pettishly puffing; his legs crosse drumming with one foot on the ground, and casl every now and then the side glance of a basilisk at prosing captain. At length the latter spoke of Kid having ascended the Hudson with some of his ( to land his plunder in secrecy. " Kidd up the I son !" burst forth the seaman with a tremen oath — " Kidd never was up the Hudson !" " I tell you he was," said the other. " Ay,i they say he buried a quantity of treasure on theGl flat that runs out into the river, called the Dans Kammer." " The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth !"c the seaman. " I tell you Kidd never was 1 Hudson. What a plague do you know of Kidd^ his haunts ?" " What do I know ?" echoed the half-pay olE " Why, I was in London at the time of his trial ; \ and I had the pleasure of seeing him hanged at I cution Dock." Then Sir, let me tell you that yon saw as pn fellow hanged as ever trod shoe-leather. Ay," | ting his face nearer to that of the officer, " andll was many a land-lubber looked on that might i better have swung in his stead." The half-pay officer was silenced : but the i nation thus pent up in his bosom glowed with inte vehemence in his single eye, which kindled like ao Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent,] served that the gentleman certainly was in ther Kidd never did bury money up the Hudson, norl deed in any of those parts, though many anit-niedi| to be the fact. It was Bradish and others of tlieli| cancers who had buried money ; some said in Ti^ Bay ; others on Long Island ; others in the neighl hood of Hell-gate. Indeed, added he, I recollecl| adventure of Sam, the negro fisherman, noany] ago, which some think had something to do witbl buccaneers. As we are all friends here, and as itf go no farther, I'll tell it to you. '* Upon a darkn many years ago, as Black Sam was returning f fishing in Hellgate " Here the story was nipped in the bud by a i movement from the unknown, who, laying liisj fist on the table, knuckles downward, with a 4 TALES OF A TRAVEIXEK. .'sur> able effect he had produced icer was the first to break t| ontinually templed to make ii this tyrant of the seas, and [Sequence in the eyes of his He now tried to match '. the stranger, by others equi , as usual, was his hero, coua id to have picked up many of I r the province. The seaman Uled pique against the one- jccasion he listened with peci I wilh one arm akimbo, the the hand holding on to the shiy puffing; his legs en le foot on the ground, and casli| 1 the side glance of a basilisk all t length the latter spoke of M le Hudson with some of his •in secrecy. "Kiddupthe . the seaman wilh a tremei r was up the Hudson !" jvas," said the other. "Ay, 1 a quantity of treasure on ihel into the river, called the '^ tans Rammer in your teeth !" tell you Kidd never was i plague do you know of Kiddi low ?" echoed the half-pay of :.ondon at the time of his trial ; sure of seeing him hanged at le tell you that you saw as prei iver trod shoe-lealher. Ay," r to that of the officer, " and lubber looked on that might ' in his stead." ficer was silenced : but the ii p in his bosom glowed withini lingle eye, which kindled like a who never could remain silent, ntleman certainly was in llie ry money up Ihe Hudson, not c parts, though many afliiinedr was Bradish and others of the uried money ; some said in Ti ng Island ; others in the neigl Indeed, added he, I recolM , the negro fisherman, many hink had something to do willii e are all friends here, and as il teUittoyou. 'Upon a dark as Rlack Sam was returning force that indented the very boards, and looking grimly jover his shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear— "Hark'ee, neighbour!" said he, with significant jnodding of the head, ' ' you'd belter let the buccaneers ind their money alone — they're not for old men and kl women to meddle with. They fought hard for ir money; they gave body and soul for it; and herever it lies buried, depend upon it he must have tug with the devil who gets it ! " This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank lence throughout the room; Peechy Prauw shrunk itliin himself, and even the one-eyed officer turned lie. Wolfert, who from a dark corner in the room listened wilh intense eagerness to all this talk lut buried treasure, looked wilh mingledawe and iverence at this bold buccaneer, for such he really peeled him to be. There was a chinking of gold a sparkling of jewels in all his stories about the nish Main that gave a value to every period; and olfert would have given any thing for the rumma- ing of the ponderous sea-chest, which his imagination mmed full of golden chalices, crucifixes, and jolly ind bags of doubloons. The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company as at length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled t a pi-odigious watch, of curious and ancient work- lanship, and which in Wolfert's eyes, had a decidedly nish look. On touching a spring, it struck ten ['clock; upon which the sailor called for his reckon- , and having paid il out of a handful of outlandish (D, he drank off the remainder of his beverage, and, ilhout taking leave of any one, rolled out of the room, luttering to himself, as he slumped up stairs to his lamber. It was some time before the company could recover im the silence into which they had been thrown. he very footsteps of the stranger, which were heard iw and then as he traversed his chamlier, inspired e. Still the conversation in which they had been ;aged was too interesting not to be resumed. A ivy thunder-gust had gathered up unnoticed while ly were lost in talk, and the torrents of rain lat fell forbade all thoughts of selling off for home ilil the storm should subside. They drew nearer Iher, therefore, and entreated the worthy Peechy iuw to continue the tale which had been so urteously interrupted. He readily complied, lispering, however, in a lone scarcely above his ith, and drowned occasionally by the rolling of the ider; and he would pause every now and then, listen with evident awe, as he heard the heavy ilBteps of the stranger pacing overhead. The fbl- ing is the purport of his story. ..vas nipped in the bud by a sol |he unknown, who, laying M 1 knuckles downward, with if TBI ADVIIITIIBB Of THE BLACK FISHERMAN. EvEBT body knows Black Sam, the old negro fish- erman, or, as he is commonly called. Mud Sam, who has fished about the Sound for the last half century. It is now many many years since Sam, who was then as active a young negro as any in the province, and worked on the farm of Killian Suydam, on Long Is- land, having finished his day's work at an early hour, was fishing, one still summer evening, just about the neighbourhood of Hell-gate. He was in a light skiff, and being well acquainted with the currents and eddies, he had shifted his station according to the shifting of the tide, firom the Hen and Chickens to the Hog's Back, firom the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from the Pot to tUe Frying-pan; but in the eagerness of his sport he did not see that the tide was rapidly ebbing, until the roaring of the whirl- pools and eddies warned him of his danger; and he had some difficulty in shooting his skiff from among the rocks and breakers, and gelling to the point of Blackwell's Island. Here he cast anchor for some time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to return homewards. As the night set in, it grew blustering and gusty. Dark clouds came bundling up in the west, and now and then a growl of thunder, or a flash of lightning, told that a summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled over, therefore, uuder the lee of Manhattan Island, and, coasting along, came to a snug nook, just under a steep beetling rock, where he fastened his skiff to the root of a tree that shot out from a cleft in the rock, and spread its broad branch- es, like a canopy, over the water. The gust came scouring along ; the wind threw up the river in while surges; the rain rattled among the leaves ; ihe thunder bellowed worse than that which is now bellowing ; the lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the stream : but Sam, snugly sheltered under rock and tree, lay crouched in his skiff, rocking upon the bil- lows until he fell asleep. When he awoke, all was quiet. The gust had passed away, and only now and then a faint gleam of lightning in the east showed Which way it had gone. The night was dark and moonless ; and from the state of the tide Sam concluded it was near mid- night. He was on the point of making loose his skiff to return homewards, when he saw a light gleaming along the water from a distance, which seemed ra- pidly approaching. As it drew near, he perceived it came from a lantern in the bow of a boat, which was gliding along under shadow of the land. It pulled up in a small cove, close to where he was. A man jumped on shore, and searching about with the lan- tern, exclaimed, " This is the place— here'^ Ihe Iron ring. " The boat was then made fast, and the man returning on board, assisted his comrades in convey- ing something heavy on shore. As the light gleamed 7;i M mi TALES OF A TRAVELLER. among Ihem, Sam uw that they were five stout des- perate-looking fellows, in red woollen caps, with a leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of them were armed with dirks, or long knives, and pistols. They talked low to one another, and occasionally in some outlandish tongue which he could not under- stand. On landing, they made their way among the bushes, taking turns to relieve each other in lugging their Iiurthen up the rocky bank. Sam's curiosity was now fully aroused ; so, leaving his skiff, he clambered si- lently np a ridge that overlooked their path. They had stopped to rest for a moment ; and the leader was looking about among the bushes with his lantern. "Haveyou broughtthe spades?" saidone. "Theyare here," replied another, wiio had them on hisshoulder. " We must dig deep, where there will be no risk of discovery, " said a third. A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he saw before him a gang of murderers about to bury their victim. His knees smote together. In his agi- tation he shook the branch of a tree with which he was supporting himself, as he looked over the edge of the cliff. " What's that ? " cried one of the gang. " Some one stirs among the bushes ! " The lantern was held ap in the direction of the noise. One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and point- ed it towards the very place where Sam was stand- ing. He stood motionless— breathless—expecting the next moment to be his iast. Fortunately, his dingy complexion was in Jiis favour, and made no glare among the leaves. " 'Tis no one, " said the man with the lantern. " What a plague ! you would not fire off your pistol and alarm the country? " The pistol was uncocked, the burthen was resum- ed, and the party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched them as they went, the light sending back fitful gleams through the dripping bushes; and it was not till they were fairly out of sight that he ventured to draw breath freel-y. He now thought of getting back to his boat, and making his escape out of the reach of such dangerous neighbours ; but curiosity was all powerful. He hesitated, and lingered and listened. By and by he heard the strokes of spades. " They are digging the grave! " said he to himself, and the cold sweat started upon his forehead. Every stroke of a spade, as it sounded through the silent groves, went to his heart. It was evident there was as little noise made as possible ; every thing had an air of terrible mystery and secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the horrible— a tale of murder was a treat for him, and he was a constant attendant at execu- tions. He could not resist an impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal nearer to Uie scene of mystery, and overlook the midnight fellows at their work. He crawled along cautiously, therefore, inch by inch, stepping with the utmost care among the dry leaves lest their rustling should betray him. He came at length to where a steep rock intervened between him aixll the gang; for he saw the light of their lantern shin- ing up c^?ainst the branches of the trees on the other side. Sam slowly and silently clamlwred up the sur face of the rock, and raising his head above its naked edge, beheld the villains inunediately below him, and so near, that though he dreaded uiscovery, h ox dared not withdraw, lest the least movement shoub *" be heard. In this way he remained, with his roun black face peering above the edfr of the rock, liki the sun just emerging above the edge of the horizon, or the round-cheeked moon on the dial of a clock. The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; aj/fiit grave was filled up and they were carefully repla cing the turf. This done, they scattered dry leavt^ over the place;" And now," said the leader,"! defy the devil himself to find it out ! " " The murderers ! " exclaimed Sam, involuntarflJ The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld I round black head of Sam just above them; his whii eyes strained half out of their orbits, his wlute tei chattering, and his whole visage shining with perspiration. " We're discovered ! " cried one. " Down with him, " cried another. Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not | for the report. He scrambled over rock and su through bush and briar; rolled down banks lilie^ hedgehog; scrambled up others like a catamount, every direction he heard seme one or other of t gang hemming him in. At length he reached rocky .ridge along the river : one of the red-caps i hard behind him. A steep rock like a wall directly in his way , it seemed to cut off all retreaJ when, fortunately, he espied the strong cord-ij branch of a grape-vine reaching half way down i He sprang at it with the force of a desperate manl seized it with both hands; and, being young andagiltj succeeded in swinging himself to the summit of I cliff. Here he stood in full relief against tlie i when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. Tlij ball whistled by Sam's head. With the lucky tbooj of a man in an emergency, he uttered a yell, I the ground, and detached at the same time a fragma of ths rock, which tumbled with a loud splash inl the river. " I've done his business," said the red-cap too or two of his comrades as they arrived panting : " bef tell no tales, except to the fishes in the river. " His pursuers now turned off to meet their panions. Sam, sliding siler.lly down the surfaceij the rock, let himself quietly into his skiff; cast! the fastening, and abandoned himself to (he rajii current, which in that place runs like a mill-sir and soon swept him off from the ncighbourliood. was not, however, until he had drifted a great dij fance that he ventured to ply his oars ; when he mil his skiff dart like on arrow through the strait of H(| gate, never heeding the danger of Pot, Frying-[ or Hog's Back itself; nor did he feel himself thoroud TALES OF A TRAVELLER. mi silenlly clamlwred up thesur ising his head above iU nak( lins inimedialely below hii gh he dreaded aiscovery !st the least movement shoul r he remained, with his rout >ve the edfr of the rock, liki above t\\e edge of the horizoi noon on the dial of a clock intervened between him andlly *^'^ •"»»•• «»fe>y """«* in bed in the cockloft »e light of their lantern shinJ"' »he ancient farm-house of the Suydams. ches of the trees on the othttl " Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath, and to take a sip of the gossip tankard that |ttofld at his elbow. His auditors remained with open imoullis and outstretched necks, gaping like a nest of liwallows for an additional mouthful. " And Ls that all ? " exclaimed the half-pay oflicer. *' Thai's all timtJielongs to the story," said Peeehy iPrauw. " And did Sam never find out what was buried by eOTl'rfinished theVwork;!^^ saidWolfert, eagerly, whose mind id they were carefully repb w* haunted by nothing but ingots and doubloons, lone they scattered dry leave " Not that I know of," said Peechy ; " he had no d now " said the leader, " '"* **> "P**"® '™'" ^^'^ work, and, to tell the truth, (ind'it out ! " '*^'*^ "**' ''''® *° ™" *''® '"'*'' ®^ another race among 'exclaimed Sam, involuntarflj ^ "^ks. Besides, how should he recollect tlie spot Bd and looking up, beheld tli »here the grave had been digged, every thing would lam iust above them; his wbil »* so different by day-light? And then, where of their orbits, his wlute ted "»« 'h« "«« of looking for a dead body, when there vhole visage shining with col »»s no chance of hanging the murderers ? " " Ay, but are you sure it was a dead body they i I " cried one. ; luried?" said Wolfert. "To be sure," cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. " cried another, ing of a pistol, but did not pai scrambled over rock and s( riar; rolled down banks like 1 up others like a catamount, card seme one or other of in. At length he reached B river : one of the red-caps w A steep rock like a wall it seemed to cut off all relreal le espied the strong cord-liki reaching half way down ' the force of a desperate man nds; and, being young and agi ig himself to the summit of in full relief against the 8kj| eked his pistol and fired. Tl head. With the lucky thou| gency, he uttered a yell, ed at the same time a fiagini umbled with a loud splash :h lisiness," said the red-cap to 8 as they arrived panting : " h< the fishes in the river." turned off to meet their conj ing siler.lly down the surface quietly into his skiff ; castlof abandoned himself to Ihen] .at place runs like a mill-slreii off from the neighbourhood, nlil he had drifted a great di ed to ply his oars ; when he mi arrow through the strait of Hi ihe danger of Pot, Frying- nor did he feel himself Ihorouj ['Does it not haunt in the neighbourhood to this very .y?" " Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, open- Iheireyes still wider, and edging their chairs still loser. "Ay, haunts," repeated Peechy : " have none of \m heard of Father Red-cap, who haunts the old irnt farm-house in the woods, on the border of the id, near Hell-gate?" "Ob! to be sure. I've heard tell of something of be kind; but then I look it for some old wives' lie." " Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, ' that farm-house stands hard by the very spot. It's en unoccupied time out of mind, and stands in a lely part of the coast ; but those who fish in the ;hbourhood have often heard strange noises there; lights have been seen about the wood at night; an old fellow in a red cap has been seen at the rindows more than once, which people take to be ghost of the body that was buried there. Once in a time three soldiers took shelter in the build- for the night, and r;:mmaged it from top to bot- Dm, when they found old Father Red-cap astride 'a cider-barrel in the cellar, with a jug in one band id a goblet in the other. He offered them a drink It of his goblet ; but just as one of the soldiers was iMing it to his mouth— whew !— a flash of fire ^azed through the cellar, blinded every mother's son tnem for several minutes, and when they recovered leir eye-sight, jug, goblet, and Red-cap, had va- >ed, and nothing but the empty cider-barrel re- I!" I Here the half-pay oflicer, who was growing very kuizy and sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, witli lialf-extinguished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring nuh-ligbt. — "That's all fiidge!" said lie, as Peechy finished his last story. " Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself," said Peechy Prauw, "' though all the world knows that there's something strange about that house ami ground ; but as to4he story of Mud Sam, I believe it just as well as if it had happened to myself. " The dbep interest taken in this conversation by the company I td made them unconscious of the uprttar that prevailed abroad among the elements, whoa suddenly they were all electrified by a tremendous clap of thunder ; a lumbering crash followed instan- taneously, shaking the building to its very founda- tion—all started from their seats, imagining it the shock of an earthquake, or that old Father Red-cap was coming among them in all bis terron. They listened for a moment, but only heard the rain pelting against the windows, and the wind howling among the trees. The explosion was soon explained by Ihe apparition of an old negro's bald head thrust in at the door, bis white goggle-eyes contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet with rain, and shone like a bottle. In a jargon but half intelligible, he announced that the kitchen chimney had been struck with lightning. A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sunk in gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In this interval, the report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, almost like a yell, resounded from the shore. Everyone crowded to the window. Another musket-shot was heard, and another long shoul, that mingled wildly with a rising blast of wind. It seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom of the waters; for though incessant flashes of lightning spread a light about Ihe shore, no one was to be seen. Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened, and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger. Several bailings passed from one parly to the other, but in a language which none of the com- pany in the bar-room could understand; and pre- sently they heard the window closed, and a great noise overhead, as if all the furniture were pulled and hauled^about the room. The negro servant was summoned, and shortly after was seen assisting the veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down stairs. The landlord was in amazement — "What! — you are not going on the water in such a storm ? " " Storm ! " said the other scornfully ; " do you call such a sputter of weather a storm ?" " You'll get drenched to the skin — you'll catch your death!" said Peechy Prauw, affectionately. " Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the merman ; * < don' I preach about weather to a man that has cruizetl in whirlwinds and tornadoes ! " The obsequious Peechy was ai;aiii struck dumb. )^yi,,' ma TALES OF A TRAVELLER. The voice from the water was heard once more, in a tone of impatience. The by-standera stared with re- doubled awe at this man of storms, who seemed to have come up out of the deep, and to be summoned bacic to it again. As, with the assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponderous sea-chr:8t towards the shore, they eyed it with a superstitious feeling, half doubting whether he were not really about to embark upon it, and launch forth upon the wild waves. They followed him at a distance with a lantern. '< Dowse the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from the water — " no one wants lights here ! " " Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran, taming short upon them; " back to the house with you." Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in dismay. Still their curiosity would not allow them entirely to withdraw. A long sheet of lightning now flickered across the waves, and discovered a boat, filled with men, just under a rocky point, rising and sinking with the heaving surges, and swashing the water at every heave. It was with difficulty held to the rocks by a boat-hook, for the current rushed furiously round the point. The veteran hoisted one end of the lumber- ing sea-chest on the gunwale of the boat; he seized the handle at the other end to lift it in, when the mo- tion propelled the boat from the shore; the chest slipped off from the gunwale, and sinking into the waves, pulled the veteran headlong after it. A loud shriek was uttered by all on shore, and a volley of execrations by those on board— but boat and man were hurried away by the rushingswiflnessof the tide. A pitchy darkness succeeded; Wolfert Webber, in- deed, fancied that he distinguished a cry for help, and that he beheld the drowning man beckoning for as- sistance; but when the lightning again gleamed along the water, all was void; neither man nor boat were to be seen; nothing but the dashing and weltering of the waves as they hurried past. The company returned to the tavern to await the subsiding of the storm. They resumed their seats, and gazed on each other with dismay. The whole transaction had not occupied five minutes, and not a dozen words had been spoken. When they looked at the oaken chair, they could scarcely realize the fact, that the strange being, who had so lately tenanted it, full of life and Herculean vigour, should already be a corpse. There was the very glass he had jnst drunk from ; there lay the ashes from the pipe which he had smoked, as it were, with his last breath. As the worthy burghers pondered on these things, they felt a terrible conviction of the uncertainty of existence, and each folt as if the ground on which he stood was rendered less stable by this awflil example. As, however, the most of the company were pos- sessed of that valuable philosophy which enables a man to bear up with fortitude against the misfortunes of his neighbours, they soon managed to console them- selves for the tragic end of the veteran. The land- lord was particularly happy that the poor dear man had paid his reckoning before he went; and made i kind of farewell speech on the occasion. " He came,' said he, " in a storm, and he went in a storm— h came in the night, and he went in the night— he cam nobody knows from whence, and he has gone nobod knows where. For aught I know, he has gone to se once more on his chest, and may land to bothe some people on the other side of the world ! Thougl it's a thousand pities," added he, "if he has gone ( Davy Jones's locker, that be had not left his owi locker behind him." " His locker! St Nicholas preserve us!" cried Pee chy Prauw — "I'd not have had that sea-chest in th house for any money; I'll warrant he'd come racket ing after it at nights, and making a haunted house ( the inn; and as to his going to sea in his chest, I n collect what happened to Skipper Onderdonk's slii} on his voyage from Amsterdam. The boatswai died during a storm, so they wrapped him up in sheet, and put him in his own sea-chest, and threi him overboard; but they neglected, in their hun scurry, to say prayers over him; and the storm ragi and roared louder than ever, and they saw the dei man seated in his chest, with his shroud for a sai coming hard after the ship, and the sea breakii before him in great sprays, like fire; and there thi kept scudding day after day, and night after nigt expecting every moment to go to wreck ; and eva night they saw the dead boatswain, in his sea-cha trying to get up with them, and they heard whistle above the blasts of wind, and beseemed^ send great seas, mountain high, after them, would have swamped the ship if they Lad not put if the dead-lights; and so it went on till they lost i of him in the fogs of Newfoundland, and sup he had veered sliip, and stood for Dead Man's I So much for burying a man at sea, without saynj prayers over him." The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained t company was at an end. The cuckoo-clock in t hall told midnight; every one pressed to depart, I seldom was such a late hour of the niglit tresp on by these quiet burghers. As they sallied forth, t found the heavens once more serene. The sta which had lately obscured them had rolled awijl and lay piled up in fleecy masses on the horizon, li^ ed up by the bright crescent of the moon, which i ed like a little silver lamp hung up in a palacej clouds. The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dia narrations they had made, had left a superstity foeling in every mind. They cast a fearful glance j the spot where the buccaneer had disappeared, aim expecting to see him sailing on his chest in theo moonshine. The trembling rays glittered ahuigll waters, but all was placid ; and the current diin| over the spot where he had gone down. The |: huddled together in a little crowd as they rep homewards, particularly when they passed a I field, where a man had been murdered; and evenf TALES OF A TRAVELLER. m ig before he went ; and made ; ezton, who had to complete his Journey alone, thr-jgh ;h on the occasion. " He came,' iccnstomed, one would think, to ghosts and goblins, , and he went in a storm— b et went a long way round, rather than pass by his d he went in the night— he cam mn churchyard. vhence, and he has gone nobod] Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh aught I know, he has gone to w tock of stories and notions to ruminate upon. These best, and may land to bothe iccounts of pots of money and Spanish treasures, iher side of the world! Thougl nried here and there and every where about the ," added he, "if he has gone) ocksand bays of these wild shores, made him al- , that he had not left his owi nost dizzy. " Blessed St Nicholas! " ejaculated he, lalf aloud, "is it not possible to come upon one of icholas preserve us!" cried Pe« bese golden hoards, and to make one's self rich in )t have had that sea-chest in tk i twinkling ? How hard that I must go on, delving ' ; I'll warrant he'd come racket md delving, day in and day out, merely to make a , and making a haunted house ( oorsel of bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade is going to sea in his chest, I n night enable me to ride in my carriage for the rest ed to Skipper Onderdonk's slii} |my life!" 1 Amsterdam. The boatswai As he turned over in his thoughts all that had been I, so they wrapped him up in old ofihe singular adventure of the negro fisherman, in his own sea-chest, and thrti lis imagination gave a totally different complexion to t they neglected, in their hun lie tale. He saw in the gang of red-caps nothing rs over him; and the storm ragi at a crew of pirates burying their spoils, and his cu- lian ever, and they saw the da lidity was once more awakened by the possibility of liest, with his shroud for a sa t length getting on the traces of some of this lurking the ship, and the sea breakii realth. Indeed, his infected fancy tinged every thing sprays, like fire ; and there tin rilh gold. He felt like the greedy inhabitant of Bag- afler day, and night after nigk lad, when his eye had been greased with the magic ment to go to wreck ; and eve: dead boatswain, in his sea-cha vilh them, and they heard )lasts of wind, and he seemed I lountain high, after them, ed the ship if they Lad not put^ so it went on till they lost i of Newfoundland, and sup and stood for Dead IVIan's I ng a man at sea, without saf which had hitherto detained i end. The cuckoo-clock in II every one pressed to depart, I ate hour of the niglit tresp ghers. As they sallied forth, t once more serene. The sl« )bscHred them had rolled an eecy masses on the horizon, 11^ crescent of the moon, whicliS rer lamp hung up in a palace j rence of the night, and the dia d made, had left a superslitii id. They cast a fearful glancej Hiccaneer had disappeared, aim m sailing on his chest in thee rembling rays glittered along ll placid ; and the current diiii|il e he had gone down. The | a little crowd as they rep larly when they passed a had been murdered; and eveni nthient of the dervise, that gave him to see all the easures of the earth. Caskets of buried jewels, ^hesls of ingots, and barrels of outlandish coins, seem* to court him from their concealments, and sup< |)!icate him to relieve them from their untimely aves. On making private inquiries about the grounds said ) be haunted by Father Red-cap, he was more and ore conOrmed in his surmise. He learned that the ^ace had several times been visited by experienced noney-diggers, who had heard Black Sam's story, ough none of them had met with success. On the ontrary, they had always been dogged with ill luck ^f some kind or other, in consequence, as Wolfert oncluded, of not going to work at the proper time, |ind with the proper ceremonials. The last attempt ad been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who dug for I whole night, and met with incredible difficulty ; br, as fast as he threw one shovelftil of earth nut of he hole, two were thrown in by invisible hands. Be succeeded so far, however, as to uncover an iron ^hest, when there was a terrible roaring, ramping nd raging of uncouth figures about the hole, and at ^ngth a shower of blows dealt by invisible cudgels, hat fairly belaboured him off of the forbidden ground. |rhis Cobus Quackenbos had declared on his death* i, so that there could not be any doubt of it. He Iras a man that had devoted many years of his life lo noney-digging, and it was thought would have ulli- ately succeeded, had he not died recently of a br»in- fever in the almshouse. I Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepida- on and impatience, fearful lest some rival adventurer should get a scent of the barled gold. He deter- mined privately to seek out the black flsherman, and get him to serve as guide to the place where he had witnessed the mysterious scene of interment. Sam was easily found, for he was one of those old habitual beings that live about a neighbourhood until they wear themselves a place in the public mind, and be- come, in a manner, public characters. There was not an unlucky urchin about town that did not know Mud Sam, the fisherman, and think that he had a right to play his tricks upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibious life, for more than half a century, about the shores of the bay and the fishing-grounds of the Sound. He passed the greater part of his time on and in the water, particularly about Hell -gate; and might have been taken, in bad weather, for one of the hobgoblins that used to haunt that strait. There would he be seen at all times, and in all wea- thers; sometimes in his skiff anchored among tlie eddies, or prowling like a shark about some wreck, where the fish are supposed to be most abundant. Sometimes seated on a rock, from hour to hour, look- ing, in the mist and drizzle, like a solitary heron watching for its prey. He was well acquainted with every hole and corner of the Sound, from the Walla- bnut to Hell-gate, and from Hell-gate even unto llie Devil's Stepping-stones ; and it was even affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river by their chris- tian names. Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely constructed of fragments of wrecks and drift- wood, and built on the rocky shore, at the foot of the old fort, just about what at present forms the point of the Battery. A " most ancient and fish-like smell" pervaded the place. Oars, paddles, and fish- ing-rods were leaning against the wall of the fort ; a net was spread on the sands to dry ; a skiff was drawn up on the beach; and at the door of his cabin was Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury of sleeping in the sunshine. Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's youthful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. He per- fectly recollected the circumstances, however, for he had often been called upon to relate them, though, in his version of the story, he differed in many points fromPeechy Prauw; as is not unfrequently the case with authentic historians. As to the subsequent re- searches of money-diggers, Sam knew nothing about them, they were matters quite out of his line ; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to disturb his thoughts on that point. His only wish was to secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the spot, and this was readily effected. The long time that had intervened sincf; his nocturnal adventure, had effaced all Sam's awe of the place, and the promise of a trifling reward roused him at once from his sleep and his sunshine. The tide was adverse to making the expedition by I water, and Wolfert was too impatient to get to the 'I 3S» TALES OF A TRAVELLER. ^ s land of promise to wait fur its turning; they set off llierefore by land. A walk of four nr five miles brought them to the edge of a wood, which at that time covered the greater part of the eastern side of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant region of Bloomen-dael. Here they struck into a long lane, straggling among trees and bushes, very much over- grown with weeds and mullein stalks, as if but sel- 4lom used, and so completely overshadowed, as to enjoy but a kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees, and flaunted in their faces; brambles and briers caught their clothes as they passed ; the gar- ter-snake glided across their path; the spotted toad hopped and waddled before them ; and the restless «at-bird mewed at them from every thicket. Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in romantic le- gend, he might have fancied himself entering upon forbidden, enchanted ground; or that these were some of the guardians set to keep a watch upon buried treasure. As it was, the loneliness of the place, and the wild stories connected with it, had their effect upon his mind. On reaching the lower end of the lane, they found themselves near the shore of the Sound, in a kind of ■amphitheatre surrounded by forest-trees. The area had once been a grass-plot, but was now shagged with briers and rank weeds. At one end, and just on the river bank, was a ruined building, little bet- ter than a heap of rubbish, with a slack of chimneys rising, like a solitary tower, out of the centre ; the current of the Sound rushed along just below it, witli wildly grown trees drooping their branches into its waves. Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house of Father Red-cap, and called to mind the story of Peechy Prauw. The evening was approaching, and the light, falling dubiously among these woody places, gave a melancholy tone to the scene, well calculated to foster any lurking feeling of awe or su- perstition. The night-hawk, wheeling about in the highest regions of the air, emitted his peevish, bo- ding cry. The woodpecker gave a lonely lap now and then on some hollow tree, and the fire-bird ■ streamed by them with his deep red plumage. They now came to an enclosure that had once been a gar- den. It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but was little belter than a wilderness of weeds^ with here and there a matted rose-bush, or a peach or plum-tree, grown wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower end of the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side of a bank, facing the wa- ter. It had the look of a root-house. The door, though decayed, was still strong, and appeared to have been recently patched up. Wolfert pushed it open. It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and striking against something like a box, a rattling sound ensued, and a scull rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew back shuddering, but was reassured, on being *> • Orclwnl oreolc. ' iv'-' . informed by the negro that this was a fomily-vauli belonging to one of the old Dutch families that owned this estate; an assertion which was corroborated lij the sight of cofflns of various sizes piled within. Sam had been familiar with all these scenes when i boy, and now knew that he could not lie far from th« place of which they were in quest. They now made Iheir way to the water's edgt, scrambling along ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and obliged often to hold by shrubs and] grape-vines to avoid slipping into the deep and bur ried stream. At length they came to a small cove,] or rather indent of the shore. It was protected b; steep rocks, and overshadowed by a thick copse ol oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered and almoitj concealed. The beach shelved gradually within thej cove, but the current swept, deep and black and rapid, along its jutting points. The negro paused; raised his remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled poll for a moment, as he re- garded this nook : then suddenly clapping his hands,] he stepped exultingly forward, and pointed to a large iron ring, stapled firmly in the rock, just where i| broad shelf of stone furnished a commodious landing place. It was the very spot where the red-caps liad landed. Years had changed the more perishable] features of the scene ; but rock and iron yield slowlf to the influence of time. On looking more closely, Wolfert remarked three crosses cut in the rock just above the ring; which had no doubt some mysteriom signification. Old Sam now readily recognized the overhanging rock under which his skiff had been sheltered duiiog the thunder-gust. To follow up the course wliicb the midnight gang had taken, however, was a hard- er task. His mind had been so much taken up oo that eventful occasion by the persons of the drama, as to pay but little attention to the scenes ; and these places look so different by night and day. After waO' dering about for some time, however, they came to an opening among the trees, which Sam thought resembled the place. There was a ledge of rock o(] moderate height, like a wall, on one side, which he thought might be the very ridge from whence he had overlooked the diggers. Wolfert examined it nar- rowly, and at length discovered three crosses, simi- lar to those above the iron ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, but nearly obliterated by the mosi Ihat had grown over them. His heart leaped with joy, for he doubted not they were the private marks of the buccaneers. All now that remained was ta ascertain the precise spot where the treasure lay buried, for otherwise he might dig at random in tbt neighbourhood of the crosses, without coming upon] the spoils, and he had already had enough of sudti profitless lalMur. Here, however, the old negro m perfectly at a loss, and indeed perplexed by a variety of opinions ; for his recollections were all confiised.! Sometimes he declared it must have l)een at tli foot of a tnulberry-tree hard by ; then it was ju TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 599 I that this was a family- vault ! old Dutch families that owned )n which was corroborated bj »f various sizes piled within, r with all these scenes when j liat he could not be far from the rere in quest, leir way to the water's edRt, ;es of rocks that overhung the often to hold by shrubs and clipping into the deep and bur »th they came to a small cove, le shore. It was protected bjj ■shadowed by a thick copse ol o as to be sheltered and almost •h shelved gradually within the| swept, deep and black and rapid, s. raised his remnant of a hat, and il poll for a moment, as he r^ en suddenly clapping his hands, ' forward, and pointed to a large] miy in the rock, just where j urnished a commodious landing sry spot where the red-caps liad changed the more perishable ; but rock and iron yield slowlf me. On looking more closely, iree crosses cut in the rock just :h had no doubt some mysteriow Jily recognized the overhanging 5 skiff had been sheltered duiin* follow up the course wliidi ad taken, however, was a hard- had been so much taken up oo n by the pei-sons of the dram, ttention to the scenes ; and these nt by night and day. After wan- le time, however, they came to the trees, which Sam thought There was a ledge of rock ot a wall, on one side, which he very ridge from whence he had lers. Wolfert examined it nar- discovered three crosses, simi- e iron ring, cut deeply into the nearly obliterated by the nw» them. His heart leaped with not they were the private maris All now that remained was l» ie spot where the treasure lay he might dig at random in the| e crosses, without coming up« ad already had enough of such ere, however, the old negro wail id indeed perplexed by a variety recollections were all confused.] ired it must have Iwenatth ree hard by ; then it was jii beside a great white stone; then it mus;. have been under a small green knoll, a short distance from the ledge of rock ; until at length Wolfert became as be- wildered as himself. The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves over the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle together. It was evidently too late to at- tempt any thing further at present; and indeed Wol- fert had come unprovided with implements to pro- secute his researches. Satisiied, therefore, with having ascertained the place, he took note of all its landmarks, that he might recognize it again, and set lut on his return homewards; resolved to prosecute is golden enterprise without delay. The leading anxiety, which had hitherto absorbed every feeling, being now in some measure appeased, fancy began to wander, and to conjure up a thou- |jand shapes and chimeras as he returned through this liaunted region. Pirates hanging in chains seemed to swing from every tree, and he almost expected to see some Spanish Don, with his throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out of the ground, and shaking jlhe ghost of a money-bag. Their way back lay through the desolate garden, ind Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensitive a itate, that the flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, the falling of a nut, was enough to startle them. ,s tliey entered tlie conlines of the garden, they lUght sight of a figure at a distance, advancing slow- ly up one of the walks, and bending under the weight if a burthen. They paused, and regarded him at- lentively. He wore what appeared to be a woollen ip, and, still more alarming, of a most sanguinary The figure moved slowly on, ascended the ink, and stopped at the very door of the sepulchral laull. Just before entering it, he looked around. iVIiat was the affright of Wolfert, when he recogniz- ihe grisly visage of the drowned buccaneer ! He ittered an ejaculation of horror. The figure slowly aised his iron fist, and shook it with a terrible me- lace. Wolfert did not pause to see any more, but hurried iff as fast as his legs could carry liinj, nor was Sam low in following at his heels, having all his ancient irrors revived. Away then did they scramble, Ihrough bush and brake, horribly frightened at every mble that tugged at their skirts; nor did they luse to breathe, until they had blundered their way irough this perilous wood, and had fairly reached high road to the city. fieveral days elapsed before Wolfert could summon lurage enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much id he been dismayed by the apparition, whether Iving or dead, of the grisly buccaneer. In tlie mean ime what a conflict of mind did he suffer ! He neg- ted all his concerns ; was moody and restless all ly; lost his appetite; wandered in his thoughts and ords, and committed a thousand blunders. His rest as broken; and when he fell asleep, the night-mare, shape of a huge money-bag, sat squatted upon his breast. He babbled about incalculable sums ; lan'Med himself engaged in money-digging ; threw the ! ed- dothes right and left, in the idea that he was six I- ing away the dirt ; groped under the bed in qui of the treasure, and lugged forth, as he supposed, an inestimable pot of gold. Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at what they conceived a returning touch of insanity. There are two family oracles, one or other of which Dutch housewives consult in all cases of great doubt and perplexity— the dominie and the doctor. In the present instance, they repaired to the doctor. There was at that time a little, dark, mouldy man of medi- cine, famous among the old wives of the Manhaltoes for his skill, not only in the healing art, but in all matters of strange and mysterious nature. His name was Dr Knipperhausen, but he was more commonly known by the appellation of the High German doc- tor. ■ To him did the poor women repair for counsel and assistance touching the mental vagaries of Wol- fert Webber. They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad in his dark camblet robe of knowledge, with his black velvet cap, after the manner of Boerhaave, Van Helmont, and other medical sages; a pair of green spectacles set in black horn upon his clubbed nose ; and poring over a German folio that reflected back the darkness of his physiognomy. The doctor listened to their statement of the symp- tomsof Wolfert's malady with profound attention ; but when they came to mention his raving about buried money, the little man pricked up his ears. Alas, poor women ! they little knew the aid they had called in. Dr Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in seeking the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so many a long life-time is wasted. He had pssed some years of his youth among the Harz mountains of Germany, and had derived much valuable instruc- tion from the miners, touching the mode of seeking treasure buried in the earth. He had prosecuted his studies also under a travelling sage, who united the mysteries of medicine with magic and legerdemain. His mind, therefore, bad become stored with all kinds of mystic lore ; he had dabbled a little in astrology, alchymy, divination; knew how to detect stolen money, and to tell where springs of water lay hidden; in a word, by the dark nature of his knowledge he had acquired the name of the High German doctor, which is pretty nearly equivalent to that of necro- mancer. The doctor had often heard the rumours of treasure being buried in various parts of the itiland, and had long been anxious to get in the traces of it. No sooner were Wolfert's waking and sleeping vagaries confided to him, than he beheld in them the confirm- ed symptoms of a case of money-digging, and lost no time in probing it to the bottom. Wolfert had long • The same, no doubt, of wlioin mention is made in llie history otDolph llcytlger. (iUO TALES OF A TRAVELLER. been sorely oppressed in mind by the golden secret, and as a family physician is a kind of father confessor, he was glad of an opportunity of unburthening him- self. So far from curing, the doctor caught the ma- lady from his patient. The circumstances unfolded to him awakened all his cupidity ; he had not a doubt of money being buried somewhere in the neighbourhood of the mysterious crosses, aud offered to join Wolfert in the search. He informed him that much secrecy and caution must be observed in enterprises of the kind; that money is only to be digged for at night, with cer- tain forms and ceremonies, the burning of drugs, the repealing of mystic words, and above all, that the seekers must first be provided with a divining-rod, whidi had the wonderful property of pointing to the very spot on the surface of the earth under which trea- sure lay hidden. As the doctor had given much of his mind to these matters, he charged himself with all the necessary preparations, and as the quarter of the moon was propitious, he undertook to have the divin- ing-rod ready by a certain night. ' Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met with so learned and able a coadjutor. Every thing went on secretly but swimmingly. The doctor had many consultations with his patient, and the good woman of the household lauded the comforting effect of his visits. In the mean time, the wonderful divining- rod, that great key to nature's secrets, was duly pre- pared. The doctor had thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the occasion; and the black fisherman was engaged to take him in his skiff to the scene of enterprize; to work with spade and pickaxe in un- earthing the treasure ; and to freight his bark with the weighty spoils they were certain of finding. At length the appointed night arrived for this pe- rilous undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home, he counselled his wife and daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if he should not return during the night. Like reasonable women, on being told not to feel alarm, they fell immediately into a panic. They saw at once by his manner that something unusual was in agitation ; all their fears about the unsettled state of his mind were revived with tenfold force ; they hung about him, entreating him not to expose himself to the night air, but all in vain. When once Wolfert > The following note was found appended to tliis passage, in the hand-writing of Mr Kniclierboclier : There has been much written against the divining-rod by those light minds who are ever ready to scoff at the mysteries of nature ; but I fully join with Dr Knipperhausen in giving it my faith. I shall not insist upon its efTicacy in discovering the concealment of stolen goods, the boundary-stones of fields, the traces of robbers and murderers, or even the existence of subterraneous springs and streams of water; albeit I think these properties not to be readily discredited ; but of its potency in discovering veins of pre- cious metal, and hidden sums of money, and jewels, I have not the least doubt. Some said that the rod turned only in the hands of persons who had been born in particular months of the year; hence astrologers had recourse to planetary influence when they would procure a talisman. Others declared, that the properties of the rod were either an effect of chance, or the fraud of the hold- er, or the work of the devil. Thus saith the reverend father Gospard Sehett in his treatise on magic : " Propter hxc et similia was mounted on his hobby, it was no easy matter l get him out of the saddle. It was a clear starligh night, when he issued out of the portal of the Webbc palace. He wore a large flapped hat, tied under th chin with a handkerchief of his daughter's, tosecur him firom the night damp; while Dame Webber tlirew her long red cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round his neck. The Doctor had been no less carefully armed and accoutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy, and sallied forth in his camblet robe by way of sur coat ; his black velvet cap under his cocked hat; a thick clasped book under his arm; a basket of drugs a» dried herbs in one hand, and in the other the mi- raculous rod ofdivination. The great church clock struck ten as Wolfert am the Doctor passed by the churchyard, and the watch- man bawled, in a hoarse voice, a long and dolefa " All's well ! " A deep sleep had already fallen upon this primitive little burgh. Nothing disturbed thk awfiil silence, excepting now and then the bark of some profligate, night-walking dog, or the serenade of some romantic cat. It is true Wolfert fancied more than once that ht heard the sound of a stealthy foot fall at a distance Ix- hind them; but it might have been merely the sound of their own steps echoing along the quiet streets. Ht thought also, at one time, that he saw a lall figun sculking after Ihem, slopping when they stopped, aoi moving on as they proceedeti ; but the dim and un- certain lamp-light threw such vague gleams and sha- dows, that this might all have been mere fancy. They found the old fisherman waiting for then,! smoking his pipe in the stern of his skiff, which wa| moored just in front of his little cabin. A pick-an and spade were lying in the bottom of the boat, villi a dark lantern, and a stone bottle of good Dutch con-j rage, in which honest Sam, no doubt, put even morej faith than Dr Knipperhausen in his drugs. Thus, then, did these three worthies embark ioj their cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal eu^i dition, with a wisdom and valour equalled only bj the three wise men of Gotham, who adventured losei in a bowl. The tide was rising, and running rapidif up the Sound. The current bore them along aioioftl » S f( w it It ¥« til ih th tk vij th W( ac sel an Al da W( th( do th( lea shi the 1 the fioi trei lean [fact hn argumenta audacter ego promisero vim conversivam virgulaelhl furcatx nequaquam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel frauile n\ gulam tractaatis vet ope diaboli, etc." Georgius Agricolaalsonl of opinion that it was a mere delusion of the devil to inveigle lk)l avaricious and unwary into his clutches ; and in his treatise, "Dtl Re HetaUica," lays particular stress on the mysterious wordipn-l nounced by those persons who employed the divining-rod durintl his time. But I make not a doubt that the divining-rod is oneotl those secrets of natural magic, the mystery of which is tobea-r plained by the sympathies existing between physical things openl-| ed upon by the planets, and rendered efficacious by the sin faith of the individual. Let the divining-rod be properly gathcRdl at the proper time of the moon, cut into the proper fonn, iimI| with the necessary ceremonies, and with a perfect failh in ibf cacy, andl can confidently reconmiend it to myfellow-clti as an infallible means of discovering the various places ont island of the Manhattoes, where treasure hath been bnricd in H olden lime. D. K. ^low m HIS I] TALES OF A IHAVELLER. 601 >bby, it WM no easy mailer I Idle. It was a clear starllr' )ul of the portal of the Webb rge napped hat, lied under th lief of his daughter's, to secup ip ; while Dame Webber U>re^ 111 his shoulders, and fastencdl n no less carefully armed and keeper, the vigilant Frau lUy, s camblet robe by way of sur ap under his cocked liat ; a thick lis arm; a basket of drugs an and, and in the other the mi lion. Jock struck ten as Wolferl and the churchyard, and the watch- »arse voice, a long and doleful lep sleep had already fallen upon )urgh. Nothing disturbed tlm Ling now and then the bark ol It-walking dog, or the serenade fancied more than once tliatl stealthy foot fall at a distance Ight have been merely the soui loing along the quiet streets, time, that he saw a tall fig stopping when they stopped, anij »roceede<1 ; but the dim and rew such vague gleams andsl*] |t all have been mere fancy Id fisherman wailing for thenl the stern of his skiff, which wa of his little cabin. A pick-a» in the bottom of the boat, villi I stone bottle of good Dutch coo- it Sam, no doubt, put even morej :rhausen in his drugs, liese three worthies embark Jul I skiff upon this nocturnal eiH m and valour equalled only by Gotham, who adventured toss was rising, and running rapidlr current bore them along alDioit| Lromisero vim convewlvam virgutelt }alem esse, sed vel casu vel frauile » llaboli, etc." GeorglusAgricolaalsoM iere delusion of the devil to inveigle Ih loliis clutches sand in his treatise, "»1 iilar stress on the mysterious wordipn- fwho employed the divining-rod doiim It a doubt that the divining-rod is om(iI| riagic. the mystery of which is tobe* (exisllng between physical things openl- ad rendered efficacious by the sliwj hi the divining-rod be properly gathend] Imoon. cut Into the proper form mles, and with a perfect failh in lU fy recommend It to my fellow-cif" discovering the various places on vhere treasure hath been hurled in U.K. wilitout the aid of an oar. The profile of the town lay all in shadow. Here and there a light feebly glimmered from some sick chamber, or from the ca- bin-window ofsome vessel at anchor in the stream. Not a cloud obscured the deep starry firmament, the lights of which wavered on the surface of the placid river, and a shooting meteor, streaking its pale course in the very direction they were taking, was interpret- ed by the Doctor Into a most propitious omen. In a little while they glided by the point of Cor- lear's Hook, with the rural mn, which had been the scene of such night adventnres. The family had re- ared to rest, and the house was dark and still. Wol- fert felt a chill pass over him as they passed the point where the buccaneer had disappeared. He pointed it out to Dr Knipperhausen. While regarding it, they thought they saw a boat actually lurking at the very place; but the shore cast such a shadow over the border of the water, that they could discern no- thing distinctly. They had not proceeded far, when they heard the low sound of distant oars, as if cau- tiously pulled. Sam plied his oars with redoubled vigour, and knowing all the eddies and currents of the stream, soon left their followers, if such they were, far astern. In a little while tliey stretched across Turtle Bay and Kip's Bay, then shrouded them- selves in the deep shadows of the Manhattan shore, and glided swiftly along, secure from observation. At length the negro shot his skiff into a little cove, dark'y embowered by trees, and made it fast to the well-l.nown iron ring. They now landed, and, lighting the lantern, ga- thered thelt various im^ilements, and proceeded slowly through the bushes. Every sound startled them, even that of their own footsteps among the dry leaves; and the hooting of a screech owl from the shattered chimney of the neighbouring ruin made (heir blood run cold. In spite of all Wolferl's caution in taking note of the landmarks, it was some time before they could fmd the open place among the trees, where the treasure was supposed to be buried. At length they came to the ledge of rock, and on examining i*s sur- jfaceby the aid of the lantern, Wolferl recognized the three mystic crosses. Their hearts beat quick, for the mentous trial was at band that was to determine leir hopes. The lantern was now held by Wolferl Webber^ hile the Doctor produced the divining-rod. It was forked twig, one end of which was grasped firmly each hand ; while the centre, forming the stem, inted perpendicularly upwards. The Doctor moved ibis wand about, within a certain distance of the larth, from place lo place, but for some lime wilhcul iny effect ; while Wolferl kept the light of tiie lan- m turned full upoiv it, and watched it with the i breathless interest. At length, the rod began ilowly to turn. The doctor grasped it with greater nestness, his hands trembling with the agitation of lis mind. The wand continued to turn gradually, until at length the stem liad reversed its position, and pointed perpendicularly downward, and remained pointing to one spot as fixedly as the needle lo the pol*>. " This is the spot !" said the Doctor in an almo^tt inaudible tone. Wolferl's heart was in his throat. " Shall I dig ?" said the negro, grasping the spade. " Potstausends, no !" replied the lilUe Doctor has- tily. He now ordered his companions to keep closo by him, and lo maintain the most inflexible silence ; that certain precautions must be taken, and ceremo- . nies used, (o prevent the evil spirits which kept about buried treasure from doing them any harm. He then drew a circle about the place, enougli to include the whole party. He next gathered dry twigs , and leaves, and made a lire, upon which he threw certain drugs and dried herbs, which he had brought in his basket. A thick smoke arose, diffusing its potent odour, savouring marvellously of brimstone and assafoetida, which, however grateful it might be to the olfactory nerves of spirits, nearly strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a fit of coughing and wheezing that made the whole grove resound. Dr Knipperhausen then unclasped the volume which be had brought under his arm, which was printed in red and black diaracters in German text. While Wolfert held the lantern, the Doctor, by the aid of his spectacles, read off several forms of conjuration in Latin and German. He then ordered Sam to seize the pick-axe and proceed lo work. The close- bound soil gave obstinate signs of not having been dis- turbed for many a year. After having picked his way through the surface, Sam came lo a bed of sand and gravel, which he threw briskly lo right and left with the spade. " Hark !" said Wolfert, who fancied he heard a trampling among the dry leaves, and a rustling through the bushes. Sam paused for a moment, and they listened— no footstep was near. The bat flilleil by them in silence ; a bird, roused from its roost by the light which glared up among the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the profound stillness of the woodland they could distinguish the current rippling along the rocky shore, and the distant mur- muring and roaring of Hell-gate. The negro continued his labours, and had already digged a considerable hole. The Doctor stood on the edge, reading formulae, every now and then, fk'om his black-letter volume, or throwing mure drugs and herbs upon the fire, while Wolfeit bent anxiously over the pit, watching every stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing the scene, thus lighted up by fire, lantern, and the reflection of Wolferl's red man- tle, might have mistaken the Httle Doctor for some foul magician, busied in his incantations, and the grizzly-headed negro for some swarl goblin obedient to his conunands. At length the spade of the old fisherman struck upon something that sounded hollow ; the sound vi- brated to Wolferl's heart. He struck his spade again— 76 mi TALES OF A TRAVELLER. '< 'Ti« a chest," uid Sam. " Fall of gold, I'll warrant it !" cried Wolfert, clasping his hands with rapture. Scarcely liad he uttered the words when a sound from above caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo ! by the expiring light of the fire, lie beheld, just over the disk of the rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down upon him. Wolfert gave a loud cry, and let fall the lantern. His panic commnnioated itself to his companions, 'the negro leaped out of the hole ; the Doctor dropped his book and basket, and began to pray in German. All was horror and confusion. The fire was scat- tered about, the lantern extingublied. In their hur- ry-scurry, they ran against and confounded one ano- ilier. They fancied a legion of holigoblins let loose upon them, and that they saw, by the fitful gleams uf the scattered embers, strange figures in red caps, gibbering and ramping around them. The Doctor ran one way, the negro another, and Wolfert made for the water-side. As he plunged, struggling onwards through bush and brake, he heard the tread of some Hue in pursuit. He scrambled frantickly forward. The footsteps gained upon him. He felt himself grasped by iiis cloak, when suddenly his pursuer was attacked in turn. A fierce fight and struggle en- sued. A pistol was discharged that lit up rock and bush for a second, and sliowed two figures grappling It^etlier — all was then darker than ever. The con- test continued ; the combatants clenched each other, and panted and groaned, and rolled among the rocks. There was snarling and growling as of a cur, mingled with curses, in which Wolfert fancied he could re- cognize the voice of the buccaneer. He would fain have fled, but he was on the brink of a precipice, and could go no farther. Again the parties were on their feet ; again there was a tugging and straggling, as if strei^th alone could decide the combat, until one was precipitated from the brow of the cliff, and sent headlong into the deep stream that whirled below. Wolfert heard the plunge, and a kind of strangling, bubbling murmur ; but the darkness of the ni^t hid every thing from him, and the swiftness «f the cur- rent swept every thing instantly out of hearing. One of tlie combatants was disposed of, but whe- ther friend or foe Wolfert could not tell, or whether they might not both be foes. He beard tlie survivor approach, and his terror revived. He saw, where the profile of the rocks rose against the horizon, a hu- man form advancing. He could not be mistaken — it must be the buccaneer. Whither should lie fly ? a precipice was on one side, a murderer on the other. The enemy approached — he was close at hand. Wolfert attempted to let himself down the face of the cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn ttiat grew on the edge : he was jerked from off his feet, and held dangling in the air, half choked by the string with which his careful wife had fastened the garment I'ound his neck. Wolfert thought- his last moment arrived ; already had ht committed his soul to St Nicholas, when the string broke, and he tumbled down the bank, bumping from itMsk to rock, and bush to bush, and leaving the red cloak fluttering, like a bloody banner, in the air. It was a long while before Wolfert came to him- self. When he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning were already shooting up the sky. He found himself lying in the bottom of a boat, griev* ously battered. He attempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. A voice requested him, in friendly accents, to lie still. He turned his eyes to- wards the speaker— it was Dirk Waldron. lie had dogged the party at the earnest request of Dame Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable curiosity of their sex, had piled into the secret con- sultations of Wolfert and the Doctor. Dirk had been completely distanced in following the light skiff of the fisherman, and had just come in time to rescue the pour money-digger from his pursuer. Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The Doctor and Black Sam severally found their way back to the Manhattoes, each having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. As to poor Wolfert, instead of returnioK in triumph, laden with bags of gold, he was borw home on a shutter, followed by a raUile rout of cu- rious urchins. His wife and daughter saw the dismal pageul from a distance, and alarmed the neighbourhood with tlieir cries ; they thought the poor man had sud- denly settled the great debt of nature in one of hit wayward hmmmIs. Finding him, however, still living, they had him speedily to bed, and a jury of old ma- trons of the neighbourhood assembled to determiae how he should be doctored. The whole town was in a buzz with the story of I the money-diggers. Many repaired to the scene of the previous night's adventures ; but though they found the very place of the digging, they discovered nothing that compensated them for their trouble. Some say they found the fragments of an oaken chest, and an iron potlid, which savoured strongly of hidden money, and that in the old family-vault there were | traces of bales and boxes , but this is all very da- bious. In fact, the secret of all this story has never totfait I day been discovered. Whether any treasure wen ever actually buried at that place ; whether, if so, it were carried off at night by those who had buried it; or whether it still remains there under the guardian- ship of gnomes and spirits, until it shall be properl; | sought for, is all matter of conjecture. For my pin, I incline to the latter opinion, and make no doubt I that great sums lie buried, both there and in many I other parts of this island and its neighbourhood, ever I since the times of the buccaneers and the Dutch en-l lonists ; and I would earnestly recommend the searclij after them to such of my fellow-citizens as are i engaged in any other upeculalions. There werel many conjectures formed, also, as to who and wha'l TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 005 d h» commllled his wul lo ing broke, and he tumbled ig from iwk to rock, «nd g the red cloak fluttering, he air. fore Wolfert came to him- liis eyes, the ruddy streaks r shooting up the sky. He Ihe bottom of a boat, grie^- mpted to sit up, but was too A voice requested him, in ill. He turned his eyes to- m Dirk Waldron. He had le earnest request of Dame ler, who, with the laudable id piied into the secret con- d the Doctor. Dirk had been following the light skiff oflhe I come in time to rescue the n his pursuer. lous enterprise. The Doctor y found their way back to ihe ig some dreadful Ule of peril Wolfert, instead of returniuf , bags of gold, he was borw lowed by a raW)le rout of cu- hter saw the dismal pageiat [ alarmed the neighbourhood thought the poor man had sud- t debt of nature in one of hii ling him, however, still living, to bed, and a jury of oW ma- rhood assembled to delermine tored. IS in a buzz with the story of Many repaired to the scene (rf adventures; but though they )f the digging, they discovered sated them for their troulik. he fragments of an oaken cliest, ich savoured strongly of hidden le old family-vault there we« xes, but this is all very da- : all this story has never toti Whelher any treasure wen |t that place ; whether, if w, il eht by those who had buried ft; nains there under the guardian- irits, until it shall be properlj er of conjecture. For my part, opinion, and make no doobl jiried, both there and in many fnd and its neighbourhood, evei Ibuccanefrs and the Dutch en- lameslly recommend the searclij my fellow-citizens as are -"* |,r Bpeculalions. Theie werel Ud,also, astowhoandwhatl was the strange nun of the seas who had domineered over the little fraternity at Corlear's Hook for a time, disappeared so strangely, and re-appeared so fear- fully. Some supposed him a smuggler, slat'aned at that place to assist his comrades in landing their goods aaiong the rocky coves of the island. Others, that !"> was one of the ancient comrades, either of Kidd ur Bradish, returned to convey away treasures for- merly hidden in the vicinity. The only circumstance ihat throws any thing like a vague 'ight on this mys- terious matter, is a report which pre ailed of a strange fbreign-built shallop, with much the look of a pic- raroon, having been seen hovering about the Sound for several days without landing or reporting herself, though boats were seen going to and from her at night ; and that she was seen standing out of the inonth of the harbour, in the grey of the dawn, af- ter tlie catastrophe of the money-diggers. I must not omit lo mention another report, also, which I confess is rather apocryphal, nf the buccaneer, who was $u{)posed to have been drowned, being seen before daybreak with a lantern in his hand, seated astride his great sea-chest, and sailing through Hell- gale, wliich just then began to roar and bellow with redoubled ftiry. While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and nimour, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowful in hiii bed, bruised in body, and sorely beaten down in mind. His wife and daughter did all they could to bind np Iris wounds, both corporal and spiritual. The jj'ood old dame never stirred fiom his bed-side, where [she sat knitting from morning till night ; while his daughter busied herself about him with the fondest Icare. Nor did they lack assistance from abroad. rVhatever may be said of the desertion of friends in lislress, they had no complaint of the kind to make ; |nol an old wife of the neighbourhood but abandoned ler work to crowd to the mansion of Wolfert Webber, itquire after his health, and the particulars of his lory. Not one came, moreover, without her little ipkin of penny-royal, sage balm, or other herb-tea, elighled at an opportunity of signalizing her kind- less and her dnctorship. lat drenchings did not the poor Wolfert un- lergo ! and all in vain. Il was a moving sight to ihold him wasting away day by day ; growing hiuner and thinner, and ghastlier and ghastlier; and ring with rueful visage from under an old patch- ork o^unterpane, upon the jury of matrons kindly Lssembled to sigh and groan, and look unhappy iroand him. Dirk Waldron Avas the only being that seemed to |hed a ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. le came in with cheery look and manly spirit, and ied to reanimate the expiring heart of the poor loney-digger ; but it was all in vain. Wolfert was inpletely done over. If any lliing was wanting (o nplete his despair, it was a notice served upon him, Ihe midst of his disdess, that the corporalion were about to run a new street through the very centre of his cabbage-garden. He now saw nothing befbre him but poverty and ruin— his last reliance, the gar- den of his forefathers, was to be laid watte— and what then was to become of his poor wife and child ? His eyes Hlled with tears as they followed the dutiful Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after his daughter, and for the first time since his illness, broke the silence he had maintained. "I am going!" said he, shaking his bead feebly; "and when I am gone— my poor daughter — " '' Leave her to me, father! " said Dirk, manfully; <' I'll take care of her!" Wolfert looked up in the fare of the cheery, strap- ping youngster, and saw there was none better able to take care of a woman. "Enough," said he, "she is yours! — and now fetch me a lawyer— let me make my will and die! " The lawyer was brought, a dapper, bustling, round-headed little man— Roorbach (or Rollebuck, as it was pronounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke into loud lamentations, for they looked u[)on the signing of a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert made a feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy buried her (ace and her grief in the bed-curtain; Dame Webber resumeil lier knitting to hide her distress, which betrayed it- self, however, in a pellucid tear which trickled silently down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose; while the cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, played with the good dame's ball of worsted, as it rolled about the floor. Wolfert 'ay on his back, his night-cap drawn over his forehead, his eyes closed, his whole visage the picture of death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he fell his end approaching, and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared to write. " I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, " my small farm — " " What! all ?" exclaimed the lawyer. Wolfert half opened his eyes, and looked upon the lawyer. "Yes— all," said he. "What ! all that great patch of land with cabbages and sunflowers, which the corporation is just going to run a main street through? " " The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, and sinking back upon his pillow. "I wish him joy that inherits it! " said the lillfe lawyer, chuckling &nd rubbing his hands involuu- tarily. "What do you mean?" said Wolfert, again open- ing his eyes. " That he 'II be one of the richest men in Ihe place !" cried little Rollebuck. The expiring Wolfert seemed to step 'mhI; h.ih) the threshold of existence; his eyes agair ."ghi'd •■{); he raised himself in his bed, shoved hacK kh wonted im TALES OF A TRAVELLER. im-M < ■ red night -cap, and stared broadly at the lawyer. " Yoa don't say so ! " exclaimed he. <' Faith, but I doJ " rejoined the other. " Why, when that great fleld, and that huge meadow, come to be laid out in streets, and cut up into snug build- ing lots— why, wlioever owns it need not pull ofThis hat tothepaUoon!" "Say you so?" cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out of bed; "why, then, I tliink I'll not make my will yet ! " To the surprise of every body, the dying man ac- tually recovered. The vital spark, which had glim- mered faintly in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It once more burnt up into a flame. Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body of a spirit-broken man! In a few days Wol- fert left his room; in a few days more his table was covered with deeds, plans of streets, and building lots. Little Rollebuck was constantly with him, his right-hand man and adviser, and instead of making his will, assisted in the more agreeable task of mak- ing his fortune. In fact, Wolfert Webber was one of those many worthy Dutch burghers of the Manhattoes, whose fortunes have been made in a manner in spite of them- selves; who have tenaciously held on to their here- ditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages about the skirts of the city, hardly able to make both ends meet, until the corporation has cruelly driven streets through their abodes, and they have suddenly awakened out of their lethargy, and to their astonishment found themselves rich men ! Before many months had elapsed, a great bustling street passed through the very centre of the Webber garden, just where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure. His golden dream was accomplished. lie did indeed find an unlooked-for source of wealth; for when his paternal lands were distributed into build- ing lots, and rented out to safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop of cabbages, they returned him an abundant crop of rents ; insomuch that on quarter-day it was a goodly sight to see his tenants knocking at his door from morning till night, each with a little round-bellied bag of money, the golden produce of the soil. The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kepi up; but instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutcb house in a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a street, the grand house of the neighbourhood; for Wolfert enlarged it with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea-room on top, where he miglit climb up and smoke his pipe in hot weather; and in tlie course of time the whole mansion was overniu by the chubby-faced progeny of Amy Webber and Dirk Waldron. As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, he also set up a great gingerbread-coloured carriage, drawn by a pair of black Flanders mares, with tails that swept the ground; and to commemorate the ori- gin of his greatness, lie had for his crest a full-blovD cabbage painted on the pannels with the pithy motio allts lto{if, that is to say, all head, meaning thereby, that he had risen by sheer head-work. To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fulness of time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with liis fathers, and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the lea- ther-bottomed arm-chair, in the inn-parlour at Cor- lear's Hook, where he long reignsd, greatly honoured and respected, insomuch that he was never knoiro to tell a story without its being believed, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at. E>D OF THE TALES OF A TRAVELLElt. Iream was aocomplisbed. He oked-for source of vrealth ; for Is were distributed into build- out to safe tenants, instead of p of cabbages, they returned » of rents ; insomuch that on ;oodly sight to see his tenants from morning till night, each lied bag of money, the golden n of his forefathers was still kepi ng a little yellow-fronted Dutck now stood boldly in the midst house of the neighbourhood; it with a wing on each ade room on top, where he might lis pipe in hot weatherj and in e whole mansion was overm progeny of Amy Webber and 1 old, and rich, and corpulent ; gingerbread-coloured carriage, lack Flanders mares, with (aili d ; and to commemorate the or! lie had for his crest a full-blom he pannels with the pithy motlo ly, ALL HEAD, meaning thereby sheer head-work. 8 of his greatness, in the fulness d Ramm Rapelye slept with hs t Webber succeeded to the lei- hair, in the inn-parlour at Cot- e long reigned, greatly honoured nuch that he was never known It its being believed, nor to ultet ing laughed at.