PS 
 
 2-0(03 
 A I 
 
THE BOOK'LOVER'S 
 
 NEW SUNNYSIDE EDITION 
 
 This edition of the Complete Works of 
 Washington Irving is limited to Six Hundred 
 signed and numbered sets, of which this is 
 
 Number 
 
 ^ 
 

 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BY 
 
 FRED^S-COBURN 
 ARTHUR RACKHAM 
 
 F-O-C-DARLEY 
 HENRY$ANDHAM 
 A-FREDERICKS 
 ALLANBARRAUO 
 
 CA-PLATT 
 
 R-F-ZOGBAUM 
 
 F-S-CHURCH 
 
 GS-REINHART 
 JULIAN Rix 
 J-CARTERBEARD 
 WILLIAM HYDE 
 C-H-EATON 
 E-W-KEMBLE 
 HARRISON MILLER 
 G-W-BARDWELL 
 JACQUESREICH 
 
 W^J-WlLSON 
 
 AND 
 OTHERS 
 
 NEW SUNNYSIDE EDITION 
 
 THE 
 
 WRITINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 IRVING 
 
 G -PPUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
Sunnyside Edition 
 
 Reviews and 
 
 Miscellanies 
 
 By 
 
 Washington Irving 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London 
 
 Gbe fmicfcerbocfcer press 
 
ttbe -Rnicfcecbocfcer preaa, flew 
 
IReviews anfc 
 lanies 
 
 NEW SUNNYSIDE EDITION 
 
Contents* 
 
 REVIEWS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 PA.GE 
 
 ROBERT TREAT PAINE 3 
 
 EDWIN C. HOLLAND 33 
 
 WHEATON'S HISTORY OF THE NORTHMEN . 52 
 
 CONQUEST OF GRANADA 106 
 
 LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF "THE KNICKER- 
 BOCKER" 160 
 
 SLEEPY HOLLOW 172 
 
 NATIONAL NOMENCLATURE .... 192 
 
 DESULTORY THOUGHTS ON CRITICISM . . 202 
 
 COMMUNIPAW 210 
 
 CONSPIRACY OF THE COCKED HATS . . .224 
 
 LETTER FROM GRANADA 235 
 
 THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS . . . .247 
 
 STORIES AND LEGENDS. 
 
 THE EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING- 
 WOOD 261 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SEMINOI,ES 317 
 
 Origin of the White, the Red, and the Black 
 
 Men 324 
 
 The Conspiracy of Neamathla . . . 329 
 
 THE COUNT VAN HORN 341 
 
 DON JUAN : A SPECTRAI, RESEARCH . . . 364 
 
 LEGEND OF THE ENGUI^PHED CONVENT . . 380 
 
 THE PHANTOM ISLAND 389 
 
 The Adalantado of the Seven Cities . . 394 
 
IFllustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 " HE WAS SCRAMBLING UP A TREE WHEN I SHOT 
 
 HIM THROUGH THE BREAST" . Frontispiece 
 
 Drawn by G. W. Bardwell. 
 
 ROBERT TREAT PAINE 24 
 
 After a sketch by Savage. 
 
 VIKING 68 
 
 From Jewett's " Story of the Normans." 
 
 WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR . . > , -, . . 94 
 
 From an engraving by G. Vertue. 
 
 CATHEDRAL OF ZAMORA Il8 
 
 Redrawn from an old print. 
 
 LOXA 146 
 
 Redrawn from an old print. 
 
 CARDINAL XIMINES 154 
 
 From an engraving by C. E. Wagstaff. 
 
 BROOK AT SUNNYSIDE 162 
 
 From a photograph . 
 
 THE VANDER HEYDEN PALACE . . . . 1 68 
 
 Redrawn from Munsell's "Annals of Albany." 
 
 vii 
 
viii 
 
 flllustratfons 
 
 THE POCANTICO RIVER 176 
 
 From a photograph. 
 
 OI,D CHURCH GRAVEYARD l8o 
 
 From a photograph. 
 
 OI,D I,ANE 
 
 I 9 
 
 From a photograph. 
 
 NEW YORK FROM JERSEY CITY 1830 . .212 
 
 Redrawn from a picture by Burford in 
 
 "New York Mirror." 
 
Reviews an& fBMscellanies* 
 
[The first part of this volume consists of Reviews, articles from 
 the Knickerbocker Magazine, and the Kaatskill Mountains, a 
 contribution to Putnam's Home-Book of the Picturesque ', pub- 
 lished in 1850. 
 
 The Reviews of the works of Robert Treat Paine, and the 
 Poems of Kdwin C. Holland, are drawn from the Analectic 
 Magazine during the period of Mr. Irving's editorship. The 
 notice of Wheaton's History of the Northmen appeared in 
 the North American in 1832. The review of the Chronicle 
 of the Conquest of Granada, a work emanating from Wash- 
 ington Irving, but purporting to come from the pen of Fray 
 Antonio Agapida, an imaginary personage, was furnished to 
 the London Quarterly, a long time after its publication, at 
 the instance of Murray, his publisher, who "thought the na- 
 ture of the work was not sufficiently understood, and that it 
 was considered rather as a work of fiction than one substantially 
 of historic fact." It is needless to add that it is in no sense a 
 laudatory review, but simply explanatory of the historical foun- 
 dation of a work in which he had somewhat mystified the 
 reader by the use of his monkish sobriquet. 
 
 The articles reproduced from the Knickerbocker date mainly 
 from the year 1839. A majority of Mr. Irving's contributions 
 to that magazine, during the two years he was engaged in 
 writing for it have been incorporated in WolferVs Roost. Ed.] 
 
REVIEWS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 IRobett {Treat ftaine. 
 
 The Works, in Verse and Prose, of the late Robert 
 Treat Paine, Jun., Esq., with Notes. To which are 
 prefixed Sketches of his Life, Character, and Writ- 
 ings. 8vo., pp. 464. Belcher, Boston, 1812. 
 
 IN reviewing the work before us, criticism is 
 deprived of half its utility. However j ust 
 may be its decisions, they can be of no 
 avail to the author. With him the fitful 
 scene of literary life is over ; praise can stimulate 
 him to no new exertions, nor censure point the 
 way to future improvement. The only benefit, 
 therefore, to be derived from an examination 
 of his merits, is to deduce therefrom instruction 
 for his survivors, either as to the excellences they 
 should imitate, or the errors they should avoid. 
 There is no country to which practical criti- 
 cism is of more importance than this, owing to 
 3 
 
4 TRcvicws ano jfl&tecellanies 
 
 the crude state of native talent, and the imma- 
 turity of public taste. We are prone to all the 
 vices of literature, from the casual and super- 
 ficial manner in which we attend to it. Ab- 
 sorbed in politics, or occupied by business, few 
 can find leisure, amid these strong agitations 
 of the mind, to follow the gentler pursuits of 
 literature, and give it that calm study and 
 meditative contemplation necessary to discover 
 the true principles of beauty and excellence in 
 composition. To render criticism, therefore, 
 more impressive, and to bring it home, as it were, 
 to our own bosoms, it is not sufficient merely 
 to point to those standard writers of Great 
 Britain who should form our real models, but 
 it is important to take those writers among our- 
 selves who have attained celebrity, and scruti- 
 nize their characters. Authors are apt to catch 
 and borrow the faults and beauties of neighbor- 
 ing authors, rather than of those removed by 
 time or distance ; as a man is more apt to fall 
 into the vices and peculiarities of those around 
 him, than to form himself on the models of 
 Roman or Grecian virtue. 
 
 This is apparent even in Great Britain, 
 where, with all the advantages of finished edu- 
 cation, literary society, and critical tribunals, 
 we see her authors continually wandering 
 away into some new and corrupt fashion of 
 
Robert Great paine 5 
 
 writing, rather than conforming to those orders 
 of composition which have the sanction of time 
 and criticism. If such be the case in Great Brit- 
 ain, and if even her veteran literati have still 
 the need of rigorous criticism to keep them 
 from running riot, how much more necessary 
 is it in our country, where our literary ranks, 
 like those of our military, are rude, undici- 
 plined, and insubordinate. It is for these 
 reasons that we presume with freedom, but, 
 we trust, with candor, to examine the relics of 
 an American poet, to do justice to his merits, 
 but to point out his errors, as far as our judg- 
 ment will allow, for the benefit of his contem- 
 poraries. 
 
 The volume before us commences with a 
 biography of the author, written by two sev- 
 eral hands. The style is occasionally over- 
 wrought, and swelling beyond the simplicity 
 proper to this species of writing, but on the 
 whole creditable to the writers. The spirit in 
 which it is written is both friendly and candid. 
 We cannot but admire the generous struggle 
 between tenderness for the author's memory 
 and a laudable determination to tell the whole 
 truth, which occurs whenever the failings of 
 the poet are adverted to. We applaud the 
 frankness and delicacy with which the latter 
 are avowed. If biography have any merit, it 
 
6 IReviewe an& Miscellanies 
 
 consists in presenting a faithful picture of the 
 character, the habits, the whole course of living 
 and thinking of the person who is the subject 
 for, otherwise, we may as well have a ro- 
 mance, and an ideal hero imposed on us, for 
 our wonder and admiration. 
 
 The biography of Mr. Paine presents another 
 of those melancholy details, too commonly 
 furnished by literary life, those gleams of 
 sunshine, and days of darkness ; those mo- 
 ments of rapture, and periods of lingering de- 
 pression ; those dreams of hope, and waking 
 hours of black despondency. Such is the 
 rapid round of transient joys and frequent 
 sufferings that form the ' ' be all and the end 
 all here," of the unlucky tribe that live by 
 writing. Surely, if the young imagination 
 could ever be repressed by sad example, these 
 gloomy narratives would be sufficient to deter 
 it from venturing into the fairy land of litera- 
 ture a region so precarious in its enjoyments 
 and fruitful in its calamities. 
 
 We find that Mr. Paine started on his career 
 full of ardor and confidence. His collegiate 
 life was gay and brilliant. His poetic talents 
 had already broken forth, and acquired him the 
 intoxicating but dangerous meed of early praise. 
 The description given of him by his biographer, 
 at this time, is extremely prepossessing. 
 
Robert Great paine 7 
 
 " He was graduated with the esteem of the govern- 
 ment and the regard of his contemporaries. He was 
 as much distinguished for the opening virtues of his 
 heart, as for the vivacity of his wit, the vigor of his 
 imagination, and the variety of his knowledge. A 
 liberality of sentiment and a contempt of selfishness 
 are concomitants, and in him were striking character- 
 istics. Urbanity of manners and a delicacy of feeling 
 imparted a charm to his benignant temper and social 
 disposition." 
 
 After leaving college, we begin to perceive 
 the misfortunes which his early display of 
 talents had entailed upon him. He had tasted 
 the sweets of literary triumph, and, as it is not 
 the character of genius to rest satisfied with 
 past achievements, he longed to add fresh 
 laurels to those he had acquired. With this 
 strong inclination towards a literary life, we 
 behold him painfully endeavoring to accustom 
 himself to mercantile pursuits, and harness his 
 mind to the diurnal drudgery of a counting- 
 house. The result was such as might natur- 
 ally be expected. He neglected the monoto- 
 nous pages of the journal and the ledger, for 
 the magic numbers of Homer and Horace. 
 His fancy, stimulated by restraint, repeatedly 
 flashed forth in productions that attracted 
 applause ; he was more frequently found at the 
 theatre than on 'change ; delighted more in the 
 society of scholars and men of taste and fancy, 
 
8 'Reviews and flMscellantes 
 
 than of "substantial merchants," and at 
 length abandoned the patient but comfortable 
 realities of trade, for the splendid uncertainties 
 of the Muse. 
 
 Our limits will not permit us to go into a 
 minute examination of his life, which would 
 otherwise be worthy of attention ; for the 
 habits and fortunes of an author, in this coun- 
 try, might yield some food for curious specula- 
 tion. Unfitted for business, in a nation where 
 every one is busy ; devoted to literature, where 
 literary leisure is confounded with idleness ; the 
 man of letters is almost an insulated being, 
 with few to understand, less to value, and 
 scarcely any to encourage his pursuits. It is 
 not surprising, therefore, that our authors soon 
 grow weary of a race which they have to run 
 alone, and turn their attention to other callings 
 of a more worldly and profitable nature. This 
 is one of the reasons why the writers of this 
 country so seldom attain to excellence. Before 
 their genius is disciplined, and their taste re- 
 fined, their talents are diverted into the ordi- 
 nary channels of busy life, and occupied in what 
 are considered its more useful purposes. In 
 fact, the great demand for rough talent, as for 
 common manual labor, in this country, prevents 
 the appropriation of either mental or physical 
 forces to elegant employments. The delicate 
 
Robert Great paine 9 
 
 mechanician may toil in penury, unless he 
 devote himself to common manufactures, suit- 
 able to the ordinary consumption of the country ; 
 and the fine writer, if he depend upon his pen 
 for a subsistence, will soon discover that he 
 may starve on the very summit of Parnassus, 
 while he sees herds of newspaper editors bat- 
 tening on the rank marshes of its borders. 
 
 Such is most likely to be the fate of authors 
 by profession, in the present circumstances of 
 our country. But Mr. Paine had certainly 
 nothing of the kind to complain of. His early 
 prospects were extremely flattering. His pro- 
 duction met with a local circulation, and the 
 poet with a degree of attention and respect 
 highly creditable to the intelligent part of the 
 Union where he resided. 
 
 "The qualities," says his biographer, "which had 
 secured him esteem at the university were daily ex- 
 panding, and his reputation was daily increasing. 
 His society was eagerly sought in the most polished 
 and refined circles ; he administered compliments 
 with great address ; and no beau was ever a greater 
 favorite in the beau monde!" 
 
 Having now confided to his pen for a sup- 
 port, Mr. Paine undertook the editorship of a 
 semi-weekly paper, devoted to Federal politics. 
 It was conducted without diligence, and, if we 
 
io "Reviews and d&tecellanies 
 
 may judge from the effects, without discretion ; 
 for it drew upon him the vengeance of a mob, 
 which attacked the house where he resided, 
 and the resentment of a young gentleman 
 whose father he had satirized. This youth, 
 with an impetuosity hallowed by his filial feel- 
 ing, demanded honorable satisfaction it was 
 denied, and the consequence was, that, in a 
 casual rencounter, he took it, in a more de- 
 grading manner, on the person of Mr. Paine. 
 This was a deadly blow to the reputation 
 of our author ; and his standing in society 
 was still more impaired by his subsequent 
 marriage with an actress, which produced a 
 rupture with his father and a desertion by 
 the fashionable world. This last is mentioned 
 in terms of useless reprehension by his biog- 
 rapher. It is idle to rail at society for its laws 
 of rank and gradations of respect. These 
 rise, of themselves, out of the nature of things, 
 and the moral and political circumstances in 
 which that society is placed ; and the universal 
 acquiescence in them by the soundest minds 
 is a sufficient proof that they are salutary and 
 correct. Mr. Paine should have foreseen the 
 inevitable consequences of his union, in a 
 society so rigid and religious, and where the- 
 atrical exhibitions had been considered so 
 improper as for a long time to have been pro- 
 
Robert Great paine n 
 
 hibited by law. Having foreseen the conse- 
 quences, and willingly encountered them, it 
 would have been a proof of his firmness and 
 good sense to have submitted to them without 
 repining. 
 
 Unfortunately, Mr. Paine seems to have 
 been deficient in that true kind of pride, which 
 draws its support from the ample sources of 
 conscious worth and integrity ; which bears 
 up its possessor against unmerited neglect, 
 and induces him to persist in doing well, 
 though certain of no approbation but his own. 
 The moment the world neglected him, he 
 began to neglect himself, as if he had there- 
 tofore acted right from the love of praise, 
 rather than the love of virtue. 
 
 He contracted habits of intemperance, 
 which, added to his natural heedlessness and 
 want of application, rendered all the remain- 
 der of his life a scene of vicissitude. His 
 newspaper establishment, from want of his 
 personal attention, proved unfortunate ; at the 
 end of eighteen months he disposed of it, and 
 became master of ceremonies of the Boston 
 Theatre, an anomalous office which we do 
 not understand, but which for a time produced 
 him a present means of subsistence. Not- 
 withstanding the irregularity of his habits,, 
 it seems that he never exerted his talents with- 
 
12 "Reviews anD Miscellanies 
 
 out ample success. He was occasionally called 
 on for orations, odes, songs, and addresses, 
 which not only met with public applause, but 
 with a pecuniary remuneration that is worthy 
 of being recorded in our literary history. For 
 his ' ' Invention of Letters, ' ' a poem of about 
 three hundred lines, we are told he received 
 fifteen hundred dollars, exclusive of expense ; 
 and twelve hundred by the sale of his ' ' Ruling 
 Passion," a poem of about the same length. 
 The political song of * ' Adams and Liberty ' ' 
 produced him also a profit of seven hundred and 
 fifty dollars. These are sevenfold harvests, 
 that have rarely been equalled even in the 
 productive countries of Europe. 
 
 After a few years passed in this manner, 
 having in some measure reformed his habits, 
 his friends began to entertain hopes of rescu- 
 ing him from this precarious mode of subsist- 
 ence. They urged him to study the law, and 
 offered him pecuniary assistance for the pur- 
 pose. He listened to their advice ; abandoned 
 the theatre ; applied himself diligently to legal 
 studies ; was admitted, and became a success- 
 ful advocate. Business poured in upon him 
 his reputation rose prospects of ease, of afflu- 
 ence, of substantial respectability, opened 
 before him but he relinquished them all with 
 his incorrigible recklessness of mind, and 
 
"Robert Great paine 13 
 
 relapsed into his former self-abandonment. 
 From this time the springs of his mind seemed 
 to have been rapidly broken down invention 
 languished literary ambition was almost at 
 an end ; at the same time, an inordinate appe- 
 tite for knowledge was awakened, but it was 
 that kind of appetite which produces indiges- 
 tion, rather than invigoration of the system. 
 
 " During these last years of his life," says his biog- 
 rapher, "without a library, wandering from place to 
 place, frequently uncertain where or whether he could 
 procure a meal ; his thirst and acquisition of knowl- 
 edge astonishingly increased. Though frequently 
 tormented with disease, and beset by duns and ' the 
 law's staff-officers,' from whom, and from prison, he 
 was frequently relieved by friendship ; neither sick- 
 ness nor penury abated his love of a book and of 
 instructive conversation." 
 
 It is painful to trace the concluding history 
 of this eccentric, contradictory, but interesting 
 man. Broken down by penury and disease ; 
 disheartened by fancied, perhaps real, but 
 certainly self-brought neglect ; debilitated in 
 mind and shattered in reputation, he languished 
 into that state of nervous irritability and sick- 
 liness of thought, when the world ceases to 
 interest and delight ; when desire sinks into 
 apathy, and ' ' the grasshopper becomes a bur- 
 den." 
 
14 TRcviews anD fl&iscellanfes 
 
 We cannot refrain from recurring to the 
 picture given of him by his faithful biographer, 
 at the outset of his career, with all the glow 
 of youth and fancy, and the freshness of 
 blooming reputation that graced his opening 
 talents, and contrasting it with the following, 
 taken in his day of premature decay and 
 blighted intellect. The contrast is instructive 
 and affecting ; a few pages present the sad 
 reverse of years. 
 
 " He was fed and lodged in an apartment at his 
 father's ; and in this feeble and emaciated state, 
 walked abroad, from day to day, looking like misery 
 personified, and pouring his lamentations into the 
 ears of his friends, who were happy to confer those 
 little acts of kindness which afforded to him some 
 momentary consolation." 
 
 Even * ' during this period of unhoused and 
 disconsolate wretchedness," when the taper 
 was fast sinking in the socket, he was still 
 capable of poetical excitement. At the request 
 of the * ' Jockey Club, ' ' he undertook to write 
 a song for their anniversary dinner. His 
 enfeebled imagination faltered at the effort, 
 until, spurred on by the last moment, he 
 aroused himself into a transient glow of com- 
 position, executed the task, and then threw by 
 the pen forever. 
 
"Robert (Treat pafne 15 
 
 It is worthy of mention, that under all this 
 accumulation of penury, despondency, and 
 sickness, the passion still remained for one 
 species of amusement, which addresses itself 
 chiefly to the imagination ; or rather, perhaps, 
 the habit remained after the passion had sub- 
 sided. He attended the theatre but two even- 
 ings before his death. This was the last gleam 
 of solitary pleasure; on the following day, 
 feeling his end approaching, he crawled to an 
 "attic chamber in his father's house," as to 
 one of those retreats 
 
 " Where lonely want retires to die." 
 
 Here he languished until the next evening, 
 when, in the presence of his family and friends, 
 he expired without a struggle or a groan. 
 
 Such is a brief sketch of the biography of 
 Robert Treat Paine, a man calculated to 
 flourish in the sunshine of life, but running 
 to waste and ruin in the shade. We have 
 been beguiled into a more particular notice of 
 this part of the work from the interest which 
 it excited, and the strong moral picture which 
 it presented. And indeed the biography of 
 authors is important in another point of view, 
 as throwing a great light upon the state of 
 literature and refinement of a nation. In a 
 country where authors are few, any tract of 
 
x6 "Reviews and flMscellanfes 
 
 literary anecdote, like the present, is valuable 
 as adding to the scanty materials from which 
 future writers will be enabled to trace our 
 advancement in letters and the arts. Here- 
 after, curiosity may be interested to gather 
 information concerning these early adventurers 
 in literature, not because they may have any 
 great merit in their works, but because they 
 were the first to adventure ; as we are curious 
 about the early settlers of our country, not 
 from their eminence of character, but because 
 they were the first that settled. 
 
 In looking back upon the life of Mr. Paine, 
 we scarcely know whether his misfortunes are 
 to be attributed so much to his love of litera- 
 ture, as to his want of discretion and practical 
 good sense. He was a man that seemed to 
 live for the moment ; drawing but little instruc- 
 tion from the past, and casting but careless 
 glances towards the future. So far as relates 
 to him, his country stands acquitted in its 
 literary character ; for certainly, as far as he 
 made himself useful in his range of talents, 
 he was amply remunerated. 
 
 The character given of him by his last 
 biographer is highly interesting, and evinces 
 that quick sensibility and openness to transient 
 impressions, incident to a man more under the 
 dominion of the fancy than the judgment. 
 
IRobert Great paine 17 
 
 "To speak of Mr. Paine as a man ; hie labor, hoc 
 opus est. In his intercourse with the world, his 
 earliest impressions were rarely correct. His vivid 
 imagination, in his first interviews, undervalued or 
 overrated almost every individual with whom he came 
 in contact ; but when a protracted acquaintance had 
 effaced early impressions, his judgment recovered its 
 tone, and no man brought his associates to a fairer 
 scrutiny, or could delineate their characteristics with 
 greater exactness. 
 
 Nullius addictusjurare, in verba, magistri ; 
 
 and when he had once formed a deliberate opinion, 
 without a change of circumstances, it is not known 
 that he ever renounced it. Studious to please, he was 
 only impatient of obtrusive folly, impertinent pre- 
 sumption, or idle speculation. His friendships were 
 cordial, and his good genius soon rectified the precip- 
 itance of his enmities. To conflicting propositions 
 he listened with attention ; heard his own opinions 
 contested with complacency, and replied with courtesy. 
 No root of bitterness ever quickened in his mind. 
 If injured, he was placable ; if offended, he 
 
 . . . showed a hasty spark, 
 And straight was cold again. 
 
 Parccre subjectis et dcbellare superbos 
 
 was in strict unison with the habitual elevation of 
 his feelings. Such services as it was in his power to 
 render to others, he performed with manly zeal ; and 
 their value was enhanced by being generally rendered 
 where they were most needed ; and through life he 
 cherished a lively gratitude towards those from whom 
 he had received benefits." 
 
18 "Reviews anfc Miscellanies 
 
 On his irregular habits his biographer re- 
 marks in palliation, "He sensibly felt, and 
 clearly foresaw, the consequences of their con- 
 tinuous indulgence, and passed frequent resolu- 
 tions of reformation ; but daily embarrassments 
 shook the resolves of his seclusion, and reform 
 was indefinitely postponed. He urged as an 
 excuse for delaying the Herculean task, that 
 it was impossible to commence it while per- 
 plexed with difficulty and surrounded with 
 distress. Instead of rising with an elastic 
 power, and throwing the incumbent pressure 
 from his shoulders, he succumbed under its 
 accumulating weight, until he became insuper- 
 ably recumbent ; and vital action was daily 
 precariously sustained by administering ' the 
 extreme medicine of the constitution for its 
 daily food.'" 
 
 We come now to the most ungracious part 
 of our undertaking, that of considering the 
 literary character of the deceased. This is 
 rendered the more delicate, from the excessive 
 eulogiums passed on him in the enthusiasm of 
 friendship, by his biographers, and which make 
 us despair of yielding any praise that can 
 approach to their ideas of his deserts. 
 
 We are told that Dry den was Mr. Paine' s 
 favorite author, and in some measure his pro- 
 totype ; but he appears to have admired rather 
 
IRobert Great paine 19 
 
 than to have studied him. Like all those 
 writers who take up some particular author as 
 a model, a degree of bigotry has entered into 
 his devotion, which made him blind to the 
 faults of his original ; or rather, these faults 
 became beauties in his eyes. Such, for in- 
 stance, is that propensity to far-sought allu- 
 sions and forced conceits. Had he studied 
 Dryden in connection with the literature of his 
 day, contrasting him with the poets who pre- 
 ceded him, and those who were his contem- 
 poraries, Mr. Paine would have discovered 
 that these were faults which Dryden reprobated 
 himself. They were the lingering traces of a 
 taste which he was himself endeavoring to 
 abolish. Dryden was a great reformer of 
 English poetry ; not merely by improving the 
 versification, and taming the rude roughness 
 of the language into smoothness and har- 
 mony ; but by abolishing from it those meta- 
 physical subtleties, those strange analogies and 
 extravagant combinations, which had been 
 the pride and study of the old school. Thus 
 struggling to cure others and himself of these 
 excesses, it is not surprising that some of them 
 still lurked about his writings ; it is rather a 
 matter of surprise that the number should be 
 so inconsiderable. 
 
 These, however, seem to have caught the 
 
20 "Reviews anD flfcteccllames 
 
 ardent and ill-regulated imagination of Mr. 
 Paine, and to have given a tincture to the 
 whole current of his writings. We find him 
 continually aiming at fine thoughts, fine figures, 
 and epigrammatic point. The censure that 
 Johnson passes on his great prototype, may 
 be applied with tenfold justice to him : " His 
 delight was in wild and daring sallies of senti- 
 ment, in the irregular and eccentric violence 
 of wit. He delighted to tread upon the brink 
 of meaning, where light and darkness begin 
 to mingle ; to approach the precipice of absurd- 
 ity, and hover over the abyss of unideal va- 
 cancy." His verses are often so dizened out 
 with embroidery, that the subject-matter is 
 lost in the ornament the idea is confused by 
 the illustration ; or rather, instead of one plain, 
 distinct idea being presented to the mind, we 
 are bewildered with a score of similitudes. 
 Such, for instance, is the case with the follow- 
 ing passage, taken at random, and which is 
 intended to be descriptive of misers : 
 
 " In life's dark cell, pale burns their glimmering soul : 
 A rush-light warms the winter of the pole. 
 To chill and cheerless solitude confined, 
 No spring of virtue thaws the ice of mind. 
 They creep in blood, as frosty streamlets flow, 
 And freeze with life, as dormice sleep in snow. 
 
IRobert Great paine 21 
 
 Like snails they bear their dungeons on their backs, 
 And shut out light to save a window-tax ! " 
 
 His figures and illustrations are often strik- 
 ing and beautiful, but too often far-fetched and 
 extravagant. He had always plenty at com- 
 mand, and, indeed, every thought that he con- 
 ceived drew after it a cluster of similes. Among 
 these he either had not the talent to discrimi- 
 nate, or the self-denial to discard. Everything 
 that entered his mind was transferred to his 
 page ; trope followed trope ; illustration was 
 heaped on illustration, ornament outvied orna- 
 ment, until what at first promised to be fine, 
 ended in being tawdry. 
 
 Of his didactic poems, one of the most promi- 
 nent is the "Ruling Passion." It contains 
 many passages of striking merit, but is loaded 
 with epithet, and distorted by constant strain- 
 ing after epigram and eccentricity. The 
 author seems never content unless he be spark- 
 ling ; the reader is continually perplexed to 
 know what he means, and sometimes disap- 
 pointed, when he does find out, to discover 
 that he means so little. It is one of the proper- 
 ties of poetic genius to give consequence to 
 trifles. By a kind of magic power, it swells 
 things up beyond their natural dimensions, 
 and decks them out with a splendor of dress 
 
22 iRcxncvvs and /HMscellanies 
 
 and coloring that completely hides their real 
 insignificance. Pigmy thoughts that crept in 
 prose, start up into gigantic size in poetry ; 
 and strutting in lofty epithets, inflated with 
 hyperbole, and glittering with fine figures, are 
 apt to take the imagination by surprise and 
 dazzle the judgment. The steady eye of scru- 
 tiny, however, soon penetrates the glare ; and 
 when the thought has shrunk back to its real 
 dimensions, what appeared to be oracular, 
 turns out to be a truism. 
 
 As an instance of this we will quote the fol- 
 lowing passage : 
 
 " Heroes and bards, who nobler fights have won 
 Than Caesar's eagles, or the Mantuan swan, 
 From eldest era share the common doom ; 
 The sun of glory shines but on the tomb. 
 Firm as the Mede, the stern decree subdues 
 The brightest pageant of the proudest Muse. 
 Man's noblest powers could ne'er the law revoke, 
 Though Handel harmonized what Chatham spoke ; 
 Though tuneful Morton's magic genius graced 
 The Hyblean melody of Merry's taste ! 
 
 " Time, the stern censor, talisman of fame, 
 With rigid justice portions praise and shame : 
 And, while his laurels, reared where genius grew, 
 'Mid wide oblivion's lava bloom anew ; 
 Oft will his chymic fire, in distant age 
 Blicit spots, unseen on ancient page. 
 
IRobert Great pafne 23 
 
 So the famed sage, who plunged in JEjtna's flame, 
 
 'Mid pagan deities enshrined his name ; 
 
 Till from the iliac mountain's crater thrown, 
 
 The Martyr's sandal cost the God his crown." P. 
 
 187. 
 
 Here the simple thought conveyed in this 
 gorgeous page, as far as we can rake it out 
 from among the splendid rubbish, is this, that 
 fame is tested by time ; a truth, than which 
 scarcely any is more familiar, and which the 
 author, from the resemblance of the fourth line, 
 and the tenor of those which preceded it, had 
 evidently seen much more touchingly expressed 
 in the elegy of Gray. 
 
 The characters in this poem, which are in- 
 tended to exemplify a ruling passion, are trite 
 and commonplace. The pedant, the deluded 
 female, the fop, the old maid, the miser, are all 
 hackneyed subjects of satire, and are treated 
 in a hackneyed manner. If these old dishes 
 are to be served up again, we might at least 
 expect that the sauces would be new. It is 
 evident Mr. Paine drew his characters from 
 books rather than from real life. His fop 
 flourishes the cane and snuff-box as in the 
 days of Sir Fopling Flutter. His old maid is 
 sprigged and behooped, and hides behind her 
 fan according to immemorial usage ; and in 
 his other characters we trace the same family 
 
24 IReviews anD /HMscellanteg 
 
 likeness that marks the descendants of the 
 heroes and heroines of ancient British poetry. 
 The following description of the Savoyard 
 is sprightly and picturesque, though, unfortu- 
 nately for the author, it reminds us of the Swiss 
 peasant of Goldsmith, and forces upon us the 
 contrast between that sparkling poetry which 
 dazzles the fancy, and those simple, homefelt 
 strains, which sink to the heart, and are treas- 
 ured up there : 
 
 " To fame unknown, to happier fortune born, 
 The blithe Savoyard hails the peep of morn, 
 And while the fluid gold his eye surveys, 
 The hoary glaciers fling their diamond blaze ; 
 Geneva's broad lake rushes from its shores, 
 Arve gently murmurs, and the rough Rhone roars. 
 'Mid the cleft Alps, his cabin peers from high, 
 Hangs o'er the clouds, and perches on the sky. 
 O'er fields of ice, across the headlong flood, 
 From cliff to cliff he bounds in tearless mood ; 
 While, far beneath, a night of tempest lies, 
 Deep thunder mutters, harmless lightning flies ; 
 While, far above, from battlements of snow, 
 Ivoud torrents tumble on the world below ; 
 On rustic reed he wakes a merrier tune, 
 Than the lark warbles on the ' Ides of June.' 
 Far off let glory's clarion shrilly swell ; 
 He loves the music of his pipe as well. 
 Let shouting millions crown the hero's head, 
 And Pride her tessellated pavement tread, 
 More happy far, this denizen of air 
 
Robert Great paine 25 
 
 Enjoys what Nature condescends to spare ; 
 His days are jocund, undisturbed his nights, 
 His spouse contents him and his mule delights." 
 
 P. 184. 
 
 The conclusion of this very descriptive pas- 
 sage partakes lamentably of the bathos. We 
 cannot but smile at the last line, where he has 
 paid the conjugal feelings of his hero but a 
 sorry compliment, making him more delighted 
 with his mule than with the wife of his bosom. 
 
 The * ' Invention of Letters ' ' is another 
 poem, where the author seems to have exerted 
 the full scope of his talents. It shows that 
 adroitness in the tricks of composition, that 
 love for meretricious ornament, and at the 
 same time that amazing store of imagery and 
 illustration, which characterize this writer. 
 We see in it many fine flights of thought, and 
 brave sallies of the imagination, but at the 
 same time a superabundance of the luscious 
 faults of poetry ; and we rise from it with aug- 
 mented regret that so rich and prolific a genius 
 had not been governed by a purer taste. The 
 following eulogium of Faustus is a fair speci- 
 men of the author's beauties and defects : 
 
 " Egyptian shrubs, in hands of cook or priest, 
 A king could mummy, or enrich a feast ; 
 Faustus, great shade ! a nobler leaf imparts, 
 Embalms all ages, and preserves all arts. 
 
26 IRevtews and dfei0celtarties 
 
 The ancient scribe, employed by bards divine, 
 With faltering finger traced the lingering line. 
 So few the scrivener's dull profession chose, 
 With tedious toil each tardy transcript rose ; 
 And scarce the Iliad, penned from oral rhyme, 
 Grew with the bark that bore its page sublime. 
 But when the press, with fertile womb supplies 
 The useful sheet, on thousand wings it flies ; 
 Bound to no climate, to no age confined, 
 The pinioned volume spreads to all mankind. 
 
 No sacred power the Cadmean art could claim, 
 O'er time to triumph, and defy the flame : 
 In one sad day a Goth could ravage more 
 Than ages wrote, or ages could restore. 
 
 The Roman helmet, or the Grecian lyre, 
 A realm might conquer, or a realm inspire ; 
 Then sink, oblivious, in the mouldering dust, 
 With those who blessed them, and with those who 
 
 curst. 
 
 What guide had then the lettered pilgrim led 
 Where Plato moralized, where Caesar bled ? 
 What page had told, in lasting record wrought, 
 The world who butchered, or the world who taught ? 
 
 Thine was the mighty power, immortal sage ! 
 To burst the cerements of each buried age. 
 Through the drear sepulchre of sunless Time, 
 Rich with the trophied wrecks of many a clime, 
 Thy daring genius broke the pathless way, 
 And brought the glorious relics forth to day."/ 3 . 165. 
 
 Of the lyrical poetry of Mr. Paine we can 
 but give the same mixed opinion. It some- 
 times comes near being very fine, at other 
 
Robert Great paine 27 
 
 times is bombastic, and too often is obscure by 
 far-fetched metaphors. The enthusiasm which 
 is the life and spirit of this kind of poetry, cer- 
 tainly allows great license to the imagination, 
 and permits the poet to use bolder figures and 
 stronger exaggerations than any other species 
 of serious composition ; but he should be wary 
 that he be not carried too far by the fervor of 
 his feelings, and that he run not into obscurity 
 and extravagance. In listening to lyrical 
 poetry, we have to depend entirely on the ear 
 to comprehend the subject ; and as verse fol- 
 lows verse without allowing time for medita- 
 tion, it is next to impossible for the auditor to 
 extricate the meaning, if it be entangled in 
 metaphor. The thoughts, therefore, should be 
 clear and striking, and the figures, however 
 lofty and magnificent, yet of that simple kind 
 that flash at once upon the mind. 
 
 The following stanza is one of those that 
 come near being extremely beautiful. The 
 versification is swelling and melodious, and 
 captivates the ear with the luxury of sound ; 
 the imagery is sublime, but the meaning a 
 little obscure. 
 
 " The sea is valor's charter, 
 
 A nation's wealthiest mine : 
 His foaming caves when ocean bares, 
 Not pearls, but heroes shine ; 
 
as IRevtews anD flfciecellames 
 
 Aloft they mount the midnight surge, 
 Where shipwrecked spirits roam, 
 
 And oft the knell is heard to swell, 
 Where bursting billows foam. 
 
 Bach storm a race of heroes rears, 
 To guard their native home." P. 275, 
 
 The ode entitled ''Rise, Columbia," pos- 
 sesses more simplicity than most of his poems. 
 Several of the verses are deserving of much 
 praise, both for the sentiment and the com- 
 position. 
 
 " Remote from realms of rival fame, 
 
 Thy bulwark is thy mound of waves ; 
 The sea, thy birthright, thou must claim, 
 Or, subject, yield the soil it laves. 
 
 " Nor yet, though skilled, delight in arms ; 
 Peace, and her offspring Arts, be thine ; 
 The face of Freedom scarce has charms, 
 When on her cheeks no dimples shine. 
 
 " While Fame, for thee, her wreath entwines, 
 
 To bless, thy nobler triumph prove ; 
 
 And, though the eagle haunts thy pines, 
 
 Beneath thy willows shield the dove. 
 
 " Revered in arms, in peace humane, 
 
 No shore nor realm shall bound thy sway ; 
 While all the virtues own thy reign, 
 And subject elements obey ! " 
 
IRobert Great jpaine 29 
 
 The ode of "Spain, Commerce, and Free- 
 dom," is a mere conflagration of fancy. What 
 shall we say to such a ' * melting hot hissing 
 hot ' ' stanza as the following ? 
 
 " Bright Day of the world ! dart thy lustre afar ! 
 Fire the north with thy heat ! gild the south with 
 
 thy splendor ! 
 
 With thy glance light the torch of redintegrant war, 
 Till the dismembered earth effervesce and regender. 
 Through each zone may'st thou roll, 
 Till thy beams at the Pole 
 Melt Philosophy's Ice in the sea of the soul ! " 
 
 We have unwarily exceeded our intended 
 limits in this article, and must now bring it to 
 a conclusion. From the examination which 
 we have given Mr. Paine 's writings, we can 
 by no means concur in the opinion that he is 
 an author on whom the nation should venture 
 its poetic claims. His natural requisites were 
 undoubtedly great, and had they been skilfully 
 managed, might have raised him to an envia- 
 ble eminence. He possessed a brilliant imag- 
 ination, but not great powers of reflection. 
 He thinks often acutely, seldom profoundly ; 
 indeed, there was such a constant wish to be 
 ingenious and pungent, that he was impatient 
 of the regular flow of thought and feeling, and 
 seemed dissatisfied with every line that did not 
 
30 IRevtews anfc 
 
 contain a paradox, a simile, or an apothegm. 
 There appears also to have been an indistinct- 
 ness in his conceptions ; his mind teemed with 
 vague ideas, with shadows of thought, which 
 he could not accurately embody, and the con- 
 sequence was a frequent want of precision in 
 his writings. He had read much and miscel- 
 laneously ; and having a tenacious memory, 
 was enabled to illustrate his thoughts by a 
 thousand analogies and similes, drawn from 
 books, and often to enrich his poems with the 
 thoughts of others. Indeed, his acquired 
 treasures were often a disadvantage ; not hav- 
 ing a simple, discriminating taste, he could 
 not select from among them ; and being a little 
 ostentatious of his wealth, was too apt to pour 
 it in glittering profusion upon his page. 
 
 If we have been too severe in our animad- 
 versions on this author's faults, we can only 
 say that the high encomiums of his biogra- 
 phers, and the high assumptions of the author 
 himself, which are evident from the style of 
 his writings, obliged us to judge of him by an 
 elevated standard. Mr. Paine ventured in the 
 lofty walks of composition, and appears con- 
 tinually to have been measuring himself with 
 the masters of the art. His biographers have 
 even hinted at placing him " on the same 
 shelf with the prince of English rhyme," and 
 
IRobert Great ipaine 31 
 
 thus, in a manner, have invited a less indul- 
 gent examination than, perhaps, might other- 
 wise have been given. 
 
 If, however, we are unjust in our censures, 
 a little while will decide their futility. To the 
 living every hour of reputation is important, 
 as adding one hour of enjoyment to existence ; 
 but the fame of the dead, to be valuable, must 
 be permanent : and it is in nowise impaired, if 
 for a year or two the misrepresentations of 
 criticism becloud its lustre. 
 
 We assure the biographers of Mr. Paine that 
 we heartily concur with them in the wish to 
 see one of our native poets rising to equal ex- 
 cellence with the immortal bards of Great Brit- 
 ain ; but we do not feel any restless anxiety on 
 the subject. We wait with hope, but we wait 
 with patience. Of all writers a great poet is 
 the rarest. Britain, with all her patronage of 
 literature, with her standing army of authors, 
 has through a series of ages produced but a 
 very, very few who deserve the name. Can it, 
 then, be a matter of surprise, or should it be of 
 humiliation, that, in our country, where the 
 literary ranks are so scanty, the incitements so 
 small, and the advantages so inconsiderable, 
 we should not yet have produced a master in 
 the art ? L,et us rest satisfied ; as far as the 
 intellect of the nation has been exercised, we 
 
an& flMscellanies 
 
 have furnished our full proportion of ordinary 
 poets, and some that have even risen above 
 mediocrity ; but a really great poet is the pro- 
 duction of a century. 
 
in c. 
 
 Odes, Naval Songs, and Other Occasional Poems. By 
 Edwin C. Holland, Esq., Charleston. 
 
 A SMAU, volume, with the above title, 
 has been handed to us, with a request 
 that it might be criticised. Though we 
 do not profess the art and mystery of 
 reviewing, and are not ambitious of being either 
 wise or facetious at the expense of others, yet 
 we feel a disposition to notice the present work, 
 because it is a specimen of one branch of liter- 
 ature at present very popular throughout our 
 country, and also because the author, who, we 
 understand, is quite young, gives proof of very 
 considerable poetical talent and is in great dan- 
 ger of being spoiled. 
 
 We apprehend, from various symptoms about 
 his work, that he has for some time past re- 
 ceived great honors from circles of literary la- 
 dies and gentlemen, and that he has great facil- 
 ity at composition we find, moreover, that 
 33 
 
34 IReviews and fllMscellanies 
 
 he has written for public papers under the sig- 
 nature of ' ' Orlando, ' ' and above all, that a 
 prize has been awarded to one of his poems, in 
 a kind of poetical lottery, cunningly devised 
 by an " eminent bookseller. ' ' 
 
 These, we must confess, are melancholy dis- 
 advantages to start withal ; and many a youth- 
 ful poet of great promise has been utterly ruined 
 by misfortunes of much inferior magnitude. 
 We trust, however, that in the present case 
 they are not without remedy, and that the au- 
 thor is not so far gone in the evil habit of pub- 
 lishing as to be utterly be3^ond reclaim. Still 
 we feel the necessity of extending immediate 
 relief, from a hint he gives us on the cover of 
 his book, that the present poems are ' ' presented 
 merely as specimens of his manner, and com- 
 prise but a very small portion ' ' of those he has 
 on hand. This information really startled us ; 
 we beheld in imagination a mighty mass of 
 odes, songs, sonnets, and acrostics, impending 
 in awful volume over our heads, and threaten- 
 ing every instant to flutter down, like a thea- 
 trical snowstorm of white paper. To avert so 
 fearful an avalanche have we hastened to take 
 pen in hand, determined to risk the author's 
 displeasure, by giving him good advice, and to 
 deliver him, if possible, uninjured out of the 
 hands both of his admirers and his patron. 
 
G. IbollanD 35 
 
 The main piece of advice we would give him 
 is, to lock up all his remaining writings, and 
 to abstain most abstemiously from publishing 
 for some years to come. We know that this 
 will appear very ungracious counsel, and we 
 have not very great hope that it will be adopted. 
 We are well aware of the eagerness of young 
 authors to hurry into print, and that the Muse 
 is too fond of present pay, and " present pud- 
 ding," to brook voluntarily the postponement 
 of reward. Besides, this early and exuberant 
 foliage of the mind is peculiar to warm sensi- 
 bilities and lively fancies, in which the princi- 
 ples of fecundity are so strong as to be almost 
 irrepressible. The least ray of popular admi- 
 ration sets all the juices in motion, produces 
 a bursting forth of buds and blossoms, and a 
 profusion of vernal and perishable vegetation. 
 But there is no greater source of torment to a 
 writer than the flippancies of his juvenile 
 Muse. The sins and follies of his youth arise 
 in loathsome array, to disturb the quiet of 
 his maturer years, and he is perpetually 
 haunted by the spectres of the early murders 
 he has perpetrated on good English and good 
 sense. 
 
 We have no intention to discourage Mr. 
 Holland from his poetic career. On the con- 
 trary, it is in consequence of the good opinion 
 
36 IRevfews anD Miscellanies 
 
 we entertain of his genius, that we are solici- 
 tous that it should be carefully nurtured, 
 wholesomely disciplined, and trained up to 
 full and masculine vigor, rather than dissipated 
 and enfeebled by early excesses. We think 
 we can discern in his writings strong marks of 
 amiable, and generous, and lofty sentiment, 
 of ready invention, and great brilliancy of 
 expression. These are as yet obscured by a 
 false, or rather puerile taste, which time and 
 attention will improve, but it is necessary that 
 time and attention should be employed. Were 
 his faults merely those of mediocrity we should 
 despair, for there is no such thing as ferment- 
 ing a dull mind into anything like poetic 
 inspiration ; but we think the effervescence of 
 this writer's fancy will at a future day settle 
 down into something substantially excellent. 
 Rising genius always shoots forth its rays from 
 among clouds and vapors, but these will grad- 
 ually roll away and disappear, as it ascends to 
 its steady and meridian lustre. 
 
 One thing which pleases us in the songs in 
 this collection is, that they have more original- 
 ity than we commonly meet with in our national 
 songs. We begin to think that it is a much 
 more difficult thing to write a good song than 
 to fight a good battle ; for our tars have 
 achieved several splendid victories in a short 
 
BDwln C. IbollanD 37 
 
 space of time ; but, notwithstanding the thou- 
 sand pens that have been drawn forth in every 
 part of the Union, we do not recollect a single 
 song of really sterling merit that has been 
 written on the occasion. Nothing is more 
 offensive than a certain lawless custom which 
 prevails among our patriotic songsters, of 
 seizing upon the noble songs of Great Britain, 
 mangling and disfiguring them, with pens 
 more merciless than Indian scalping-knives, 
 and then passing them off for American songs. 
 This may be an idea borrowed from the custom 
 of our savage neighbors, of adopting prisoners 
 into their families, and so completely taking 
 them to their homes and hearts, as almost to 
 consider them as children of their own beget- 
 ting. At any rate, it is a practice worthy of 
 savage life and savage ideas of property. We 
 have witnessed such horrible distortions of 
 sense and poetry ; we have seen the fine mem- 
 bers of an elegant stanza so mangled and 
 wrenched, in order to apply it to this country, 
 that our very hearts ached with sympathy and 
 vexation. We are continually annoyed with 
 the figure of poor Columbia, an honest, awk- 
 ward, dowdy sort of dame, thrust into the 
 place of Britannia and made to wield the tri- 
 dent and "rule the waves," and play off a 
 thousand clumsy ceremonies before company, 
 
38 IReviews anD Miscellanies 
 
 as maladroitly as a worthy tradesman's wife 
 enacting a fine lady or a tragedy queen. 
 
 Besides, there is in this a pitifulness of spirit, 
 an appearance of abject poverty of mind, that 
 would be degrading if it really belonged to the 
 nation. Nay, more, there is a positive dis- 
 honesty in it. We may, if we choose, plunder 
 the bodies of our enemies, whom we have fairly 
 conquered in the field of battle ; and we may 
 strut about, uncouthly arrayed in their gar- 
 ments, with their coats swinging to our heels, 
 and their boots ' ' a world too wide for our 
 shrunk shanks, ' ' but the same privilege does 
 not extend to literature ; and however our 
 puny poetasters may flaunt for a while in the 
 pilfered garbs of their gigantic neighbors, they 
 may rest assured that if there should be a 
 tribunal hereafter to try the crimes of authors, 
 they will be considered as mere poetical high- 
 waymen, and condemned to swing most loftily 
 for their offences. 
 
 It is really insulting to tell this country, as 
 some of these varlets do, that she ' ' needs no 
 bulwarks, no towers along the steep," when 
 there is a cry from one end of the Union to 
 the other for the fortifying of our seaports and 
 the defence of our coast, and when every 
 post brings us intelligence of the enemy depre- 
 dating in our bays and rivers ; and it is still 
 
C. tJollanD 39 
 
 more insulting to tell her that * ' her home is 
 on the deep," which, if it really be the case, 
 only proves that at present she is turned out 
 of doors. No, if we really must have national 
 songs, let them be of our own manufacturing, 
 however coarse. We would rather hear our 
 victories celebrated in the merest doggerel that 
 sprang from native invention, than beg, borrow, 
 or steal from others, the thoughts and words 
 in which to express our exultation. By task- 
 ing our own powers, and relying entirely on 
 ourselves, we shall gradually improve and rise 
 to poetical independence ; but this practice of 
 appropriating the thoughts of others, of get- 
 ting along by contemptible shifts and literary 
 larcenies, prevents native exertion, and pro- 
 duces absolute impoverishment. It is in 
 literature as in the accumulation of private 
 fortune ; the humblest beginning should not 
 dishearten ; much may be done by persevering 
 industry or spirited enterprise ; but he who 
 depends on borrowing will never grow rich, 
 and he who indulges in theft will ultimately 
 come to the gallows. 
 
 We are glad to find that the writer before us 
 is innocent of these enormous sins against 
 honesty and good sense ; but we would warn 
 him against another evil, into which young 
 writers, and young men, are very prone to 
 
40 IRcvicvvs anD Miscellanies 
 
 fall we mean bad company. We are appre- 
 hensive that the companions of his literary 
 leisure have been none of the most profitable, 
 and that he has been trifling too much with 
 the fantastic gentry of the Delia Cruscan 
 school, revelling among flowers and hunting 
 butterflies, when he should have been soberly 
 walking, like a duteous disciple, in the foot- 
 steps of the mighty masters of his art. We 
 are led to this idea from seeing in his poems 
 the portentous names of ' ' the blue-eyed 
 Myra," and " Rosa Matilda," and from read- 
 ing of ' ' lucid vests veiling snowy breasts, ' ' 
 and * * satin sashes, ' ' and ' ' sighs of rosy per- 
 fume," and "trembling eve-star beam, through 
 some light cloud's glory seen " (which, by the 
 by, is a rhyme very much like that of " muffin 
 and dumpling "), and 
 
 "The sweetest of perfumes that languishing flies 
 Like a kiss on the nectarous morning-tide air." 
 
 Now all this kind of poetry is rather late in 
 the day the fashion has gone by. A man 
 may as well attempt to figure as a fine gentle- 
 man in a pea-green silk coat, and pink satin 
 breeches, and powdered head, and paste 
 buckles, and sharp-toed shoes, and all the 
 finery of Sir Fopling Flutter, as to write in 
 
BDwin G. IbollanD 4* 
 
 the style of Delia Crusca. Gifford has long 
 since brushed away all this trumpery. 
 
 We think also the author has rather per- 
 verted his fancy by reading the amatory effu- 
 sions of Moore ; which, whatever be the magic 
 of their imagery and versification, breathe a 
 spirit of heartless sensuality and soft voluptu- 
 ousness beneath the tone of vigorous and virtu- 
 ous manhood. 
 
 This rhapsodizing about "brilliant pleas- 
 ures," and " hours of bliss," and " humid eye- 
 lids," and " ardent kisses," is, after all, mighty 
 cold-blooded, silly stuff. It may do to tickle 
 the ears of love-sick striplings and romantic 
 milliners ; but one verse describing pure domes- 
 tic affection, or tender innocent love, from the 
 pen of Burns, speaks more to the heart than 
 all the meretricious rhapsodies of Moore. 
 
 We doubt if in the whole round of raptur- 
 ous scenes, dwelt on with elaborate salacity 
 by the modern Anacreon, one passage can be 
 found, combining equal eloquence of language, 
 delicacy of imagery, and impassioned tender- 
 ness, with the following picture of the inter- 
 view and parting of two lovers : 
 
 " How sweetly bloomed the gay, green birk, 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom ; 
 As underneath their fragrant shade 
 I clasped her to my bosom ! 
 
42 Reviews anD dlMscellanies 
 
 The golden hours, on angel wings, 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie : 
 
 For dear to me, as light and life, 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 " Wi' mony a vow, and locked embrace, 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender ; 
 And pledging aft to meet again, 
 
 We tore oursel's asunder ; 
 But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early ! 
 Now green's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary. 
 
 " O pale, pale now those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kissed sae fondly ! 
 And closed for aye the sparkling glance 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
 And mouldering now in silent dust 
 
 That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
 But still within my bosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary." 
 
 Throughout the whole of the foregoing 
 stanzas we would remark the extreme simpli- 
 city of the language, the utter absence of all 
 false coloring, of those ''roseate hues," and 
 "ambrosial odors," and " purple mists," that 
 steam from the pages of our voluptuous poets, 
 to intoxicate the weak brains of their admirers. 
 Burns depended on the truth and tenderness 
 
C. "Borland 43 
 
 of his ideas, on that deep-toned feeling which 
 is the very soul of poetry. To use his own 
 admirably descriptive words, 
 
 " His rural loves are Nature's sel, 
 Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
 Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell, 
 
 O' witchirt love, 
 
 That charm, that can the strongest quell, 
 The sternest move," 
 
 But the chief fault which infests the style of 
 the poems before us, is a passion for hyperbole, 
 and for the glare of extravagant images and 
 flashing phrases. This taste for gorgeous 
 finery and violent metaphor prevails through- 
 out our country, and is characteristic of the 
 early efforts of literature. Our national songs 
 are full of ridiculous exaggeration, and frothy 
 rant and commonplace bloated up into fustian. 
 The writers seem to think that huge words 
 and mountainous figures constitute the sublime. 
 Their puny thoughts are made to sweat under 
 loads of cumbrous imagery, and now and then 
 they are so wrapt up in conflagrations, and 
 blazes, and thunders and lightnings, that, like 
 Nick Bottom's hero, they seem to have "slipt 
 on a brimstone shirt, and are all on fire ! ' ' 
 
 We would advise these writers, if they wish 
 
44 IRexnews anfc flMscellanies 
 
 to see what is really grand and forcible in 
 patriotic minstrelsy, to read the national songs 
 of Campbell, and the " Bannock-Burn " of 
 Burns, where there is the utmost grandeur of 
 thought conveyed in striking but perspicuous 
 language. It is much easier to be fine than 
 correct in writing. A rude and imperfect taste 
 always heaps on decoration, and seeks to daz- 
 zle by a profusion of brilliant incongruities. 
 But true taste evinces itself in pure and noble 
 simplicity, and a fitness and chasteness of orna- 
 ment. The Muses of the ancients are described 
 as beautiful females, exquisitely proportioned, 
 simply attired, with no ornaments but the 
 diamond clasps that connected their garments ; 
 but were we to paint the Muse of one of our 
 popular poets, we should represent her as a 
 pawnbroker's widow, with rings on every fin- 
 ger, and loaded with borrowed and heterogene- 
 ous finery. 
 
 One cause of the epidemical nature of our 
 literary errors, is the proneness of our authors 
 to borrow from each other, and thus to inter- 
 change faults, and give a circulation to absur- 
 dities. It is dangerous always for a writer to 
 be very studious of contemporary publications, 
 which have not passed the ordeal of time and 
 criticism. He should fix his eye on those 
 models which have been scrutinized, and of the 
 
C. f>oUan& 45 
 
 faults and excellences of which he is fully ap- 
 prised. We think we can trace, in the popu- 
 lar songs of the volume before us, proofs that 
 the author has been very conversant with the 
 works of Robert Treat Paine, a late American 
 writer of very considerable merit, but who 
 delighted in continued explosions of fancy and 
 glitter of language. As we do not censure 
 wantonly, or for the sake of finding fault, we 
 shall point to one of the author's writings, on 
 which it is probable he most values himself, 
 as it is the one which publicly received the 
 prize in the Bookseller's Lottery. We allude 
 to "The Pillar of Glory." We are likewise 
 induced to notice this particularly, because 
 we find it going the rounds of the Union, 
 strummed at pianos, sang at concerts, and 
 roared forth lustily at public dinners. Having 
 this universal currency, and bearing the impos- 
 ing title of " Prize Poem," which is undoubt- 
 edly equal to the "Tower Stamp," it stands 
 a great chance of being considered abroad as 
 a prize production of one of our Universities, 
 and at home as a standard poem, worthy the 
 imitation of all tyros in the art. 
 
 The first stanza is very fair, and indeed is 
 one of those passages on which we found our 
 good opinion of the author's genius. The last 
 line is very noble. 
 
46 Reviews anfc /IbteceUanies 
 
 " Hail to the heroes whose triumphs have brightened 
 The darkness which shrouded America's name! 
 Long shall their valor in battle that lightened, 
 Live in the brilliant escutcheons of fame ! 
 Dark where the torrents flow, 
 And the rude tempests blow, 
 The stormy-clad Spirit of Albion raves ; 
 Long shall she mourn the day, 
 When in the vengeful fray, 
 Liberty walked, like a god, on the waves." 
 
 The second stanza, however, sinks from this 
 vigorous and perspicuous tone. We have the 
 " halo and lustre of story " curling round the 
 * * wave of the ocean " ; a mixture of ideal and 
 tangible objects wholly inadmissible in good 
 poetry. But the great mass of sin lies in the 
 third stanza, where the writer rises into such 
 a glare and confusion of figure as to be almost 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 " The pillar of glory, the sea that enlightens, 
 
 Shall last till eternity rocks on its base ! 
 The splendor of fame its waters that brightens, 
 
 Shall follow the footsteps of time in his race ! 
 Wide o'er the stormy deep, 
 Where the rude surges sweep, 
 
 Its lustre shall circle the brows of the brave ! 
 Honor shall give it light, 
 Triumph shall keep it bright, 
 
 Long as in battle we meet on the wave ! " 
 
 We confess that we are sadly puzzled to 
 
G. IbollanD 47 
 
 understand the nature of this ideal pillar, that 
 seemed to have set the sea in a blaze, and was 
 to last ** till eternity rocks on its base/' which 
 we suppose is, according to a vulgar phrase, 
 " forever and a day after." Our perplexity 
 was increased by the cross light from the 
 " splendor of fame," which, like a foot-boy 
 with a lantern, was to jog on after the foot- 
 steps of Time ; who it appears was to run a 
 race against himself on the water and as to 
 the other lights and gleams that followed, they 
 threw us into complete bewilderment. It is 
 true, after beating about for some time, we at 
 length landed on what we suspected to be the 
 author's meaning ; but a worthy friend of ours, 
 who read the passage with great attention, 
 maintains that this pillar of glory which en- 
 lightened the sea can be nothing more nor less 
 than a light-house. 
 
 We do not certainly wish to indulge in im- 
 proper or illiberal levity. It is not the author's 
 fault that his poem has received a prize, and 
 been elevated into unfortunate notoriety. Were 
 its faults matters of concernment merely to 
 himself, we should barely have hinted at them ; 
 but the poem has been made, in a manner, a 
 national poem, and in attacking it we attack 
 generally that prevailing taste among our poeti- 
 cal writers for excessive ornament, for turgid 
 
48 IReviews and dIMscellanfes 
 
 extravagance, and vapid hyperbole. We wish 
 in some small degree to counteract the mischief 
 that may be done to national literature by emi- 
 nent booksellers crowning inferior effusions as 
 prize poems, setting them to music, and circu- 
 lating them widely through the country. We 
 wish also, by a little good-humored rebuke, to 
 stay the hurried career of a youth of talent 
 and promise, whom we perceive lapsing into 
 error, and liable to be precipitated forward by 
 the injudicious applauses of his friends. 
 
 We therefore repeat our advice to Mr. Hol- 
 land, that he abstain from further publication 
 until he has cultivated his taste and ripened 
 his mind. We earnestly exhort him rigorously 
 to watch over his youthful Muse ; who, we 
 suspect, is very spirited and vivacious, subject 
 to quick excitement, of great pruriency of feel- 
 ing, and a most uneasy inclination to breed. 
 Let him in the meanwhile diligently improve 
 himself in classical studies, and in an intimate 
 acquaintance with the best and simplest British 
 poets, and the soundest British critics. We 
 do assure him that really fine poetry is exceed- 
 ingly rare, and not to be written copiously nor 
 rapidly. Middling poetry may be produced in 
 any quantity ; the press groans with it, the 
 shelves of circulating libraries are loaded with 
 it ; but who reads merely middling poetry ? 
 
fl. IbolIanD 49 
 
 Only two kinds can possibly be tolerated, 
 the very good or the very bad, one to be read 
 with enthusiasm, the other to be laughed at. 
 We have in the course of this article quoted 
 him rather unfavorably, but it was for the pur- 
 pose of general criticism, not individual cen- 
 sure ; before we conclude, it is but justice to 
 give a specimen of what we consider his best 
 manner. The following stanzas are taken 
 from elegiac lines on the death of a young 
 lady. The comparison of a beautiful female 
 to a flower is obvious and frequent in poetry, 
 but we think it is managed here with uncom- 
 mon delicacy and consistency, and great novelty 
 of thought and manner : 
 
 " There was a flower of beauteous birth, 
 
 Of lavish charms, and chastened dye; 
 It smiled upon the lap of earth, 
 And caught the gaze of every eye. 
 
 " The vernal breeze, whose step is seen 
 
 Imprinted in the early dew, 
 Ne'er brushed a flower of brighter beam, 
 Or nursed a bud of lovelier hue ! 
 
 " It blossomed not in dreary wild, 
 
 In darksome glen, or desert bower, 
 But grew, like Flora's fav'rite child, 
 In sunbeam soft and fragrant shower. 
 
50 IRevfews anD /HMscellaniee 
 
 " The graces loved with chastened light 
 
 To flush its pure celestial bloom, 
 And all its blossoms were so bright, 
 It seemed not formed to die so soon. 
 
 " Youth round the flow'ret ere it fell 
 In armor bright was seen to stray, 
 And beauty said, her magic spell 
 Should keep its perfume from decay. 
 
 " The parent-stalk from which it sprung, 
 
 Transported as its halo spread, 
 In holy umbrage o'er it hung, 
 
 And tears of heaven-born rapture shed. 
 
 " Yet, fragile flower ! they blossom bright, 
 
 Though guarded by a magic spell, 
 I^ike a sweet beam of evening light, 
 In lonely hour of tempest fell. 
 
 " The death-blast of the winter air, 
 
 The cold frost and the night-wind came, 
 They nipt thy beauty once so fair ! 
 It shall not bloom on earth again ! " 
 
 From a general view of the poems of Mr. 
 Holland, it is evident that he has the external 
 requisites for poetry in abundance, he has 
 fine images, fine phrases, and ready versifica- 
 tion ; lie must only learn to think with fulness 
 and precision, and lie will write splendidly. 
 As we have already hinted, we consider his 
 present productions but the blossom of his 
 
EDwin C. Tbollanfc 51 
 
 genius, and like blossoms they will fall and 
 perish ; but we trust that after some time of 
 silent growth and gradual maturity, we shall 
 see them succeeded by a harvest of rich and 
 highly flavored fruit. 
 
Wbeaton's IMstorg of tbe IRortbmen. 
 
 History of the Northmen, or Danes and Normans. 
 8vo, London, 1831. 
 
 WE are misers in knowledge as in 
 wealth. Open inexhaustible mines 
 to us on every hand, yet we return 
 to grope in the exhausted stream of 
 past opulence, and sift its sands for ore ; place 
 us in an age when history pours in upon us 
 like an inundation and the events of a century 
 are crowded into a lustre, yet we tenaciously 
 hold on to the scanty records of foregone times, 
 and often neglect the all-important present to 
 discuss the possibility of the almost forgotten 
 past. 
 
 It is worthy of remark that this passion for 
 the antiquated and the obsolete appears to be 
 felt with increasing force in this country. It 
 may be asked, what sympathies can the native 
 of a land, where everything is in its youth 
 and freshness, have with the antiquities of the 
 52 
 
Tttflbeaton'6 fMstorg of tbe IRortbrnen 53 
 
 ancient hemisphere ? What inducement can 
 he have to turn from the animated scene 
 around him, and the brilliant perspective that 
 breaks upon his imagination, to wander among 
 the mouldering monuments of the olden world 
 and to call up its shadowy lines of kings and 
 warriors from the dim twilight of tradition ? 
 
 " Why seeks he, with unwearied toil, 
 
 Through death's dark walls to urge his way, 
 Reclaim his long-asserted spoil, 
 And lead oblivion into day? " 
 
 We answer, that he is captivated by the pow- 
 erful charm of contrast. Accustomed to a land 
 where everything is bursting into life, and his- 
 tory itself but in its dawning, antiquity has, in 
 fact, for him the effect of novelty ; and the 
 fading but mellow glories of the past, which 
 linger in the horizon of the Old World, relieve 
 the eye, after being dazzled with the rising 
 rays which sparkle up the firmament of the 
 New. 
 
 It is a mistake, too, that the political faith 
 of a republican requires him, on all occasions, 
 to declaim with bigot heat against the stately 
 and traditional ceremonials, the storied pomps 
 and pageants of other forms of government ; 
 or even prevents him from, at times, viewing 
 them with interest, as matters worthy of 
 
54 IRetnews anD Miscellanies 
 
 curious investigation. Independently of the 
 themes they present for historical and philo- 
 sophical inquiry, he may regard them with a 
 picturesque and poetical eye, as he regards the 
 Gothic edifices rich with the elaborate orna- 
 ments of a gorgeous and intricate style of archi- 
 tecture, without wishing to exchange therefor 
 the stern but proud simplicity of his own habi- 
 tation ; or, as he admires the romantic keeps 
 and castles of chivalrous and feudal times, 
 without desiring to revive the dangerous cus- 
 toms and warlike days in which they origi- 
 nated. To him the whole pageantry of emperors 
 and kings, and nobles, and titled knights, is, 
 as it were, a species of poetical machinery, ad- 
 dressing itself to his imagination, but no more 
 affecting his faith than does the machinery of 
 the heathen mythology affect the orthodoxy 
 of the scholar who delights in the strains of 
 Homer and Virgil, and wanders with enthusi- 
 asm among the crumbling temples and sculp- 
 tured deities of Greece and Rome ; or do the 
 fairy mythology of the East, and the demonol- 
 ogy of the North, impair the Christian faith of 
 the poet or the novelist who interweaves them 
 in his fictions. 
 
 We have been betrayed into these remarks, 
 in considering the work before us, where we 
 find one of our countrymen, and a thorough 
 
Qdbeaton's Ibistorg ot tbe Iftortbmen 55 
 
 republican, investigating with minute atten- 
 tion some of the most antiquated and dubious 
 tracts of European history, and treating of 
 some of its exhausted and almost forgotten 
 dynasties ; yet evincing throughout the enthu- 
 siasm of an antiquarian, the liberality of a 
 scholar, and the enlightened toleration of a 
 citizen of the world. 
 
 The author of the work before us, Mr. Henry 
 Wheaton, has for some years filled the situation 
 of Charge d' Affaires at the court of Denmark. 
 Since he has resided at Copenhagen, he has 
 been led into a course of literary and historic 
 research, which has ended in the production 
 of the present history of those Gothic and Teu- 
 tonic people, who, inhabiting the northern 
 regions of Europe, have so often and so success- 
 fully made inroads into other countries, more 
 genial in climate and abundant in wealth. A 
 considerable part of his book consists of what 
 may be called conjectural or critical history, 
 relating to remote and obscure periods of time, 
 previous to the introduction of Christianity, 
 historiography, and the use of Roman letters 
 among those northern nations. At the outset, 
 therefore, it assumes something of an austere 
 and antiquarian air, which may daunt and dis- 
 courage that class of readers who are accus- 
 tomed to find history carefully laid out in easy 
 
56 IReviews anD /HMscellames 
 
 rambling walks through agreeable landscapes, 
 where just enough of the original roughness is 
 left to produce the picturesque and romantic. 
 Those, however, who have the courage to pene- 
 trate the dark and shadowy boundary of our 
 author's work, grimly beset with hyperborean 
 horrors, will find it resembling one of those 
 enchanted forests described in northern poetry, 
 embosoming regions of wonder and delight, 
 for such as have the hardihood to achieve 
 the adventure. For our own part, we have 
 been struck with the variety of adventurous 
 incidents crowded into these pages, and with 
 the abundance of that poetical material which 
 is chiefly found in early history ; while many of 
 the rude traditions of the Normans, the Saxons, 
 and the Danes have come to us with the capti- 
 vating charms of early association recalling the 
 marvellous tales and legends that have de- 
 lighted us in childhood. 
 
 The first seven chapters may be regarded as 
 preliminary to the narrative, or, more strictly, 
 historical part of the book. They trace the 
 scanty knowledge possessed by Greek and 
 Roman antiquity of the Scandinavian North ; 
 the earliest migrations from that quarter to the 
 west, and south, and east of Europe ; the dis- 
 covery of Iceland by the Norwegians ; with 
 the singular circumstances which rendered that 
 
Wbeaton's fMstorg ot tbe IRortbmcn 57 
 
 barren and volcanic isle, where ice and fire 
 contend for mastery, the last asylum of Pagan 
 faith and Scandinavian literature. In this 
 wild region they lingered until the L,atin alpha- 
 bet superseded the Runic character, when the 
 traditionary poetry and oral history of the 
 North were consigned to written records, and 
 rescued from that indiscriminate destruction 
 which overwhelmed them on the Scandinavian 
 continent. 
 
 The government of Iceland is described by 
 our author as being more properly a patriarchal 
 aristocracy than a republic ; and he observes 
 that the Icelanders, in consequence of their 
 adherence to their ancient religion, cherished 
 and cultivated the language and literature of 
 their ancestors, and brought them to a degree 
 of beauty and perfection which they never 
 reached in the Christianized countries of the 
 North, where the introduction of the learned 
 languages produced feeble and awkward, 
 though classical imitation, instead of graceful 
 and national originality. 
 
 When, at the end of the tenth century, 
 Christianity was at length introduced into the 
 island, the national literature, though existing 
 only in oral tradition, was full blown, and had 
 attained too strong and deep a root in the 
 affections of the people to be eradicated, and 
 
58 IReviews anD 
 
 had given a charm and value to the language 
 with which it was identified . The Latin letters , 
 therefore, which accompanied the introduction 
 of the Romish religion, were merely adapted 
 to designate the sounds heretofore expressed 
 by Runic characters, and thus contributed to 
 preserve in Iceland the ancient language of the 
 North, when exiled from its parent countries 
 of Scandinavia. To this fidelity to its ancient 
 tongue, the rude and inhospitable shores of 
 Iceland owe that charm which gives them an 
 inexhaustible interest in the eyes of the anti- 
 quary, and endears them to the imagination 
 of the poet. "The popular superstitions," 
 observes our author, ' ' with which the mythol- 
 ogy and poetry of the North are interwoven, 
 continued still to linger in the sequestered glens 
 of this remote island." 
 
 The language in itself appears to have been 
 worthy of this preservation, since we are told 
 that ' * it bears in its internal structure a strong 
 resemblance to the Latin and Greek, and even 
 to the ancient Persian and Sanscrit, and rivals 
 in copiousness, flexibility, and energy, every 
 modern tongue." 
 
 Before the introduction of letters, all Scandi- 
 navian knowledge was perpetuated in oral 
 tradition by their Skalds, who, like the rhapso- 
 dists of ancient Greece, and the bards of the 
 
TKHbeaton's Tbteton? of tbe Iftortbmen 59 
 
 Celtic tribes, were at once poets and historians. 
 We boast of the encouragement of letters and 
 literary men in these days of refinement ; but 
 where are they more honored and rewarded 
 than they were among these barbarians of the 
 North? The Skalds, we are told, were the 
 companions and chroniclers of kings, who 
 entertained them in their trains, enriched them 
 with rewards, and sometimes entered the lists 
 with them in trials of skill in their art. They 
 in a manner bound country to country, and 
 people to people, by a delightful link of union, 
 travelling about as wandering minstrels, from 
 land to land, and often performing the office 
 of ambassadors between hostile tribes. While 
 thus applying the gifts of genius to their 
 divine and legitimate ends, by calming the 
 passions of men, and harmonizing their feel- 
 ings into kindly sympathy, they were looked 
 up to with mingled reverence and affec- 
 tion, and a sacred character was attached to 
 their calling. Nay, in such estimation were 
 they held, that they occasionally married the 
 daughters of princes, and one of them was 
 actually raised to a throne in the fourth century 
 of the Christian era. 
 
 It is true the Skalds were not always treated 
 with equal deference, but were sometimes 
 doomed to experience the usual caprice that 
 
60 IReviews an> Miscellanies 
 
 attends upon royal patronage. We are told 
 that Canute the Great retained several at his 
 court, who were munificently rewarded for 
 their encomiastic lays. One of them having 
 composed a short poem in praise of his sover- 
 eign, hastened to recite it to him, but found 
 him just rising from table, and surrounded by 
 suitors. 
 
 "The impatient poet craved an audience of the 
 king for his lay, assuring him it was 'very short.' 
 The wrath of Canute was kindled, and he answered 
 the Skald with a stern look, 'Are you not ashamed 
 to do what none but yourself has dared, to write a 
 short poem upon me ? unless by the hour of dinner 
 to-morrow you produce a drapa above thirty strophes 
 long on the same subject, your life shall pay the pen- 
 alty.' The inventive genius of the poet did not desert 
 him ; he produced the required poem, which was of 
 the kind called Tog-drapa, and the king liberally 
 rewarded him with fifty marks of silver. 
 
 "Thus we perceive how the flowers of poetry sprung 
 up and bloomed amidst eternal ice and snows. The 
 arts of peace were successfully cultivated by the free 
 and independent Icelanders. Their Arctic isle was 
 not warmed by a Grecian sun, but their hearts glowed 
 with the fire of freedom. The natural divisions of the 
 country by icebergs and lava streams insulated the 
 people from each other, and the inhabitants of each 
 valley and each hamlet formed, as it were, an indepen- 
 dent community. These were again reunited in the 
 general assembly of the Althing, which might not be 
 
TKHbeaton's fMstorg of tbe IRortbmen 61 
 
 unaptly likened to the Amphictyonic council or Olym- 
 pic games, where all the tribes of the nation convened 
 to offer the common rites of their religion, to decide 
 their mutual differences, and to listen to the lays of the 
 Skald, which commemorated the exploits of their 
 ancestors. Their pastoral life was diversified by the 
 occupation of fishing. Like the Greeks, too, the sea 
 was their element, but even their shortest voyages 
 bore them much farther from their native shores than 
 the boasted expedition of the Argonauts. Their 
 familiarity with the perils of the ocean, and with the 
 diversified manners and customs of foreign lands, 
 stamped their national character with bold and origi- 
 nal features, which distinguished them from every 
 other people. 
 
 " The power of oral tradition, in thus transmitting 
 through a succession of ages, poetical and prose com- 
 positions of considerable length, may appear almost 
 incredible to civilized nations accustomed to the art 
 of writing. But it is well known, that even after the 
 Homeric poems had been reduced to writing, the 
 rhapsodists who had been accustomed to recite them 
 could readily repeat any passage desired. And we 
 have, in our own times, among the Servians, Cal- 
 mucks, and other barbarous and semi-barbarous 
 nations, examples of heroic and popular poems of 
 great length thus preserved and handed down to 
 posterity. This is more especially the case where 
 there is a perpetual order of men, whose exclusive 
 employment it is to learn and repeat, whose faculty 
 of trre memory is thus improved and carried to the 
 highest pitch of perfection, and who are relied upon 
 as historiographers to preserve the national annals. 
 The interesting scene presented this day in every 
 
62 IReviews anfc /HMsceilanies 
 
 Icelandic family, in the long nights of winter, is a 
 living proof of the existence of this ancient custom. 
 No sooner does the day close, than the whole patriar- 
 chal family, domestics and all, are seated on their 
 couches in the principal apartment, from the ceiling 
 of which the reading and working lamp is suspended ; 
 and one of the family, selected for that purpose, takes 
 his seat near the lamp, and begins to read some fa- 
 vorite Saga, or it may be the works of Klopstock and 
 Milton (for these have been translated in Icelandic), 
 whilst all the rest attentively listen, and are at the 
 same time engaged in their respective occupations. 
 From the scarcity of printed books in this poor and 
 sequestered country, in some families the Sagas are 
 recited by those who have committed them to mem- 
 ory, and there are still instances of itinerant orators 
 of this sort, who gain a livelihood during the winter 
 by going about, from house to house, repeating the 
 stories they have thus learnt by heart." 
 
 The most prominent feature of Icelandic 
 verse, according to our author, is its allitera- 
 tion. In this respect it resembles the poetry of 
 all rude periods of society. That of the east- 
 ern nations, the Hebrews and the Persians, is 
 full of this ornament ; and it is found even 
 among the classic poets of Greece and Rome. 
 These observations of Mr. Wheaton are sup- 
 ported by those of Dr. Henderson,* who%tates 
 
 * Henderson's Iceland. EJdinb., 1819. Appendix 
 iii. 
 
TKflbeaton's Ibietorg of tbc IRortbmen 63 
 
 that the fundamental rule in Icelandic poetry 
 required that there should be three words in 
 every couplet having the same initial letter, 
 two of which should be in the former hemi- 
 stich, and one in the latter. The following 
 translation from Milton is furnished as a speci- 
 men : 
 
 Fid that Fillu diup 
 Fard annum slaega, 
 ^oloerk .tfidleikat 
 Sarm\ vitis a. 
 
 " Into this wild abyss the wary Fiend 
 Stood on the brink of Hell and looked." 
 
 As a specimen of the tales related by the 
 Skalds, we may cite that of Sigurd and the 
 beauteous Brynhilda, a royal virgin, who is 
 described as living in a lonely castle, encircled 
 by magic flames. 
 
 In the Teutonic lay, Brynhilda is a mere 
 mortal virgin ; but in the Icelandic poem she 
 becomes a Valkyria, one of those demi-divini- 
 ties, servants of Odin or Woden in the Gothic 
 mythology, who were appointed to watch over 
 the fate of battle, and were, as their name 
 betokens, selectors of the slain. They were 
 clothed in armor, and mounted on fleet horses, 
 with drawn swords, and mingled in the shock 
 of battle, choosing the warrior- victims, and 
 conducting them to Valhalla, the hall of Odin, 
 
64 IRexnews anD Miscellanies 
 
 where they joined the banquet of departed 
 heroes, in carousals of mead and beer. 
 
 The first interview of the hero and heroine is 
 wildly romantic. Sigurd, journeying toward 
 Franconia, sees a flaming light upon a lofty 
 mountain ; he approaches it, and beholds a 
 warrior in full armor asleep upon the ground. 
 On removing the helmet of the slumberer, he 
 discovers the supposed knight to be an Ama- 
 zon. Her armor clings to her body, so that 
 he is obliged to separate it with his sword. 
 She then arises from her deathlike sleep, and 
 apprises him that he has broken the spell by 
 which she lay entranced. She had been 
 thrown into this lethargic state by Odin, in 
 punishment for having disobeyed his orders. 
 In a combat between two knights, she had 
 caused the death of him who should have had 
 the victory. 
 
 This romantic tale has been agreeably versi- 
 fied by William Spencer, an elegant and ac- 
 complished genius, who has just furnished the 
 world with sufficient proofs of his talents to 
 cause regret that they did not fall to the lot 
 of a more industrious man. We subjoin the 
 fragments of his poem cited by our author. 
 
 " Oh, strange is the bower where Brynhilda reclines, 
 Around it the watch-fire high bickering shines ! 
 Her couch is of iron, her pillow a shield, 
 
Wbeaton's l>tetorB ot tbe IRoctbmen 65 
 
 And the maiden's chaste eyes are in deep slumber 
 
 sealed ; 
 
 Thy charm, dreadful Odin, around her is spread, 
 From thy waiid the dread slumber was poured on her 
 
 head. 
 
 Oh, whilom in battle so bold and so free, 
 Like a Viking- victorious she roved o'er the sea. 
 The love-lighting eyes, which are fettered by sleep, 
 Have seen the sea-fight raging fierce o'er the deep ; 
 And 'mid the dread wounds of the dying and slain, 
 The tide of destruction poured wide o'er the plain. 
 
 " Who is it that spurs his dark steed at the fire ? 
 Who is it, whose wishes thus boldly aspire 
 To the chamber of shields, where the beautiful maid 
 By the spell of the mighty All-Father is laid ? 
 It is Sigurd the valiant, the slayer of kings, 
 With the spoils of the Dragon, his gold and his rings." 
 
 BRYNHII,DA. 
 
 " Like a Virgin of the Shield I roved o'er the sea, 
 My arm was victorious, my valor was free. 
 By prowess, by Runic enchantment and song, 
 I raised up the weak, and I beat down the strong ; 
 I held the young prince 'mid the hurly of war, 
 My arm waved around him the charmed scimitar ; 
 I saved him in battle, I crowned him in hall, 
 Though Odin and Fate had foredoomed him to fall : 
 Hence Odin's dread curses were poured on my head * 
 He doomed the undaunted Brynhilda to wed. 
 But I vowed the high vow which gods dare not gain- 
 say, 
 s 
 
66 IRexnews anD /HMscellanies 
 
 That the boldest in warfare should bear me away : 
 
 And full well I knew that thou, Sigurd, alone 
 
 Of mortals the boldest in battle hast shone ; 
 
 I knew that none other the furnace could stem 
 
 (So wrought was the spell, and so fierce was the 
 
 flame), 
 
 Save Sigurd the glorious, the slayer of kings, 
 With the spoils of the Dragon, his gold and his rings." 
 
 The story in the original runs through sev- 
 eral cantos, comprising varied specimens of 
 those antique Gothic compositions, which, to 
 use the words of our author, 
 
 "are not only full of singularly wild and beautiful 
 poetry, and lively pictures of the manners and cus- 
 toms of the heroic age of the ancient North, its patri- 
 archal simplicity, its deadly feuds, and its fanciful 
 superstition, peopling the earth, air, and waters with 
 deities, giants, genii, nymphs, and dwarfs ; but there 
 are many exquisite touches of the deepest pathos, 
 to which the human heart beats in unison in every 
 age and in every land." 
 
 Many of these hyperborean poems, he re- 
 marks, have an Oriental character and coloring 
 in their subjects and imagery, their mythology 
 and their style, bearing internal evidence of 
 their having been composed in remote antiq- 
 uity, and in regions less removed from the 
 cradle of the human race than the Scandina- 
 
THIlbeaton's Ibistors of tbe ftortbmen 67 
 
 vian North. * ' The oldest of this fragmentary 
 poetry, ' ' as he finely observes, ' ' may be com- 
 pared to the gigantic remains, the wrecks of 
 a more ancient world, or to the ruins of Egypt 
 and Hindostan, speaking a more perfect civili- 
 zation, the glories of which have long since 
 departed." 
 
 Our author gives us many curious glances 
 at the popular superstitions of the North, and 
 those poetic and mythic fictions which per- 
 vaded the great Scandinavian family of nations. 
 The charmed armor of the warrior ; the dragon 
 who keeps a sleepless watch over buried treas- 
 ure ; the spirits or genii that haunt the rocky 
 tops of mountains or the depths of quiet lakes ; 
 and the elves or vagrant demons which wander 
 through forests, or by lonely hills ; these are 
 found in all the popular superstitions of the 
 North. Ditmarus Blefkenius tells us that the 
 Icelanders believed in domestic spirits, which 
 woke them at night to go and fish ; and that 
 all expeditions to which they were thus sum- 
 moned were eminently fortunate. The water- 
 sprites, originating in Icelandic poetry, may 
 be traced throughout the north of Europe. 
 The Swedes delight to tell of. the Stromkerl, or 
 boy of the stream, who haunts the glassy 
 brooks that steal gently through green mead- 
 ows, and sits on the silver waves at moonlight, 
 
68 IRevfews anD /HMscellames 
 
 playing his harp to the elves who dance on the 
 flowery margin. Scarcely a rivulet in Ger- 
 many also but has its Wasser-nixe, or water- 
 witches, all evidently members of the great 
 northern family. 
 
 Before we leave this enchanted ground, we 
 must make a few observations on the Runic 
 characters, which were regarded with so much 
 awe in days of yore, as locking up darker 
 mysteries and more potent spells than the once 
 redoubtable hieroglyphics of the Egyptians. 
 The Runic alphabet, according to our author, 
 consists properly of sixteen letters. Northern 
 tradition attributes them to Odin, who, per- 
 haps, brought them into Scandinavia, but they 
 have no resemblance to any of the alphabets of 
 Central Asia. Inscriptions in these characters 
 are still to be seen on rocks and stone monu- 
 ments in Sweden, and other countries of the 
 North, containing Scandinavian verses in praise 
 of their ancient heroes. They were also en- 
 graved on arms, trinkets, amulets, and utensils, 
 and sometimes on the bark of trees, and on 
 wooden tablets, and for the purpose of memo- 
 rials' or of epistolary correspondence. In one 
 of the Kddaic poems, Odin is represented as 
 boasting the magic power of the Runic rhymes 
 to heal diseases and counteract poison ; to spell- 
 bind the arms of an enemy ; to lull the tempest ; 
 
TKflbeaton's f>tetorB ot tbe IRortbmen 69 
 
 to stop the career of witches through the air ; 
 to raise the dead, and extort from them the 
 secrets of the world of spirits. The reader who 
 may desire to see the letters of this all-potent 
 alphabet, will find them in Mallet's Northern 
 Antiquities. 
 
 In his sixth chapter, Mr. Wheaton gives an 
 account of the religion of Odin, and his migra- 
 tion, with a colony of Scythian Goths, from 
 the banks of the Tanais, in Asia, to the penin- 
 sula of Scandinavia, to escape the Roman 
 legions. Without emulating his minute and 
 interesting detail, we will merely and briefly 
 state some of the leading particulars, and refer 
 the curious reader to the pages of his book. 
 
 The expedition of this mythological hero is 
 stated to have taken place about seventy years 
 before the Christian era, when Pompey the 
 Great, then consul of Rome, finished the war 
 with Tigranes and Mithridates, and carried his 
 victorious arms throughout the most important 
 parts of Asia. We quote a description of the 
 wonderful vessel Skidbladner, the ship of the 
 gods, in which he made the voyage : 
 
 " Skidbladner," said one of the genii, when interro- 
 gated by Gangler, "is one of the best ships, and most 
 curiously constructed. It was built by certain dwarfs, 
 who made a present of it to Freyn. It is so vast that 
 there is room to hold all the deities, with their armor. 
 
70 IRexnews anD 
 
 As soon as the sails are spread, it directs its course, 
 with a favorable breeze, wherever they desire to navi- 
 gate ; and when they wish to land, such is its marvel- 
 lous construction, that it can be taken to pieces, rolled 
 up, and put in the pocket." "That is an excellent 
 ship, indeed," replied Gangler, "and must have re- 
 quired much science and magic art to construct." 
 P. 118. 
 
 With this very convenient, portable, and 
 pocketable ship, and a crew of Goths of the 
 race of Sviar, called by Tacitus Suiones, the 
 intrepid Odin departed from Scythia, to escape 
 the domination of the Romans, who were 
 spreading themselves over the world. He 
 took with him also his twelve pontiffs, who 
 were at once priests of religion and judges of 
 the law. Whenever sea or river intervened, 
 he launched his good ship Skidbladner, em- 
 barked with his band, and sailed merrily over ; 
 then landing, and pocketing the transport, he 
 again put himself at the head of his crew, and 
 marched steadily forward. To add to the facili- 
 ties of these primitive emigrants, Odin was 
 himself a seer and a magician. He could look 
 into futurity; could strike his enemies with 
 deafness, blindness, and sudden panic ; could 
 blunt the edge of their weapons, and render 
 his own warriors invisible. He could trans- 
 form himself into bird, beast, fish, or serpent, 
 
Qdbeaton's Distorg of tbe Bortbmcn 71 
 
 and fly to the most distant regions, while his 
 body remained in a trance. He could, with a 
 single word, extinguish fire, control the winds, 
 and bring the dead to life. He carried about 
 with him an embalmed and charmed head, 
 which would reply to his questions, and give 
 him information of what was passing in the 
 remotest lands. He had, moreover, two most 
 gifted and confidential ravens, who had the gift 
 of speech, and would fly, on his behests, to the 
 uttermost parts of the earth. We have only to 
 believe in the supernatural powers of such a 
 leader, provided with such a ship, and such an 
 oracular head, attended by two such marvel- 
 lously gifted birds, and backed by a throng of 
 stanch and stalwart Gothic followers, and we 
 shall not wonder that he found but little diffi- 
 culty in making his way to the peninsula of 
 Scandinavia, and in expelling the aboriginal in- 
 habitants, who seem to have been but a diminu- 
 tive and stunted race ; although there are not 
 wanting fabulous narrators, who would fain 
 persuade us there were giants among them. 
 They were gradually subdued and reduced to 
 servitude, or driven to the mountains, and sub- 
 sequently to the desert wilds and fastnesses of 
 Norrland, Lapland, and Finland, where they 
 continued to adhere to that form of polytheism 
 called Fetishism, or the adoration of birds and 
 
72 IRcviewg anO flMscellantes 
 
 beasts, stocks and stones, and all the animate 
 and inanimate works of creation. 
 
 As to Odin, he introduced into his new 
 dominions the religion he had brought with 
 him from the banks of the Tanais ; but, like 
 the early heroes of most barbarous nations, 
 he was destined to become himself an object 
 of adoration ; for though to all appearance 
 he died, and was consumed on a funeral pile, 
 it was said that he was translated to the bliss- 
 ful abode of Godheim, there to enjoy eternal 
 life. In process of time it was declared, that, 
 though a mere prophet on earth, he had been 
 an incarnation of the Supreme Deity, and had 
 returned to the sacred hall of Valhalla, the 
 paradise of the brave, where, surrounded by 
 his late companions in arms, he watched over 
 the deeds and destinies of the children of men. 
 
 The primitive people who had been con- 
 quered by Odin and his followers, seem to 
 have been as diminutive in spirit as in form, 
 and withal a rancorous race of little vermin, 
 whose expulsion from their native land awak- 
 ens but faint sympathy ; yet candor compels 
 us to add, that their conquerors are not much 
 more entitled to our esteem, although their 
 hardy deeds command our admiration. The 
 author gives a slight sketch of the personal 
 peculiarities which discriminated both, ex- 
 
Wbeaton's IbistotB of tbe IRortbmcn 73 
 
 tracted from an Kddaic poem, and which is 
 worthy of notice, as accounting, as far as the 
 authority is respected, for some of the diversi- 
 ties in feature and complexion of the Scandi- 
 navian races. 
 
 "The slave caste, descended from the aboriginal 
 Finns, were distinguished from their conquerors by 
 black hair and complexion. . . . The caste of 
 freemen and freeholders, lords of the soil which they 
 cultivated, and descended from the Gothic conquerors, 
 had reddish hair, fair complexion, and all the traits 
 which peculiarly mark that famous race, , , 
 while the caste of the illustrious Jarls and the Hersen, 
 earls and barons, were distinguished by still fairer 
 hair and skin, and by noble employments and man- 
 ners : from these descended the kingly race, skilled 
 in Runic science, in manly exercises, and the military 
 art." 
 
 The manners, customs, and superstitions of 
 these northern people, which afterwards, with 
 various modifications, pervaded and stamped 
 an indelible character on so great a part of 
 Kurope, deserve to be more particularly men- 
 tioned ; and we give a brief view of them, 
 chiefly taken from the work of our author, 
 and partly from other sources. The religion 
 of the early Scandinavians taught the exist- 
 ence of a Supreme Being, called Thor, who 
 ruled over the elements, purified the air 
 
74 TRevncws anD Miscellanies 
 
 with refreshing showers, dispensed health and 
 sickness, wielded the thunder and lightning, 
 and with his celestial weapon, the rainbow, 
 launched unerring arrows at the evil demons. 
 He was worshipped in a primitive but striking 
 manner, amidst the solemn majesty of Nature, 
 on the tops of mountains, in the depths of 
 primeval forests, or in those groves which 
 rose like natural temples on islands sur- 
 rounded by the dark waters of lonely and 
 silent lakes. They had, likewise, their minor 
 deities, or genii, whom we have already men- 
 tioned, who were supposed to inhabit the sun, 
 the moon, and stars, the regions of the air, 
 the trees, the rocks, the brooks, and moun- 
 tains of the earth, and to superintend the 
 phenomena of their respective elements. 
 They believed, also, in a future state of tor- 
 ment for the guilty, and of voluptuous and 
 sensual enjoyment for the virtuous. 
 
 This primitive religion gave place to more 
 complicated beliefs. Odin, elevated, as we 
 have shown, into a divinity, was worshipped as 
 the Supreme Deity, and with him was associ- 
 ated his wife Freya ; from these are derived 
 our Odensday Wodensday or Wednesday 
 and our Freytag, or Friday. Thor, from 
 whom comes Thursday, was now more limited 
 in his sway, though he still bent the rainbow, 
 
mbeaton's Ibistorg ot tbe mortbmen 75 
 
 launched the thunderbolt, and controlled the 
 seasons. These three were the principal dei- 
 ties, and held assemblies of those of inferior 
 rank and power. The mythology had also 
 its devil, called I^oke, a most potent and 
 malignant spirit, and supposed to be the cause 
 of all evil. 
 
 By degrees the religious rites of the north- 
 ern people became more artificial and ostenta- 
 tious ; they were performed in temples, with 
 something of Asiatic pomp. Festivals were 
 introduced of symbolical and mystic import, 
 at the summer and the winter solstice, and 
 at various other periods ; in which were typi- 
 fied, not merely the decline and renovation of 
 Nature and the changes of the seasons, but 
 the epochs in the moral history of man. As 
 the ceremonials of religion became more dark 
 and mysterious, they assumed a cruel and 
 sanguinary character ; prisoners taken in bat- 
 tle were sacrificed by the victors, subjects by 
 their kings, and sometimes even children by 
 their parents. Superstition gradually spread 
 its illusions over all the phenomena of Nature, 
 and gave each some occult meaning : oracles, 
 lots, auguries, and divination gained implicit 
 faith ; and soothsayers read the decrees of fate 
 in the flight of birds, the sound of thunder, 
 and the entrails of the victim. Every man. 
 
76 IReviews anD jflfctecellanies 
 
 was supposed to have his attendant spirit, his 
 destiny, which it was out of his power to 
 avert, and his appointed hour to die ; Odin, 
 however, could control or alter the destiny of 
 a mortal, and defer the fatal hour. It was 
 believed, also, that a man's life might be pro- 
 longed if another would devote himself to 
 death in his stead. 
 
 The belief in magic was the natural attend- 
 ant upon these superstitions. Charms and 
 spells were practised, and the Runic rhymes, 
 known but to the gifted few, acquired their 
 reputation among the ignorant multitude, for 
 an all-potent and terrific influence over the 
 secrets of Nature and the actions and destinies 
 of man. 
 
 As war was the principal and the only noble 
 occupation of these people, their moral code 
 was suitably brief and stern. After profound 
 devotion to the gods, valor in war was inculca- 
 ted as the supreme virtue, cowardice as the 
 deadly sin. Those who fell gloriously in war 
 were at once transported to Valhalla, the airy 
 hall of Odin, there to partake of the eternal 
 felicities of the brave. Fighting and feasting, 
 which had constituted their fierce joys on 
 earth, were lavished upon them in this super- 
 nal abode. Every day they had combats in the 
 listed field, the rush of steeds, the flash of 
 
Tldbeaton's festers of tbe IRortbmen 77 
 
 swords, the shining of lances, and all the mad- 
 dening tumult and din of battle ; helmets and 
 bucklers were riven, horses and riders over- 
 thrown, and ghastly wounds exchanged ; but 
 at the setting of the sun all was over ; victors 
 and vanquished met unscathed in glorious 
 companionship around the festive board of 
 Odin in Valhalla's hall, where they partook of 
 the ample banquet, and quaffed full horns of 
 beer and fragrant mead. For the just who did 
 not die in fight, a more peaceful but less glori- 
 ous elysium was provided, a resplendent 
 golden palace, surrounded by verdant meads 
 and shady groves and fields of spontaneous 
 fertility. 
 
 The early training of their youth was suited 
 to the creed of this warlike people. In the 
 tender days of childhood they were gradually 
 hardened by athletic exercises, and nurtured 
 through boyhood in difficult and daring feats. 
 At the age of fifteen they were produced before 
 some public assemblage, and presented with a 
 sword, a buckler, and a lance ; from that time 
 forth they mingled among men, and were ex- 
 pected to support themselves by hunting or 
 warfare. But though thus early initiated in 
 the rough and dangerous concerns of men, 
 they were prohibited all indulgence with the 
 softer sex until matured in years and vigor. 
 
78 IReviews and /HMacellanies 
 
 Their weapons of offence were bow and 
 arrow, battle-axe and sword ; and the latter 
 was often engraved with some mystic charac- 
 ters, and bore a formidable and vaunting name. 
 
 The helmets of the common soldiery were of 
 leather, and their bucklers leather and wood ; 
 but warriors of rank had helmets and shields 
 of iron and brass, sometimes richly gilt and 
 decorated ; and they wore coats of mail, and 
 occasionally plated armor. 
 
 A young chieftain of generous birth received 
 higher endowments than the common class. 
 Beside the hardy exercise of the chase and the 
 other exercises connected with the use of arms, 
 he was initiated betimes into the sacred science 
 of the Runic writing, and instructed in the 
 ancient lay, especially if destined for sov- 
 ereignty, as every king was the pontiff of his 
 people. When a prince had attained the age 
 of eighteen, his father usually gave him a 
 small fleet and a band of warriors, and sent 
 him on some marauding voyage, from which 
 it was disgraceful to return with empty hands. 
 
 Such was the moral and physical training 
 of the Northmen, which prepared them for 
 that wide and wild career of enterprise and 
 conquest which has left its traces along all the 
 coasts of Europe, and thrown communities and 
 colonies, in the most distant regions, to remain 
 
IKIlbeatcm's IbistorB of tbe IRortbmen 79 
 
 themes of wonder and speculation in after ages. 
 Actuated by the same roving and predatory 
 spirit which had brought their Scythian an- 
 cestors from the banks of the Tanais, and ren- 
 dered daring navigators by their experience 
 along the stormy coasts of the North, they soon 
 extended their warlike roamings over the 
 ocean, and became complete maritime marau- 
 ders, with whom piracy at sea was equivalent 
 to chivalry on shore, and a freebooting cruise to 
 a heroic enterprise. 
 
 For a time, the barks in which they braved 
 the dangers of the sea, and infested the coasts 
 of England and France, were mere canoes, 
 formed from the trunks of trees, and so light as 
 readily to be carried on men's shoulders, or 
 dragged along the land. With these they sud- 
 denly swarmed upon a devoted coast, sailing up 
 the rivers, shifting from stream to stream, and 
 often making their way back to the sea by 
 some different river from that they had as- 
 cended. Their chiefs obtained the appellation 
 of sea-kings, because, to the astonished inhabi- 
 tants of the invaded coasts, they seemed to 
 emerge suddenly from the ocean, and when 
 they had finished their ravages, to retire again 
 into its bosom as to their native home ; and 
 they were rightly named, in the opinion of the 
 author of "A Northern Saga," seeing that 
 
8o TReviews anD Miscellanies 
 
 their lives were passed upon the waves, and 
 " they never sought shelter under a roof, or 
 drained their drinking-horn at a cottage-fire. ' ' 
 
 Though plunder seemed to be the main 
 object of this wild ocean chivalry, they had 
 still that passion for martial renown which 
 grows up with the exercise of arms, however 
 rude and lawless, and which in them was 
 stimulated by the songs of the Skalds. 
 
 We are told that they were ' ' sometimes 
 seized with a sort of frenzy, a furor Martis, 
 produced by their excited imaginations dwell- 
 ing upon the images of war and glory, and per- 
 haps increased by those potations of stimulating 
 liquors in which the people of the North, like 
 other uncivilized tribes, indulged to great 
 excess. When this madness was upon them, 
 they committed the wildest extravagances, 
 attacked indiscriminately friends and foes, and 
 even waged war against the rocks and trees. 
 At other times they defied each other to mortal 
 combat in some lonely and desert isle. ' ' 
 
 Among the most renowned of these early 
 sea-kings was Ragnar Lodbrok, famous for his 
 invasion of Northumbria, in Kngland, and no 
 less famous in ancient Sagas for his strange 
 and cruel death. According to those poetic 
 legends, he was a king of Denmark, who ruled 
 his realms in peace without being troubled with 
 
TKHbeaton's f>istor of tbe IRortbmen 81 
 
 any dreams of conquest. His sons, however, 
 were roving the seas with their warlike fol- 
 lowers, and after a time tidings of their heroic 
 exploits reached his court. The jealousy of 
 Ragnar was excited, and determined on an 
 expedition that should rival their achievements. 
 He accordingly ordered the ' ' Arrow, ' ' the 
 signal of war, to be sent through his dominions, 
 summoning his "champions" to arms. He 
 had ordered two ships of immense size to be 
 built, and in them he embarked with his fol- 
 fowers. His faithful and discreet queen, As- 
 lauga, warned him of the perils to which he 
 was exposing himself, but in vain. He set sail 
 for the north of England, which had formerly 
 been invaded by his predecessors. The expe- 
 dition was driven back to port by a tempest. 
 The queen repeated her warnings and entrea- 
 ties, but finding them unavailing, she gave 
 him a magical garment that had the virtue to 
 render the wearer invulnerable. 
 
 "Ragnar again put to sea, and was at last ship- 
 wrecked on the English coast. In this emergency his 
 courage did not desert him, but he pushed forward with 
 his small band to ravage and plunder. Ella collected his 
 forces to repel the invader. Ragnar, clothed with the 
 enchanted garment he had received from his beloved 
 Aslauga, and armed with the spear with which he had 
 slain the guardian serpent of Thora, four times pierced 
 the Saxon ranks, dealing death on every side, whilst 
 
 6 
 
82 IRevfews anO Miscellanies 
 
 his own body was invulnerable to the blows of his 
 enemies. His friends and champions fell one by one 
 around him, and he was at last taken prisoner alive. 
 Being asked who he was, he preserved an indignant 
 silence. Then King Ella said, 'If this man will 
 not speak, he shall endure so much the heavier pun- 
 ishment for his obduracy and contempt.' So he 
 ordered him to be thrown into the dungeon full of 
 serpents, where he should remain till he told his 
 name. Ragnar, being thrown into the dungeon, sat 
 there a long time before the serpents attacked him ; 
 which being noticed by the spectators, they said he 
 must be a brave man indeed whom neither arms nor 
 vipers could hurt. Ella, hearing this, ordered his en- 
 chanted vest to be stripped off, and soon afterwards, 
 the sepents clung to him on all sides. Then Ragnar 
 said, ' How the young cubs would roar if they knew 
 what the old boar suffers ! ' and expired with a laugh 
 of defiance." Pp. 152, 153. 
 
 The death-song of Ragnar I^odbrok will be 
 found in an appendix to Henderson's Iceland, 
 both in the original and in a translation. The 
 version, however, which is in prose, conveys 
 but faintly the poetic spirit of the original. It 
 consists of twenty-nine stanzas, most of them of 
 nine lines, and contains, like the death-song of 
 a warrior among the American Indians, a 
 boastful narrative of his expeditions and ex- 
 ploits. Bach stanza bears the same burden : 
 
 " Hiuggom ver med hiarvi." 
 
 "We hewed them with our swords." 
 
TKilbeaton's t)istors ot tbe Wortbmen 83 
 
 exults that his achievements entitle 
 him to admission among the gods ; predicts 
 that his children shall avenge his death ; and 
 glories that no sigh shall disgrace his exit. 
 In the last stanza he hails the arrival of celes- 
 tial virgins sent to invite him to the Hall of 
 Odin, where he shall join the assembly of 
 heroes, sit upon a lofty throne, and quaff the 
 mellow beverage of barley. The last strophe 
 of this death-song is thus rendered by Mr. 
 Wheaton : 
 
 " Cease my strain ! I hear Them call 
 Who bid me hence to Odin's hall ! 
 High seated in their blest abodes, 
 I soon shall quaff the drink of gods. 
 The hours of Life have glided by, 
 I fall ! but laughing will I die ! 
 The hours of Life have glided by, 
 I fall ! but laughing will I die ! " 
 
 The sons of Ragnar, if the Sagas may be 
 believed, were not slow in revenging the death 
 of their parent. They were absent from home 
 on warlike expeditions at the time, and did not 
 hear of the catastrophe until after their return 
 to Denmark. Their first tidings of it were 
 from the messengers of Ella, sent to propitiate 
 their hostility. When the messengers entered 
 the royal hall, they found the sons of Ragnar 
 variously employed. Sigurdi Snakeseye was 
 
84 IReviews and Miscellanies 
 
 playing at chess with his brother Huitserk the 
 Brave ; while Bjorn Ironside was polishing 
 the handle of his spear in the middle pavement 
 of the hall. The messengers approached to 
 where Ivar, the other brother, was sitting, and, 
 saluting him with due reverence, told him they 
 were sent by King Ella to announce the death 
 of his royal father. 
 
 " As they began to unfold their tale, Sigurdi and 
 Huitserk dropped their game, carefully weighing what 
 was said. Bjorn stood in the midst of the hall, lean- 
 ing on his spear ; but Ivar diligently inquired by 
 what means, and by what kind of death, his father 
 had perished ; which the messengers related, from his 
 first arrival in England till his death. When, in the 
 course of their narrative, they came to the words of 
 the dying king, ' How the young whelps would roar 
 if they knew their father's fate ! ' Bjorn grasped the 
 handle of his spear so fast that the prints of his fingers 
 remained ; and when the tale was done, dashed the 
 spear in pieces. Huitserk pressed the chess-board so 
 hard with his hands, that they bled. 
 
 " Ivar changed color continually, now red, now 
 black, now pale, whilst he struggled to suppress his 
 kindling wrath. 
 
 " Huitserk the Brave, who first broke silence, pro- 
 posed to begin their revenge by the death of the 
 messengers ; which Ivar forbade, commanding them 
 to go in peace, wherever they would, and if they 
 wanted anything they should be supplied. 
 
 "Their mission being fulfilled, the delegates, pass- 
 
Qdbeaton's fMstorg of tbe "Wortbmen 85 
 
 ing through the hall, went down to their ships ; and 
 the wind being favorable, returned safely to their 
 king. Blla, hearing from them how his message had 
 been received by the princes, said that he foresaw that 
 of all the brothers, Ivar or none was to be feared." 
 Pp. 1 88, 189. 
 
 The princes summoned their followers, 
 launched their fleets, and attacked King Klla 
 in the spring of 867. 
 
 "The battle took place at York, and the Anglo- 
 Saxons were entirely routed. The sons of Ragnar 
 inflicted a cruel and savage retaliation on Blla for his 
 barbarous treatment of their father. 
 
 " After this battle, Northumbria appears no more as 
 a Saxon kingdom, and Ivar was made king over that 
 part of England which his ancestors had possessed, 
 or into which they had made repeated incursions." 
 Pp. 189, 190. 
 
 Encouraged by the success that attended 
 their enterprises in the northern seas, the 
 Northmen now urged their adventurous prows 
 into more distant regions, besetting the south- 
 ern coasts of France with their fleets of light 
 and diminutive barks. Charlemagne is said 
 to have witnessed the inroad of one of their 
 fleets from the windows of his palace, in the 
 harbor of Narbonne ; upon which he lamented 
 the fate of his successors, who would have to 
 contend with such audacious invaders. They 
 
86 IRevtews anO flMscellanfes 
 
 entered the Loire, sacked the city of Nantes, 
 and carried their victorious arms up to Tours. 
 They ascended the Garonne, pillaged Bor- 
 deaux, and extended their incursion even to 
 Toulouse. They also entered the Seine in 845, 
 ravaging its banks, and pushing their enter- 
 prise to the very gates of Paris, compelled the 
 monarch Charles to take refuge in the monas- 
 tery of St. Denis, where he was fain to receive 
 the piratical chieftain, Regnier, and to pay 
 him a tribute of 7000 pounds of silver, on 
 condition of his evacuating his capital and 
 kingdom. Regnier, besides immense booty, 
 carried back to Denmark, as trophies of his 
 triumph, a beam from the abbey of St. Ger- 
 main, and a nail from the gate of Paris ; but 
 his followers spread over their native country 
 a contagious disease which they had contracted 
 in France. 
 
 Spain was, in like manner, subject to their 
 invasions. They ascended the Guadalquivir, 
 attacked the great city of Seville, and demol- 
 ished its fortifications, after severe battles with 
 the Moors, who were then sovereigns of that 
 country, and who regarded these unknown in- 
 vaders from the sea as magicians, on account 
 of their wonderful daring and still more won- 
 derful success. As the author well observes, 
 ' ' The contrast between these two races of 
 
s Ibistorg ot tbe Iftortbmen 87 
 
 fanatic barbarians, the one issuing forth from 
 the frozen regions of the North, the other from 
 the burning sands of Asia and Africa, forms 
 one of the most striking pictures presented by 
 history." 
 
 The straits of Gibraltar being passed by 
 these rovers of the North, the Mediterranean 
 became another region for their exploits. 
 Hastings, one of their boldest chieftains, and 
 father of that Hastings who afterwards battled 
 with King Alfred for the sovereignty of Eng- 
 land, accompanied by Bjorn Ironside and 
 Sydroc, two sons of Ragnar L,odbrok, under- 
 took an expedition against Rome, the capital 
 of the world, tempted by accounts of its opu- 
 lence and splendor, but not precisely acquainted 
 with its site. They penetrated the Mediterra- 
 nean with a fleet of one hundred barks, and 
 entered the port of I^una in Tuscany, an 
 ancient city, whose high walls and towers and 
 stately edifices made them mistake it for im- 
 perial Rome. 
 
 " The inhabitants were celebrating the festival of 
 Christmas in the cathedral, when the news was spread 
 among them of the arrival of a fleet of unknown 
 strangers. The church was instantly deserted, and 
 the citizens ran to shut the gates, and prepared to 
 defend their town. Hastings sent a herald to inform 
 the count and bishop of Luna that he and his band 
 
88 IRevicws anD jflfciscellamee 
 
 were Northmen, conquerors of the Franks, who 
 designed no harm to the inhabitants of Italy, but 
 merely sought to repair their shattered barks. In 
 order to inspire more confidence, Hastings pretended 
 to be weary of the wandering life he had so long led, 
 and desired to find repose in the bosom of the Chris- 
 tian Church. The bishop and the count furnished 
 the fleet with the needful succor ; Hastings was bap- 
 tized ; but still his Norman followers were not ad- 
 mitted within the city walls. Their chief was then 
 obliged to resort to another stratagem ; he feigned to 
 be dangerously ill ; his camp resounded with the 
 lamentations of his followers ; he declared his inten- 
 tion of leaving the rich booty he had acquired to the 
 Church, provided they would grant him sepulture in 
 holy ground. The wild howl of the Normans soon 
 announced the death of their chieftain. The inhabi- 
 tants followed the funeral procession to the Church, 
 but at the moment they were about to deposit his 
 apparently lifeless body, Hastings started up from his 
 coffin, and, seizing his sword, struck down the officiat- 
 ing bishop. His followers instantly obeyed this signal 
 of treachery ; they drew from under their garments 
 their concealed weapons, massacred the clergy and 
 others who assisted at the ceremony, and spread havoc 
 and consternation throughout the town. Having thus 
 become master of Luna, the Norman chieftain dis- 
 covered his error, and found that he was still far from 
 Rome, which was not likely to fall so easy a prey. 
 After having transported on board his barks the 
 wealth of the city, as well as the most beautiful 
 women, and the young men capable of bearing 
 arms or of rowing, he put to sea, intending to return 
 to the North. 
 
TUHbeatcm'0 f>fstor of tbe TRortbmen 89 
 
 "The Italian traditions as to the destruction of this 
 city resemble more nearly the romance of * Romeo 
 and Juliet,' than the history of the Scandinavian 
 adventurer. According to these accounts, the prince 
 of I^una was inflamed with the beauty of a certain 
 young empress, then travelling in company with the 
 emperor her husband. Their passion was mutual, 
 and the two lovers had recourse to the following 
 stratagem, in order to accomplish their union. The 
 empress feigned to be grievously sick ; she was believed 
 to be dead ; her funeral obsequies were duly cele- 
 brated ; but she escaped from the sepulchre, and 
 secretly rejoined her lover. The emperor had no 
 sooner heard of their crime, than he marched to 
 attack the residence of the ravisher, and avenged 
 himself by the entire destruction of the once flourish- 
 ing city of Luna. The only point of resemblance 
 between these two stories consists in the romantic 
 incident of the destruction of the city by means of a 
 feigned death, a legend which spread abroad over 
 Italy and France." 
 
 The last and greatest of the sea-kings, or 
 pirate heroes of the North, was Rollo, sur- 
 named Ferus Fortis, the I,usty Boar or Hardy 
 Beast, from whom William the Conqueror 
 comes in lineal, though not legitimate, descent. 
 Our limits do not permit us to detail the early 
 history of this warrior, as selected by our 
 author from among the fables of the Norman 
 chronicles, and the more simple, and, he thinks, 
 more veritable narratives in the Icelandic Sagas. 
 
go 'Reviews and Miscellanies 
 
 We shall merely state that Rollo arrived with 
 a band of Northmen, all fugitive adventurers, 
 like himself, upon the coast of France ; as- 
 cended the Seine to Rouen, subjugated the 
 fertile province then called Neustria ; named 
 it Normandy from the Northmen, his followers, 
 and crowned himself first Duke. 
 
 " Under his firm and vigorous rule, the blessings of 
 order and peace were restored to a country which had 
 so long and so cruelly suffered from the incursions of 
 the northern adventurers. He tolerated the Christians 
 in their worship, and they flocked in crowds to live 
 under the dominion of a Pagan and barbarian, in 
 preference to their own native and Christian prince 
 (Charles the Simple), who was unwilling or incapable 
 to protect them." 
 
 Rollo established in his duchy of Normandy 
 a feudal aristocracy, or rather it grew out of 
 the circumstances of the country . His followers 
 elected him duke, and he made them counts 
 and barons and knights. The clergy also 
 pressed themselves into his great council or 
 parliament. The laws were reduced to a sys- 
 tem by men of acute intellect, and this system 
 of feudal law was subsequently transplanted 
 by William the Conqueror into Kngland, as a 
 means of consolidating his power and estab- 
 lishing his monarchy. 
 
 " Rollo is said also to have established the Court 
 
Tldbeatcm's tbistorg of tbc TRortbmen 91 
 
 of Exchequer as the supreme tribunal of justice ; and 
 the perfect security afforded by the admirable system 
 of police established in England by King Alfred is 
 likewise attributed to the legislation of the first Duke 
 of Normandy." P. 252. 
 
 Trial by battle, or judicial combat, was a 
 favorite appeal to God by the warlike nations 
 of Scandinavia, as by most of the barbarous 
 tribes who established themselves on the ruins 
 of the Roman empire. It had fallen into dis- 
 use in France, but was revived by Rollo in 
 Normandy, although the clergy were solicitous 
 to substitute the ordeal of fire and water, which 
 brought controversies within their control. 
 The fierce Norman warriors disdained this 
 clerical mode of decision, and strenuously in- 
 sisted on the appeal to the sword. They after- 
 wards, at the Conquest, introduced the trial by 
 combat into England, where it became a part 
 of the common law.* 
 
 * A statue or effigy of Rollo, over a sarcophagus, is 
 still to be seen in the cathedral at Rouen, with a Latin 
 inscription stating that he was converted to Christi- 
 anity in 913, and died in 917, and that his bones were 
 removed to this spot from their place of original sepul- 
 ture, in A.D. 1063. The ancient epitaph, in rhyming 
 monkish I/atin, has been lost, except the following 
 lines : 
 
 Dux Normanorum 
 Cunctorum, 
 
92 "Reviews auD Miscellanies 
 
 A spirit of chivalry and love of daring ad- 
 venture, a romantic gallantry towards the sex, 
 and a zealous devotion, were blended in the 
 character of the Norman knights. These high 
 and generous feelings they brought with them 
 into England, and bore with them in their cru- 
 sades into the Holy Land. Poetry also con- 
 tinued to be cherished and cultivated among 
 them, and the Norman troubadour succeeded 
 to the Scandinavian skald. The Dukes of 
 Normandy and Anglo-Norman kings were 
 practisers as well as patrons of this delightful 
 art ; and Henry I., surnamed Beauclerc, and 
 Richard Coeur de Lion, were distinguished 
 among the poetical composers of their day. 
 
 Norma Bonorum. 
 
 Rollo, Ferus fortis, 
 
 Quen gens Normanica mortis 
 
 Invocat articulo, 
 
 Clauditur hoc tumulo. 
 
 Imitation. 
 
 Rollo, that hardy Boar 
 
 Renowned of yore, 
 Of all the Normans Duke : 
 Whose name with dying breath 
 
 In article of death, 
 All Norman knights invoke ; 
 
 That mirror of the bold, 
 
 This tomb doth hold. 
 
TlClbeaton's IbtetorB of tbe IRortbmen 93 
 
 " The Norman minstrel," to quote the words of our 
 author, " appropriated the fictions they found already 
 accredited among the people for whom they versified. 
 The British King Arthur, his fabled knights of the 
 Round Table, and the enchanter Merlin, with his 
 wonderful prophecies ; the Prankish monarch Charle- 
 magne and his paladins ; and the rich inventions of 
 Oriental fancy borrowed from the Arabs and the 
 Moors." P. 2. 
 
 We have thus cursorily accompanied our 
 author in his details of the origin and charac- 
 ter, the laws and superstitions, and primitive 
 religion, and also of the roving expeditions 
 and conquests of the Northmen ; and we give 
 him credit for the judgment and candor and 
 careful research with which he has gleaned 
 and collated his interesting facts from the rub- 
 bish of fables and fictions with which they were 
 bewildered and obscured. 
 
 Another leading feature in his work is the 
 conversion of the Northmen, and the countries 
 from which they came, to the Christian faith. 
 An attempt to condense or analyze this part 
 of his work would lead us too far, and do in- 
 justice to the minuteness and accuracy of his 
 details. We must, for like reasons, refer the 
 reader to the work itself for the residue of its 
 contents. We shall merely remark, that he 
 goes over the same ground with the English 
 
94 1?e\new0 anfc Miscellanies 
 
 historians, Hume, Turner, L,ingard, and Pal- 
 grave, gleaning from the original authorities 
 whatever may have been omitted by them. 
 He has also occasionally corrected some errors 
 into which they have fallen, through want of 
 more complete access or more critical attention 
 to the Icelandic sagas and the Danish and 
 Swedish historians, who narrated the success- 
 ful invasion of England by the Danes, under 
 Canute, and its final conquest by William of 
 Normandy. 
 
 We shall take leave of our author with some 
 extracts from the triumphant invasion of Wil- 
 liam, premising a few words concerning his 
 origin and early history. Robert Duke of Nor- 
 mandy, called Robert the Magnificent by his 
 flatterers, but more commonly known as Robert 
 the Devil, from his wild and savage nature, 
 had an amour with Arlette, the daughter of a 
 tanner or currier of Falaise, in Normandy. 
 The damsel gave birth to a male child, who 
 was called William. While the boy was yet 
 in childhood, Robert the Devil resolved to ex- 
 piate his sins by a pilgrimage to the Holy 
 I,and ; and compelled his counts and barons 
 to swear fealty to his son. ' ' Par ma foi, " said 
 Robert, "jene vous laisserai point sans seig- 
 neur. J'ai un petit bdtard qui grandira s'il 
 plait a Dieu. Choisissez le ds ce present, et 
 

"aabeatcm's Ibtstorg of tbe IRortbmen 95 
 
 je le saiserai devant vous dece duche comtne 
 mou successeur." The Norman lords placed 
 their hands between the hands of the child, 
 and swore fidelity to him according to feudal 
 usage. Robert the Devil set out on his pious 
 pilgrimage, and died at Nice. The right of 
 the boy William was contested by Guy, Count 
 of Burgundy, and other claimants, but he 
 made it good with his sword, and then con- 
 firmed it by espousing Matilda, daughter of 
 the Count of Flanders. 
 
 On the death of Edward the Confessor, King 
 of England, Harold, from his fleetness sur- 
 named Harefoot, one of the bravest nobles of 
 the realm, assumed the crown, to the exclusion 
 of Edgar Atheling, the lawful heir. It was 
 said that Edward had named Harold to suc- 
 ceed him. William Duke of Normandy laid 
 claim to the English throne. We have not 
 room in this review to investigate his title, 
 which is little more than bare pretention. He 
 alleged that Edward the Confessor had prom- 
 ised to bequeath to him the crown ; but his 
 chief reliance was upon his sword. Harold, 
 while yet a subject, had fallen by accident 
 within the power of William, who had ob- 
 tained from him, by cajolery and extortion, an 
 oath, sworn on certain sacred relics, not to im- 
 pede him in his plans to gain the English crown. 
 
96 IRevfews and /BMsceUanfes 
 
 William prepared an expedition in Nor- 
 mandy, and published a war-ban, inviting 
 adventurers of all countries to join him in the 
 invasion of Kngland, and partake of the pillage. 
 He procured a consecrated banner from the 
 Pope under the promise of a portion of the 
 spoil, and embarked a force of nearly sixty 
 thousand men on board four hundred vessels 
 and above a thousand boats. 
 
 " The ship which bore William preceded the rest 
 of the fleet, with the consecrated banner of the Pope 
 displayed at the mast-head, its many-colored sails em- 
 bellished with the lions of Normandy, and its prow 
 adorned with the figure of an infant archer bending 
 his bow and ready to let fly his arrow." 
 
 William landed his force at Pevensey, near 
 Hastings, on the coast of Sussex, on the 28th 
 of September, 1066 ; and we shall state from 
 the Norman chronicles some few particulars 
 of this interesting event, not included in the 
 volume under review. The archers disem- 
 barked first, they had short vestments and 
 cropped hair ; then the horsemen, armed with 
 coats of mail, caps of iron, straight two-edged 
 swords, and long powerful lances ; then the 
 pioneers and artificers, who disembarked, piece 
 by piece, the materials for three wooden towers, 
 all ready to be put together. The Duke was 
 
TKHbeaton'9 tutors of tbe Bortbmen 97 
 
 the last to land, for, says the chronicle, " there 
 was no opposing enemy." King Harold was 
 in Northumbria, repelling an army of Nor- 
 wegian invaders. 
 
 As William leaped on shore, he stumbled 
 and fell upon his face. Exclamations of fore- 
 boding were heard among his followers ; but 
 he grasped the earth with his hands, and rais- 
 ing them filled with it towards the heavens, 
 " Thus," cried he, " do I seize upon this land, 
 and by the splendor of God, as far as it ex- 
 tends, it shall be mine." His ready wit thus 
 converted a sinister accident into a favorable 
 omen. Having pitched his camp and reared 
 his wooden towers near to the town of Hastings, 
 he sent forth his troops to forage and lay waste 
 the country ; nor were even the churches and 
 cemeteries held sacred to which the English 
 had fled for refuge. 
 
 Harold was at York, reposing after a victory 
 over the Norwegians, in which he had been 
 wounded, when he heard of this new invasion. 
 Undervaluing the foe, he set forth instantly 
 with such force as he could muster, though a 
 few days 1 delay would have brought great rein- 
 forcements. On his way he met a Norman 
 monk, sent to him by William, with three al- 
 ternatives : i. To abdicate in his favor. 2. 
 To refer their claims to the decision of the Pope. 
 
 6 
 
g8 IReviews anD /DMscellanfes 
 
 3. To determine them by single combat. Har- 
 old refused all three, and quickened his march ; 
 but finding as he drew nearer, that the Norman 
 army was thrice the number of his own, he in- 
 trenched his host seven miles from their camp, 
 upon a range of hills, behind a rampart of pali- 
 sades and osier hurdles. 
 
 The impending night of the battle was passed 
 by the Normans in warlike preparations, or in 
 confessing their sins and receiving the sacra- 
 ment and the camp resounded with the prayers 
 and chantings of priests and friars. As to the 
 Saxon warriors, they sat round their camp- 
 fires, carousing horns of beer and wine, and 
 singing old national war-songs. 
 
 At an early hour in the morning of the i4th 
 of October, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and bas- 
 tard brother of the Duke, being a son of his 
 mother Arlette, by a burgher of Falaise, cele- 
 brated mass, and gave his benediction to the 
 Norman army. He then put a hauberk under 
 his cassock, mounted a powerful white charger, 
 and led forth a brigade of cavalry ; for he was 
 as ready with the spear as with the crosier, and 
 for his fighting and other turbulent propen- 
 sities, well merited his surname of Odo the 
 Unruly. 
 
 The army was formed into three columns ; 
 one composed of mercenaries from the coun- 
 
lldbeaton's Ibtetorg of tbe IRortbmen 99 
 
 tries of Boulogne and Ponthieu ; the second of 
 auxiliaries from Brittany and elsewhere ; the 
 third of Norman troops, led by William in per- 
 son. Each column was preceded by archers 
 in light quilted coats instead of armor, some 
 with long bows, and others with cross-bows of 
 steel. Their mode of fighting was to discharge 
 a flight of arrows, and then retreat behind the 
 heavy armed troops. The Duke was mounted 
 on a Spanish steed, around his neck were sus- 
 pended some of the relics on which Harold had 
 made oath, and the consecrated standard was 
 borne at his side. 
 
 William harangued his soldiers, reminding 
 them of the exploits of their ancestors, the 
 massacre of the Northmen in England, and, in 
 particular, the murder of their brethren the 
 Danes. But he added another and a stronger 
 excitement to their valor : ' ' Fight manfully, 
 and put all to the sword ; and if we conquer, 
 we shall all be rich. What I gain, you gain ; 
 what I conquer, you conquer ; if I gain the 
 land, it is yours." We shall give in our au- 
 thor's own words, the further particulars of 
 this decisive battle, which placed a Norman 
 sovereign on the English throne. 
 
 "The spot which Harold had selected for this 
 ever-memorable contest was a high ground, then 
 called Senlac, nine miles from Hastings, opening to 
 
ioo "Reviews anD dBtecellantes 
 
 the south, and covered in the rear by an extensive 
 wood. He posted his troops on the declivity of the 
 hill in one compact mass, covered with their shields, 
 and wielding their enormous battle-axes. In the cen- 
 tre the royal standard, or gonfanon, was fixed in the 
 ground, with the figure of an armed warrior, worked 
 in thread of gold, and ornamented with precious 
 stones. Here stood Harold, and his brothers Gurth 
 and Leofwin, and around them the rest of the Saxon 
 army, every man on foot. 
 
 '* As the Normans approached the Saxon intrench- 
 ments, the monks and priests who accompanied their 
 army retired to a neighboring hill to pray, and observe 
 the issue of the battle. A Norman warrior, named 
 Taillefer, spurred his horse in front of the line, and, 
 tossing up in the air his sword, which he caught again 
 in his hand, sang the national song of Charlemagne 
 and Roland ; the Normans joined in the chorus and 
 shouted, ' Dieu aide ! Dieu aide ! ' They were an- 
 swered by the Saxons, with the adverse cry of ' Christ's 
 rood ! the holy rood ! ' 
 
 "The Norman archers let fly a shower of arrows 
 into the Saxon ranks. Their infantry and cavalry 
 advanced to the gates of the redoubts, which they 
 vainly endeavored to force. The Saxons thundered 
 upon their armor, and broke their lances with the 
 heavy battle-axe, and the Normans retreated to the 
 division commanded by William. The Duke then 
 caused his archers again to advance, and to direct 
 their arrows obliquely in the air, so that they might 
 fall beyond and over the enemy's rampart. The Sax- 
 ons were severely galled by the Norman missiles, and 
 Harold himself was wounded in the eye. The attack 
 of the infantry and men-at-arms again commenced 
 
TKHbeaton's Ibistorg of tbc IRortbmen 101 
 
 with the cries of 'Notre-Dame ! Dieu aide ! Dieu aide ! 
 But the Normans were repulsed, aud pursued by the 
 Saxons to a deep ravine, where their horses plunged 
 and threw the riders. The mle was here dreadful, 
 and a sudden panic seized the invaders, who fled from 
 the field, exclaiming that their duke was slain. Wil- 
 liam rushed before the fugitives, with his helmet in 
 hand, menacing and even striking them with his 
 lance, and shouting with a loud voice : * I am still 
 alive, and with the help of God I still shall conquer ! ' 
 The men-at-arms once more returned to attack the re- 
 doubts, but they were again repelled by the impregna- 
 ble phalanx of the Saxons. The Duke now resorted 
 to the stratagem of ordering a thousand horse to ad- 
 vance, and then suddenly retreat, in the hope of draw- 
 ing the enemy from his entrenchments. The Saxons 
 fell into the snare, and rushed out with their battle- 
 axes slung about their necks, to pursue the flying foe. 
 The Normans were joined by another body of their 
 own army, and both turned upon the Saxons, who 
 were assailed on every side with swords and lances, 
 whilst their hands were employed in wielding their 
 enormous battle-axes. The invaders now rushed 
 through the broken ranks of their opponents into the 
 intrenchments, pulled down the royal standard, and 
 erected in its place the papal banner. Harold was 
 slain, with his brothers Gurth and Leofwin. The sun 
 declined in the western horizon, and with his retiring 
 beams sunk the glory of the Saxon name. 
 
 " The rest of the companions of Harold fled from 
 the fatal field, where the Normans passed the night, 
 exulting over their hard-earned victory. The next 
 morning, William ranged his troops under arms, and 
 every man who passed the sea was called by name, 
 
102 IReviews and 
 
 according to the muster-roll drawn up before their 
 embarkation at St. Valery. Many were deaf to that 
 call. The invading army consisted originally of 
 nearly sixty thousand men, and of these one fourth 
 lay dead on the field. To the fortunate survivors was 
 allotted the spoil of the vanquished Saxons, as the 
 first-fruits of their victory ; and the bodies of the slain 
 after being stripped, were hastily buried by their trem- 
 bling friends. According to one narrative, the body 
 of Harold was begged by his mother as a boon from 
 William, to whom she offered as a ransom its weight 
 in gold. But the stern and pitiless conqueror ordered 
 the corpse of the Saxon king to be buried on the 
 beach, adding, with a sneer, ' He guarded the coast 
 while he lived, let him continue to guard it now he is 
 dead.' Another account represents that two monks 
 of the monastery of Waltham, which had been founded 
 by the son of Godwin, humbly approached the Nor- 
 man, and offered him ten marks of gold for permis- 
 sion to bury their king and benefactor. They were 
 unable to distinguish his body among the heaps of 
 slain, and sent for Harold's mistress, Bditha, surnamed 
 4 the Fair ' and ' the Swan's Neck,' to assist them 
 in the search. The features of the Saxon monarch 
 were recognized by her whom he had loved, and his 
 body was interred at Waltham, with regal honors, in 
 the presence of several Norman earls and knights. " 
 
 We have reached the conclusion of Mr. 
 Wheaton's interesting volume, yet we are 
 tempted to add a few words more from other 
 sources. We would observe that there are 
 not wanting historians who dispute the whole 
 
Idbeaton's Ibtetorg of tbe IRortbmen 103 
 
 story of Harold having fallen on the field of 
 battle. ' * Years afterwards, ' ' we are told by 
 one of the most curiously learned of Knglish 
 scholars, ' ' when the Norman yoke pressed 
 heavily upon the English, and the battle of 
 Hastings had become a tale of sorrow, which 
 old men narrated by the light of the embers, 
 until warned to silence by the sullen tolling 
 of the curfew," there was an ancient ancho- 
 rite, maimed and scarred and blind of an eye, 
 who led a life of penitence and seclusion in a 
 cell near the Abbey of St. John at Chester. 
 This holy man was once visited by Henry I., 
 who held a long and secret discourse with 
 him, and on his death-bed he declared to 
 the attendant monks that he was Harold.* 
 According to this account, he had been secretly 
 conveyed from the field of battle to a castle, 
 and thence to this sanctuary ; and the find- 
 ing and burying of his corpse by the tender 
 Editha is supposed to have been a pious fraud. 
 The monks of Waltham, however, stood up 
 stoutly for the authenticity of their royal 
 relics. They showed a tomb, inclosing a 
 mouldering skeleton, the bones of which still 
 bore the marks of wounds received in battle, 
 while the sepulchre bore the effigies of the 
 
 *Palgrave, Hist. Eng. y chap. 15. 
 
104 IReviews an& Aiscellantea 
 
 monarch, and this brief but pathetic epitaph : 
 * ' Hie jacet Harold infelix. ' ' 
 
 For a long time after the eventful battle of 
 the Conquest, it is said that traces of blood 
 might be seen upon the field, and, in partic- 
 ular, upon the hills to the southwest of Hast- 
 ings, whenever a light rain moistened the soil. 
 It is probable they were discolorations of the 
 soil, where heaps of the slain had been buried. 
 We have ourselves seen broad and dark patches 
 on the hill-side of Waterloo, where thousands 
 of the dead lay mouldering in one common 
 grave, and where, for several years after the 
 battle, the rank green corn refused to ripen, 
 though all the other part of the hill was cov- 
 ered with a golden harvest. 
 
 William the Conqueror, in fulfilment of a 
 vow, caused a monastic pile to be erected on 
 the field, which, in commemoration of the 
 event, was called the ''Abbey of Battle." 
 The architects complained that there were no 
 springs of water on the site. "Work on! 
 work on ! " replied he, jovially ; " if God but 
 grant me life, there shall flow more good wine 
 among the holy friars of this convent, than 
 there does clear water in the best monastery 
 of Christendom." 
 
 The abbey was richly endowed, and in- 
 vested with archiepiscopal jurisdiction. In its 
 
KHbeaton'9 IbtetorB of tbe flortbmen 105 
 
 archives was deposited a roll, bearing the 
 names of the followers of William, among 
 whom he had shared the conquered land. 
 The grand altar was placed on the very spot 
 where the banner of the hapless Harold had 
 been unfurled, and here prayers were perpetu- 
 ally to be offered up for the repose of all who 
 had fallen in the contest. "All this pomp 
 and solemnity," adds Mr. Palgrave, "has 
 passed away like a dream! The perpetual 
 prayer has ceased forever ; the roll of battle is 
 rent ; the escutcheons of the Norman lineages 
 are trodden in the dust. A dark and reedy 
 pool marks where the abbey once reared its 
 stately towers, and nothing but the founda- 
 tions of the choir remain for the gaze of the 
 idle visitor, and the instruction of the mop- 
 ing antiquary." 
 
Conquest of Oranafca. 
 
 Review of a Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada, 
 from the MSS. of Fray Antonio Agapida.* 
 
 THERE are a few places scattered about 
 this ' ' working-day world ' ' which seem 
 to be elevated above its dull prosaic 
 level, and to be clothed with the magic 
 lights and tints of poetry. They possess a 
 charmed name, the very mention of which, as if 
 by fairy power, conjures up splendid scenes and 
 pageants of the past ; summons from " death's 
 dateless night " the shadows of the great and 
 good, the brave and beautiful, and fills the 
 mind with visions of departed glory. Such is 
 pre-eminently the case with Granada, one of 
 the most classical names in the history of latter 
 
 * Note by the Author. This review, published in 
 the London Quarterly Review for 1830, was written 
 by the author at the request of his London publisher, 
 to explain the real nature of his work, and its claim 
 to historic truth. 
 
 106 
 
Conquest of <3ranafca 107 
 
 ages. The very nature of the country and the 
 climate contributes to bewitch the fancy. The 
 Moors, we are told, while in possession of the 
 land, had wrought it up to a wonderful degree 
 of prosperity. The hills were clothed with 
 orchards and vineyards, the valleys embroid- 
 ered with gardens, and the plains covered with 
 waving grain. Here were seen in profusion 
 the orange, the citron, the fig, the pomegran- 
 ate, and the silk-producing mulberry. The 
 vine clambered from tree to tree, the grapes 
 hung in rich clusters about the peasant's cot- 
 tage, and the groves were rejoiced by the per- 
 petual song of the nightingale. In a word, so 
 beautiful was the earth, so pure the air, and so 
 serene the sky of this delicious region, that the 
 Moors imagined the paradise of their prophet 
 to be situate in that part of the heaven which 
 overhung their kingdom of Granada. 
 
 But what has most contributed to impart to 
 Granada a great and permanent interest, is the 
 ten years' war of which it was the scene, and 
 which closed the splendid drama of Moslem 
 domination in Spain. For nearly eight cen- 
 turies had the Spaniards been recovering, 
 piece by piece, and by dint of the sword, that 
 territory which had been wrested from them 
 by their Arab invaders in little more than as 
 many months. The kingdom of Granada was- 
 
io8 "Reviews and flMscellanles 
 
 the last stronghold of Moorish power, and the 
 favorite abode of Moorish luxury. The final 
 struggle for it was maintained with desperate 
 valor ; and the compact nature of the country, 
 hemmed in by the ocean and by lofty moun- 
 tains, and the continual recurrence of the 
 names of the same monarchs and commanders 
 throughout the war, give to it a peculiar dis- 
 tinctness, and an almost epic unity. 
 
 But though this memorable war had often 
 been made the subject of romantic fiction, and 
 though the very name possessed a spell upon 
 the imagination, yet it had never been fully 
 and distinctly treated. The world at large had 
 been content to receive a strangely perverted 
 idea of it, through Florian's romance of Gon- 
 salvo if Cordova ; or through the legend, 
 equally fabulous, entitled The Civil Wars of 
 Granada, by Ginez Perez de la Hita, the pre- 
 tended work of an Arabian contemporary, but 
 in reality a Spanish fabrication.* It had been 
 
 * The following censure on the work of I/a Hita is 
 passed by old Padre Bchevarria, in his Paseos por 
 Granada or Walks through Granada. " Ksta es una 
 historia toda fabulosa, cuyo autor se ignora, por mas 
 que corra con el nombre de alguno, llena de cuentos 
 y quimeras, en la que apenas si hallaran seis verdades, 
 y estas desfiguradas." Such is the true character of 
 a work which has hitherto served as a fountain of 
 historic fact concerning the conquest of Granada. 
 
Conquest of (Sranaoa 109 
 
 woven over with love-tales and scenes of senti- 
 mental gallantry, totally opposite to its real 
 character, for it was, in truth, one of the stern- 
 est of those iron contests which have been 
 sanctified by the title of ' ' holy wars. ' ' In fact, 
 the genuine nature of the war placed it far 
 above the need of any amatory embellishments. 
 It possessed sufficient interest in the striking 
 contrast presented by the combatants, of Ori- 
 ental and European creeds, costumes, and 
 manners ; and in the hardy and hare-brained 
 enterprises, the romantic adventures, the pic- 
 turesque forages through mountain regions, 
 the daring assaults and surprisals of cliff- built 
 castles and cragged fortresses, which succeeded 
 each other with a variety and brilliancy beyond 
 the scope of mere invention. 
 
 The time of the conquest also contributed to 
 heighten the interest. It was not long after 
 the invention, of gunpowder, when firearms 
 and artillery mingled the flash, smoke, and 
 thunder of modern warfare with the steely 
 splendor of ancient chivalry, and gave an 
 awful magnificence and terrible sublimity to 
 battle ; and when the old Moorish towers and 
 castles, that for ages had frowned defiance to 
 the battering-rams and catapults of classic 
 tactics, were toppled down by the lombards of 
 the Spanish engineers. It was one of those 
 
no IReiews anD 
 
 cases in which history rises superior to fiction. 
 The author seems to have been satisfied of this 
 fact, by the manner in which he has con- 
 structed the present work. The idea of it, we 
 are told, was suggested to him while in Spain, 
 occupied upon his History of the Life and 
 Voyages of Columbus. The application of the 
 great navigator to the Spanish sovereigns, for 
 patronage to his project of discovery, was 
 made during their crusade against the Moors 
 of Granada, and continued throughout 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 grand catastrophe of the enter- 
 prise, the surrender of the metropolis. The 
 researches of Mr. Irving, in tracing the move- 
 ments of his hero, led him to the various 
 chronicles of the reign of Ferdinand and Isa- 
 bella. He became deeply interested in the 
 details of the war, and was induced, while col- 
 lecting materials for the biography he had in 
 hand, to make preparation also for the present 
 history. He subsequently made 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 remarkable events of 
 the war ; and passed some time in the ancient 
 
Conquest of GranaDa HI 
 
 palace of the Alhambra, once the favorite 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 associations which 
 throw a moral interest over every feature of 
 Spanish landscape, that he completed these 
 volumes. 
 
 His great object appears to have been, to 
 produce a complete and authentic body of facts 
 relative to the war in question, but arranged 
 in such a manner as to be attractive to the 
 reader for mere amusement. He has, there- 
 fore, diligently sought for his materials among 
 the ancient chronicles, both printed and in 
 manuscript, which were written at the time by 
 eye-witnesses, and, in some instances, by per- 
 sons who had actually mingled in the scenes 
 recorded. These chronicles were often diffuse 
 and tedious, and occasionally discolored by the 
 bigotry, superstition, and fierce intolerance of 
 the age ; but their pages were illumined, at 
 times, with scenes of high emprize, of romantic 
 generosity, and heroic valor, which flashed 
 upon the reader with additional splendor, from 
 the surrounding darkness. It has been the 
 study of the author to bring forth these scenes 
 in their strongest light ; to arrange them in 
 dear and lucid order ; to give them somewhat 
 
n2 "Kevtews anD flMscellanies 
 
 of a graphic effect, by connecting them with 
 the manners and customs of the age in which 
 they occurred, and with the splendid scenery 
 amidst which they took place ; and thus, while 
 he preserved the truth and chronological order 
 of events, to impart a more impressive and 
 entertaining character to his narrative, than 
 regular histories are accustomed to possess. 
 By these means his chronicle, at times, wears 
 almost the air of romance ; yet the story is 
 authenticated by frequent reference to existing 
 documents, proving that he has substantial 
 foundation for his most extraordinary inci- 
 dents. 
 
 There is, however, another circumstance, 
 by which Mr. Irving has more seriously im- 
 paired the ex-fade credibility of his narrative. 
 He has professed to derive his materials from 
 the manuscripts of an ancient Spanish monk, 
 Fray Antonio Agapida, whose historical pro- 
 ductions are represented as existing in dis- 
 jointed fragments, in the archives of the 
 Escurial and other conventual libraries. He 
 often quotes the very words of the venerable 
 friar ; particularly when he bursts forth in 
 exaggerated praises of the selfish policy or 
 bigot zeal of Ferdinand; or chants, "with 
 pious exultation, the united triumphs of the 
 cross and the sword." This friar is manifestly 
 
Conquest of (Sranaoa 113 
 
 a mere fiction a stalking-horse, from behind 
 which the author launches his satire at the 
 intolerance of that persecuting age, and at the 
 errors, the inconsistencies, and the self-delu- 
 sions of the singular medley of warriors, saints, 
 politicians, and adventurers engaged in that 
 holy war. Fray Antonio, however, may be 
 considered as an incarnation of the blind big- 
 otry and zealot extravagance of the ' ' good old 
 orthodox Spanish chroniclers" ; and, in fact, 
 his exaggerated sallies of loyalty and religion 
 are taken, almost word for word, from the 
 works of some one or other of the monkish 
 historians. Still, though this fictitious per- 
 sonage has enabled the author to indulge his 
 satirical vein at once more freely and more 
 modestly, and has diffused over his page some- 
 thing of the quaintness of the cloister, and the 
 tint of the country and the period, the use of 
 such machinery has thrown a doubt upon the 
 absolute verity of his history ; and it will take 
 some time before the general mass of readers 
 become convinced that the pretended manu- 
 script of Fray Antonio Agapida is, in truth, a 
 faithful digest of actual documents. 
 
 The chronicle opens with the arrival of a 
 Spanish cavalier at Granada, with a demand 
 of arrears of tribute, on the part of Ferdinand 
 and Isabella, from Muley Aben Hassan, the 
 
H4 IRevtews anfc /HMscellanies 
 
 Moorish king. This measure is well under- 
 stood to have been a crafty device of Ferdi- 
 nand. The tribute had become obsolete, and he 
 knew it would be indignantly refused ; but he 
 had set his heart on driving the Moors out of 
 their last Spanish dominions, and he now 
 sought a cause of quarrel. 
 
 " Muley Aben Hassan received the cavalier in state, 
 seated on a magnificent divan, and surrounded by the 
 officers of his court, in the Hall of Ambassadors, one 
 of the most sumptuous apartments of the Alhambra. 
 When De Vera had delivered his message, a haughty 
 and bitter smile curled the lip of the fierce monarch. 
 'Tell your sovereigns,' said he, 'that the kings of 
 Granada who used to pay tribute in money to the Cas- 
 tilian crown are dead. Our mint at present coins 
 nothing but blades of scimitars and heads of lances." 
 Vol. i., p. io. 
 
 The fiery old Moslem had here given a very 
 tolerable pretext for immediate war ; yet King 
 Ferdinand forbore to strike the blow. He was 
 just then engaged in a contest with Portugal, 
 the cause of which Mr. Irving leaves un- 
 noticed, as irrelevant to his subject. It is, 
 however, a curious morsel of history, involving 
 the singular and romantic fortunes of the fair 
 Juana of Castile, by many considered the right- 
 ful heir to the crown. It is illustrative, also, 
 of the manners of the age of which this chroni- 
 
Conquest of Granaoa 115 
 
 cle peculiarly treats, and of the character and 
 policy of the Spanish sovereign who figures 
 thoughout its pages ; a brief notice of it, there- 
 fore, may not be unacceptable. 
 
 Henry IV. of Castile, one of the most imbe- 
 cile of kings and credulous of husbands, had 
 lived for five years in sterile wedlock with his 
 queen, a gay and buxom princess of Portugal, 
 when, at length, she rejoiced him by the birth 
 of the Infanta Juana. The horn of the king 
 was, of course, exalted on this happy occasion, 
 but the whisper was diligently circulated about 
 the court, that he was indebted for the tardy 
 honors of paternity to the good offices of Don 
 Beltran de Cuevas, Count of Ledesma, a 
 youthful and gallant cavalier, who had enjoyed 
 the peculiar favor and intimacy of the queen. 
 The story soon took wind, and became a theme 
 of popular clamor. Henry, however, with the 
 good easy faith, or passive acquiescence of an 
 imbecile mind, continued to love and honor his 
 queen, and to lavish favors on her paramour, 
 whom he advanced in rank, making him his 
 prime minister, and giving him the title of 
 Duke of Albuquerque. Such blind credulity 
 is not permitted, in this troublesome world, to 
 kings more than to common men. The public 
 were furious ; civil commotions took place ; 
 Henry was transiently deposed, and was 
 
n6 IReviews anfc /IIMscellames 
 
 only reinstated in his royal dignity, on sign- 
 ing a treaty, by which he divorced his wife, 
 disowned her child, and promised to send them 
 both to Portugal. His connubial faith ul- 
 timately revived, in defiance of every trial, 
 and on his death-bed he recognized the In- 
 fanta Juana as his daughter and legitmate 
 successor. The public, however, who will not 
 allow even kings to be infallible judges incases 
 of the kind, persisted in asserting the illegiti- 
 macy of the Infanta ; and gave her the name of 
 La Beltranaja, in allusion to her supposed 
 father, Don Beltran.* No judicial investiga- 
 tion took place, but the question was decided 
 as a point of faith, or a notorious fact ; and the 
 youthful princess, though of great beauty and 
 merit, was set aside, and the crown adjudged 
 to her father's sister, the renowned Isabella. 
 
 It should be observed, however, that the 
 charge of illegitimacy is maintained principally 
 by Spanish writers ; the Portuguese historians 
 reject it as a calumny. Hven the classic Mari- 
 ana expresses an idea that it might have been 
 an invention or exaggeration, founded on the 
 weakness of Henry IV. and the amorous tem- 
 perament of his queen, f and artfully devised 
 to favor the views of the crafty Ferdinand, who 
 
 * Pulgar, Chron. delos Reyes Catolicos, c, I, note A. 
 f Mariana, lib. xxii., c. 20. 
 
Conquest of <5rana>a 117 
 
 laid claim to the crown as the rightful inheri- 
 tance of his spouse, Isabella. 
 
 Young, beautiful, and unfortunate, the dis- 
 carded princess was not long in want of a cham- 
 pion in that heroic age. Her mother's brother, 
 the brave Alonzo V. of Portugal, surnamed El 
 Lidiador, or the Combatant, from his exploits 
 against the Moors of Africa, stepped forward 
 as her vindicator, and marched into Spain at 
 the head of a gallant army, to place her on the 
 throne. He asked her hand in marriage, and 
 it was yielded. The espousals were publicly 
 solemnized at Placentia, but were not consum- 
 mated, the consanguinity of the parties obliging 
 them to wait for a dispensation from the Pope. 
 
 All the southern provinces of Castile, with a 
 part of Galicia, declared in favor of Juana, and 
 town after town yielded to the arms or the per- 
 suasion of Alonzo, as he advanced. The ma- 
 jority of the kingdom, however, rallied round 
 the standard of Ferdinand and Isabella. The 
 latter assembled their warrior nobles at Valla- 
 dolid, and amidst the chivalrous throng that 
 appeared glittering in arms was Don Beltran, 
 Duke of Albuquerque, the surmised father of 
 Juana. His predicament was singular and 
 delicate. If, in truth, the father of Juana, nat- 
 ural affection called upon him to support her 
 interests ; if she were not his child, then she 
 
us "Reviews anD /IMscellanies 
 
 had an unquestionable right to the crown, and 
 it was his duty, as a true cavalier, to support 
 her claim. It is even said that he had pledged 
 himself to Alonzo, to stand forth in loyal adher- 
 ence to the virgin queen ; but when he saw the 
 array of mailed warriors and powerful nobles 
 that thronged round Ferdinand and Isabella, 
 he trembled for his great estates, and tacitly 
 mingled with the crowd.* The gallant inroad 
 of Alonzo into Spain was attended with many 
 vicissitudes ; he could not maintain his footing 
 against the superior force of Ferdinand, and 
 being defeated in a decisive battle, between 
 Zamora and Toro, was obliged to retire from 
 Castile. He conducted his beautiful and yet 
 virgin bride into Portugal, where she was re- 
 ceived as queen with great acclamations. There 
 leaving her in security, he repaired to France, 
 to seek assistance from I/ouis XI. During this 
 absence, Pope Sixtus IV. granted the dispen- 
 sation for his marriage. It was cautiously 
 worded, and secretly given, that it might es- 
 cape the knowledge of Ferdinand, until carried 
 into effect. It authorized the king of Portugal 
 to marry any relative not allied to him in the 
 first degree of consanguinity, but avoided 
 naming the bride. f 
 
 * Pulgar, part ii., cap. 22. 
 f Zurita, Annales. 
 
Conquest of Granada 119 
 
 The negotiation of Alonzo at the court of 
 France was protracted during many weary 
 months, and was finally defeated by the supe- 
 rior address of Ferdinand. He returned to 
 Portugal, to forget his vexations in the arms 
 of his blooming bride ; but even here he was 
 again disappointed by the crafty intrigues of 
 his rival. The pliant pontiff had been prevailed 
 upon to issue a patent bull, overruling his pre- 
 vious dispensation, as having been obtained 
 without naming both of the persons to be 
 united in marriage, and as having proved the 
 cause of wars and bloodshed.* The royal pair 
 were thus obliged to meet in the relations of 
 uncle and niece, instead of husband and wife. 
 Peace was finally negotiated by the intervention 
 of friends, on the condition that Donna Juana 
 should either take the veil and become a nun, or 
 should be wedded to Don Juan, the infant son 
 and heir of Ferdinand and Isabella, as soon as he 
 should arrive at a marriageable age: This sin- 
 gular condition, which would place her on the 
 throne from which she had been excluded, has 
 been adduced as a proof of her legitimate right. 
 
 Alonzo V. was furious, and rejected the 
 
 treaty ; but Donna Juana shrunk from being 
 
 any longer the cause of war and bloodshed, 
 
 and determined to devote herself to celibacy 
 
 *Zurita. 
 
120 IReviews and Miscellanies 
 
 and religion. All the entreaties of the king 
 were of no avail ; she took the irrevocable 
 vows, and, exchanging her royal robes for the 
 humble habit of a Franciscan nun, entered the 
 convent of Santa Clara, with all the customary 
 solemnities ; not having yet completed her 
 nineteenth year, and having been four years a 
 virgin wife. All authors concur in giving her 
 a most amiable and exemplary character ; and 
 Gatibay says " she was named, for her virtues, 
 La Excellenta, and left a noble example to the 
 world. Her retirement, ' ' he adds, ' ' occasioned 
 great affliction to King Alonzo, and grief to 
 many others, who beheld so exquisite a lady 
 reduced to such humility."* 
 
 The king, in a transport of tender melan- 
 choly, took a sudden resolution, characteristic 
 of that age, when love and chivalry and reli- 
 gion were strangely intermingled. Leaving 
 his capital on a feigned pretence, he repaired 
 to a distant city, and there, laying aside his 
 royal state, set forth on a pilgrimage to Jerusa- 
 lem, attended merely by a chaplain and two 
 grooms. He had determined to renounce the 
 pomp, and glories, and vanities of the world ; 
 and, after humbling himself at the holy sepul- 
 chre, to devote himself to a religious life. He 
 sent back one of his attendants, with letters, 
 *Garibay, Compend. Hist., lib. xxxv., cap. 19. 
 
Conquest of (Branaoa 121 
 
 in which he took a tender leave of Donna 
 Juana, and directed his son to assume the 
 crown. His letters threw the court into great 
 affliction ; his son was placed on the throne, 
 but several of the ancient courtiers set out 
 in pursuit of the pilgrim king. They over- 
 took him far on his journey, and prevailed 
 on him to return and resume his sceptre, which 
 was dutifully resigned to him by his son. 
 Still restless and melancholy, Alonzo after- 
 wards undertook a crusade for the recovery 
 of the holy sepulchre, and proceeded to Italy 
 with a fleet and army ; but was discouraged 
 from the enterprise by the coldness of Pope 
 Pius II. He then returned to Portugal ; and 
 his love melancholy reviving in the vicinity 
 of Donna Juana, he determined, out of a kind 
 of romantic sympathy, to imitate her example, 
 and to take the habit of St. Francis. His 
 sadness and depression, however, increased 
 to such a degree as to overwhelm his forces, 
 and he died, in 1481, at Cintra, in the chamber 
 in which he was born.* 
 
 We cannot close the brief record of this 
 romantic story without noticing the subse- 
 quent fortunes of Donna Juana. She resided 
 in the monastery of Santa Anna, with the 
 seclusion of a nun, but the state of a princess.. 
 
 *Faria y Sousa, Hist. Portugal, pt. iii., cap. 13. 
 
122 IRevnews anO dlMscellanfes 
 
 The fame of her beauty and her worth drew 
 suitors to the cloisters ; and her hand was 
 solicited by the youthful king of Navarre, 
 Don Francisco Phebus, surnamed the Hand- 
 some. His courtship, however, was cut short 
 by his sudden death, in 1483, which was sur- 
 mised to have been caused by poison.* For 
 six-and-twenty years did the royal nun con- 
 tinue shut up in holy seclusion from the w r orld. 
 The desire of youth and the pride of beauty 
 had long passed away, when suddenly, in 
 1505, Ferdinand himself, her ancient enemy, 
 the cause of all her sorrows and disappoint- 
 ments, appeared as a suitor for her hand. 
 His own illustrious queen, the renowned 
 Isabella, was dead, and had bequeathed her 
 hereditary crown of Castile to their daughter, 
 for whose husband, Philip I., he had a jealous 
 aversion. It was supposed that the crafty 
 and ambitious monarch intended, after mar- 
 rying Juana, to revive her claim to that throne, 
 from which his own hostility had excluded 
 her. His conduct in this instance is another 
 circumstance strongly in favor of the lawful 
 right of Juana to the crown of Castile. The 
 vanity of the world, however, was dead in the 
 tranquil bosom of the princess, and the gran- 
 deur of a throne had no longer attraction in 
 *Abarca, Reyes de Aragon, Rey. 30, cap. 2. 
 
Conquest ot GranaOa 123 
 
 her eyes. She rejected the suit of the most 
 politic and perfidious of monarchs ; and, con- 
 tinuing faithful to her vows, passed the re- 
 mainder of her days in the convent of Santa 
 Anna, where she died in all the odor of holi- 
 ness, and of immaculate and thrice-proved 
 virginity, which had passed unscorched even 
 through the fiery ordeal of matrimony. 
 
 To return to Mr. Irving' s narrative. Ferdi- 
 nand having successfully terminated the war 
 with Portugal, and seated himself and Isabella 
 firmly on the throne of Castile, turned his 
 attention to his contemplated project the 
 conquest of Granada. His plan of operations 
 was characteristic of his cautious and crafty 
 nature. He determined to proceed step by 
 step, taking town after town, and fortress after 
 fortress, before he attempted the Moorish cap- 
 ital. " I will pick out the seeds of this pome- 
 granate one by one," said the wary monarch, 
 in allusion to Granada, the Spanish name 
 both for the kingdom and the fruit. The 
 intention of the Catholic sovereign did not 
 escape the eagle eye of old Muley Aben 
 Hassan. Being, however, possessed of great 
 treasures, and having placed his territories 
 in a warlike posture, and drawn auxiliary 
 troops from his allies, the princes of Barbary, 
 he felt confident in his means of resistance. 
 
124 TRevtews anD jfBMecellanies 
 
 His subjects were fierce of spirit, and stout 
 of heart inured to the exercises of war, 
 and patient of fatigue, hunger, thirst, and 
 nakedness. Above all, they were dexterous 
 horsemen, whether heavily armed and fully 
 appointed, or lightly mounted d la geneta^ 
 with merely lance and target. Adroit in all 
 kinds of stratagems, impetuous in attack, 
 quick to disperse, prompt to rally and to 
 return like a whirlwind to the charge, they 
 were considered the best of troops for daring 
 inroads, sudden scourings, and all kinds of 
 partisan warfare. In fact, they have be- 
 queathed their wild and predatory spirit to 
 Spain ; and her bandaleros, her contraban- 
 distas, and her guerrillas, her marauders of 
 the mountain, and scamperers of the plain, 
 may all be traced back to the belligerent era 
 of the Moors. 
 
 The truce which had existed between the 
 Catholic sovereign and the king of Granada 
 contained a singular clause, characteristic of 
 the wary and dangerous situation of the two 
 neighboring nations, with respect to each other. 
 It permitted either party to make sudden in- 
 roads and assaults upon towns and fortresses, 
 provided they were done furtively and by strat- 
 agem, without display of banner or sound of 
 trumpet, or regular encampment, and that they 
 
Conquest of <5ranaDa 125 
 
 did not last above three days. This gave rise to 
 frequent enterprises of a hardy and adventurous 
 character, in which castles and strongholds 
 were taken by surprise, and carried sword in 
 hand. Monuments of these border scourings, 
 and the jealous watchfulness awakened by 
 them, may still be seen by the traveller in 
 every part of Spain, but particularly in Anda- 
 lusia. The mountains which formed the barri- 
 ers of the Christian and Moslem territories are 
 still crested with ruined watch-towers, where 
 the helmed and turbaned sentinels kept a look- 
 out on the Vega of Granada, or the plains of 
 the Guadalquivir. Every rugged pass has its 
 dismantled fortress, and every town and village, 
 and even hamlet, the mountain or valley, its 
 strong tower of defence. Even on the beau- 
 tiful little stream of the Guadayra, which now 
 winds peacefully among flowery banks and 
 groves of myrtles and oranges, to throw itself 
 into the Guadalquivir, the Moorish mills, 
 which have studded its borders for centuries, 
 have each its battlemented tower, where the 
 miller and his family could take refuge until 
 the foray which swept the plains, and made 
 hasty sack and plunder in its career, had 
 passed away. Such was the situation of Moor 
 and Spaniard in those days, when the sword 
 and spear hung ready on the wall of every 
 
i26 TReviews anD 
 
 cottage, and the humblest toils of husbandry 
 were performed with the weapon close at 
 hand. 
 
 The outbreaking of the war of Granada is in 
 keeping with this picture. The fierce old king, 
 Muley Aben Hassan, had determined to anti- 
 cipate his adversary, and strike the first blow. 
 The fortress of Zahara was the object of his 
 attack ; and the description of it may serve 
 for that of many of those old warrior towns 
 which remain from the time of the Moors, built, 
 like eagle-nests, among the wild mountains of 
 Andalusia. 
 
 " This important post was on the frontier, between 
 Ronda and Medina Sidonia, and was built on the crest 
 of a rocky mountain, with a strong castle perched 
 above it, upon a cliff so high that it was said to be 
 above the flight of birds or drift of clouds. The 
 streets, and many of the houses, were mere excava- 
 tions, wrought out of the living rock. The town had 
 but one gate, opening to the west, and defended by 
 towers and bulwarks. The only ascent to this cragged 
 fortress was by roads cut in the rock, and so rugged 
 as in many places to resemble broken stairs. Such 
 was the situation of the mountain fortress of Zahara, 
 which seemed to set all attack at defiance, insomuch 
 that it had become so proverbial throughout Spain, 
 that a woman of forbidding and inaccessible virtue 
 was called a Zaharena. But the strongest fortress and 
 sternest virtue have their weak points, and require 
 
Conque0t of (SranaDa 127 
 
 unremitting vigilance to guard them : let warrior and 
 dame take warning from the fate of Zahara." 
 
 Muley Aben Hassan made a midnight attack 
 upon this fortress during a howling wintry 
 storm, which had driven the very sentinels 
 from their posts. He scaled the walls, and 
 gained possession of both town and castle 
 before the garrison were roused to arms. Such 
 of the inhabitants as made resistance were cut 
 down, the rest were taken prisoners, and 
 driven, men, women, and children, like a herd 
 of cattle, to Granada. 
 
 The capture of Zahara was as an electric 
 shock to the chivalry of Spain. Among those 
 roused to action was Don Rodrigo Ponce de 
 Leon, Marquis of Cadiz, who is worthy of par- 
 ticular notice as being the real hero of the 
 war. Florian has assigned this honor, in his 
 historical romance, to Gonsalvo of Cordova, 
 surnamed the Great Captain, who, in fact, per- 
 formed but an inferior part in these campaigns. 
 It was in the subsequent war of Italy that he 
 acquired his high renown. Rodrigo Ponce de 
 lyeon is a complete exemplification of the 
 Spanish cavalier of the olden time. Temper- 
 ate, chaste, vigilant, and valorous ; kind to 
 his vassals, frank towards his equals, faithful 
 and loving to his friends, terrible, yet magnani- 
 
128 IReviews anfc flMscellanies 
 
 mous to his enemies ; contemporary histo- 
 rians extol him as the mirror of chivalry, and 
 compare him to the immortal Cid. His ample 
 possessions extended over the most fertile parts 
 of Andalusia, including many towns and for- 
 tresses. A host of retainers, ready to follow 
 him to danger or to death, fed in his castle 
 hall, which waved with banners taken from the 
 Moors. His armories glittered with helms and 
 cuirasses, and weapons of all kinds, ready bur- 
 nished for use, and his stables were filled with 
 hardy steeds trained to a mountain scamper. 
 This ready preparation arose not merely from 
 his residence on the Moorish border ; he had 
 a formidable foe near at hand, in Juan de Guz- 
 man, Duke of Medina Sidonia, one of the most 
 wealthy of Spanish nobles. We shall notice 
 one or two particulars of his earlier life, which 
 our author has omitted, as not within the scope 
 of his chronicle, but which would have given 
 additional interest to some of its scenes. An 
 hereditary feud subsisted between these two 
 noblemen ; and as Ferdinand and Isabella had 
 not yet succeeded in their plan of reducing 
 the independent and dangerous power of the 
 nobles of Spain, the whole province of Andalu- 
 sia was convulsed by their strife. They waged 
 war against each other like sovereign princes, 
 regarding neither the authority of the crown 
 
Conquest of Granada 129 
 
 nor the welfare of the country. Every fortress 
 and castle became a stronghold of their parti- 
 sans, and a kind of club law prevailed over the 
 land, like the/aust recht once exercised by the 
 robber counts of German}^. The sufferings of 
 the province awakened the solicitude of Isa- 
 bella, and brought her to Seville, where, seated 
 on a throne in a great hall of the Alcazar or 
 Moorish palace, she held an open audience to 
 receive petitions and complaints. The nobles 
 of the province hastened to do her homage. 
 The Marquis of Cadiz alone did not appear. 
 The Duke of Medina Sidonia accused him of 
 having been treasonably in the interest of 
 Portugal, in the late war of the succession ; of 
 exercising tyrannical sway over certain royal 
 domains ; of harassing the subjects of the 
 crown with his predatory bands, and keeping 
 himself aloof in warlike defiance, in his fortified 
 city of Xeres. The continued absence of the 
 marquis countenanced these charges, and they 
 were reiterated by the relations and dependants 
 of the Duke, who thronged and controlled the 
 ancient city of Seville. The indignation of the 
 queen was roused, and she determined to re- 
 duce the supposed rebel by force of arms. 
 Tidings of these events were conveyed to Ponce 
 de I^eon, and roused him to vindicate his honor 
 with frankness and decision. He instantly set 
 
130 TReviewe anfc 
 
 off from Xeres, attended by a single servant. 
 Spurring across the country, and traversing 
 the hostile city, he entered the palace by a 
 private portal, and penetrating to the apartment 
 of the queen, presented himself suddenly be- 
 fore her. 
 
 " Behold me here, most potent sovereign ! " ex- 
 claimed he, "to answer any charge in person. I 
 come not to accuse others, but to vindicate myself ; 
 not to deal in words, but in deeds. It is said that I 
 hold Xeres and Alcala fortified and garrisoned, in 
 defiance of your authority : send and take possession 
 of them, for they are yours. Do you require my 
 patrimonial hereditaments ? From this chamber I 
 will direct their surrender ; and here I deliver up my 
 very person into your power. As to the other charges, 
 let investigation be made ; and if I stand not clear 
 and loyal, impose on me whatever pain or penalty 
 you may think proper to inflict." * 
 
 Isabella saw in the intrepid frankness of the 
 marquis strong proof of innocence, and declared, 
 that had she thought him guilty, his gallant 
 confidence would have insured her clemency. 
 She took possession of the fortresses surren- 
 dered, but caused the duke to give up equally 
 his military posts, and to free Seville from 
 these distracting contests, ordered either chief 
 to dwell on his estate. Such was the feud 
 
 * Pulgar, c. 70, etc. 
 
Conquest of (Bcanafca 131 
 
 betwixt these rival nobles at the time when 
 the old Moorish king captured and sacked 
 Zahara. 
 
 The news of this event stirred up the warrior 
 spirit of Ponce de L,eon to retaliation. He 
 sent out his scouts, and soon learnt that the 
 town of Alhama was assailable. * ' This was 
 a large, wealthy, and populous place, which, 
 from its strong position on a rocky height, 
 within a few leagues of the Moorish capital, 
 had acquired the appellation of the ' Key of 
 Granada.' " The marquis held conference 
 with the most important commanders of Anda- 
 lusia, excepting the Duke of Medina Sidonia, 
 his deadly foe, and concerted a secret march 
 through the mountain passes to Alhama, which 
 he surprised and carried. We forbear to follow 
 the author in his detail of this wild and perilous 
 enterprise, the success of which struck deep 
 consternation in the Moors of Granada. The 
 exclamation of " Ay de mi, Alhama ! Woe is 
 me, Alhama ! " was in every mouth. It has 
 become the burden of a mournful Spanish 
 ballad, supposed of Moorish origin, which has 
 been translated by L,ord Byron. 
 
 The Marquis of Cadiz and his gallant com- 
 panions, now in possession of Alhama, were 
 but a handful of men, in the heart of an ene- 
 my's country, and were surrounded by a power- 
 
i32 "Reviews anD Miscellanies 
 
 ful army, led by the fierce King of Granada. 
 They despatched messengers to Seville and Cor- 
 dova, describing their perilous situation, and 
 imploring aid. Nothing could equal the an- 
 guish of the Marchioness of Cadiz on hearing 
 of the danger of her lord. She looked round 
 in her deep distress for some powerful noble, 
 competent to raise the force requisite for his 
 deliverance. No one was so competent as the 
 Duke of Medina Sidonia. To many, however, 
 he would have seemed the last person to whom 
 to apply ; but she judged of him by her own 
 high and generous mind, and did not hesitate. 
 The event showed how well noble spirits 
 understand each other. 
 
 " He immediately despatched a courteous letter to 
 the marchioness, assuring her that, in consideration 
 of the request of so honorable and estimable a lady, 
 and to rescue from peril so valiant a cavalier as her 
 husband, whose loss would be great, not only to 
 Spain, but to all Christendom, he would forego the 
 recollection of all past grievances and hasten to his 
 relief. The duke wrote at the same time to the al- 
 caydes of his towns and fortresses, ordering them to 
 join him forthwith at Seville, with all the force they 
 could spare from their garrisons. He called on all the 
 chivalry of Andalusia to make a common cause in the 
 rescue of those Christian cavaliers ; and he offered 
 large pay to all volunteers who would resort to him 
 with horses, armor, and provisions. Thus all who 
 
Conquest ot (Branafca 133 
 
 could be incited by honor, religion, patriotism, or 
 thirst of gain, were induced to hasten to his standard ; 
 and he took the field with an army of five thousand 
 horse and fifty thousand foot." 
 
 Ferdinand was in church at Medina del 
 Campo when he heard of the achievement and 
 the peril of his gallant cavaliers, and set out 
 instantly to aid in person in their rescue. He 
 wrote to the Duke of Medina Sidonia to pause 
 for him on the frontier ; but it was a case of 
 life and death : the duke left a message to that 
 effect for his sovereign, and pressed on his un- 
 ceasing march. He arrived just in time, when 
 the garrison, reduced to extremity by incessant 
 skirmishes and assaults, and the want of water, 
 and resembling skeletons rather than living 
 men, were on the point of falling into the 
 hands of the enemy. Muley A ben Hassan, 
 who commanded the siege in person, tore his 
 beard when his scouts brought him word of 
 their arrival. 
 
 " They had seen from the heights the long columns 
 and flaunting banners of the Christian army approach- 
 ing through the mountains. To linger would be to 
 place himself between two bodies of the enemy. 
 Breaking up his camp, therefore, in all haste, he gave 
 up the siege of Alhama, and hastened back to Gra- 
 nada ; and the last clash of his cymbals scarce died 
 upon the ear from the distant hills, before the stand- 
 ard of the Duke of Medina Sidonia was seen emerging 
 
134 IRevtews anD dlMsceltaniee 
 
 in another direction from the defiles of the moun- 
 tains. ... It was a noble and gracious sight to 
 behold the meeting of those two ancient foes, the 
 Duke of Medina Sidonia and the Marquis of Cadiz. 
 When the marquis beheld his magnanimous deliverer 
 approaching, he melted into tears : all past animosities 
 only gave the greater poignancy to present feelings 
 of gratitude and admiration ; they clasped each other 
 in their arms ; and from that time forward, were true 
 and cordial friends." 
 
 Having duly illustrated these instances of 
 chivalrous hardihood and noble magnanimity, 
 the author shifts his scene from the Christian 
 camp to the Moslem hall, and gives us a peep 
 into the interior of the Alhambra, and the 
 domestic policy of the Moorish monarchs. 
 The old King of Granada was perplexed, not 
 merely with foreign wars, but with family 
 feuds, and seems to have evinced a kind of 
 tiger character in both. He had several wives, 
 two of whom were considered as sultanas, or 
 queens. One, named Ayxa, was of Moorish 
 origin, and surnamed La Horra, or The Chaste, 
 from the purity of her manners. Fatima, the 
 other, had been originally a Christian captive, 
 and was called from her beauty, Zoroya, or The 
 Light of Dawn. The former had given birth 
 to his eldest son, Abdalla, or Boabdil, com- 
 monly called El Chico, or The Younger ; and 
 the latter had brought him two sons. Zoroya 
 
Conquest of OranaDa 135 
 
 abused the influence that her youth and beauty 
 gave her over the hoary monarch, inducing 
 him to repudiate the virtuous Ayxa, and ex- 
 citing his suspicions against Boabdil to such a 
 degree that he determined upon his death. It 
 was the object of Zoroya, by these flagitious 
 means, to secure the succession for one of her 
 own children. 
 
 " The Sultana Ayxa was secretly apprised of the 
 cruel design of the old monarch. She was a woman 
 of talents and courage, and, by means of her female 
 attendants, concerted a plan for the escape of her son. 
 A faithful servant was instructed to wait below the 
 Alhambra, in the dead of the night, on the banks of 
 the river Darro, with a fleet Arabian courser. The 
 sultana, when the castle was in a state of deep repose, 
 tied together the shawls and scarfs of herself and her 
 female attendants, and lowered the youthful prince 
 from the tower of Comares. He made his way in 
 safety down the steep rocky hill to the banks of the 
 Darro, and, throwing himself on the Arabian courser, 
 was thus spirited off to the city of Guadix. Here he 
 lay for some time concealed, until gaining adherents, 
 he fortified himself in the place, and set his tyrant 
 father at defiance. Such was the commencement of 
 those internal feuds which hastened the downfall of 
 Granada. The Moors became separated into two hos- 
 tile factions, headed by the father and the son, and 
 several bloody encounters took place between them ; 
 yet they never failed to act with all their separate 
 force against the Christians, as a common enemy." 
 
136 TRevnewB an& AMscellaniea 
 
 It is proper in this place to remark, that the 
 present chronicle gives an entirely different 
 character to Boabdil from that by which he is 
 usually described. It says nothing of his 
 alleged massacre of the Abencerrages, nor of 
 the romantic story of his jealous persecution 
 and condemnation of his queen, and her vindi- 
 cation in combat by Christian knights. The 
 massacre, in fact, if it really did take place, 
 was the deed of his tiger-hearted father ; the 
 story of the queen is not to be found in any 
 contemporary chronicle, either Spanish or 
 Arabian, and is considered by Mr. Irving as a 
 mere fabrication. Boabdil appears to have 
 been sometimes rash, at other times irresolute 
 but never cruel. 
 
 As a specimen of the predatory war that pre- 
 vailed about the borders, we would fain make 
 some extracts from a foray of the old Moorish 
 king into the lands of the Duke of Medina 
 Sidonia, who had foiled him before Alhama ; 
 but this our limits forbid. It ends trium- 
 phantly for Muley Hassan ; and Boabdil el 
 Chico, in consequence, found it requisite for 
 his popularity to strike some signal blow 
 that might eclipse the brilliant exploits of 
 the rival king, his father. He was in the 
 flower of his age, and renowned at joust 
 and tourney, but as yet unproved in the field 
 
Conquest of ranaDa 137 
 
 of battle. He was encouraged to make a dar- 
 ing inroad into the Christian territories by 
 the father of his favorite sultana, Ali Atar, 
 alcayde of lyOxa, a veteran warrior, ninety 
 years of age, whose name was the terror of 
 the borders. 
 
 " Boabdil assembled a brilliant army of nine thou- 
 sand foot and seven hundred horse, comprising the 
 most illustrious and valiant of the Moorish chivalry. 
 His mother, the Sultana Ayxa la Horra, armed him 
 for the field, and gave him her benediction as she 
 girded his cimetar to his side. His favorite wife, 
 Morayma, wept as she thought of the evils that might 
 befall him. ' Why dost thou weep, daughter of Ali 
 Atar ? ' said the high-minded Ayxa ; ' these tears be- 
 come not the daughter of a warrior, nor the wife of a 
 king. Believe me, there lurks more danger for a 
 monarch within the strong walls of a palace, than 
 within the frail curtains of a tent. It is by perils in 
 the field that thy husband must purchase security on 
 his throne.' But Morayma still hung upon his neck, 
 with tears and sad forebodings ; and when he departed 
 from the Alhambra, she betook herself to her mirador, 
 which looks out over the Vega, whence she watched 
 the army as it passed in shining order along the road 
 that leads to Loxa ; and every burst of warlike melody 
 that came swelling on the breeze was answered by a 
 gush of sorrow. . . . 
 
 "At L,oxa, the royal army was reinforced by old 
 Ali Atar, with the chosen horsemen of his garrison, 
 and many of the bravest warriors of the border towns. 
 The people of Loxa shouted with exultation when 
 
138 IReviews anD jfllMscellanies 
 
 they beheld All Atar armed at all points, and once 
 more mounted on his Barbary steed, which had often 
 borne him over the borders. The veteran warrior, 
 with nearly a century of years upon his head, had all 
 the fire and animation of a youth at the prospect of a 
 foray, and careered from rank to rank with the velocity 
 of an Arab of the desert. The populace watched the 
 army as it paraded over the bridge, and wound into 
 the passes of the mountains ; and still their eyes were 
 fixed upon the pennon of Ali Atar, as it bore with it 
 an assurance of victory." 
 
 The enemy has scarcely had a day's ravage 
 in the Christian land, when the alarm-fires 
 give notice that the Moor is over the border. 
 Our limits do not permit us to give this picture 
 of the sudden rising of a frontier in those times 
 of Moorish inroad. We pass on to the scene 
 of action, when the hardy Count de Cabra 
 came up with the foe, having pressed fearlessly 
 forward at the head of a handful of household 
 troops and retainers. 
 
 " The Moorish king descried the Spanish forces at 
 a distance, although a slight fog prevented his seeing 
 them distinctly and ascertaining their numbers. His 
 old father-in-law, Ali Atar, was by his side, who, be- 
 ing a veteran marauder, was well acquainted with all 
 the standards and armorial bearings of the frontiers. 
 When the king beheld the ancient and long-disused 
 banner of Cabra emerging from the mist, he turned to 
 Ali Atar, and demanded whose ensign it was. The 
 old borderer was for once at a loss, for the banner had 
 
Conquest of (Branaoa 139 
 
 not been displayed in battle in his time. ' Sire ' re- 
 plied he, after a pause, ' I have been considering that 
 standard, but do not know it. It appears to be a dog, 
 which is a device borne by the towns of Baeza and 
 Ubeda. If it be so, all Andalusia is in movement 
 against you ; for it is not probable that any single 
 commander or community would venture to attack 
 you. I would advise you, therefore, to retire.' 
 
 " The Count of Cabra, in winding down the hill 
 towards the Moors, found himself on a much lower 
 station than the enemy. He therefore ordered, in all 
 haste, that his standard should be taken back, so as 
 to gain the vantage-ground. The Moors, mistaking 
 this for a retreat, rushed impetuously towards the 
 Christians. The latter, having gained the height 
 proposed, charged down upon them at the same mo- 
 ment, with the battle-cry of ' Santiago ! ' and, dealing 
 the first blows, laid many of the Moorish cavaliers in 
 the dust. 
 
 "The Moors, thus checked in their tumultuous as- 
 sault, were thrown into confusion, and began to give 
 way, the Christians following hard upon them. 
 Boabdil el Chico endeavored to rally them. ' Hold ! 
 hold ! for shame ! ' cried he ; 'let us not fly, at least 
 until we know our enemy ! ' The Moorish chivalry 
 was stung by this reproof, and turned to make front, 
 with the valor of men who feel that they are fighting 
 under their monarch's eye. At this moment, Lorenzo 
 de Porres, alcayde of Luque, arrived with fifty horse 
 and one hundred foot, sounding an Italian trumpet 
 from among a copse of oak-trees, which concealed his 
 force. The quick ear of old Ali Atar caught the note. 
 4 That is an Italian trumpet,' said he to the king; 
 'the whole world seems in arms against your ma- 
 
140 "Reviews anD dfciscellanies 
 
 jesty ! ' The trumpet of Lorenzo de Porres was 
 answered by that of the Count de Cabra in another 
 direction ; and it seemed to the Moors as if they were 
 between two armies. Don Lorenzo, sallying from 
 among the oaks, now charged upon the enemy. The 
 latter did not wait to ascertain the force of this new 
 foe. The confusion, the variety of alarms, the attacks 
 from opposite quarters, the obscurity of the fog, all 
 conspired to deceive them as to the number of their 
 adversaries. Broken and dismayed, they retreated 
 fighting ; and nothing but the presence and remon- 
 strances of the king prevented their retreat from 
 becoming a headlong flight." 
 
 The skirmishing retreat lasted for about 
 three leagues ; but on the banks of the Min- 
 gonzalez the rout became complete. The 
 result is related by a fugitive from the field : 
 
 "The sentinels looked out from the watch-towers 
 of I/oxa, along the valley of the Xenil, which passes 
 through the mountains. They looked, to behold the 
 king returning in triumph, at the head of his shining 
 host, laden with the spoil of the unbeliever. They 
 looked, to behold the standard of their warlike idol, 
 the fierce AH Atar, borne by the chivalry of Loxa, 
 ever foremost in the wars of the border. 
 
 "In the evening of the 2ist of April, they descried 
 a single horseman, urging his faltering steed along 
 the banks of the river. As he drew near, they per- 
 ceived, by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior ; 
 and, on nearer approach, by the richness of his armor 
 and the caparison of his steed, they knew him to be a 
 warrior of rank. 
 
Conquest of ranafca 141 
 
 "He reached Loxa faint and aghast; his Arabian 
 courser covered with foam, and dust, and blood, pant- 
 ing and staggering with fatigue, and gashed with 
 wounds. Having brought his master in safety, he 
 sank down and died, before the gate of the city. The 
 soldiers at the gate gathered round the cavalier, as he 
 stood, mute and melancholy, by his expiring steed. 
 They knew him to be the gallant Cidi Caleb, nephew 
 of the chief alfaqui of the albaycen of Granada. 
 When the people of Loxa beheld this noble cavalier 
 thus alone, haggard and dejected, their hearts were 
 filled with fearful forebodings. 
 
 " ' Cavalier,' said they, ' how fares it with the king 
 and army ! ' He cast his hand mournfully towards 
 the land of the Christians. ' There they lie ! * ex- 
 claimed he ; 'the heavens have fallen upon them ! all 
 are lost all dead ! ' 
 
 "Upon this there was a great cry of consternation 
 among the people, and loud wailings of women ; for 
 the flower of the youth of Loxa were with the army. 
 An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border 
 battle, stood leaning on his lance by the gateway. 
 'Where is AH Atar?' demanded he eagerly. 'If he 
 still live, the army cannot be lost.' 
 
 " ' I saw his turban cleft by the Christian sword,' 
 replied Cidi Caleb. ' His body is floating in the Xenil.' 
 
 " When the soldier heard these words, he smote 
 his breast and threw dust upon his head ; for he was 
 an old follower of Ali Atar." 
 
 The unfortunate Boabdil was conducted a 
 captive to Vaena, a frontier town among the 
 mountains : and the ruined towers of the old 
 
142 IReviews an& /Mscellanfes 
 
 time-worn castle are still pointed out to the 
 traveller in which he was held in honorable 
 durance by the hardy Count de Cabra. Ferdi- 
 nand at length liberated him, on stipulation 
 of an ample tribute and vassalage, with mili- 
 tary service to the Castilian crown. It was 
 his policy to divide the Moors, by fomenting a 
 civil war between the two rival kings ; and 
 his foresight was justified by the result. The 
 factions of the father and the son broke forth 
 again with redoubled fury, and Moor was 
 armed against Moor, instead of uniting against 
 the common foe. 
 
 Muley Aben Hassan became infirm through 
 vexation as well as age, and blindness was 
 added to his other calamities. He had, how- 
 ever, a brother, named Abdalla, but generally 
 called El Zagal, or the Valiant, younger, of 
 course, than himself, yet well stricken in years, 
 who was alike distinguished for cool judgment 
 and fiery courage, and for most of the other 
 qualities which form an able general. This 
 chief, whose martial deeds run through the 
 present history, became the ruler of his broth- 
 er's realm, and was soon after raised by accla- 
 mation to the throne, even before the ancient 
 king's decease, which shortly followed, and not 
 without suspicion of foul play. The civil war, 
 which had commenced between father and son, 
 
Conquest of <3rana&a 143 
 
 was kept up between uncle and nephew. The 
 latter, though vacillating and irresolute, was 
 capable of being suddenly aroused to prompt 
 and vigorous measures. The voice of the 
 multitude, changeful as the winds, fluctuated 
 between El Chico and El Zagal, according as 
 either was successful ; and in depicting the fre- 
 quent, and almost ludicrous vicissitudes of 
 their power and popularity, the author has in- 
 dulged a quiet vain of satire on the capricious 
 mutability of public favor. 
 
 The varied and striking scenes of daring 
 foray and mountain maraud, of military pomp 
 and courtly magnificence, which occur through- 
 out the work, make selection difficult. The fol- 
 lowing extract shows the splendor of a Spanish 
 camp, and the varied chivalry assembled from 
 different Christian powers : 
 
 "Great and glorious was the style with which the 
 Catholic sovereigns opened another year's campaign 
 of this eventful war. It was like commencing another 
 act of a stately and heroic drama, where the curtain 
 rises to the inspiring sound of martial melody, and the 
 whole stage glitters with the array of warriors and the 
 pomp of arms. The ancient city of Cordova was the 
 place appointed by the sovereigns for the assemblage 
 of the troops ; and, early in the spring of 1486, the fair 
 valley of the Guadalquivir resounded with the shrill 
 blast of trumpet and the impatient neighing of the 
 war-horse. In this splendid era of Spanish chivalry, 
 
144 IRevtews anD /HMscellanies 
 
 there was a rivalship among the nobles, who most 
 should distinguish himself by the splendor of his ap- 
 pearance and the number and equipments of his feudal 
 followers. . . . Sometimes they passed through 
 the streets of Cordova at night, in cavalcade, with 
 great numbers of lighted torches, the rays of which, 
 falling upon polished armor, and nodding plumes, and 
 silken scarfs, and trappings of golden embroidery, 
 filled all beholders with admiration. But it was not 
 the chivalry of Spain alone which thronged the streets 
 of Cordova. The fame of this war had spread through- 
 out Christendom ; it was considered a kind of crusade, 
 and Catholic knights from all parts hastened to sig- 
 nalize themselves in so holy a cause. There were sev- 
 eral valiant chevaliers from France, among whom the 
 most distinguished was Gaston du Leon, seneschal of 
 Toulouse. With him came a gallant train, well armed 
 and mounted, and decorated with rich surcoats and 
 penaches of feathers. These cavaliers, it is said, eclipsed 
 all others in the light festivities of the court. They 
 were devoted to the fair ; but not after the solemn and 
 passionate manner of the Spanish lovers ; they were 
 gay, gallant, and joyous in their amours, and capti- 
 vated by the vivacity of their attacks. They were at 
 first held in light estimation by the grave and stately 
 Spanish knights, until they made themselves to be 
 respected by their wonderful prowess in the field. 
 
 "The most conspicuous of the volunteers, however, 
 who appeared in Cordova on this occasion, was an 
 Bnglish knight, of royal connection. This was the 
 Lord Scales, Barl of Rivers, related to the Queen of 
 Bngland, wife of Henry VII. He had distinguished 
 himself, in the preceding year, at the battle of Bos- 
 worth Field, were Henry Tudor, then Barl of Rich- 
 
conquest of <3ranafca 145 
 
 mond, overcame Richard III. That decisive battle 
 having left the country at peace, the Earl of Rivers, 
 retaining a passion for warlike scenes, repaired to the 
 Castilian court, to keep his arms in exercise in a cam- 
 paign against the Moors. He brought with him a 
 hundred archers, all dexterous with the long-bow and 
 the cloth-yard arrow ; also two hundred yeomen, 
 armed cap-a-pie, who fought with pike and battle-axe, 
 men robust of frame, and of prodigious strength. 
 The worthy Padre Fray Antonio Agapida describes 
 this stranger knight and his followers with his accus- 
 tomed accuracy and minuteness. ' This cavalier,' he 
 observes, ' was from the island of Bngland, and brought 
 with him a train of his vassals ; men who had been 
 hardened in certain civil wars which had waged in 
 their country. They were a comely race of men, but 
 too fair and fresh for warriors, not having the sun- 
 burnt, martial hue of our old Castilian soldiery. They 
 were huge feeders, also, and deep carousers ; and could 
 not accommodate themselves to the sober diet of our 
 troops, but must fain eat and drink after the manner 
 of their own country. They were often noisy and un- 
 ruly, also, in their wassail ; and their quarter of the 
 camp was prone to be a scene of loud revel and sudden 
 brawl. They were withal of great pride ; yet it was 
 not like our inflammable Spanish pride ; they stood 
 not much upon the pundonor and. high punctilio, and 
 rarely drew the stiletto in their disputes ; but their 
 pride was silent and contumelious. Though from a 
 remote and somewhat barbarous island, they yet be- 
 lieved themselves the most perfect men upon earth ; 
 and magnified their chieftain, the Lord Scales, beyond 
 the greatest of our grandees. With all this, it must 
 be said of them that they were marvellous good men 
 
146 TReviews anD fl&tecellantes 
 
 in the field, dexterous archers, and powerful with the 
 battle-axe. In their great pride and self-will, they 
 always sought to press in the advance, and take the 
 post of danger, trying to outvie our Spanish chivalry. 
 They did not rush forward fiercely, or make a brilliant 
 onset, like the Moorish and Spanish troops, but they 
 went into the fight deliberately, and persisted obsti- 
 nately, and were slow to find out when they were 
 beaten. Withal, they were much esteemed, yet little 
 liked, by our soldiery, who considered them stanch 
 companions in the field, yet coveted but little fellow- 
 ship with them in the camp. Their commander, the 
 Lord Scales, was an accomplished cavalier, of gracious 
 and noble presence, and fair speech. It was a marvel 
 to see so much courtesy in a knight brought up so far 
 from our Castilian court. He was much honored by 
 the king and queen, and found great favor with the fair 
 dames about the court ; who, indeed are rather prone 
 to be pleased with foreign cavaliers. He went always 
 in costly state, attended by pages and esquires, and 
 accompanied by noble young cavaliers of his country, 
 who had enrolled themselves under his banner, to 
 learn the gentle exercise of arms. In all pageants and 
 festivals, the eyes of the populace were attracted by 
 the singular bearing and rich array of the English 
 earl and his train, who prided themselves in always 
 appearing in the garb and manner of their country ; 
 and were, indeed, something very magnificent, delec- 
 table, and strange to behold.' " 
 
 Ferdinand led this gallant army to besiege 
 I^oxa, a powerful city on the Moorish frontier, 
 before which he had formerly been foiled. 
 
Conquest ot (BranaDa 147 
 
 The assault was made in open day, by a de- 
 tachment which had been thrown in the ad- 
 vance, and which was bravely and fiercely met 
 and repelled by the Moors. 
 
 " At this critical juncture, King Ferdinand emerged 
 from the mountains with the main body of the army, 
 and advanced to an eminence commanding a full view 
 of the field of action. By his side was the noble 
 English cavalier, the Earl of Rivers. This was the 
 first time he had witnessed a scene of Moorish war- 
 fare. He looked with eager interest at the chance- 
 medley fight before him, the wild career of cavalry, 
 the irregular and tumultuous rush of infantry, and 
 Christian helm and Moorish turban intermingling in 
 deadly struggle. His high blood mounted at the 
 sight ; and his very soul was stirred within him by the 
 confused war-cries, the clangor of drums and trum- 
 pets, and the reports of arquebuses, that came echoing 
 up the mountains. Seeing the king was sending a 
 reinforcement to the field, he entreated permission to 
 mingle in the affray, and fight according to the fash- 
 ion of his country. His request being granted, he 
 alighted from his steed. He was merely armed en 
 bianco ; that is to say, with morion, backpiece, and 
 breastplate ; his sword was girded by his side, and in 
 his hand he wielded a powerful battle-axe. He was 
 followed by a body of his yeomen, armed in like 
 manner, and by a band of archers, with bows made 
 of tough English yew-tree. The earl turned to his 
 troops, and addressed them briefly and bluntly, ac- 
 cording to the manner of his country. * Remember, 
 my merry men all,' said he, 'the eyes of strangers 
 
148 IReviews anD Miscellanies 
 
 are upon you ; you are in a foreign land, fighting for 
 the glory of God and the honor of merry old Eng- 
 land ! ' A loud shout was the reply. The earl waved 
 his battle-axe over his head. * St. George for Eng- 
 land ! ' cried he ; and, to the inspiring sound of this 
 old English war-cry, he and his followers rushed 
 down to the battle, with manly and courageous 
 hearts. 
 
 " The Moors were confounded by the fury of these 
 assaults, and gradually fell back upon the bridge ; the 
 Christians followed up their advantage, and drove 
 them over it tumultuously. The Moors retreated into 
 the suburbs, and Lord Rivers and his troops entered 
 with them pell-mell, fighting in the streets and in the 
 houses. King Ferdinand came up to the scene of 
 action with his royal guard, and the infidels were all 
 driven within the city walls. Thus were the suburbs 
 gained by the hardihood of the English lord, without 
 such an event having been premeditated." 
 
 Various striking events marked the progress 
 of the war, ingenious and desperate manoeu- 
 vres on the part of El Zagal, and persevering 
 success in the well-judged policy of Ferdinand. 
 A spell of ill-fortune seemed to surround the 
 old Moorish king ever since the suspicious 
 death of his brother and predecessor, Muley 
 Aben Hassan, which was surmised to have 
 been effected through his connivance ; and his 
 popularity sunk with his versatile subjects. 
 The Spaniards at length laid siege to the 
 
Conquest of (Branaoa 149 
 
 powerful city of Baza, the key to all the re- 
 maining possessions of HI Zagal. The peril 
 of the Moorish kingdom of Granada resounded 
 now throughout the Bast. The Grand Turk, 
 Bajazet II., and his deadly foe the Grand 
 Soldan of Egypt, or of Babylon, as he is 
 termed by the old chroniclers, suspended their 
 bloody feuds to check this ruinous war. A 
 singular embassy from the latter of these po- 
 tentates now entered the Spanish camp. 
 
 " While the holy Christian army was beleaguering 
 the infidel city of Baza, there rode into the camp one 
 day two reverend friars of the order of St. Francis. 
 One was of portly person and authoritative air. He 
 bestrode a goodly steed, well conditioned and well 
 caparisoned ; while his companion rode behind him 
 upon a humble hack, poorly accoutred, and, as he rode 
 he scarcely raised his eyes from the ground, but 
 maintained a meek and lowly air. The arrival of two 
 friars in the camp was not a matter of much note ; for 
 in these holy wars the church militant continually 
 mingled in the afiray, and helmet and cowl were al- 
 ways seen together ; but it was soon discovered that 
 these worthy saints errant were from a far country, 
 and on a mission of great import. They were, in 
 truth, just arrived from the Holy Land, being two of 
 the saintly men who kept vigil over the sepulchre of 
 our blessed Lord at Jerusalem. He of the tall and 
 portly form and commanding presence, was Fray 
 Antonio Millan, prior of the Franciscan convent in 
 the Holy City. He had a full and florid countenance, 
 
iso IReviews an& Miscellanies 
 
 a sonorous voice, and was round, and swelling, and 
 copious, in his periods, like one accustomed to 
 harangue, and to be listened to with deference. His 
 companion was small and spare in form, pale of vis- 
 age, and soft, and silken, and almost whispering, in 
 speech. 'He had a humble and lowly way,' says 
 Agapida ; ' evermore bowing the head, as became one 
 of his calling. Yet he was one of the most active, 
 zealous, and effective brothers of the convent ; and, 
 when he raised his small black eye from the earth, 
 there was a keen glance out of the corner, which 
 showed that, though harmless as a dove, he was 
 nevertheless as wise as a serpent.' These holy men 
 had come, on a momentous embassy, from the Grand 
 Soldan of Bgypt, who, as head of the whole Moslem 
 sect, considered himself bound to preserve the king- 
 dom of Granada from the grasp of unbelievers. He 
 despatched, therefore, these two holy friars, with 
 letters to the Castilian sovereigns, insisting that they 
 should desist from this war, and reinstate the Moors 
 of Granada in the territory of which they had been 
 dispossessed ; otherwise, he threatened to put to death 
 all the Christians beneath his sway, to demolish their 
 convents and temples, and to destroy the holy 
 sepulchre." 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to remark that 
 Christopher Columbus, in the course of his 
 tedious solicitation to the Spanish court, was 
 present at this siege ; and it is surmised that, 
 in conversation with these diplomatic monks, 
 he was first inspired with that zeal for the 
 recovery of the holy sepulchre which, through- 
 
Conquest of (Branafca 151 
 
 out the remainder of his life, continued to 
 animate his fervent and enthusiastic spirit, 
 and beguile him into magnificent schemes and 
 speculations. The ambassadors of the Soldan, 
 meantime, could produce no change in the 
 resolution of Ferdinand. Baza yielded after 
 more than six months' arduous siege, and was 
 followed by the surrender of most of the for- 
 tresses of the Alpuxarra Mountains ; and at 
 length the fiery El Zagal, tamed by misfortunes 
 and abandoned by his subjects, surrendered his 
 crown to the Christian sovereigns for a stipu- 
 lated revenue or productive domain. 
 
 Boabdil el Chico remained the sole and unri- 
 valled sovereign of Granada, the vassal of the 
 Christian sovereigns, whose assistance had sup- 
 ported him in his wars against his uncle. But 
 he was now to prove the hollow-hearted friend- 
 ship of the politic Ferdinand. Pretences were 
 easily found where a quarrel was already prede- 
 termined, and he was presently required to 
 surrender the city and crown of Granada. A 
 ravage of the Vega enforced the demand, and 
 the Spanish armies laid siege to the metropolis. 
 Ferdinand had fulfilled his menace ; he had 
 picked out the seeds of the promegranate. 
 Every town and fortress had successively fallen 
 into his hand, and the city of Granada stood 
 alone. He led his desolating armies over this 
 
152 IRevlews and dlMscellanfes 
 
 paradise of a country, and left scarcely a living 
 animal or a green blade on the face of the land, 
 and Granada, the queen of gardens, remained 
 a desert. The history closes with the last 
 scene of this eventful contest, the surrender 
 of the Moorish capital : 
 
 " Having surrendered the last symbol of power, the 
 unfortunate Boabdil continued on towards the Alpux- 
 arras, that he might not behold the entrance of the 
 Christians into his capital. His devoted band of cava- 
 liers followed him in gloomy silence ; but heavy sighs 
 burst from their bosoms, as shouts of joy and strains 
 of triumphant music were borne on the breeze from 
 the victorious army. Having rejoined his family, 
 Boabdil set forward with a heavy heart for his allotted 
 residence, in the valley of Porchena. At two leagues' 
 distance, the cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the 
 Alpuxarras, ascended an eminence commanding the 
 last view of Granada. As they arrived at this spot, the 
 Moors paused involuntarily to take a farewell gaze at 
 their beloved city, which a few steps more would shut 
 from their sight forever. Never had it appeared so 
 lovely in their eyes. The sunshine, so bright in that 
 transparent climate, lighted up each tower and mina- 
 ret, and rested gloriously upon the crowning battle- 
 ments of the Alhambra ; while the Vega spread its 
 enamelled bosom of verdure below, glistening with 
 the silver windings of the Xenil. The Moorish cava- 
 liers gazed with a silent agony of tenderness and grief 
 upon that delicious abode, the scene of their loves 
 and pleasures. While they yet looked, a light cloud 
 of smoke burst forth from the citadel ; and, presently, 
 
Conquest of (Bvanaoa 153 
 
 a peal of artillery, faintly heard, told that the city 
 was taken possession of, and the throne of the Moslem 
 kings was lost forever. The heart of Boabdil, softened 
 by misfortunes and overcharged with grief, could no 
 longer contain itself. ' Allah achbar ! God is great ! ' 
 said he ; but the words of resignation died upon his 
 lips, and he burst into a flood of tears. His mother, 
 the intrepid Sultana Ayxa la Horra, was indignant at 
 his weakness. ' You do well, ' said she, * to weep like a 
 woman for what you failed to defend like a man ! ' The 
 vizier, Aben Comixa, endeavored to console his royal 
 master. ' Consider, sire,' said he, ' that the most signal 
 misfortunes often render men as renowned as the most 
 prosperous achievements, provided they sustain them 
 with magnanimity.' The unhappy monarch, however, 
 was not to be consoled. His tears continued to flow. 
 ' Allah achbar ! ' exclaimed he, ' when did misfortunes 
 ever equal mine ! * From this circumstance, the hill, 
 which is not far from Padul, took the name of Feg 
 Allah Achbar ; but the point of view commanding 
 the last prospect of Granada is known among Spaniards 
 by the name of el ultimo suspiro del Moro, or 'the last 
 sigh of the Moor.' " 
 
 Here ends the Chronicle of the Conquest of 
 Granada , for here the author lets fall the cur- 
 tain. We shall, however, extend our view a 
 little further. The rejoicings of the Spanish 
 sovereigns were echoed at Rome, and through- 
 out Christendom. The venerable chronicler, 
 Pedro Abarca, assures us that King Henry 
 VII. of England celebrated the conquest by a 
 grand procession to St. Paul's, where the 
 
154 IRexnews and dfciscellanfes 
 
 Chancellor pronounced an eloquent eulogy 
 on King Ferdinand, declaring him not only 
 a glorious captain and conqueror, but also 
 entitled to a seat among the Apostles.* 
 
 The pious and politic monarch governed his 
 new kingdom with more righteousness than 
 mercy. The Moors were at first a little restive 
 under the yoke ; there were several tumults in 
 the city, and a quantity of arms were dis- 
 covered in a secret cave. Many of the offen- 
 ders were tried, condemned, and put to death, 
 some being quartered, others cut in pieces ; 
 and the whole mass of infidel inhabitants was 
 well sifted, and purged of upwards of forty 
 thousand delinquents. This system of whole- 
 some purgation was zealously continued by 
 Fray Francisco (afterwards Cardinal) Ximenes, 
 who, seconded by Fernando de Talavera, Arch- 
 bishop of Granada, and clothed in the terrific 
 power of the Inquisition, undertook the con- 
 version of the Moors. We forbear to detail 
 the various modes sometimes by blandish- 
 ment, sometimes by rigor, sometimes exhort- 
 ing, sometimes entreating, sometimes hanging, 
 sometimes burning by which the hard hearts 
 of the infidels were subdued, and above fifty 
 thousand coaxed, teased, and terrified into 
 baptism. 
 
 * Abarca, Anales de Aragon, p. 30. 
 
Conquest of <3ranaDa 155 
 
 One act of Ximenes has been the subject of 
 particular regret. The Moors had cultivated 
 the sciences while they lay buried in Europe, 
 and were renewed for the value of their litera- 
 ture. Ximenes, in his bigoted zeal to destroy 
 the Koran, extended his devastation to the 
 indiscriminate destruction of their works, and 
 burnt five thousand manuscripts on various 
 subjects, some of them very splendid copies, 
 and others of great intrinsic worth, sparing a 
 very few, which treated chiefly of medicine. 
 Here we shall pause, and not pursue the subject 
 to the further oppression and persecution, and 
 final expulsion, of these unhappy people ; the 
 latter of which events is one of the most im- 
 politic and atroci9us recorded in the pages of 
 history. 
 
 Centuries have elapsed since the time of 
 this chivalrous and romantic struggle, yet 
 the monuments of it still remain, and the 
 principal facts still linger in the popular tradi- 
 tions and legendary ballads with which the 
 country abounds. The likenesses of Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella are multiplied, in every 
 mode, by painting and sculpture, in the 
 churches, and convents, and palaces of Gra- 
 nada. Their ashes rest in sepulchral mag- 
 nificence in the royal chapel of the cathedral, 
 where their effigies in alabaster lie side by 
 
156 IRevnews and flBiscellanies 
 
 side before a splendid altar, decorated in relief 
 with the story of their triumph. The anni- 
 versary of the surrender of the capital is still 
 kept up by fttes, and ceremonies, and public 
 rejoicings. The standard of Ferdinand and 
 Isabella is again unfurled and waved to the 
 sound of trumpets. The populace are admit- 
 ted to rove all day about the halls and courts 
 of the Alhambra, and to dance on its terraces ; 
 the ancient alarm-bell resounds at morn, at 
 noon, and at nightfall ; great emulation pre- 
 vails among the damsels to ring a peal, it 
 is a sign they will be married in the course of 
 the opening year. But this commemoration 
 is not confined to Granada alone. Every town 
 and village of the mountains on the Vega has 
 the anniversary of its deliverance from Moorish 
 thraldom ; when ancient armor, and Spanish 
 and Moorish dresses, and unwieldy arque- 
 buses, from the time of the Conquest, are 
 brought forth from their repositories gro- 
 tesque processions are made and sham battles, 
 celebrated by peasants, arrayed as Christians 
 and Moors, in which the latter are sure to 
 be signally defeated, and sometimes, in the ar- 
 dor and illusion of the moment, soundly rib- 
 roasted. 
 
 In traversing the mountains and valleys of 
 the ancient kingdom, the traveller may trace 
 
Conquest of (Brana&a 157 
 
 with wonderful distinctness the scenes of the 
 principal events of the war. The muleteer, 
 as he lolls on his pack-saddle, smoking his 
 cigar or chanting his popular romance, pauses 
 to point out some wild, rocky pass, famous 
 for the bloody strife of infidel and Christian, 
 or some Moorish fortress butting above the 
 road, or some solitary watch-tower on the 
 heights, connected with the old story of the 
 Conquest. Gibralfaro, the warlike hold of 
 Hamet el Zegri, formidable even in its ruins, 
 still frowns down from its rocky height upon 
 the streets of Malaga. Loxa, Alhama, Zahara, 
 Ronda, Guadix, Baza, have all their Moorish 
 ruins, rendered classic by song and story. 
 The "Last sigh of the Moor'' still lingers 
 about the height of Padul ; the traveller pauses 
 on the arid and thirsty summit of the hill, 
 commanding a view over the varied bosom of 
 the Vega, to the distant towers of Granada. 
 A humble cabin is erected by the wayside, 
 where he may obtain water to slake his thirst, 
 and the very rock is pointed out whence the 
 unfortunate Boabdil took his last look, and 
 breathed the last farewell, to his beloved 
 Alhambra. 
 
 Every part of Granada itself retains some 
 memorial of the taste and elegance, the valor 
 and voluptuousness of the Moors, or some 
 
158 "Reviews an& flbfscellanies 
 
 memento of the strife that sealed their down- 
 fall. The fountains which gush on every side 
 are fed by the aqueducts once formed by 
 Moslem hands ; the Vega is still embroidered 
 by the gardens they planted, where the remains 
 of their ingenious irrigation spread the verdure 
 and freshness of a northern climate under the 
 cloudless azure of a southern sky. But the 
 pavilions that adorned these gardens and 
 where, if romances speak true, the Moslem 
 heroes solaced themselves with the loves of 
 their Zaras, their Zaidas, and their Zelindas 
 have long since disappeared. The orange, 
 the citron, the fig, the vine, the pomegranate, 
 the aloe, and the myrtle, shroud and over- 
 whelm with Oriental vegetation the crum- 
 bling ruins of towers and battlements. The 
 Vivarrambla, once the scene of chivalric pomp 
 and splendid tourney, is degraded to a market- 
 place ; the Gate of Elvira, from whence so 
 many a shining array of warriors passed forth 
 to forage the land of the Christians, still exists, 
 but neglected and dismantled, and tottering 
 to its fall. The Alhambra rises from amidst 
 its groves, the tomb of its former glory. The 
 fountains still play in its marble halls, and 
 the nightingale sings among the roses of its 
 gardens ; but the halls are waste and solitary ; 
 the owl hoots from its battlements, the hawk 
 
Conquest of (Sranafca 159 
 
 builds in its warrior towers, and bats flit about 
 its royal chambers. Still the fountain is 
 pointed out where the gallant Abencerrages 
 were put to death ; the mirador, where Mo- 
 rayma sat and wept the departure of Boabdil, 
 and watched for his return ; and the broken 
 gateway, from whence the unfortunate mon- 
 arch issued forth to surrender his fortress and 
 his kingdom ; and which, at his request, was 
 closed up, never to be entered by mortal foot- 
 step. At the time when the French abandoned 
 this fortress, after its temporary occupation a 
 few years since, the tower of the gateway 
 was blown up ; the walls were rent and shat- 
 tered by the explosion, and the folding-doors 
 hurled into the garden of the convent of I,os 
 Martiros. The portal, however was closed 
 up with stones, by persons who were ignorant 
 of the tradition connected with it, and thus 
 the last request of poor Boabdil continued 
 unwittingly to be performed. In fact, the 
 story of the gateway, though recorded in 
 ancient chronicle, has faded from general 
 recollection, and is only known to two or three 
 ancient inhabitants of the Alhambra, who 
 inherit it, with other local traditions, from 
 their ancestors. 
 
Xettet to tbe Editor of " ttbe Hmfcfeer* 
 bocfeer," 
 
 ON COMMENCING HIS MONTHLY CONTRI- 
 BUTIONS. 
 
 SIR : I have observed that as a man ad- 
 vances in life, he is subject to a kind of 
 plethora of the mind, doubtless occa- 
 sioned by the vast accumulation of wis- 
 dom and experience upon the brain. Hence he 
 is apt to become narrative and admonitory, that 
 is to say, fond of telling long stories, and of 
 doling out advice, to the small profit and great 
 annoyance of his friends. As I have a great 
 horror of becoming the oracle, or more tech- 
 nically speaking, the " bore," of the domestic 
 circle, and would much rather bestow my wis- 
 dom and tediousness upon the world at large, 
 I have always sought to ease off this surcharge 
 of the intellect by means of my pen, and 
 hence have inflicted divers gossiping volumes 
 upon the patience of the public. I am tired, 
 1 60 
 
Go tbe BDttor of " Gbe Knickerbocker " 161 
 
 however, of writing volumes ; they do not 
 afford exactly the relief I require ; there is too 
 much preparation, arrangement, and parade in 
 this set form of coming before the public. I 
 am growing too indolent and unambitious for 
 anything that requires labor or display. I 
 have thought, therefore, of securing to myself 
 a snug corner in some periodical work, where 
 I might, as it were, loll at my ease in my 
 elbow-chair, and chat sociably with the public, 
 as with an old friend, on any chance subject 
 that might pop into my brain. 
 
 In looking around, for this purpose, upon 
 the various excellent periodicals with which 
 our country abounds, my eye was struck by 
 the title of your work, The Knickerbocker. 
 My heart leaped at the sight. 
 
 DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER, sir, was one of 
 my earliest and most valued friends, and the 
 recollection of him is associated with some of 
 the pleasantest scenes of my youthful days. 
 To explain this, and to show how I came into 
 possession of sundry of his posthumous works, 
 which I have from time to time given to the 
 world, permit me to relate a few particulars of 
 our early intercourse. I give them with the 
 more confidence, as I know the interest you 
 take in that departed worthy, whose name and 
 effigy are stamped upon your titlepage, and as 
 
162 IReviews and Miscellanies 
 
 they will be found important to the better 
 understanding and relishing divers communi- 
 cations I may have to make to you. 
 
 My first acquaintance with that great and 
 good man, for such I may venture to call 
 him, now that the lapse of some thirty years 
 has shrouded his name with venerable anti- 
 quity, and the popular voice has elevated him 
 to the rank of the classic historians of yore 
 my first acquaintance with him was formed on 
 the banks of the Hudson, not far from the 
 wizard region of Sleepy Hollow. He had 
 come there in the course of his researches 
 among the Dutch neighborhoods for materials 
 for his immortal history. For this purpose, he 
 was ransacking the archives of one of the most 
 ancient and historical mansions in the country. 
 It was a lowly edifice, built in the time of the 
 Dutch dynasty, and stood on a green bank 
 overshadowed by trees, from which it peeped 
 forth upon the Great Tappan Zee, so famous 
 among early Dutch navigators. A bright 
 pure spring welled up at the foot of the green 
 bank ; a wild brook came babbling down a 
 neighboring ravine, and threw itself into a 
 little woody cove, in front of the mansion. It 
 was indeed as quiet and sheltered a nook as 
 the heart of man could require in which to 
 take refuge from the cares and troubles of the 
 
Co tbe Bfcitot ot " Cbe Ifcnfcfcerbocfcer " 163 
 
 world ; and as such, it had been chosen in old 
 times by Wolfert Acker, one of the privy 
 councillors of the renowned Peter Stuyvesant. 
 This worthy but ill-starred man had led a 
 weary and worried life throughout the stormy 
 reign of the chivalric Peter, being one of those 
 unlucky wights with whom the world is ever at 
 variance, and who are kept in a continual fume 
 and fret by the wickedness of mankind. At 
 the time of the subjugation of the province by 
 the English, he retired hither in high dudgeon ; 
 with the bitter determination to bury himself 
 from the world, and live here in peace and 
 quietness for the remainder of his days. In 
 token of this fixed resolution, he inscribed 
 over his door the favorite Dutch motto, ' ' I^ust 
 in Rust" (pleasure in repose). The mansion 
 was thence called " Wolfert' s Rust," Wol- 
 fert' s Rest ; but in process of time the name 
 was vitiated into Wolfert 's Roost, probably 
 from its quaint cockloft look, or from its having 
 a weathercock perched on every gable. This 
 name it continued to bear long after the unlucky 
 Wolfert was driven forth once more upon a 
 wrangling world, by the tongue of a termagant 
 wife ; for it passed into a proverb through the 
 neighborhood, and has been handed down by 
 tradition, that the cock of the roost was the 
 most hen-pecked bird in the country. 
 
164 IRexnews an& /HMscellames 
 
 This primitive and historical mansion has 
 since passed through many changes and trials 
 which it may be my lot hereafter to notice. 
 At the time of the sojourn of Diedrich Knicker- 
 bocker, it was in possession of the gallant 
 family of the Van Tassels, who have figured 
 so conspicuously in his writings. What ap- 
 pears to have given it peculiar value in his 
 eyes, was the rich treasury of historical facts 
 here secretly hoarded up, like buried gold ; 
 for it is said that Wolfert Acker, when he 
 retreated from New Amsterdam, carried off 
 with him many of the records and journals of 
 the province, pertaining to the Dutch dynasty ; 
 swearing that they should never fall into the 
 hands of the English. These, like the lost 
 books of Livy, had baffled the research of 
 former historians ; but these did I find the inde- 
 fatigable Diedrich diligently deciphering. He 
 was already a sage in years and experience, I 
 but an idle stripling ; yet he did not despise 
 my youth and ignorance, but took me kindly 
 by the hand, and led me gently into those 
 paths of local and traditional lore which he 
 was so fond of exploring. I sat with him in 
 his little chamber at the Roost, and watched 
 the antiquarian patience and perseverance with 
 which he deciphered those venerable Dutch 
 documents, worse than Herculanean manu- 
 
Go tbe JEDitor ot " Cbe Imicfeerbocfcer " 165 
 
 scripts. I sat with him by the spring, at 
 the foot of the green bank, and listened to his 
 heroic tales about the worthies of the olden 
 time, the paladins of New Amsterdam. I 
 accompanied him in his legendary researches 
 about Tarrytown and Sing-Sing, and explored 
 with him the spellbound recesses of Sleepy 
 Hollow. I was present at many of his confer- 
 ences with the good old Dutch burghers and 
 their wives, from whom he derived many of 
 those marvellous facts not laid down in books 
 or records, and which give such superior value 
 and authenticity to his history over all others 
 that have been written concerning the New 
 Netherlands. 
 
 But let me check my proneness to dilate 
 upon this favorite theme ; I may recur to it 
 hereafter. Suffice it to say, the intimacy thus 
 formed continued for a considerable time ; and 
 in company with the worthy Diedrich, I visited 
 many of the places celebrated by his pen. The 
 currents of our lives at length diverged. He 
 remained at home to complete his mighty 
 work, while a vagrant fancy led me to wander 
 about the world. Many, many years elapsed 
 before I returned to the parent soil. In the 
 interim, the venerable historian of the New 
 Netherlands had been gathered to his fathers, 
 but his name had risen to renown. His native 
 
i66 IRe^iews anD /I&tecellanfes 
 
 city, that city in which he so much delighted, 
 had decreed all manner of costly honors to his 
 memory. I found his effigy imprinted upon 
 New- Year cakes, and devoured with eager 
 relish by holiday urchins ; a great oyster-house 
 bore the name of * * Knickerbocker Hall ' ' ; and 
 I narrowly escaped the pleasure of being run 
 over by a Knickerbocker omnibus ! 
 
 Proud of having associated with a man who 
 had achieved such greatness, I now recalled 
 our early intimacy with tenfold pleasure, and 
 sought to revisit the scenes we had trodden 
 together. The most important of these was 
 the mansion of the Van Tassels, the Roost of 
 the unfortunate Wolfert. Time, which changes 
 all things, is but slow in its operations upon a 
 Dutchman's dwelling. I found the venerable 
 and quiet little edifice much as I had seen it 
 during the sojourn of Diedrich. There stood 
 his elbow-chair in the corner of the room he 
 had occupied ; the old-fashioned Dutch writing- 
 desk at which he had pored over the chronicles 
 of the Manhattoes ; there was the old wooden 
 chest, with the archives left by Wolfert Acker, 
 many of which, however, had been fired off 
 as wadding from the long duck-gun of the 
 Van Tassels. The scene around the mansion 
 was still the same ; the green bank, the spring 
 beside which I had listened to the legendary 
 
So tbe BOitor of " Gbe Umtcfcetbocfcer " 167 
 
 narratives of the historian ; the wild brook 
 babbling down to the woody cove, and the 
 over-shadowing locust-trees half shutting out 
 the prospect of the Great Tappan Zee. 
 
 As I looked round upon the scene, my heart 
 yearned at the recollection of my departed 
 friend, and I wistfully eyed the mansion which 
 he had inhabited, and which was fast moulder- 
 ing to decay. The thought struck me to ar- 
 rest the desolating hand of Time ; to rescue 
 the historic pile from utter ruin, and to make 
 it the closing scene of my wanderings, a 
 quiet home, where I might enjoy " lust in 
 rust" for the remainder of my days. It is 
 true, the fate of the unlucky Wolfert passed 
 across my mind ; but I consoled myself with 
 the reflection that I was a bachelor, and that I 
 had no termagant wife to dispute the sover- 
 eignty of the Roost with me. 
 
 I have become possessor of the Roost ! I 
 have repaired and renovated it with religious 
 care, in the genuine Dutch style, and have 
 adorned and illustrated it with sundry relics 
 of the glorious days of the New Netherlands. 
 A venerable weathercock, of portly Dutch 
 dimensions, which once battled with the wind 
 on the top of the Stadt- House of New Amster- 
 dam, in the time of Peter Stuyvesant, now 
 erects its crest on the gable end of my edifice ; 
 
168 TRevnews anD Miscellanies 
 
 a gilded horse, in full gallop, once the weather- 
 cock of the great Vander Heyden Palace of 
 Albany, now glitters in the sunshine, and 
 veers with every breeze, on the peaked turret 
 over my portal ; my sanctum sanctorum is the 
 chamber once honored by the illustrious Died- 
 rich, and it is from his elbow-chair, and his 
 identical old Dutch writing-desk, that I pen 
 this rambling epistle. 
 
 Here then have I set up my rest, surrounded 
 by the recollections of earlier days, and the 
 mementos of the historian of the Manhattoes, 
 with that glorious river before me, which flows 
 with such majesty through his works, and 
 which has ever been to me a river of delight. 
 
 I thank God I was born on the banks of the 
 Hudson ! I think it an invaluable advantage 
 to be born and brought up in the neighborhood 
 of some grand and noble object in Nature, 
 a river, a lake, or a mountain. We make a 
 friendship with it, we in a manner ally our- 
 selves to it for life. It remains an object of 
 our pride and affections, a rally ing-point, to 
 call us home again after all our wanderings. 
 " The things which we have learned in our 
 childhood," says an old writer, "grow up 
 with our souls, and unite themselves to it." 
 So it is with the scenes among which we have 
 passed our early days ; they influence the 
 
Co tbe Bfcitoc of " 3be Knickerbocker " 169 
 
 whole course of our thoughts and feelings ; 
 and I fancy I can trace much of what is good 
 and pleasant in my own heterogeneous com- 
 pound to my early companionship with this 
 glorious river. In the warmth of my youthful 
 enthusiasm, I used to clothe it with moral at- 
 tributes, and almost to give it a soul. I ad- 
 mired its frank, bold, honest character ; its 
 noble sincerity and perfect truth. Here was 
 no specious, smiling surface, covering the 
 dangerous sand-bar or perfidious rock ; but a 
 stream deep as it was broad, and bearing with 
 honorable faith the bark that trusted to its 
 waves. I gloried in its simple, quiet, majestic, 
 epic flow; ever straight forward. Once in- 
 deed, it turns aside for a moment, forced from 
 its course by opposing mountains ; but it strug- 
 gles bravely through them, and immediately 
 resumes its straightforward march. Behold, 
 thought I, an emblem of a good man's course 
 through life ; ever simple, open, and direct ; 
 or if, overpowered by adverse circumstances, 
 he deviate into error, it is but momentary ; he 
 soon recovers his onward and honorable career, 
 and continues it to the end of his pilgrimage. 
 Excuse this rhapsody into which I have been 
 betrayed by a revival of early feelings. The 
 Hudson is, in a manner, my first and last love ; 
 and after all my wanderings, and seeming infi- 
 
i?o TRevfews anO /nbisccllanies 
 
 delities, I return to it with a heartfelt prefer- 
 ence over all the other rivers in the world. I 
 seem to catch new life, as I bathe in its ample 
 billows, and inhale the pure breezes of its hills. 
 It is true, the romance of youth is past that 
 once spread illusions over every scene. I can 
 no longer picture an Arcadia in every green 
 valley, nor a fairy-land among the distant 
 mountains, nor a peerless beauty in every villa 
 gleaming among the trees ; but, though the 
 illusions of youth have faded from the land- 
 scape, the recollections of departed years and 
 departed pleasures shed over it the mellow 
 charm of evening sunshine. 
 
 Permit me then, Mr. Editor, through the 
 medium of your work, to hold occasional dis- 
 course from my retreat with the busy world I 
 have abandoned. I have much to say about 
 what I have seen, heard, felt, and thought, 
 through the course of a varied and rambling 
 life, and some lucubrations that have long been 
 encumbering my portfolio ; together with di- 
 vers reminiscences of the venerable historian 
 of the New Netherlands, that may not be un- 
 acceptable to those who have taken an interest 
 in his writings, and are desirous of anything 
 that may cast a light back upon our early his- 
 tory. I^et your readers rest assured of one 
 thing, that, though retired from the world, I 
 
Co tbe BDitoc of " Cbe "Knickerbocker " 171 
 
 am not disgusted with it ; and that if, in my 
 
 communings with it, I do not prove very wise, 
 
 I trust I shall at least prove very good-natured. 
 
 Which is all at present, from 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 GEOFFREY CRAYON. 
 
Sleeps Ibollow. 
 
 BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 
 
 HAVING pitched my tent, probably for 
 the remainder of my days, in the neigh- 
 borhood of Sleepy Hollow, I am tempted 
 to give some few particulars concerning 
 that spellbound region ; especially as it has 
 risen to historic importance under the pen of my 
 revered friend and master, the sage historian of 
 the New Netherlands. Besides, I find the very 
 existence of the place has been held in question 
 by many, who, judging from its odd name, and 
 from the odd stories current among the vulgar 
 concerning it, have rashly deemed the whole 
 to be a fanciful creation, like the Lubber Land 
 of mariners. I must confess there is some ap- 
 parent cause for doubt, in consequence of the 
 coloring given by the worthy Diedrich to his 
 descriptions of the Hollow, who, in this in- 
 stance, has departed a little from his usually 
 sober if not severe style ; beguiled, very prob- 
 172 
 
Sleeps Tbollow 173 
 
 ably, by his predilection for the haunts of his 
 youth, and by a certain lurking taint of ro- 
 mance, whenever anything connected with the 
 Dutch was to be described. I shall endeavor 
 to make up for this amiable error, on the part 
 of my venerable and venerated friend, by pre- 
 senting the reader with a more concise and sta- 
 tistical account of the Hollow ; though I am 
 not sure that I shall not be prone to lapse, in 
 the end, into the very error I am speaking of, 
 so potent is the witchery of the theme. 
 
 I believe it was the very peculiarity of its 
 name, and the idea of something mystic and 
 dreamy connected with it, that first led me, in 
 my boyish ramblings, into Sleepy Hollow. 
 The character of the valley seemed to answer 
 to the name : the slumber of past ages appar- 
 ently reigned over it ; it had not awakened to 
 the stir of improvement, which had put all the 
 rest of the world in a bustle. Here reigned 
 good old long-forgotten fashions : the men were 
 in homespun garbs, evidently the product of 
 their own farms, and the manufacture of their 
 own wives ; the women were in primitive short 
 gowns and petticoats, with the venerable sun- 
 bonnets of Holland origin. The lower part of 
 the valley was cut up into small farms : each 
 consisting of a little meadow and cornfield ; an 
 orchard of sprawling, gnarled apple-trees ; and 
 
174 "Reviews anD dfciscellanfes 
 
 a garden, where the rose, the marigold, and 
 the hollyhock were permitted to skirt the do- 
 mains of the capacious cabbage, the aspiring 
 pea, and the portly pumpkin. Bach had its 
 prolific little mansion, teeming with children : 
 with an old hat nailed against the wall for the 
 house-keeping wren ; a motherly hen, under 
 a coop on the grass-plot, clucking to keep 
 around her a brood of vagrant chickens ; a 
 cool stone well, with the moss-covered bucket 
 suspended to the long balancing-pole, accord- 
 ing to the antidiluvian idea of hydraulics ; 
 and its spinning-wheel humming within doors, 
 the patriarchal music of home manufacture. 
 
 The Hollow at that time was inhabited by 
 families which had existed there from the 
 earliest times, and which, by frequent inter- 
 marriage, had become so interwoven as to 
 make a kind of natural commonwealth. As 
 the families had grown larger, the farms had 
 grown smaller, every new generation requiring 
 a new subdivision, and few thinking of swarm- 
 ing from the native hive. In this way that 
 happy golden mean had been produced, so 
 much extolled by the poets, in which there 
 was no gold and very little silver. One thing 
 which doubtless contributed to keep up this ami- 
 able mean, was a general repugnance to sordid 
 labor. The sage inhabitants of Sleepy Hollow 
 
Sleepy Ibollow 175 
 
 had read in their Bible, which was the only 
 book they studied, that labor was originally 
 inflicted upon man as a punishment of sin ; 
 they regarded it, therefore, with pious abhor- 
 rence, and never humiliated themselves to it 
 but in case of extremity. There seemed, in 
 fact, to be a league and covenant against it, 
 throughout the Hollow, as against a common 
 enemy. Was any one compelled by dire neces- 
 sity to repair his house, mend his fences, build 
 a barn, or get in a harvest, he considered it a 
 great evil, that entitled him to call in the assist- 
 ance of his friends. He accordingly proclaimed 
 a ' ' bee, ' ' or rustic gathering ; whereupon all 
 his neighbors hurried to his aid, like faithful 
 allies ; attacked the task with the desperate 
 energy of lazy men, eager to overcome a job ; 
 and when it was accomplished, fell to eat- 
 ing and drinking, fiddling and dancing, for 
 very joy that so great an amount of labor had 
 been vanquished, with so little sweating of the 
 brow. 
 
 Yet let it not be supposed that this worthy 
 community was without its periods of arduous 
 activity. L,et but a flock of wild pigeons fly 
 across the valley, and all Sleepy Hollow was 
 wide awake in an instant. The pigeon season 
 had arrived ! Every gun and net was forth- 
 with in requisition. The flail was thrown 
 
1 76 IReviews an& d&tscellantes 
 
 down on the barn-floor ; the spade rusted in 
 the garden ; the plough stood idle in the 
 furrow ; every one was to the hill-side and 
 stubble-field at daybreak, to shoot or entrap 
 the pigeons, in their periodical migrations. 
 
 So, likewise, let but the word be given that 
 the shad were ascending the Hudson, and the 
 worthies of the Hollow were to be seen 
 launched in boats upon the river ; setting 
 great stakes, and stretching their nets, like 
 gigantic spider-webs, half across the stream, to 
 the great annoyance of navigators. Such are 
 the wise provisions of Nature, by which she 
 equalizes rural affairs. A laggard at the 
 plough is often extremely industrious with the 
 fowling-piece and fishing-net ; and whenever a 
 man is an indifferent farmer, he is apt to be a 
 first-rate sportsman. For catching shad and 
 wild pigeons, there were none throughout the 
 country to compare with the lads of Sleepy 
 Hollow. 
 
 As I have observed, it was the dreamy 
 nature of the name that first beguiled me, in 
 the holiday rovings of boyhood, into this 
 sequestered region. I shunned, however, the 
 populous parts of the Hollow, and sought 
 its retired haunts, far in the foldings of the 
 hills, where the Pocantico "winds its wiz- 
 ard stream," sometimes silently and darkly, 
 
Sleeps Ibollow 177 
 
 through solemn woodlands ; sometimes spar- 
 kling between grassy borders, in fresh green 
 meadows ; sometimes stealing along the feet 
 of ragged heights, under the balancing sprays 
 of beech and chestnut trees. A thousand crystal 
 springs, with which this neighborhood abounds, 
 sent down from the hill-sides their whimpering 
 rills, as if to pay tribute to the Pocantico. In 
 this stream I first essayed my unskilful hand 
 at angling. I loved to loiter along it, with rod 
 in hand, watching my float as it whirled amid 
 the eddies, or drifted into dark holes, un- 
 der twisted roots and sunken logs, where the 
 largest fish are apt to lurk. I delighted to 
 follow it into the brown recesses of the woods ; 
 to throw by my fishing-gear and sit upon rocks 
 beneath towering oaks and clambering grape- 
 vines ; bathe my feet in the cool current, and 
 listen to the summer breeze playing among the 
 tree-tops. My boyish fancy clothed all Nature 
 around me with ideal charms, and peopled it 
 with the fairy beings I had read of in poetry 
 and fable. Here it was I gave full scope to my 
 incipient habit of day-dreaming, and to a cer- 
 tain propensity to weave up and tint sober 
 realities with my own whims and imaginings, 
 which has sometimes made life a little too much 
 like an Arabian tale to me, and this ' * working- 
 day world " rather like a region of romance. 
 
178 iRevnews anD Miscellanies 
 
 The great gathering place of Sleepy Hollow, 
 in those days, was the church. It stood out- 
 side of the Hollow, near the great highway, on 
 a green bank, shaded by trees, with the Pocan- 
 tico sweeping round it and emptying itself into 
 a spacious mill-pond. At that time the Sleepy 
 Hollow church was the only place of worship 
 for a wide neighborhood. It was a venerable 
 edifice, partly of stone and partly of brick, the 
 latter having been brought from Holland, in 
 the early days of the Province, before the arts 
 in the New Netherlands could aspire to such a 
 fabrication. On a stone above the porch were 
 inscribed the names of the founders, Frederick 
 Filipsen, a mighty man of the olden time, who 
 got the better of the native savages, subdued a 
 great tract of country by dint of trinkets, to- 
 bacco, and aqua vit<z, and established his seat of 
 power at Yonkers, and his wife, Katrina Van 
 Courtlandt, of the no less heroic line of the 
 Van Courtlandts of Croton, who in like man- 
 ner subdued and occupied a great part of the 
 Highlands. 
 
 The capacious pulpit, with its wide-spread- 
 ing sounding-board, was likewise an early 
 importation from Holland ; as also the com- 
 munion-table, of massive form and curious 
 fabric. The same might be said of a weather- 
 cock, perched on top of the belfry, and which 
 
Sleeps Ibollow 179 
 
 was considered orthodox in all windy matters, 
 until a small pragmatical rival was set up on 
 the other end of the church, above the chancel, 
 This latter bore, and still bears, the initials of 
 Frederick Filipsen, and assumed great airs in 
 consequence. The usual contradiction ensued 
 that always exists among church weathercocks, 
 which can never be brought to agree as to the 
 point from which the wind blows, having 
 doubtless acquired, from their position, the 
 Christian propensity to schism and contro- 
 versy. 
 
 Behind the church, and sloping up a gentle 
 acclivity, was its capacious bury ing-ground, 
 in which slept the earliest fathers of this rural 
 neighborhood. Here were tombstones of the 
 rudest sculpture ; on which were inscribed, in 
 Dutch, the names and virtues of many of the 
 first settlers, with their portraitures curiously 
 carved in similitude of cherubs. Long rows 
 of gravestones, side by side, of similar names 
 but various dates, showed that generation after 
 generation of the same families had followed 
 each other, and had been garnered together in 
 this last gathering place of kindred. 
 
 Let me speak of this quiet graveyard with 
 all due reverence, for I owe it amends for the 
 heedlessness of my boyish days. I blush to 
 acknowledge the thoughtless frolic with which, 
 
i8o IRexnews anD jflMsceltantes 
 
 in company with other whipsters, I have sported 
 within its sacred bounds, during the intervals 
 of worship, chasing butterflies, plucking wild 
 flowers, or vying with each other who could 
 leap over the tallest tombstones, until checked 
 by the stern voice of the sexton. 
 
 The congregation was, in those days, of a 
 really rural character. City fashions were as 
 yet unknown, or unregarded, by the country 
 people of the neighborhood. Steamboats had 
 not as yet confounded town with country. A 
 weekly market-boat from Tarrytown, the 
 Farmer 's Daughter, navigated by the worthy 
 Gabriel Requa, was the only communication 
 between all these parts and the metropolis. A 
 rustic belle in those days considered a visit to 
 the city in much the same light as one of our 
 modern fashionable ladies regards a visit to 
 Europe, an event that may possibly take place 
 once in the course of a lifetime, but to be hoped 
 for rather than expected. Hence the array of 
 the congregation was chiefly after the primitive 
 fashions existing in Sleepy Hollow ; or if, by 
 chance, there was a departure from the Dutch 
 sun-bonnet, or the apparition of a bright gown 
 of flowered calico, it caused quite a sensation 
 throughout the church. As the dominie gen- 
 erally preached by the hour, a bucket of water 
 was providently placed on a bench near the 
 

Sleeps Ibollow 181 
 
 door, in summer, with a tin cup beside it, for 
 the solace of those who might be athirst, 
 either from the heat of the weather or the 
 drought of the sermon. 
 
 Around the pulpit, and behind the com- 
 munion-table, sat the elders of the church, 
 reverend, gray-headed, leathern- visaged men, 
 whom I regarded with awe, as so many apos- 
 tles. They were stern in their sanctity, kept 
 a vigilant eye upon my giggling companions 
 and myself, and shook a rebuking finger at 
 any boyish device to relieve the tediousness of 
 compulsory devotion. Vain, however, were 
 all their efforts at vigilance. Scarcely had the 
 preacher held forth for half an hour, .in one of 
 his interminable sermons, than it seemed as if 
 the drowsy influence of Sleepy Hollow breathed 
 into the place : one by one the congregation 
 sank into slumber ; the sanctified elders leaned 
 back in their pews, spreading their handker- 
 chiefs over their faces, as if to keep off the 
 flies ; while the locusts in the neighboring 
 trees would spin out their sultry summer notes, 
 vying with the sleep-provoking tones of the 
 dominie. 
 
 I have thus endeavored to give an idea of 
 Sleepy Hollow and its church, as I recollect 
 them to have been in the days of my boyhood. 
 It was in my stripling days, when a few years 
 
i82 "Reviews an> Miscellanies 
 
 had passed over my head, that I revisited 
 them, in company with the venerable Diedrich. 
 I shall never forget the antiquarian reverence 
 with which that sage and excellent man con- 
 templated the church. It seemed as if all 
 his pious enthusiasm for the ancient Dutch 
 dynasty swelled within his bosom at the sight. 
 The tears stood in his eyes as he regarded the 
 pulpit and the communion-table ; even the 
 very bricks that had come from the mother- 
 country seemed to touch a filial chord within 
 his bosom. He almost bowed in deference to 
 the stone above the porch, containing the names 
 of Frederick Filipsen and Katrina Van Court- 
 landt, regarding it as the linking together of 
 those patronymic names once so famous along 
 the banks of the Hudson ; or rather as a key- 
 stone, binding that mighty Dutch family con- 
 nection of yore, one foot of which rested on 
 Yonkers, and the other on the Croton. Nor 
 did he forbear to notice with admiration the 
 windy contest which had been carried on since 
 time immemorial, and with real Dutch perse- 
 verance, between the two weathercocks ; 
 though I could easily perceive he coincided 
 with the one which had come from Holland. 
 Together we paced the ample churchyard. 
 With deep veneration would he turn down the 
 weeds and brambles that obscured the modest 
 
Sleepy ftollow 183 
 
 brown gravestones, half sunk in earth, on 
 which were recorded, in Dutch, the names of 
 the patriarchs of ancient days, the Ackers, 
 the Van Tassels, and the Van Warts. As we 
 sat on one of the tombstones, he recounted to 
 me the exploits of many of these worthies ; 
 and my heart smote me, when I heard of their 
 great doings in days of yore, to think how 
 heedlessly I had once sported over their graves. 
 
 From the church the venerable Diedrich 
 proceeded in his researches up the Hollow. 
 The genius of the place seemed to hail its 
 future historian. All nature was alive with 
 gratulation. The quail whistled a greeting 
 from the cornfield ; the robin carolled a song 
 of praise from the orchard ; the loquacious cat- 
 bird flew from bush to bush, with restless wing, 
 proclaiming his approach in every variety of 
 note, and anon would whisk about and perk 
 inquisitively into his face, as if to get a knowl- 
 edge of his physiognomy ; the woodpecker, 
 also, tapped a tattoo on the hollow apple-tree, 
 and then peered knowingly round the trunk to 
 see how the great Diedrich relished his saluta- 
 tion ; while the ground-squirrel scampered 
 along the fence, and occasionally whisked his 
 tail over his head by way of a huzza I 
 
 The worthy Diedrich pursued his researches 
 in the valley with characteristic devotion ; 
 
1 84 TReviews anD flfotscellantes 
 
 entering familiarly into the various cottages, 
 and gossiping with the simple folk, in the 
 style of their own simplicity. I confess my 
 heart yearned with admiration, to see so great 
 a man, in his eager quest after knowledge, 
 humbly demeaning himself to curry favor 
 with the humblest ; sitting patiently on a 
 three-legged stool, patting the children, and 
 taking a purring grimalkin on his lap, while 
 he conciliated the good-will of the old Dutch 
 housewife, and drew from her long ghost- 
 stories, spun out to the humming accompani- 
 ment of her wheel. 
 
 His greatest treasure of historic lore, how- 
 ever, was discovered in an old goblin-looking 
 mill, situated among rocks and water-falls, 
 with clanking wheels, and rushing streams, 
 and all kinds of uncouth noises. A horse- 
 shoe, nailed to the door to keep off witches 
 and evil spirits, showed that this mill was 
 subject to awful visitations. As we approached 
 it, an old negro thrust his head, all dabbled 
 with flour, out of a hole above the water- 
 wheel, and grinned, and rolled his eyes, and 
 looked like the very hobgoblin of the place. 
 The illustrious Diedrich fixed upon him, at 
 once, as the very one to give him that invalu- 
 able kind of information, never to be acquired 
 from books. He beckoned him from his nest, 
 
Sleeps tboHow 185 
 
 sat with him by the hour on a broken mill- 
 stone, by the side of the water-fall, heedless 
 of the noise of the water and the clatter of 
 the mill ; and I verily believe it was to his con- 
 ference with this African sage, and the pre- 
 cious revelations of the good dame of the 
 spinning-wheel, that we are indebted for the 
 surprising though true history of Ichabod 
 Crane and the Headless Horseman, which 
 has since astounded and edified the world. 
 
 But I have said enough of the good old 
 times of my youthful days ; let me speak of 
 the Hollow as I found it, after an absence of 
 many years, when it was kindly given me 
 once more to revisit the haunts of my boy- 
 hood. It was a genial day as I approached 
 that fated region. The warm sunshine was 
 tempered by a slight haze, so as to give a 
 dreamy effect to the landscape. Not a breath 
 of air shook the foliage. The broad Tappan 
 Sea was without a ripple, and the sloops, with 
 drooping sails, slept on its glassy bosom. 
 Columns of smoke, from burning brushwood, 
 rose lazily from the folds of the hills, on the 
 opposite side of the river, and slowly expanded 
 in mid-air. The distant lowing of a cow, or 
 the noontide crowing of a cock, coming faintly 
 to the ear, seemed to illustrate, rather than 
 disturb, the drowsy quiet of the scene. 
 
i86 IRevtews 
 
 I entered the Hollow with a beating heart. 
 Contrary to my apprehensions, I found it but 
 little changed. The march of intellect, which 
 had made such rapid strides along every river 
 and highway, had not yet, apparently, turned 
 down into this favored valley. Perhaps the 
 wizard spell of ancient days still reigned over 
 the place, binding up the faculties of the in- 
 habitants in happy contentment with things 
 as they had been handed down to them from 
 yore. There were the same little farms and 
 farm-houses, with their old hats for the house- 
 keeping wren ; their stone wells, moss-covered 
 buckets, and long balancing-poles. There 
 were the same little rills, whimpering down 
 to pay their tributes to the Pocantico ; while 
 that wizard stream still kept on its course, as 
 of old, through solemn woodlands and fresh 
 green meadows ; nor were there wanting jo} 7 - 
 ous holiday boys, to loiter along its banks, 
 as I had done ; throw their pin -hooks in 
 the stream, or launch their mimic barks. I 
 watched them with a kind of melancholy 
 pleasure, wondering whether they were under 
 the same spell of the fancy that once rendered 
 this valley a fairy-land to me. Alas ! alas ! 
 to me everything now stood revealed in its 
 simple reality. The echoes no longer answered 
 with wizard tongues ; the dream of youth was 
 
Sleeps Dollow 187 
 
 at an end ; the spell of Sleepy Hollow was 
 broken ! 
 
 I sought the ancient church on the follow- 
 ing Sunday. There it stood, on its green 
 bank, among the trees ; the Pocantico swept 
 by it in a deep dark stream, where I had so 
 often angled ; there expanded the mill-pond, 
 as of old, with the cows under the willows on 
 its margin, knee-deep in water, chewing the 
 cud, and lashing the flies from their sides with 
 their tails. The hand of improvement, how- 
 ever, had been busy with the venerable pile. 
 The pulpit, fabricated in Holland, had been 
 superseded by one of modern construction, 
 and the front of the semi- Gothic edifice was 
 decorated by a semi-Grecian portico. Fortu- 
 nately, the two weathercocks remained un- 
 disturbed on their perches, at each end of 
 the church, and still kept up a diametrical 
 opposition to each other on all points of windy 
 doctrine. 
 
 On entering the church the changes of time 
 continued to be apparent. The elders round 
 the pulpit were men whom I had left in the 
 gamesome frolic of their youth, but who had 
 succeeded to the sanctity of station of which 
 they once had stood so much in awe. What 
 most struck my eye was the change in the 
 female part of the congregation. Instead of 
 
1 88 IRetnews an> /HMscellanies 
 
 the primitive garbs of homespun manufacture 
 and antique Dutch fashion, I beheld French 
 sleeves, French capes, and French collars, and 
 a fearful fluttering of French ribbons. 
 
 When the service was ended I sought the 
 churchyard in which I had sported in my 
 unthinking days of boyhood. Several of the 
 modest brown stones, on which were recorded, 
 in Dutch, the names and virtues of the patri- 
 archs, had disappeared, and had been suc- 
 ceeded by others of white marble, with urns, 
 and wreaths, and scraps of English tombstone 
 poetry, marking the intrusion of taste, and 
 literature, and the English language, in this 
 once unsophisticated Dutch neighborhood. 
 
 As I was stumbling about among these silent 
 yet eloquent memorials of the dead, I came 
 upon names familiar to me, of those who had 
 paid the debt of Nature during the long inter- 
 val of my absence. Some I remembered, my 
 companions in boyhood, who had sported with 
 me on the very sod under which they were now 
 mouldering ; others, who in those days had 
 been the flower of the yeomanry, figuring in 
 Sunday finery on the church-green ; others, 
 the white-haired elders of the sanctuary, once 
 arrayed in awful sanctity around the pulpit, 
 and ever ready to rebuke the ill-timed mirth of 
 the wanton stripling, who, now a man, sobered 
 
Sleeps IboHow 189 
 
 by years and schooled by vicissitudes, looked 
 down pensively upon their graves. " Our 
 fathers," thought I, " where are they? and 
 the prophets, can they live forever ? " 
 
 I was disturbed in my meditations by the 
 noise of a troop of idle urchins, who came 
 gambolling about the place where I had so 
 often gambolled. They were checked, as I and 
 my playmates had often been, by the voice of 
 the sexton, a man staid in years and demeanor. 
 I looked wistfully in his face ; had I met him 
 anywhere else I should probably have passed 
 him by without remark ; but here I was alive 
 to the traces of former times, and detected in 
 the demure features of this guardian of the 
 sanctuary the lurking lineaments of one of the 
 very playments I have alluded to. We re- 
 newed our acquaintance. He sat down beside 
 me, on one of the tombstones over which we 
 had leaped in our juvenile sports, and we 
 talked together about our boyish days, and 
 held edifying discourse on the instability of 
 all sublunary things, as instanced in the scene 
 around us. He was rich in historic lore, as to 
 the events of the last thirty years and the cir- 
 cumference of thirty miles, and from him I 
 learned the appalling revolution that was tak- 
 ing place throughout the neighborhood. All 
 this I clearly perceived he attributed to the 
 
IQO "Reviews an& Afacellanies 
 
 boasted march of intellect, or rather to the all- 
 pervading influence of steam. He bewailed 
 the times when the only communication with 
 town was by the weekly market-boat, the Farm- 
 er 's Daughter, which, under the pilotage of the 
 worthy Gabriel Requa, braved the perils of 
 the Tappan Sea. Alas ! Gabriel and the 
 Farmer 1 s Daughter slept in peace. Two steam- 
 boats now splashed and paddled up daily to 
 the little rural port of Tarry town. The spirit 
 of speculation and improvement had seized 
 even upon that once quiet and unambitious 
 little dorp. The whole neighborhood was laid 
 out into town lots. Instead of the little tavern 
 below the hill, where the farmers used to loiter 
 on market-days, and indulge in cider and gin- 
 gerbread, an ambitious hotel, with cupola and 
 verandas, now crested the summit, among 
 churches built in the Grecian and Gothic 
 styles, showing the great increase of piety and 
 polite taste in the neighborhood. As to Dutch 
 dresses and sun-bonnets, they were no longer 
 tolerated, or even thought of; not a farmer's 
 daughter but now went to town for the fash- 
 ions ; nay, a city milliner had recently set up 
 in the village, who threatened to reform the 
 heads of the whole neighborhood. 
 
 I had heard enough ! I thanked my old 
 playmate for his intelligence, and departed 
 

 -* 
 
 m 
 
 **'*. j 
 mi 
 
Sleepg Ibollow 191 
 
 from the Sleepy Hollow church with the sad 
 conviction that I had beheld the last lingeriugs 
 of the good old Dutch times in this once favored 
 region. If anything were wanting to confirm 
 this impression, it would be the intelligence 
 which has just reached me, that a bank is 
 about to be established in the aspiring little 
 port just mentioned. The fate of the neigh- 
 borhood is, therefore, sealed. I see no hope 
 of averting it. The golden mean is at an end. 
 The country is suddenly to be deluged with 
 wealth. The late simple farmers are to become 
 bank directors, and drink claret and cham- 
 pagne ; and their wives and daughters to figure 
 in French hats and feathers ; for French wines 
 and French fashions commonly keep pace with 
 paper money. How can I hope that even 
 Sleepy Hollow may escape the general awak- 
 ening ? In a little while I fear the slumber of 
 ages will be at an end ; the strum of the piano 
 will succeed to the hum of the spinning-wheel ; 
 the thrill of the Italian opera to the nasal quaver 
 of Ichabod Crane ; and the antiquarian visitor 
 to the Hollow, in the petulance of his disap- 
 pointment, may pronounce all that I have re- 
 corded of that once spell-bound region a fable. 
 
 GEOFFREY CRAYON. 
 
National IRomenclature. 
 
 To THE KDITOR OF The Knickerbocker : 
 
 SIR, I am somewhat of the same way of 
 thinking, in regard to names, with that 
 profound philosopher, Mr. Shandy the 
 elder, who maintained that some inspired 
 high thoughts and heroic aims, while others 
 entailed irretrievable meanness and vulgarity ; 
 insomuch that a man might sink under the in- 
 significance of his name, and be absolutely 
 ' * Nicodemused into nothing." I have ever, 
 therefore, thought it a great hardship for a man 
 to be obliged to struggle through life with some 
 ridiculous or ignoble ' ' Christian name, " as it 
 is too often falsely called, inflicted on him in 
 infancy, when he could not choose for himself ; 
 and would give him free liberty to change it 
 for one more to his taste, when he had arrived 
 at years of discretion. 
 
 I have the same notion with respect to 
 local names. Some at once prepossess us in 
 192 
 
National IRomenclature 193 
 
 favor of a place ; others repel us, by unlucky 
 associations of the mind ; and I have known 
 scenes worthy of being the very haunt of poetry 
 and romance, yet doomed to irretrievable vul- 
 garity by some ill-chosen name, which not 
 even the magic numbers of a Halleck or a Bry- 
 ant could elevate into poetical acceptation. 
 
 This is an evil unfortunately too prevalent 
 throughout our country. Nature has stamped 
 the land with features of sublimity and 
 beauty ; but some of our noblest mountains 
 and loveliest streams are in danger of remain- 
 ing forever unhonored and unsung, from bear- 
 ing appellations totally abhorrent to the Muse. 
 In the first place, our country is deluged with 
 names taken from places in the Old World, and 
 applied to places having no possible affinity or 
 resemblance to their namesakes. This beto- 
 kens a forlorn poverty of invention, and a sec- 
 ond-hand spirit, content to cover its nakedness 
 with borrowed or cast-off clothes of Europe. 
 
 Then we have a shallow affectation of scholar- 
 ship ; the whole catalogue of ancient worthies 
 is shaken out from the back of lyempriere's 
 Classical Dictionary, and a wide region of 
 wild country sprinkled over with the names of 
 the heroes, poets, and sages of antiquity, jum- 
 bled into the most whimsical juxtaposition. 
 
 Then we have our political god-fathers, topo- 
 
 13 
 
194 IRcvievvs and /HMsccUanics 
 
 graphical engineers, perhaps, or persons em- 
 ployed by government to survey and lay out 
 townships. These, forsooth, glorify the pa- 
 trons that give them bread ; so we have the 
 names of the great official men of the day scat- 
 tered over the land, as if they were the real 
 " salt of the earth," with which it was to be 
 seasoned. Well for us is it when these official 
 great men happen to have names of fair accep- 
 tation ; but woe unto us should a Tubbs or a 
 Potts be in power ; we are sure, in a little 
 while, to find Tubbsvilles and Pottsylvanias 
 springing up in every direction. 
 
 Under these melancholy dispensations of 
 taste and loyalty, therefore, Mr. Editor, it is 
 with a feeling of dawning hope that I have 
 lately perceived the attention of persons of 
 intelligence beginning to be awakened on this 
 subject. I trust that if the matter should once 
 be taken up, it will not be readily abandoned. 
 We are yet young enough, as a country, to 
 remedy and reform much of what has been 
 done, and to release many of our rising towns 
 and cities, and our noble streams, from names 
 calculated to vulgarize the land. 
 
 I have, on a former occasion, suggested the 
 expediency of searching out the original Indian 
 names of places, and wherever they are striking 
 and euphonious, and those by which they have 
 
Rational Nomenclature 195 
 
 been superseded are glaringly objectionable, 
 to restore them. They would have the merit 
 of originality, and of belonging to the country ; 
 and they would remain as relics of the native 
 lords of the soil, when every other vestige had 
 disappeared. Many of these names may easily 
 be regained, by reference to old title-deeds, and 
 to the archives of States and counties. In my 
 own case, by examining the records of the 
 county clerk's office, I have discovered the 
 Indian names of various places and objects in 
 the neighborhood, and have found them infi- 
 nitely superior to the trite, poverty-stricken 
 names which had been given by the settlers. 
 A beautiful pastoral stream, for instance, 
 which winds for many a mile through one of 
 the loveliest little valleys in the State, has 
 long been known by the commonplace name 
 of the "Saw-mill River." In the old Indian 
 grants it is designated as the Neperan. An- 
 other, a perfectly wizard stream, which winds 
 through the wildest recesses of Sleepy Hollow, 
 bears the humdrum name of Mill Creek ; in 
 the Indian grants it sustains the euphonious 
 title of the Pocantico. 
 
 Similar researches have released Long Island 
 from many of those paltry and vulgar names 
 which fringed its beautiful shores, their Cow 
 Bays, and Cow Necks, and Oyster Ponds, and 
 
196 IRexnewa anD jflfctecellantes 
 
 Musquito Coves, which spread a spell of vul- 
 garity over the whole island, and kept persons 
 of taste and fancy at a distance. 
 
 It would be an object worthy the attention 
 of the historical societies, which are springing 
 up in various parts of the Union, to have maps 
 executed of the respective States or neighbor- 
 hoods, in which all the local Indian names 
 should, as far as possible, be restored. In fact, 
 it appears to me that the nomenclature of the 
 country is almost of sufficient importance for the 
 foundation of a distinct society ; or rather, a 
 corresponding association of persons of taste 
 and judgment, of all parts of the Union. Such 
 an association, if properly constituted and com- 
 posed, comprising especially all the literary 
 talent of the country, though it might not have 
 legislative power in its enactments, yet would 
 have the all-pervading power of the Press ; 
 and the changes in nomenclature which it 
 might dictate, being at once adopted by ele- 
 gant writers in prose and poetry, and inter- 
 woven with the literature of the country, would 
 ultimately pass into popular currency. 
 
 Should such a reforming association arise, I 
 beg to recommend to its attention all those 
 mongrel names that have the adjective New 
 prefixed to them, and pray they may be one 
 and all kicked out of the country. I am for 
 
"Rational Nomenclature 197 
 
 none of these second-hand appellations that 
 stamp us a second-hand people, and that are 
 to perpetuate us a new country to the end of 
 time. Odds my life ! Mr. Editor, I hope and 
 trust we are to live to be an old nation, as well 
 as our neighbors, and have no idea that our 
 cities, when they shall have attained to vener- 
 able antiquity, shall still be dubbed New York 
 and New I^ondon, and new this and new that, 
 like the Pont Neuf (the New Bridge) at Paris, 
 which is the oldest bridge in that capital, or 
 like the Vicar of Wakefield's horse, which 
 continued to be called ''the colt" until he 
 died of old age. 
 
 Speaking of New York, reminds me of some 
 observations which I met with some time since, 
 in one of the public papers, about the name of 
 our State and city. The writer proposes to 
 substitute for the present names, those of the 
 State of Ontario and the City of Manhattan. 
 I concur in his suggestion most heartily. 
 Though born and brought up in the city of 
 New York, and though I love every stick and 
 stone about it, yet I do not, nor ever did, 
 relish its name. I like neither its sound nor 
 its significance. As to its significance, the very 
 adjective new gives to our great commercial 
 metropolis a second-hand character, as if refer- 
 ring to some older, more dignified, and impor- 
 
198 "Reviews and 
 
 tant place, of which it was a mere copy ; 
 though in fact, if I am rightly informed, the 
 whole name commemorates a grant by Charles 
 II. to his brother, the Duke of York, made in 
 the spirit of royal munificence, of a tract of 
 country which did not belong to him. As to 
 the sound, what can you make of it either in 
 poetry or prose ? New York ! Why, sir, if it 
 were to share the fate of Troy itself ; to suffer 
 a ten years' siege, and be sacked and plun- 
 dered ; no modern Homer would ever be able 
 to elevate the name to epic dignity. 
 
 Now, sir, Ontario would be a name worthy 
 of the Empire State. It bears with it the 
 majesty of that internal sea which washes our 
 northwestern shore. Or, if any objection 
 should be made, from its not being completely 
 embraced within our boundaries, there is the 
 Mohegan, one of the Indian names for that 
 glorious river, the Hudson, which would fur- 
 nish an excellent State appellation. So also 
 New York might be called Manhatta, as it is 
 named in some of the early records, and Man- 
 hattan used as the adjective. Manhattan, 
 however, stands well as a substantive, and 
 " Manhattanese," which I observe Mr. Cooper 
 has adopted in some of his writings, would be 
 a very good appellation for a citizen of the 
 commercial metropolis. 
 
Rational flomenclature 199 
 
 A word or two more, Mr. Editor, and I have 
 done. We want a national name. We want 
 it poetically, and we want it politically. With 
 the poetical necessity of the case I shall not 
 trouble myself. I leave it to our poets to tell 
 how they manage to steer that collocation of 
 words, "The United States of North Amer- 
 ica," down the swelling tide of song, and to 
 float the whole raft out upon the sea of heroic 
 poesy. I am now speaking of the mere pur- 
 poses of common life. How is a citizen of this 
 republic to designate himself ? As an Ameri- 
 can? There are two Americas, each subdi- 
 vided into various empires, rapidly rising in 
 importance. As a citizen of the United States ? 
 It is a clumsy, lumbering title, yet still it is 
 not distinctive ; for we have now the United 
 States of Central America, and Heaven knows 
 how many ' ' United States ' ' may spring up 
 under the Proteus changes of Spanish America. 
 
 This may appear matter of small concern- 
 ment ; but any one that has travelled in 
 foreign countries must be conscious of the 
 embarrassment and circumlocution sometimes 
 occasioned by the want of a perfectly distinct 
 and explicit national appellation. In France, 
 when I have announced myself as an Ameri- 
 can, I have been supposed to belong to one 
 of the French colonies ; in Spain, to be from 
 
200 IRevfews anD flfctecellanies 
 
 Mexico, or Peru, or some other Spanish- Ameri- 
 can country. Repeatedly have I found myself 
 involved in a long geographical and political 
 definition of my national identity. 
 
 Now, sir, meaning no disrespect to any of 
 our coheirs of this great quarter of the world, 
 I am for none of this coparceny in a name, 
 that is to mingle us up with the riff-raff colo- 
 nies and off-sets of every nation of Europe. 
 The title of American may serve to tell the 
 quarter of the world to which I belong, the 
 same as a Frenchman or an Englishman may 
 call himself a European ; but I want my own 
 peculiar national name to rally under. I want 
 an appellation that shall tell at once, and in a 
 way not to be mistaken, that I belong to this 
 very portion of America, geographical and 
 political, to which it is my pride and happiness 
 to belong ; that I am of the Anglo-Saxon race 
 which founded this Anglo-Saxon empire in 
 the wilderness ; and that I have no part or 
 parcel with any other race or empire, Spanish, 
 French, or Portuguese, in either of the Amer- 
 icas. Such an appellation, sir, would have 
 magic in it. It would bind every part of the 
 confederacy together, as with a key-stone ; it 
 would be a passport to the citizen of our re- 
 public throughout the world. 
 
 We have it in our power to furnish ourselves 
 
national Nomenclature 201 
 
 with such a national appellation, from one of 
 the grand and eternal features of our country ; 
 from that noble chain of mountains which 
 formed its backbone, and ran through the 
 " old confederacy," when it first declared our 
 national independence. I allude to the Appa- 
 lachian or Alleghany mountains. We might 
 do this without any very inconvenient change 
 in our present titles. We might still use the 
 phrase "The United States," substituting 
 Appalachia, or Alleghania (I should prefer 
 the latter) in place of America. The title of 
 Appalachian, or Alleghanian, would still an- 
 nounce us as Americans, but would specify us 
 as citizens of the Great Republic. Even our 
 old national cypher of U. S. A. might remain 
 unaltered, designating the United States of 
 Alleghania. 
 
 These are crude ideas, Mr. Editor, hastily 
 thrown out, to elicit the ideas of others, and to 
 call attention to a subject of more national 
 importance than may at first be supposed. 
 
 Very respectfully yours, 
 
 GEOFFREY CRAYON. 
 
2>esultors Ubougbts on Criticism, 
 
 " Let a man write never so well, there are nowadays 
 a sort of persons they call critics, that, egad, have no 
 more wit in them than so many hobby-horses ; but 
 they '11 laugh at you, sir, and find fault, and censure 
 things, that, egad, I 'm sure they are not able to do 
 themselves ; a sort of envious persons, that emulate 
 the glories of persons of parts, and think to build 
 their fame by calumniation of persons that, egad, to 
 my knowledge, of all persons in the world, are in 
 nature the persons that do as much despise all that, 
 as a In fine, I '11 say no more of 'em ! " 
 
 REHEARSAL. 
 
 Alyly the world knows the story of the tem- 
 pest-tossed voyager, who, coming upon 
 a strange coast, and seeing a man hang- 
 ing in chains, hailed it with joy as the 
 sign of a civilized country. In like manner we 
 may hail, as a proof of the rapid advancement 
 of civilization and refinement in this country, 
 the increasing number of delinquent authors 
 daily gibbeted for the edification of the public. 
 202 
 
Desultory Gbou0bt0 on Criticism 203 
 
 In this respect, as in every other, we are 
 " going ahead " with accelerated velocity, and 
 promising to outstrip the superannuated coun- 
 tries of Europe. It is really astonishing to see 
 the number of tribunals incessantly springing 
 up for the trial of literary offences. Indepen- 
 dent of the high courts of Oyer and Terminer, 
 the great quarterly reviews, we have innumer- 
 able minor tribunals, monthly and weekly, 
 down to the Pie-poudre courts in the daily 
 papers ; insomuch that no culprit stands so 
 little chance of escaping castigation as an un- 
 lucky author, guilty of an unsuccessful attempt 
 to please the public. 
 
 Seriously speaking, however, it is question- 
 able whether our national literature is suffi- 
 ciently advanced to bear this excess of criticism ; 
 and whether it would, not thrive better if al- 
 lowed to spring up, for some time longer, in 
 the freshness and vigor of native vegetation. 
 When the worthy Judge Coulter, of Virginia, 
 opened court for the first time in one of the 
 upper counties, he was for enforcing all the 
 rules and regulations that had grown into use 
 in the old, long-settled counties. " This is alt 
 very well," said a shrewd old farmer, "but 
 let me tell you, Judge Coulter, you set your 
 coulter too deep for a new soil." 
 
 For my part, I doubt whether either writer 
 
204 IRevnews and flMscellanfes 
 
 or reader is benefited by what is commonly 
 called criticism. The former is rendered cau- 
 tious and distrustful ; he fears to give way to 
 those kindling emotions, and brave sallies of 
 thought, which bear him up to excellence ; 
 the latter is made fastidious and cynical ; or 
 rather, he surrenders his own independent 
 taste and judgment, and learns to like and 
 dislike at second hand. 
 
 I/et us, for a moment, consider the nature 
 of this thing called criticism, which exerts 
 such a sway over the literary world. The pro- 
 noun we, used by critics, has a most imposing 
 and delusive sound. The reader pictures to 
 himself a conclave of learned men, deliberating 
 gravely and scrupulously on the merits of the 
 book in question ; examining it page by page, 
 comparing and balancing their opinions, and 
 when they have united in a conscientious ver- 
 dict, publishing it for the benefit of the world : 
 whereas the criticism is generally the crude 
 and hasty production of an individual, scrib- 
 bling to while away an idle hour, to oblige 
 a bookseller, or to defray current expenses. 
 How often is it the passing notion of the hour, 
 affected by accidental circumstances ; by in- 
 disposition, by peevishness, by vapors or indi- 
 gestion, by personal prejudice or party feeling. 
 Sometimes a work is sacrificed because the 
 
Desultory Gbouabts on Criticism 205 
 
 reviewer wishes a satirical article ; sometimes 
 because he wants a humorous one ; and some- 
 times because the author reviewed has become 
 offensively celebrated, and offers high game 
 to the literary marksman. 
 
 How often would the critic himself, if a con- 
 scientious man, reverse his opinion, had he 
 time to revise it in a more sunny moment ; but 
 the press is waiting, the printer's devil is at 
 his elbow, the article is wanted to make the 
 requisite variety for the number of the review, 
 or the author has pressing occasion for the 
 sum he is to receive for the article ; so it is 
 sent off, all blotted and blurred, with a shrug 
 of the shoulders, and the consolatory ejacu- 
 lation, " Pshaw ! curse it ! it 's nothing but a 
 review ! ' ' 
 
 The critic, too, who dictates thus oracularly 
 to the world, is perhaps some dingy, ill-favored, 
 ill-mannered varlet, who, were he to speak by 
 word of mouth, would be disregarded, if not 
 scoffed at ; but such is the magic of types ; 
 such the mystic operation of anonymous 
 writing ; such the potential effect of the pro- 
 noun we, that his crude decisions, fulminated 
 through the press, become circulated far and 
 wide, control the opinions of the world, and 
 give or destroy reputation. 
 
 Many readers have grown timorous in their 
 
206 TReviews anO flMscellanies 
 
 judgments since the all-pervading currency 
 of criticism. They fear to express a revised, 
 frank opinion about any new work, and to 
 relish it honestly and heartily, lest it should be 
 condemned in the next review, and they stand 
 convicted of bad taste. Hence they hedge 
 their opinions, like a gambler his bets, and 
 leave an opening to retract, and retreat, and 
 qualify, and neutralize every unguarded ex- 
 pression of delight, until their very praise de- 
 clines into a faintness that is damning. 
 
 Were every one, on the contrary, to judge 
 for himself, and speak his mind frankly and 
 fearlessly, we should have more true criticism 
 in the world than at present. Whenever a 
 person is pleased with a work, he may be as- 
 sured that it has good qualities. An author 
 who pleases a variety of readers, must possess 
 substantial powers of pleasing ; or in other 
 words, intrinsic merits ; for otherwise we 
 acknowledge an effect and deny the cause. 
 The reader, therefore, should not suffer him- 
 self to be readily shaken from the conviction 
 of his own feelings by the sweeping censures 
 of pseudo-critics. The author he has admired 
 may be chargeable with a thousand faults ; 
 but it is nevertheless beauties and excellences 
 that have excited his admiration ; and he 
 should recollect that taste and judgment are a$, 
 
Besultorg Gbouabts on Criticism 207 
 
 much evinced in the perception of beauties 
 among defects, as in a detection of defects 
 among beauties. For my part, I honor the 
 blessed and blessing spirit that is quick to dis- 
 cover and extol all that is pleasing and meritori- 
 ous. Give me the honest bee, that extracts 
 honey from the humblest weed, but save me 
 from the ingenuity of the spider, which traces 
 its venom even in the midst of a flower-garden. 
 If the mere fact of being chargeable with 
 faults and imperfections is to condemn an au- 
 thor, who is to escape ? The greatest writers 
 of antiquity have, in this way, been obnoxious 
 to criticism. Aristotle himself has been ac- 
 cused of ignorance ; Aristophanes of impiety 
 and buffoonery ; Virgil of plagiarism, and a 
 want of invention ; Horace of obscurity ; Cice- 
 ro has been said to want vigor and connec- 
 tion, and Demosthenes to be deficient in nature, 
 and in purity of language. Yet these have 
 all survived the censures of the critic, and 
 flourished on to a glorious immortality. Every 
 now and then, the world is startled by some 
 new doctrines in matters of taste, some level- 
 ling attacks on established creeds ; some sweep- 
 ing denunciations of whole generations or 
 schools of writers, as they are called, who had 
 seemed to be embalmed and canonized in pub- 
 lic opinion. Such has been the case, for in- 
 
2o8 "Reviews and flMscellanies 
 
 stance, with Pope, and Dry den, and Addison ; 
 who for a time have almost been shaken from 
 their pedestals, and treated as false idols. 
 
 It is singular, also, to see the fickleness of 
 the world with respect to its favorites. En- 
 thusiasm exhausts itself, and prepares the way 
 for dislike. The public is always for positive 
 sentiments, and new sensations. When wea- 
 ried of admiring, it delights to censure ; thus 
 coining a double set of enjoyments out of the 
 same subject. Scott and Byron are scarce cold 
 in their graves, and already we find criticism 
 beginning to call in question those powers 
 which held the world in magic thraldom. 
 Hven in our own country, one of its greatest 
 geniuses has had some rough passages with the 
 censors of the press ; and instantly criticism 
 begins to unsay all that it has repeatedly said 
 in his praise ; and the public are almost led to 
 believe that the pen which has so often de- 
 lighted them is absolutely destitute of the 
 power to delight ! 
 
 If, then, such reverses in opinion as to mat- 
 ters of taste can be so readily brought about, 
 when may an author feel himself secure ? 
 Where is the anchoring-ground of popularity, 
 when he may thus be driven from his moor- 
 ings, and foundered even in harbor? The 
 reader, too, when is he to consider himself 
 
2>esulton> ftboucjbts on Criticism 209 
 
 safe in admiring, when he sees long-established 
 altars overthrown, and his household deities 
 dashed to the ground ? 
 
 There is one consolatory reflection. Every 
 abuse carries with it its own remedy or pallia- 
 tion. Thus the excess of crude and hasty 
 criticism, which has of late prevailed through- 
 out the literary world, and threatened to over- 
 run our country, begins to produce its own 
 antidote. Where there is a multiplicity of 
 contradictory paths, a man must make his 
 choice ; in so doing, he has to exercise his 
 judgment, and that is one great step to men- 
 tal independence. He begins to doubt all, 
 where all differ, and but one can be in the 
 right. He is driven to trust his own discern- 
 ment, and his natural feelings ; and here he is 
 most likely to be safe. The author, too, find- 
 ing that what is condemned at one tribunal is 
 applauded at another, though perplexed for a 
 time, gives way at length to the spontaneous 
 impulse of his genius, and the dictates of his 
 taste, and writes in the way most natural to 
 himself. It is thus that criticism, which by 
 its severity may have held the little world of 
 writers in check, may, by its very excess, dis- 
 arm itself of its terrors, and the hardihood of 
 talent become restored. 
 
Communipaw. 
 
 To THE EDITOR OF The Knickerbocker : 
 
 SIR, I observe with pleasure that you are 
 performing, from time to time, a pious 
 duty, imposed upon you, I may say, by 
 the name you have adopted as your 
 titular standard, in following in the footsteps of 
 the venerable Knickerbocker, and gleaning every 
 fact concerning the early times of the Manhat- 
 toes, which may have escaped his hand. I 
 trust, therefore, a few particulars, legendary 
 and statistical, concerning a place which figures 
 conspicuously in the early pages of his history, 
 will not be unacceptable. I allude, sir, to the 
 ancient and renowned village of Communipaw, 
 which, according to the veracious Diedrich, 
 and to equally veracious tradition, was the first 
 spot where our ever-to-be-lamented Dutch pro- 
 genitors planted their standard, and cast the 
 seeds of empire, and from whence subsequently 
 sailed the memorable expedition under Oloffe 
 
Communipaw 211 
 
 the Dreamer, which landed on the opposite 
 island of Manhatta, and founded the present 
 city of New York, the city of dreams and 
 speculations. 
 
 Communipaw, therefore, may truly be called 
 the parent of New* York ; yet it is an astonish- 
 ing fact, that though immediately opposite to 
 the great city it has produced, from whence its 
 red roofs and tin weathercocks can actually be 
 descried peering above the surrounding apple 
 orchards, it should be almost as rarely visited, 
 and as little known by the inhabitants of the 
 metropolis, as if it had been locked up among 
 the Rocky Mountains. Sir, I think there is 
 something unnatural in this, especially in these 
 times of ramble and research, when our citizens 
 are antiquity-hunting in every part of the world. 
 Curiosity, like charity, should begin at home ; 
 and I would enjoin it on our worthy burghers, 
 especially those of the real Knickerbocker 
 breed, before they send their sons abroad, to 
 wonder and grow wise among the remains of 
 Greece and Rome, to let them make a tour of 
 ancient Pavonia, from Weehawk even to the 
 Kills, and meditate, with filial reverence, on 
 the moss-grown mansions of Communipaw. 
 
 Sir, I regard this much-neglected village 
 as one of the most remarkable places in the 
 country. The intelligent traveller, as he looks 
 
212 IRexnews anD flfoiscellanies 
 
 down upon it from the Bergen Heights, 
 modestly nestled among its cabbage-gardens, 
 while the great flaunting city it has begotten 
 is stretching far and wide on the opposite side 
 of the bay, the intelligent traveller, I say, will 
 be filled with astonishment ; not, sir, at the 
 village of Communipaw, which in truth is a 
 very small village, but at the almost incredible 
 fact that so small a village should have pro- 
 duced so great a city. It looks to him, indeed, 
 like some squat little dame with a tall grena- 
 dier of a son strutting by her side ; or some sim- 
 ple-hearted hen that has unwittingly hatched 
 out a long-legged turkey. 
 
 But this is not all for which Communipaw is 
 remarkable. Sir, it is interesting on another 
 account. It is to the ancient Province of the 
 New Netherlands, and the classic era of the 
 Dutch dynasty, what Herculaneum and Pom- 
 peii are to ancient Rome and the glorious 
 days of the Empire. Here everything remains 
 in statu quo, as it was in the days of Oloffe the 
 Dreamer, Walter the Doubter, and the other 
 worthies of the golden age ; the same broad- 
 brimmed hats and broad-bottomed breeches ; 
 the same knee buckles and shoe buckles ; the 
 same close-quilled caps, and linsey-woolsey 
 short-gowns and petticoats ; the same imple- 
 ments and utensils, and forms and fashions ; in 
 
Communipaw 213 
 
 a word, Communipaw at the present day is a 
 picture of what New Amsterdam was before 
 the conquest. The ' ' intelligent traveller, ' ' 
 aforesaid, as he treads its streets, is struck with 
 the primitive character of everything around 
 him. Instead of Grecian temples for dwelling- 
 houses, with a great column of pine boards in 
 the way of every window, he beholds high, 
 peaked roofs, gable-ends to the street, with 
 weathercocks at top, and windows of all sorts 
 and sizes, large ones for the grown-up mem- 
 bers of the family, and little ones for the little 
 folk. Instead of cold marble porches, with 
 close-locked doors, and brass knockers, he sees 
 the doors hospitably open ; the worthy burgher 
 smoking his pipe on the old-fashioned stoop in 
 front, with his ' ' vrouw ' ' knitting beside him ; 
 and the cat and her kittens at their feet, sleep- 
 ing in the sunshine. 
 
 Astonished at the obsolete and " old-world " 
 air of everything around him, the intelligent 
 traveller demands how all this has come to 
 pass. Herculaneum and Pompeii remain, it 
 is true, unaffected by the varying fashions of 
 centuries ; but they were buried by a volcano 
 and preserved in ashes. What charmed spell 
 has kept this wonderful little place unchanged, 
 though in sight of the most changeful city in 
 the universe ? Has it, too, been buried under 
 
214 Reviews anD flMscellanies 
 
 its cabbage-gardens, and only dug out in 
 modern days for the wonder and edification of 
 the world? The reply involves a point of 
 history, worthy of notice and record, and re- 
 flecting immortal honor on Communipaw. 
 
 At the time when New Amsterdam was 
 invaded and conquered by British foes, as has 
 been related in the history of the venerable 
 Diedrich, a great dispersion took place among 
 the Dutch inhabitants. Many, like the illus- 
 trious Peter Stuyvesant, buried themselves in 
 rural retreats in the Bowerie ; others, like 
 Wolfert Acker, took refuge in various remote 
 parts of the Hudson ; but there was one stanch, 
 unconquerable band, that determined to keep 
 together, and preserve themselves, like seed- 
 corn, for the future fructification and perpetuity 
 of the Knickerbocker race. These were headed 
 by one Garret Van Home, a gigantic Dutch- 
 man, the Pelayo of the New Netherlands. 
 Under his guidance, they retreated across the 
 bay, and buried themselves among the marshes 
 of ancient Pavonia, as did the followers of 
 Pelayo among the mountains of Asturias, when 
 Spain was overrun by its Arabian invaders. 
 
 The gallant Van Home set up his standard 
 at Communipaw, and invited all those to rally 
 under it who were true Nederlanders at heart, 
 and determined to resist all foreign intermix- 
 
Communlpaw 215 
 
 ture or encroachment. A strict non-intercourse 
 was observed with the captured city ; not a boat 
 ever crossed to it from Communipaw, and the 
 English language was rigorously tabooed 
 throughout the village and its dependencies. 
 Every man was sworn to wear his hat, cut his 
 coat, build his house, and harness his horses, 
 exactly as his father had done before him ; and 
 to permit nothing but the Dutch language to 
 be spoken in his household. 
 
 As a citadel of the place, and a stronghold 
 for the preservation and defence of everything 
 Dutch, the gallant Van Home erected a lordly 
 mansion, with a chimney perched at every 
 corner, which thence derived the aristocratical 
 name of "The House of the Four Chimneys." 
 Hither he transferred many of the precious 
 relics of New Amsterdam, the great round- 
 crowned hat that once covered the capacious 
 head of Walter the Doubter, and the identical 
 shoe with which Peter the Headstrong kicked 
 his pusillanimous councillors down stairs. 
 Saint Nicholas, it is said, took this loyal house 
 under his especial protection ; and a Dutch 
 soothsayer predicted that, as long as it should 
 stand, Communipaw would be safe from the 
 intrusion either of Briton or Yankee. 
 
 In this house would the gallant Van Home 
 and his compeers hold frequent councils of war, 
 
2i6 "Reviews anD /HMscellanies 
 
 as to the possibility of re-conquering the Prov- 
 ince from the British ; and here they would 
 sit for hours, nay, days together, smoking their 
 pipes, and keeping watch upon the growing 
 city of New York ; groaning in spirit whenever 
 they saw a new house erected, or ship launched, 
 and persuading themselves that Admiral Van 
 Tromp would one day or other arrive, to sweep 
 out the invaders with the broom which he car- 
 ried at his mast-head. 
 
 Years rolled by, but Van Tromp never ar- 
 rived. The British strengthened themselves 
 in the land, and the captured city flourished 
 under their domination. Still the worthies of 
 Communipaw would not despair ; something 
 or other, they were sure, would turn up, to re- 
 store the power of the Hogen Mogens, the Lord 
 States General ; so they kept smoking and 
 smoking, and watching and watching, and 
 turning the same few thoughts over and over 
 in a perpetual circle, which is commonly called 
 deliberating. In the meantime, being hemmed 
 up within a narrow compass, between the broad 
 bay and the Bergen hills, they grew poorer and 
 poorer, until they had scarce the wherewithal 
 to maintain their pipes in fuel during their end- 
 less deliberations. 
 
 And now must I relate a circumstance which 
 will call for a little exertion of faith on the part 
 
Communlpaw 217 
 
 of the reader ; but I can only say that if he 
 doubts it he had better not utter his doubts in 
 Communipaw, as it is among the religious be- 
 liefs of the place. It is, in fact, nothing more 
 nor less than a miracle, worked by the blessed 
 Saint Nicholas, for the relief and sustenance 
 of this loyal community. 
 
 It so happened, in this time of extremity, 
 that in the course of cleaning the House of the 
 Four Chimneys, by an ignorant housewife, who 
 knew nothing of the historic value of the relics 
 it contained, the old hat of Walter the Doubter, 
 and the executive shoe of Peter the Headstrong, 
 were thrown out of doors as rubbish. But 
 mark the consequence. The good Saint Nich- 
 olas kept watch over these precious relics, and 
 wrought out of them a wonderful providence. 
 
 The hat of Walter the Doubter, falling on a 
 stercoraceous heap of compost, in the rear of 
 the house, began forthwith to vegetate. Its 
 broad brim spread forth grandly, and exfoliated, 
 and its round crown swelled, and crimped, and 
 consolidated, until the whole became a prodi- 
 gious cabbage, rivalling in magnitude the capa- 
 cious head of the Doubter. In a word, it was 
 the origin of that renowned species of cabbage, 
 known by all Dutch epicures by the name of 
 the Governor's Head, and which is to this day 
 the glory of Communipaw. 
 
sis IReviews and /HMscellames 
 
 On the other hand, the shoe of Peter Stuy- 
 vesant, being thrown into the river, in front of 
 the house, gradually hardened, and concreted, 
 and became covered with barnacles, and at 
 length turned into a gigantic oyster ; being the 
 progenitor of that illustrious species, known 
 throughout the gastronomical world by the 
 name of the Governor's Foot. 
 
 These miracles were the salvation of Com- 
 munipaw. The sages of the place immediately 
 saw in them the hand of Saint Nicholas, and 
 understood their mystic signification. They 
 set to work, with all diligence, to cultivate and 
 multiply these great blessings ; and so abun- 
 dantly did the gubernatorial hat and shoe 
 fructify and increase, that in a little time great 
 patches of cabbages were to be seen extending 
 from the village of Communipaw quite to the 
 Bergen Hills ; while the whole bottom of the 
 bay in front became a vast bed of oysters. 
 Kver since that time, this excellent community 
 has been divided into two great classes those 
 who cultivate the land, and those who cultivate 
 the water. The former have devoted them- 
 selves to the nurture and edification of cabbages, 
 rearing them in all their varieties ; while the 
 latter have formed parks and plantations under 
 water, to which juvenile oysters are trans- 
 
Communfpaw 219 
 
 planted from foreign parts, to finish their edu- 
 cation. 
 
 As these great sources of profit multiplied 
 upon their hands, the worthy inhabitants of 
 Communipaw began to long for a market, at 
 which to dispose of their superabundance. 
 This gradually produced, once more, an inter- 
 course with New York ; but it was always car- 
 ried on by the old people and the negroes ; never 
 would they permit the young folks, of either 
 sex, to visit the city, lest they should get 
 tainted with foreign manners, and bring home 
 foreign fashions. Even to this day, if you see 
 an old burgher in the market, with hat and 
 garb of antique Dutch fashion, you may be sure 
 he is one of the old unconquered race of the 
 " bitter blood," who maintain their stronghold 
 at Communipaw. 
 
 In modern days, the hereditary bitterness 
 against the English has lost much of its asper- 
 ity, or rather has become merged in a new 
 source of jealousy and apprehension. I allude 
 to the incessant and wide-spreading irruptions 
 from New England. Word has been continu- 
 ally brought back to Communipaw, by those 
 of the community who return from their trad- 
 ing voyages in cabbages and oysters, of the 
 alarming power which the Yankees are gaining 
 in the ancient city of New Amsterdam ; elbow- 
 
220 IReviews an& dfctecellantes 
 
 ing the genuine Knickerbockers out of all civic 
 posts of honor and profit ; bargaining them out 
 of their hereditary homesteads ; pulling down 
 the venerable houses, with crowstep gables, 
 which have stood since the time of the Dutch 
 rule, and erecting, instead, granite stores and 
 marble banks ; in a word, evincing a deadly 
 determination to obliterate every vestige of the 
 good old Dutch times. 
 
 In consequence of the jealousy thus awak- 
 ened, the worthy traders from Communipaw 
 confine their dealings, as much as possible, to 
 the genuine Dutch families. If they furnish 
 the Yankees at all, it is with inferior articles. 
 Never can the latter procure a real ' * Governor's 
 Head," or "Governor's Foot," though they 
 have offered extravagant prices for the same, to 
 grace their table on the annual festival of the 
 New England Society. 
 
 But what has carried this hostility to the 
 Yankees to the highest pitch, was an attempt 
 made by that all-pervading race to get posses- 
 sion of Communipaw itself. Yes, sir ; during 
 the late mania for land speculation, a daring 
 company of Yankee projectors landed before 
 the village, stopped the honest burghers on 
 the public highway, and endeavored to bargain 
 them out of their hereditary acres ; displayed 
 lithographic maps, in which their cabbage- 
 
Communipaw 221 
 
 gardens were laid out into town lots ; their 
 oyster-parks into docks and quays ; and even 
 the " House of the Four Chimneys" meta- 
 morphosed into a bank, which was to enrich 
 the whole neighborhood with paper money. 
 
 Fortunately, the gallant Van Homes came 
 to the rescue, just as some of the worthy 
 burghers were on the point of capitulating. 
 The Yankees were put to the rout, with signal 
 confusion, and have never since dared to show 
 their faces in the place. The good people 
 continue to cultivate their cabbages, and rear 
 their oysters ; they know nothing of banks, 
 nor joint-stock companies, but treasure up 
 their money in stocking-feet, at the bottom 
 of the family chest, or bury it in iron pots, 
 as did their fathers and grandfathers before 
 them. 
 
 As to the " House of the Four Chimneys," 
 it still remains in the great and tall family of 
 the Van Homes. Here are to be seen ancient 
 Dutch corner cupboards, chests of drawers, 
 and massive clothes-presses, quaintly carved, 
 and carefully waxed and polished ; together 
 with divers thick, black-letter volumes, with 
 brass clasps, printed of yore in Leyden and 
 Amsterdam, and handed down from genera- 
 tion to generation, in the family, but never 
 read. They are preserved in the archives, 
 
222 IRevtews anfc 
 
 among sundry old parchment deeds, in Dutch 
 and Knglish, bearing the seals of the early 
 governors of the province. 
 
 In this house, the primitive Dutch holidays 
 of Paas and Pinxter are faithfully kept up ; 
 and New- Year celebrated with cookies and 
 cherry-bounce ; nor is the festival of the 
 blessed Saint Nicholas forgotten, when all the 
 children are sure to hang up their stockings, 
 and to have them filled according to their 
 deserts ; though it is said the good saint is 
 occasionally perplexed, in his nocturnal visits, 
 which chimney to descend. 
 
 Of late this portentous mansion has begun 
 to give signs of dilapidation and decay. Some 
 have attributed this to the visits made by the 
 young people to the city, and their bringing 
 thence various modern fashions ; and to their 
 neglect of the Dutch language, which is 
 gradually becoming confined to the older per- 
 sons in the community. The house, too, was 
 greatly shaken by high winds during the prev- 
 alence of the speculation mania, especially 
 at the time of the landing of the Yankees. 
 Seeing how mysteriously the fate of Com- 
 munipaw is identified with this venerable 
 mansion, we cannot wonder that the older 
 and wiser heads of the community should be 
 filled with dismay whenever a brick is toppled 
 
Communipaw 223 
 
 down from one of the chimneys, or a weather- 
 cock is blown off from a gable-end. 
 
 The present lord of this historic pile, I am 
 happy to say, is calculated to maintain it in 
 all its integrity. He is of patriarchal age, 
 and is worthy of the days of the patriarchs. 
 He has done his utmost to increase and multi- 
 ply the true race in the land. His wife has 
 not been inferior to him in zeal, and they are 
 surrounded by a goodly progeny of children 
 and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, 
 who promise to perpetuate the name of Van 
 Home until time shall be no more. So be it ! 
 L,ong may the horn of the Van Homes con- 
 tinue to be exalted in the land ! Tall as they 
 are, may their shadows never be less ! May 
 the ' ' House of the Four Chimneys ' ' remain 
 for ages the citadel of Communipaw, and the 
 smoke of its chimneys continue to ascend, a 
 sweet-smelling incense in the nose of Saint 
 Nicholas ! 
 
 With great respect, Mr. Editor, 
 
 Your ob't servant, 
 
 HKRMANUS VANDERDONK. 
 
Conspiracy of tbe Cocfeefc 1bats. 
 
 To THE EDITOR OF The Knickerbocker : 
 
 SIR, I have read, with great satisfaction, 
 the valuable paper of your correspond- 
 ent, Mr. Hermanus Vanderdonk (who, 
 I take it, is a descendant of the learned 
 Adrian Vanderdonk, one of the early historians 
 of the Nieuw-Nederlands), giving sundry par- 
 ticulars, legendary and statistical, touching 
 the venerable village of Communipaw, and 
 its fate-bound citadel, the " House of the Four 
 Chimneys." It goes to prove, what I have 
 repeatedly maintained, that we live in the 
 midst of history, and mystery, and romance ; 
 and that there is no spot in the world more 
 rich in themes for the writer of historic novels, 
 heroic melodramas, and rough-shod epics, than 
 this same business-looking city of the Man- 
 hattoes and its environs. He who would find 
 these elements, however, must not seek them 
 among the modern improvements and modern 
 224 
 
Conspiracy ot tbe <Jocfce& "feats 225 
 
 people of this moneyed metropolis, but must 
 dig for them, as for Kidd the pirate's treasures, 
 in out-of-the-way places, and among the ruins 
 of the past. 
 
 Poetry and romance received a fatal blow at 
 the overthrow of the ancient Dutch dynasty, 
 and have ever since been gradually withering 
 under the growing domination of the Yan- 
 kees. They abandoned our hearths when the 
 old Dutch tiles were superseded by marble 
 chimney-pieces ; when brass andirons made 
 way for polished grates, and the crackling 
 and blazing fire of nut-wood gave place to 
 the smoke and stench of Liverpool coal ; and 
 on the downfall of the last gable-end house, 
 their requiem was tolled from the tower of the 
 Dutch church in Nassau Street, by the old 
 bell that came from Holland. But poetry and 
 romance still live unseen among us, or seen 
 only by the enlightened few who are able to 
 contemplate this city and its environs through 
 the medium of tradition, and clothed with the 
 associations of foregone ages. 
 
 Would you seek these elements in the coun- 
 try, Mr. Editor, avoid all turnpikes, railroads, 
 and steamboats, those abominable inventions 
 by which the usurping Yankees are strength- 
 ening themselves in the land, and subduing 
 everything to utility and commonplace. Avoid 
 
226 IRexnews and Miscellanies 
 
 all towns and cities of white clapboard palaces, 
 and Grecian temples, studded with "Acad- 
 emies, " " Seminaries, ' ' and ' ' Institutes, ' ' 
 which glisten along our bays and rivers ; 
 these are the strongholds of Yankee unsurpa- 
 tion ; but if haply you light upon some rough, 
 rambling road, winding between stone fences, 
 gray with moss, and overgrown with elder, 
 pokeberry, mullen, and sweetbrier, with here 
 and there a low, red-roofed, whitewashed farm- 
 house, cowering among apple and cherry 
 trees ; an old stone church, with elms, willows, 
 and button-woods as old-looking as itself, and 
 tombstones almost buried in their own graves ; 
 and, peradventure, a small log school-house, 
 at a cross-road, where the English is still 
 taught with a thickness of the tongue, instead 
 of a twang of the nose ; should you, I say, 
 light upon such a neighborhood, Mr. Editor, 
 you may thank your stars that you have found 
 one of the lingering haunts of poetry and 
 romance. 
 
 Your correspondent, sir, has touched upon 
 that sublime and affecting feature in the his- 
 tory of Communipaw, the retreat of the patri- 
 otic band of Nederlanders, led by Van Home, 
 whom he justly terms the Pelayo of the New 
 Netherlands. He has given you a picture of 
 the manner in which they ensconced them- 
 
Conspiracy of tbe Gocfcefc f>ats 227 
 
 selves in the * ' House of the Four Chimneys, ' ' 
 and awaited with heroic patience and persever- 
 ance the day that should see the flag of the 
 Hogen Mogens once more floating on the fort 
 of New Amsterdam. 
 
 Your correspondent, sir, has but given you 
 a glimpse over the threshold ; I will now let 
 you into the heart of the mystery of this most 
 mysterious and eventful village. Yes, sir, I 
 will now 
 
 " unclasp a secret book ; 
 And to your quick conceiving discontents, 
 I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous, 
 As full of peril and adventurous spirit, 
 As to o'er walk a current, roaring loud, 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear." 
 
 Sir, it is one of the most beautiful and inter- 
 esting facts connected with the history of Com- 
 munipaw, that the early feeling of resistance to 
 foreign rule, alluded to by your correspondent, 
 is still kept up. Yes, sir, a settled, secret, and 
 determined conspiracy has been going on for 
 generations among this indomitable people, the 
 descendants of the refugees from New Amster- 
 dam, the object of which is to redeem their 
 ancient seat of empire, and to drive the losel 
 Yankees out of the land. 
 
 Communipaw, it is true, has the glory of 
 originating this conspiracy; and it was 
 
228 "Reviews an& jflMscellanies 
 
 hatched and reared in the ' ' House of the Four 
 Chimneys, ' ' but it has spread far and wide over 
 ancient Pavonia, surmounted the heights of 
 Bergen, Hoboken, and Weekawk, crept up 
 along the banks of the Passaic and the Hacken- 
 sack, until it pervades the whole chivalry of 
 the country, from Tappan Slote, in the North, 
 to Piscataway, in the South, including the 
 pugnacious village of Rahway, more heroically 
 denominated Spank-town. 
 
 Throughout all these regions, a great * ' in- 
 and-in confederacy ' ' prevails ; that is to say, 
 a confederacy among the Dutch families, by 
 dint of diligent and exclusive intermarriage, to 
 keep the race pure, and to multiply. If ever, 
 Mr. Editor, in the course of your travels 
 between Spank-town and Tappan Slote, you 
 should see a cosey, low-eaved farmhouse, 
 teeming with sturdy, broad-built little urchins, 
 you may set it down as one of the breeding- 
 places of this grand secret confederacy, stocked 
 with the embryo deliverers of New Amster- 
 dam. 
 
 Another step in the progress of this patriotic 
 conspiracy is the establishment, in various 
 places within the ancient boundaries of the 
 Nieuw-Nederlands, of secret, or rather myste- 
 rious, associations, composed of the genuine 
 sons of the Nederlanders, with the ostensible 
 
Conspiracy of tbe CocheD tbats 229 
 
 object of keeping up the memory of old times 
 and customs, but with the real object of pro- 
 moting the views of this dark and mighty 
 plot, and extending its ramifications through- 
 out the land. 
 
 Sir, I am descended from a long line of genu- 
 ine Nederlanders, who, though they remained 
 in the city of New Amsterdam after the con- 
 quest, and throughout the usurpation, have 
 never in their hearts been able to tolerate the 
 yoke imposed upon them. My worthy father, 
 who was one of the last of the cocked hats, had 
 a little knot of cronies, of his own stamp, who 
 used to meet in our wainscoted parlor, round a 
 nut-wood fire, talk over old times, when the 
 city was ruled by its native burgomasters, and 
 groan over the monopoly of all places of power 
 and profit by the Yankees. I well recollect the 
 effect upon this worthy little conclave when the 
 Yankees first instituted their New-England 
 Society, held their " national festival," toasted 
 their " fatherland," and sang their foreign 
 songs of triumph within the very precincts of 
 our ancient metropolis. Sir, from that day, 
 my father held the smell of codfish and pota- 
 toes, and the sight of pumpkin-pie, in utter 
 abomination ; and whenever the annual din- 
 ner of the New-England Society came round, 
 it was a sore anniversary for his children. He 
 
230 IReviews anD /HMscellamea 
 
 got up in an ill humor, grumbled and growled 
 throughout the day, and not one of us went to 
 bed that night without having had his jacket 
 well trounced, to the tune of "The Pilgrim 
 Fathers." 
 
 You may judge, then, Mr. Editor, of the 
 exultation of all true patriots of this stamp, 
 when the Society of Saint Nicholas was set up 
 among us, and intrepidly established, cheek 
 by jole, alongside of the society of the invaders. 
 Never shall I forget the effect upon my father 
 and his little knot of brother groaners, when 
 tidings were brought them that the ancient 
 banner of the Manhattoes was actually floating 
 from the window of the City Hotel. Sir, they 
 nearly jumped out of their silver-buckled shoes 
 for joy. They took down their cocked hats 
 from the pegs on which they had hanged them, 
 as the Israelites of yore hung their harps upon 
 the willows, in token of bondage, clapped them 
 resolutely once more upon their heads, and 
 cocked them in the face of every Yankee they 
 met on the way to the banqueting-room. 
 
 The institution of this society was hailed 
 with transport throughout the whole extent 
 of the New Netherlands ; being considered a 
 secret foothold gained in New Amsterdam, 
 and a flattering presage of future triumph. 
 Whenever that society holds its annual feast, 
 
Conspiracy of tbc CocfteD f>ats 231 
 
 a sympathetic hilarity prevails throughout 
 the land ; ancient Pavonia sends over its 
 contributions of cabbages and oysters ; the 
 * ' House of the Four Chimneys ' ' is splendidly 
 illuminated, and the traditional song of Saint 
 Nicholas, the mystic bond of union and con- 
 spiracy, is chanted with closed doors, in every 
 genuine Dutch family. 
 
 I have thus, I trust, Mr. Editor, opened 
 your eyes to some of the grand, moral, poeti- 
 cal, and political phenomena with which you 
 are surrounded. You will now be able to read 
 the " signs of the times." You will now un- 
 derstand what is meant by those " Knicker- 
 bocker Halls," and " Knickerbocker Hotels," 
 and * ' Knickerbocker launches, ' ' that are daily 
 springing up in our city, and what all these 
 ' ' Knickerbocker Omnibuses ' ' are driving at. 
 You will see in them so many clouds before a 
 storm ; so many mysterious but sublime inti- 
 mations of the gathering vengeance of a 
 great though oppressed people. Above all, 
 you will now contemplate our bay and its 
 portentous borders with proper feelings of awe 
 and admiration. Talk of the Bay of Naples, 
 and its volcanic mountain ! Why, sir, little 
 Communipaw, sleeping among its cabbage- 
 gardens, "quiet as gunpowder," yet with 
 this tremendous conspiracy brewing in its 
 
232 "Reviews anfc d&tscellantee 
 
 bosom, is an object ten times as sublime (in a 
 moral point of view, mark me,) as Vesuvius in 
 repose, though charged with lava and brim- 
 stone, and ready for an eruption. 
 
 L,et me advert to a circumstance connected 
 with this theme, which cannot but be appreciat- 
 ed by every heart of sensibility. You must have 
 remarked, Mr. Bditor, on summer evenings, 
 and on Sunday afternoons, certain grave, prim- 
 itive-looking personages, walking the Battery, 
 in close confabulation, with their canes behind 
 their backs, and ever and anon turning a wist- 
 ful gaze toward the Jersey shore. These, sir, 
 are the sons of Saint Nicholas, the genuine 
 Nederlanders ; who regard Communipaw with 
 pious reverence, not merely as the progenitor, 
 but the destined regenerator, of this great 
 metropolis. Yes, sir ; they are looking with 
 longing eyes to the green marshes of ancient 
 Pavonia, as did the poor conquered Spaniards 
 of yore toward the stern mountains of Asturias, 
 wondering whether the day of deliverance is 
 at hand. Many is the time, when, in my boy- 
 hood, I have walked with my father and his 
 confidential compeers on the Battery, and lis- 
 tened to their calculations and conjectures, and 
 observed the points of their sharp cocked hats 
 ever more turned toward Pavonia. Nay, sir, I 
 am convinced that at this moment, if I were 
 
Conspiracy ot tbc Gocfcefc f>ats 233 
 
 to take down the cocked hat of my lamented 
 father from the peg on which it has hung for 
 years, and were to carry it to the Battery, its 
 centre point, true as the needle to the pole, 
 would turn to Communipaw. 
 
 Mr. Editor, the great historic drama of New 
 Amsterdam is but half acted. The reigns of 
 Walter the Doubter, William the Testy, and 
 Peter the Headstrong, with the rise, progress, 
 and decline of the Dutch dynasty, are but so 
 many parts of the main action, the triumphant 
 catastrophe of which is yet to come. Yes, sir ! 
 the deliverance of the New Nederlands from 
 Yankee domination will eclipse the far-famed 
 redemption of Spain from the Moors, and the 
 oft-sung Conquest of Granada will fade before 
 the chivalrous triumph of New Amsterdam. 
 Would that Peter Stuyvesant could rise from 
 his grave to witness that day ! 
 
 Your humble servant, 
 
 ROI.OFF VAN RIPPER. 
 
 P.S. Just as I had concluded the foregoing 
 epistle, I received a piece of intelligence which 
 makes me tremble for the fate of Communipaw. 
 I fear, Mr. Editor, the grand conspiracy is in 
 danger of being countermined and counter- 
 acted by those all-pervading and indefatigable 
 
234 "Reviews anD flMecellanies 
 
 Yankees. Would you think it, sir ! one of 
 them has actually effected an entry in the place 
 by covered way ; or, in other words, under 
 cover of the petticoats. Finding every other 
 mode ineffectual, he secretly laid siege to a 
 Dutch heiress, who owns a great cabbage- 
 garden in her own right. Being a smooth- 
 tongued varlet, he easily prevailed on her to 
 elope with him, and they were privately mar- 
 ried at Spank- town ! The first notice the 
 good people of Communipaw had of this awful 
 event, was a lithographed map of the cabbage- 
 garden laid out in town lots, and advertised 
 for sale ! On the night of the wedding, the 
 main weathercock of the ' ' House of the Four 
 Chimneys " was carried away in a whirlwind ! 
 The greatest consternation reigns throughout 
 the village ! 
 
letter from Granafca, 
 
 To THE EDITOR OF The Knickerbocker: 
 
 SIR, The following letter was scribbled to 
 a friend during my sojourn in the Al- 
 hambra, in 1828. As it presents scenes 
 and impressions noted down at the time, 
 I venture to offer it for the consideration of 
 your readers. Should it prove acceptable, I 
 may from time to time give other letters, written 
 in the course of my various ramblings, and 
 which have been kindly restored to me by 
 
 friends. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 G. C. 
 
 GRANADA, 1828. 
 
 MY DEAR : 
 
 Religious festivals furnish, in all Catholic 
 
 countries, occasions of popular pageant and 
 
 recreation ; but in none more so than in Spain, 
 
 where the great end of religion seems to be to< 
 
 235 
 
J36 IReviews ano 
 
 create holidays and ceremonials. For two days 
 past, Granada has been in a gay turmoil with 
 the great annual fete of Corpus Christi. This 
 most eventful and romantic city, as you well 
 know, has ever been the rallying-point of a 
 mountainous region, studded with small towns 
 and villages. Hither, during the time that 
 Granada was the splendid capital of a Moorish 
 kingdom, the Moslem youth repaired from all 
 points to participate in chivalrous festivities ; 
 and hither the Spanish populace, at the present 
 day, throng from all parts of the surrounding 
 country, to attend the festivals of the Church. 
 As the populace like to enjoy things from the 
 very commencement, the stir of Corpus Christi 
 began in Granada on the preceding evening. 
 Before dark, the gates of the city were thronged 
 with the picturesque peasantry from the moun- 
 tain villages, and the brown laborers from the 
 Vega, or vast fertile plain. As the evening 
 advanced, the Vivarrambla thickened and 
 swarmed with a motley multitude. This is the 
 great square in the centre of the city, famous 
 for tilts and tourneys during the times of Moor- 
 ish domination, and incessantly mentioned in 
 all the old Moorish ballads of love and chivalry. 
 For several days the hammer had resounded 
 throughout this square. A gallery of wood 
 had been erected all round it, forming a covered 
 
Xetter from <5ranafca 237 
 
 way for the grand procession of Corpus Christ! . 
 On this eve of the ceremonial, this gallery was 
 a fashionable promenade. It was brilliantly 
 illuminated, bands of music were stationed in 
 balconies on the four sides of the square, and 
 all the fashion and beauty of Granada, and all 
 its population that could boast a little finery 
 of apparel, together with the majos and majas, 
 the beaux and belles of the villages, in their gay 
 Andalusian costumes, thronged this covered 
 walk, anxious to see and to be seen. As to 
 the sturdy peasantry of the Vega, and such of 
 the mountaineers as did not pretend to display, 
 but were content with hearty enjoyment, they 
 swarmed in the centre of the square ; some in 
 groups, listening to the guitar and the tradi- 
 tional ballad ; some dancing their favorite 
 boltro ; some seated on the ground, making 
 a merry though frugal supper ; and some 
 stretched out for their night's repose. 
 
 The gay crowd of the gallery dispersed grad- 
 ually toward midnight ; but the centre of the 
 square resembled the bivouac of an army ; for 
 hundreds of the peasantry men, women, and 
 children passed the night there, sleeping 
 soundly on the bare earth, under the open can- 
 opy of heaven. A summer's night requires no 
 shelter in this genial climate ; and with a great 
 part of the hardy peasantry of Spain, a bed is a 
 
238 IReviews and /BMscellanfes 
 
 superfluity which many of them never enjoy, 
 and which they affect to despise. The common 
 Spaniard spreads out his manta, or mule-cloth, 
 or wraps himself in his cloak, and lies on the 
 ground, with his saddle for a pillow. 
 
 The next morning I revisited the square at 
 sunrise. It was still strewed with groups of 
 sleepers ; some were reposing from the dance 
 and revel of the evening ; others had left their 
 villages after work, on the preceding day, and 
 having trudged on foot the greater part of the 
 night, were taking a sound sleep to freshen 
 them for the festivities of the day. Numbers 
 from the mountains, and the remote villages 
 of the plain, who had set out in the night, con- 
 tinued to arrive, with their wives and children. 
 All were in high spirits ; greeting each other, 
 and exchanging jokes and pleasantries. The 
 gay tumult thickened as the day advanced. 
 Now came pouring in at the city gates, and 
 parading through the streets, deputations from 
 the various villages, destined to swell the grand 
 procession. These village deputations were 
 headed by their priests, bearing their respective 
 crosses and banners, and images of the blessed 
 Virgin, and of patron saints ; all which were 
 matters of great rivalship and jealousy among 
 the peasantry. It was like the chivalrous gath- 
 erings of ancient days, when each town and 
 
Xetter from (BranaDa 239 
 
 village sent its chiefs, and warriors, and stand- 
 ards, to defend the capital, or grace its fes- 
 tivities. 
 
 At length all these various detachments con- 
 gregated into one grand pageant, which slowly 
 paraded round the Vivarrambla, and through 
 the principal streets, where every window and 
 balcony was hung with tapestry. In this pro- 
 cession were all the religious orders, the civil 
 and military authorities, and the chief people 
 of the parishes and villages : every church and 
 convent had contributed its banners, its images, 
 its relics, and poured forth its wealth, for the 
 occasion. In the centre of the procession 
 walked the archbishop, under a damask can- 
 opy, and surrounded by inferior dignitaries 
 and their dependants. The whole moved to 
 the swell and cadence of numerous bands of 
 music, and, passing through the midst of a 
 countless yet silent multitude, proceeded on- 
 ward to the cathedral. 
 
 I could not but be struck with the changes 
 of times and customs, as I saw this monkish 
 pageant passing through the Vivarrambla, the 
 ancient seat of modern pomp and chivalry. 
 The contrast was indeed forced upon the mind 
 by the decorations of the square. The whole 
 front of the wooden gallery erected for the pro- 
 cession, extending several hundred feet, was 
 
240 "Reviews anfc /Miscellanies 
 
 faced with canvas, on which some humble 
 though patriotic artist had painted, by con- 
 tract, a series of the principal scenes and ex- 
 ploits of the Conquest, as recorded in chronicle 
 and romance. It is thus the romantic legends 
 of Granada mingle themselves with every- 
 thing, and are kept fresh in the public mind. 
 
 Another great festival at Granada, answer- 
 ing in its popular character to our Fourth of 
 July, is El Dia de la Toma, " The Day of the 
 Capture ' ' ; that is to say, the anniversary of 
 the capture of the city by Ferdinand and Isa- 
 bella. On this day all Granada is abandoned 
 to revelry. The alarm-bell on the Terre de la 
 Campana, or watch-tower of the Alhambra, 
 keeps up a clangor from morn till night ; and 
 happy is the damsel that can ring that bell ; it 
 is a charm to secure a husband in the course 
 of the year. 
 
 The sound, which can be heard over the 
 whole Vega, and to the top of the mountains, 
 summons the peasantry to the festivities. 
 Throughout the day the Alhambra is thrown 
 open to the public. The halls and courts of 
 the Moorish monarchs resound with the guitar 
 and castanet, and gay groups, in the fanciful 
 dresses of Andalusia, perform those popular 
 dances which they have inherited from the 
 Moors. 
 
Xctter from (BranaDa 241 
 
 In the meantime a grand procession moves 
 through the city. The banner of Ferdinand 
 and Isabella, that precious relic of the Con- 
 quest, is brought forth from its depository, and 
 borne by the Alferez Mayor, or grand stand- 
 ard-bearer, through the principal streets. The 
 portable camp-altar, which was carried about 
 with them in all their campaigns, is trans- 
 ported into the chapel royal, and placed before 
 their sepulchre, where their effigies lie in 
 monumental marble. The procession fills the 
 chapel. High mass is performed in memory 
 of the Conquest ; and at a certain part of the 
 ceremony the Alferez Mayor puts on his hat 
 and waves the standard above the tomb of the 
 conquerors. 
 
 A more whimsical memorial of the Conquest 
 is exhibited on the same evening at the the- 
 atre, where a popular drama is performed, 
 entitled " Ave Maria." This turns on the 
 oft-sung achievement of Hernando del Pulgar, 
 surnamed El de las Hazanas, ' * He of the Ex- 
 ploits," the favorite hero of the populace of 
 Granada. 
 
 During the time that Ferdinand and Isabella 
 besieged the city, the young Moorish and 
 Spanish knights vied with each other in ex- 
 travagant bravados. On one occasion Her- 
 nando del Pulgar, at the head of a handful of 
 
 16 
 
242 IRevnews an& dfctecellanies 
 
 youthful followers, made a dash into Granada 
 at the dead of the night, nailed the inscription 
 of AvE MARIA, with his dagger, to the gate 
 of the principal mosque, as a token of having 
 consecrated it to the Virgin, and effected his 
 retreat in safety. 
 
 While the Moorish cavaliers admired this 
 daring exploit, they felt bound to revenge it. 
 On the following day, therefore, Tarfe, one of 
 the stoutest of the infidel warriors, paraded in 
 front of the Christian army, dragging the 
 sacred inscription of AvE MARIA at his horse's 
 tail. The cause of the Virgin was eagerly 
 vindicated by Garcilaso de la Vega, who slew 
 the Moor in single combat, and elevated the 
 inscription of AvE MARIA, in devotion and 
 triumph, at the end of his lance. 
 
 The drama founded on this exploit is pro- 
 digiously popular with the common people. 
 Although it has been acted time out of mind, 
 and the people have seen it repeatedly, it 
 never fails to draw crowds, and so completely 
 to engross the feelings of the audience, as to 
 have almost the effect on them of reality. 
 When their favorite Pulgar strides about with 
 many a mouthy speech, in the very midst of 
 the Moorish capital, he is cheered with enthu- 
 siastic bravos ; and when he nails the tablet 
 of AvE MARIA to the door of the mosque, the 
 
Xetter from <3ranafca 243 
 
 theatre absolutely shakes with shouts and 
 thunders of applause. On the other hand, the 
 actors who play the part of the Moors have to 
 bear the brunt of the temporary indignation 
 of their auditors ; and when the infidel Tarfe 
 plucks down the tablet to tie it to his horse's 
 tail, many of the people absolutely rise in fury, 
 and are ready to jump upon the stage to re- 
 venge this insult to the Virgin. 
 
 Beside this annual festival at the capital, al- 
 most every village of the Vega and the moun- 
 tains has its own anniversary, wherein its own 
 deliverance from the Moorish yoke is celebrated 
 with uncouth ceremony and rustic pomp. 
 
 On these occasions, a kind of resurrection 
 takes place of ancient Spanish dresses and 
 armor, great two-handed swords, ponderous 
 arquebuses, with match-locks, and other weap- 
 ons and accoutrements, once the equipments 
 of the village chivalry, and treasured up from 
 generation to generation since the time of the 
 Conquest. In these hereditary and historical 
 garbs, some of the most sturdy of the villagers 
 array themselves as champions of the faith, 
 while its ancient opponents are represented by 
 another band of villagers, dressed up as Moor- 
 ish warriors. A tent is pitched in the public 
 square of the village, within which is an altar 
 and an image of the Virgin. The Spanish 
 
244 "Reviews and /IMscellanies 
 
 warriors approach to perform their devotions 
 at this shrine, but are opposed by the infidel 
 Moslems, who surround the tent. A mock fight 
 succeeds, in the course of which the comba- 
 tants sometimes forget that they are merely 
 playing a part, and exchange dry blows of 
 grievous weight ; the fictitious Moors, espe- 
 cially, are apt to bear away pretty evident 
 marks of the pious zeal of their antagonists. 
 The contest, however, invariably terminates in 
 favor of the good cause. The Moors are de- 
 feated and taken prisoners. The image of the 
 Virgin, rescued from thraldom, is elevated in 
 triumph ; and a grand procession succeeds, in 
 which the Spanish conquerors figure with great 
 vainglory and applause, and their captives are 
 led in chains, to the infinite delight and edifi- 
 cation of the populace. These annual festivals 
 are the delight of the villagers, who expend 
 considerable sums in their celebration. In 
 some villages they are occasionally obliged to 
 suspend them for want of funds ; but when 
 times grow better, or they have been enabled 
 to save money for the purpose, they are revived 
 with all their grotesque pomp and extravagance. 
 To recur to the exploit of Hernando del 
 Pulgar. However extravagant and fabulous 
 it may seem, it is authenticated by certain 
 traditional usages, and shows the vainglorious 
 
Xetter from (Branafca 245 
 
 daring that prevailed between the youthful 
 warriors of both nations, in that romantic war. 
 The mosque thus consecrated to the Virgin 
 was made the cathedral of the city after the 
 Conquest ; and there is a painting of the 
 Virgin beside the royal chapel, which was put 
 there by Hernando del Pulgar. The lineal 
 representative of the hare-brained cavalier has 
 the right, to this day, to enter the church on 
 certain occasions, on horseback, to sit within 
 the choir, and to put on his hat at the elevation 
 of the host, though these privileges have often 
 been obstinately contested by the clergy. 
 
 The present lineal representative of Her- 
 nando del Pulgar is the Marquis de Salar, 
 whom I have met occasionally in society. He 
 is a young man of agreeable appearance and 
 manners, and his bright black eyes would give 
 indication of his inheriting the fire of his 
 ancestor. When the paintings were put up in 
 the Vivarrambla, illustrating the scenes of the 
 Conquest, an old gray-headed family servant 
 of the Pulgars was so delighted with those 
 which related to the family hero, that he ab- 
 solutely shed tears, and hurrying home to the 
 Marquis, urged him to hasten and behold the 
 family trophies. The sudden zeal of the old 
 man provoked the mirth of his young master ; 
 upon which, turning to the brother of the 
 
246 lRe\new0 anfc 
 
 Marquis, with that freedom allowed to family 
 servants in Spain, " Come, Senor," cried he ; 
 "you are more grave and considerate than 
 your brother ; come and see your ancestor in 
 all his glory !" 
 
 Within two or three years after the above 
 letter was written, the Marquis de Salar was 
 married to the beautiful daughter of the Count 
 - , mentioned by the author in his anecdotes 
 of the Alhambra. The match was very agree- 
 able to all parties, and the nuptials were cele- 
 brated with great festivity. 
 
Ube Catsfeill /IDountalns. 
 
 THE Catskill, Katskill, or Cat River 
 Mountains derived their name, in the 
 time of the Dutch domination, from the 
 catamounts by which they were in- 
 fested ; and which, with the bear, the wolf, 
 and the deer, are still to be found in some of 
 their most difficult recesses. The interior of 
 these mountains is in the highest degree wild 
 and romantic. Here are rocky precipices man- 
 tled with primeval forests ; deep gorges walled 
 in by beetling cliffs, with torrents tumbling 
 as it were from the sky ; and savage glens 
 rarely trodden excepting by the hunter. With 
 all this internal rudeness, the aspect of these 
 mountains towards the Hudson at times is 
 eminently bland and beautiful, sloping down 
 into a country softened by cultivation, and 
 bearing much of the rich character of Italian 
 scenery about the skirts of the Apennines. 
 
 The Catskills form an advance post or lat- 
 eral spur of the great Alleghanian or Appa- 
 247 
 
248 "Reviews an& Miscellanies 
 
 lachian system of mountains which sweeps 
 through the interior of our continent, from 
 southwest to northeast, from Alabama to the 
 extremity of Maine, for nearly fourteen hun- 
 dred miles, beating the whole of our original 
 confederacy, and rivalling our great system of 
 lakes in extent and grandeur. Its vast ramifi- 
 cations comprise a number of parallel chains 
 and lateral groups ; such as the Cumberland 
 Mountains, the Blue Ridge, the Alleghanies, 
 the Delaware and L,ehigh, the Highlands 
 of the Hudson, the Green Mountains of Ver- 
 mont, and the White Mountains of New 
 Hampshire. In many of these vast ranges or 
 sierras, Nature still reigns in indomitable wild- 
 ness ; their rocky ridges, their rugged clefts 
 and defiles, teem with magnificent vegetation. 
 Here are locked up mighty forests that have 
 never been invaded by the axe ; deep um- 
 brageous valleys where the virgin soil has 
 never been outraged by the plough ; bright 
 streams flowing in untasked idleness, unbur- 
 dened by commerce, unchecked by the mill- 
 dam. This mountain zone is in fact the great 
 poetical region of our country ; resisting, like 
 the tribes which once inhabited it, the taming 
 hand of cultivation ; and maintaining a hal- 
 lowed ground for fancy and the Muses. It is 
 a magnificent and all-pervading feature, that 
 
Catefcfll flfcountatns 249 
 
 might have given our country a name, and a 
 poetical one, had not the all-controlling powers 
 of commonplace determined otherwise. 
 
 The Catskill Mountains, as I have observed, 
 maintain all the internal wildness of the laby- 
 rinth of mountains with which they are con- 
 nected. Their detached position, overlooking 
 a wide lowland region, with the majestic Hud- 
 son rolling through it, has given them a dis- 
 tinct character, and rendered them at all times 
 a rallying-point for romance and fable. Much 
 of the fanciful associations with which they 
 have been clothed may be owing to their be- 
 ing peculiarly subject to those beautiful atmos- 
 pherical effects which constitute one of the 
 great charms of Hudson River scenery. To 
 me they have ever been the fairy region of the 
 Hudson. I speak, however, from early im- 
 pressions, made in the happy days of boyhood, 
 when all the world had a tinge of fairy-lando 
 I shall never forget my first view of these 
 mountains. It was in the course of a voyage 
 up the Hudson, in the good old times before 
 steamboats and railroads had driven all poetry 
 and romance out of travel. A voyage up the 
 Hudson in those days was equal to a voyage 
 to Europe at present, and cost almost as much 
 time ; but we enjoyed the river then ; we rel- 
 ished it as we did our wine, sip by sip, not as* 
 
5o "Reviews an> /HMscellanfes 
 
 at present, gulping all down at a draught, 
 without tasting it. My whole voyage up the 
 Hudson was full of wonder and romance. I 
 was a lively boy, somewhat imaginative, of 
 easy faith, and prone to relish everything that 
 partook of the marvellous. Among the pas- 
 sengers on board of the sloop was a veteran 
 Indian trader, on his way to the lakes to traffic 
 with the natives. He had discovered my pro- 
 pensity, and amused himself throughout the 
 voyage by telling me Indian legends and 
 grotesque stories about every noted place on 
 the River, such as Spuyten Devil Creek, the 
 Tappan Sea, the Devil's Dans Kamrner, and 
 other hobgoblin places. The Catskill Moun- 
 tains especially called forth a host of fanciful 
 traditions. We were all day slowly tiding 
 along in sight of them, so that he had full 
 time to weave his whimsical narratives. In 
 these mountains, he told me, according to 
 Indian belief, was kept the great treasury of 
 storm and sunshine for the region of the Hud- 
 son. An old squaw spirit had charge of it, 
 who dwelt on the highest peak of the moun- 
 tain. Here she kept Day and Night shut up 
 in her wigwam, letting out only one of them 
 at a time. She made new moons every month, 
 and hung them up in the sky, cutting up the 
 old ones into stars. The great Manitou s or 
 
tlbe Catsfctll /toountaina 251 
 
 master-spirit, employed her to manufacture 
 clouds ; sometimes she wove them out of cob- 
 webs, gossamers, and morning dew, and sent 
 them off flake after flake, to float in the air 
 and give light summer showers. Sometimes 
 she would brew up black thunder-storms, and 
 send down drenching rains to swell the streams 
 and sweep everything away. He had many 
 stories, also, about mischievous spirits who in- 
 fested the mountains in the shape of animals, 
 and played all kinds of pranks upon Indian 
 hunters, decoying them into quagmires and 
 morasses, or to the brinks of torrents and 
 precipices. All these were doled out to me as 
 I lay on the deck throughout a long summer's 
 day, gazing upon these mountains, the ever- 
 changing shapes and hues of which appeared 
 to realize the magical influences in question. 
 Sometimes they seemed to approach ; at other 
 to recede ; during the heat of the day they 
 almost melted into a sultry haze ; as the day 
 declined they deepened in tone ; their summits 
 were brightened by the last rays of the sun, 
 and later in the evening their whole outline 
 was printed in deep purple against an amber 
 sky. As I beheld them thus shifting con- 
 tinually before my eye, and listened to the 
 marvellous legends of the trader, a host of 
 fanciful notions concerning them was con- 
 
252 "Reviews anD Miscellanies 
 
 jured into my brain, which have haunted it 
 ever since. 
 
 As to the Indian superstitions concerning 
 the treasury of storms and sunshine, and the 
 cloud-weaving spirits, they may have been 
 suggested by the atmospherical phenomena of 
 these mountains, the clouds which gather 
 round their summits, and the thousand aerial 
 effects which indicate the changes of weather 
 over a great extent of country. They are epit- 
 omes of our variable climate, and are stamped 
 with all its vicissitudes. And here let me say 
 a word in favor of those vicissitudes which are 
 too often made the subject of exclusive repin- 
 ing. If they annoy us occasionally by changes 
 from hot to cold, from wet to dry, they give us 
 one of the most beautiful climates in the world. 
 They give us the brilliant sunshine of the 
 south of Europe, with the fresh verdure of the 
 north. They float our summer sky with clouds 
 of gorgeous tints or fleecy whiteness, and send 
 down cooling showers to refresh the panting 
 earth and keep it green. Our seasons are all 
 poetical ; the phenomena of our heavens are 
 full of sublimity and beauty. Winter with us 
 has none of its proverbial gloom. It may have 
 its howling winds, and thrilling frosts, and 
 whirling snow-storms ; but it has also its long 
 intervals of cloudless sunshine, when the snow- 
 
Catsfctll jflfcountatns 253 
 
 clad earth gives redoubled brightness to the 
 day ; when at night the stars beam with in- 
 tensest lustre, or the moon floods the whole 
 landscape with her most limpid radiance ; 
 and then the joyous outbreak of our spring, 
 bursting at once into leaf and blossom, redun- 
 dant with vegetation and vociferous with life ! 
 And the splendors of our summer, its morn- 
 ing voluptuousness and evening glory ; its airy 
 palaces of sun-gilt clouds piled up in a deep 
 azure sky, and its gusts of tempest of almost 
 tropical grandeur, when the forked lightning 
 and the bellowing thunder volley from the bat- 
 tlements of heaven and shake the sultry atmos- 
 phere, and the sublime melancholy of our 
 autumn, magnificent in its decay, withering 
 down the pomp and pride of a woodland coun- 
 try, yet reflecting back from its yellow forests 
 the golden serenity of the sky ! Surely we may 
 say that in our climate, ' ' The heavens declare 
 the glory of God, and the firmament showeth 
 forth his handiwork : day unto day uttereth 
 speech ; and night unto night showeth knowl- 
 edge." 
 
 A word more concerning the Catskills. It 
 is not the Indians only to whom they have 
 been a kind of wonderland. In the early times 
 of the Dutch dynasty we find them themes of 
 golden speculation among even the sages of 
 
254 TReviews anfc /HMgcellanies 
 
 New Amsterdam. During the administration 
 of Wilhelmus Kieft there was a meeting be- 
 tween the Director of the New Netherlands and 
 the chiefs of the Mohawk nation to conclude a 
 treaty of peace. On this occasion the Director 
 was accompanied by Mynheer Adrian Van der 
 Donk, Doctor of L,aws, and subsequently histo- 
 rian of the colony. The Indian chiefs, as usual, 
 painted and decorated themselves on the cere- 
 mony. One of them in so doing made use of 
 a pigment, the weight and shining appearance 
 of which attracted the notice of Kieft and his 
 learned companion, who suspected it to be ore. 
 They procured a lump of it, and took it back 
 with them to New Amsterdam. Here it was 
 submitted to the inspection of Johannes de la 
 Montagne, an eminent Huguenot doctor of 
 medicine, one of the counsellors of the New 
 Netherlands. The supposed ore was forthwith 
 put in a crucible and assayed, and to the great 
 exultation of the junto yielded two pieces of 
 gold, worth about three guilders. This golden 
 discovery was kept a profound secret. As soon 
 as the treaty of peace was adjusted with the 
 Mohawks, William Kieft sent a trusty officer 
 and a party of men, under guidance of an In- 
 dian, who undertook to conduct them to the 
 place whence the ore had been found. We have 
 no account of this gold-hunting expedition, nor 
 
GatsfcfU /fountains 255 
 
 of its whereabouts, excepting that it was some- 
 where on the Catskill Mountains. The explor- 
 ing party brought back a bucketful of ore. 
 L,ike the former specimen, it was submitted to 
 the crucible of De la Montagne, and was equally 
 productive of gold. All this we have on the 
 authority of Doctor Van der Donk, who was 
 an eye-witness of the process and its result, and 
 records the whole in his Description of the 
 New Netherlands. 
 
 William Kieft now despatched a confidential 
 agent, one Arent Corsen, to convey a sackful 
 of the precious ore to Holland. Corsen em- 
 barked at New Haven in a British vessel bound 
 to England, whence he was to cross to Rotter- 
 dam. The ship set sail about Christmas, but 
 never reached her port. All on board perished. 
 
 In 1647, when the redoubtable Petrus Stuyve- 
 sant took command of the New Netherlands, 
 William Kieft embarked on his return to Hol- 
 land, provided with further specimens of the 
 Catskill Mountain ore, from which he doubt- 
 less indulged golden anticipations. A similar 
 fate attended him with that which had befallen 
 his agent. The ship in which he had embarked 
 was cast away, and he and his treasure were 
 swallowed in the waves. 
 
 Here closes the golden legend of the Catskills ; 
 but another one of similar import succeeds. In 
 
256 IReviewa and flBtecellanfes 
 
 1649, about two years after the shipwreck of 
 Wilhelmus Kieft, there was again a rumor of 
 precious metals in these mountains. Mynheer 
 Brant Arent Van Slechtenhorst, agent of the 
 Patroon of Rensselaerswyck, had purchased in 
 behalf of the Patroon a tract of the Catskill 
 lands, and leased it out in farms. A Dutch 
 lass in the household of one of the farmers found 
 one day a glittering substance, which, on being 
 examined, was pronounced silver ore. Brant 
 Van Slechtenhorst forthwith sent his son from 
 Rensselaerswyck to explore the mountains in 
 quest of the supposed mines. The young man 
 put up in the farmer's house, which had recently 
 been erected on the margin of a mountain 
 stream. Scarcely was he housed when a furi- 
 ous storm burst forth on the mountains. The 
 thunders rolled, the lightnings flashed, the 
 rain came down in cataracts ; the stream was 
 suddenly swollen to a furious torrent thirty feet 
 deep ; the farmhouse and all its contents were 
 swept away, and it was only by dint of excel- 
 lent swimming that young Slechtenhorst saved 
 his own life and the lives of his horses. Shortly 
 after this a feud broke out between Peter Stuy- 
 vesant and the Patroon of Rensselaerswyck on 
 account of the right and title to the Catskill 
 Mountains, in the course of which the elder 
 Slechtenhorst was taken captive by the Poten- 
 
Catshill fountains 257 
 
 tate of the New Netherlands and thrown in 
 prison at New Amsterdam. 
 
 We have met with no record of any further 
 attempt to get at the treasures of the Catskills. 
 Adventurers may have been discouraged by the 
 ill-luck which appeared to attend all who med- 
 dled with them, as if they were under the guar- 
 dian keep of the same spirits or goblins who 
 once haunted the mountains and ruled over the 
 weather. That gold and silver ore was actu- 
 ally procured from these mountains in days of 
 yore, we have historical evidence to prove, and 
 the recorded word of Adrian Van der Donk, a 
 man of weight, who was an eye-witness. If 
 gold and silver were once to be found there, 
 they must be there at present. It remains to 
 be seen, in these gold-hunting days, whether 
 the quest will be renewed, and some daring 
 adventurer, fired with a true Californian spirit, 
 will penetrate the mysteries of these mountains, 
 and open a golden region on the borders of the 
 
 Hudson. 
 17 
 
Stories anb 
 
 HERETOFORE INCLUDED IN THE VOLUME ENTITLED 
 " WOLFERT'S ROOST." 
 
 259 
 
STORIES AND LEGENDS. 
 
 Earls Experiences of Ktalpb 
 IRingwoofc. 
 
 Noted down from his Conversations : by Geoffrey 
 Crayon, Gent.* 
 
 " AM a Kentuckian by residence and choice, 
 
 but a Virginian by birth. The cause of my 
 
 1 first leaving the ' Ancient Dominion , ' and 
 
 emigrating to Kentucky, was a jackass ! 
 
 You stare, but have a little patience, and I '11 
 
 soon show you how it came to pass. My father, 
 
 who was of one of the old Virginian families, 
 
 * Ralph Ringwood, though a fictitious name, is a 
 real personage, the late Governor Duval of Florida. 
 I have given some anecdotes of his early and eccentric 
 career, in, as nearly as I can recollect, the very words 
 in which he related them. They certainly afford strong 
 temptations to the embellishments of fiction ; but I 
 thought them so strikingly characteristic of the individ- 
 ual and of the scenes and society into which his pecu- 
 liar humors carried him, that I preferred giving them 
 in their original simplicity. 
 261 
 
262 Stories anD 3Legen&s 
 
 resided in Richmond. He was a widower, and 
 his domestic affairs were managed by a house- 
 keeper of the old school, such as used to admin- 
 ister the concerns of opulent Virginian house- 
 holds. She was a dignitary that almost rivalled 
 my father in importance, and seemed to think 
 everything belonged to her ; in fact, she was so 
 considerate in her economy, and so careful of ex- 
 pense, as sometimes to vex my father, who would 
 swear she was disgracing him by her meanness. 
 She always appeared with that ancient insig- 
 nia of housekeeping trust and authority, a 
 great bunch of keys jingling at her girdle. She 
 superintended the arrangements of the table 
 at every meal, and saw that the dishes were all 
 placed according to her primitive notions of 
 symmetry. In the evening she took her stand 
 and served out tea with a mingled respectful- 
 ness and pride of station truly exemplary. Her 
 great ambition was to have everything in order, 
 and that the establishment under her sway 
 should be cited as a model of good housekeep- 
 ing. If anything went wrong, poor old Bar- 
 bara would take it to heart, and sit in her room 
 and cry, until a few chapters in the Bible would 
 quiet her spirits, and make all calm again. 
 The Bible, in fact, was her constant resort in 
 time of trouble. She opened it indiscrimi- 
 nately, and whether she chanced among the 
 
Ralpb "RfnQWOoD 263 
 
 Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Canticles of 
 Solomon, or the rough enumeration of the 
 tribes in Deuteronomy, a chapter was a chap- 
 ter, and operated like balm to her soul. Such 
 was our good old housekeeper Barbara ; who 
 was destined, unwittingly, to have a most im- 
 portant effect upon my destiny. 
 
 " It came to pass, during the days of my 
 juvenility, while I was yet what is termed ' an 
 unlucky boy,' that a gentleman of our neigh- 
 borhood, a great advocate for experiments and 
 improvements of all kinds, took it into his head 
 that it would be an immense public advantage 
 to introduce a breed of mules, and accordingly 
 imported three jacks to stock the neighborhood. 
 This in a part of the country where the people 
 cared for nothing but blood horses ! Why, 
 sir, they would have considered their mares 
 disgraced, and their whole stud dishonored, 
 by such a misalliance. The whole matter 
 was a town- talk, and a town scandal. The 
 worthy amalgamator of quadrupeds found 
 himself in a dismal scrape ; so he backed out 
 in time, abjured the whole doctrine of amal- 
 gamation, and turned his jacks loose to shift 
 for themselves upon the town common. There 
 they used to run about and lead an idle, good- 
 for-nothing, holiday life, the happiest animals 
 in the country. 
 
264 Stories anD XegenDs 
 
 " It so happened that my way to school lay 
 across the common. The first time that I saw 
 one of these animals, it set up a braying and 
 frightened me confoundedly. However, I soon 
 got over my fright, and seeing that it had 
 something of a horse look, my Virginian love 
 for anything of the equestrian species predom- 
 inated, and I determined to back it. I accord- 
 ingly applied at a grocer's shop, procured a 
 cord that had been round a loaf of sugar, and 
 made a kind of halter; then, summoning some 
 of my school- fellows, we drove master Jack 
 about the common until we hemmed him in in 
 an angle of a ' worm-fence. ' After some diffi- 
 culty we fixed the halter round his muzzle, and 
 I mounted. Up flew his heels, away I went 
 over his head, and off he scampered. However, 
 I was on my legs in a twinkling, gave chase, 
 caught him, and remounted. By dint of re- 
 peated tumbles I soon learned to stick to his 
 back, so that he could no more cast me than 
 he could his own skin. From that time, mas- 
 ter Jack and his companions had a scam- 
 pering life of it, for we all rode them between 
 school-hours, and on holiday afternoons ; and 
 you may be sure school-boys' nags are never 
 permitted to suffer the grass to grow under 
 their feet. They soon became so knowing, 
 that they took to their heels at sight of a school- 
 
265 
 
 boy ; and we were generally much longer in 
 chasing than we were in riding them. 
 
 "Sunday approached, on which I projected 
 an equestrian excursion on one of these long- 
 eared steeds. As I knew the jacks would be 
 in great demand on Sunday morning, I secured 
 one over night, and conducted him home, to 
 be read}' for an early outset. But where was I 
 to quarter him for the night ? I could not put 
 him in the stable ; our old black groom George 
 was as absolute in that domain as Barbara was 
 within doors, and would have thought his 
 stable, his horses, and himself disgraced by 
 the introduction of a j ackass. I recollected the 
 smoke-house, an outbuilding appended to all 
 Virginian establishments, for the smoking of 
 hams and other kinds of meat. So I got the 
 key, put master Jack in, locked the door, re- 
 turned the key to its place, and went to bed, 
 intending to release my prisoner at an early 
 hour, before any of the family were awake. 
 I was so tired, however, by the exertions I 
 had made in catching the donkey, that I fell 
 into a sound sleep, and the morning broke 
 without my waking. 
 
 " Not so with dame Barbara, the housekeeper. 
 As usual, to use her own phrase, * she was up 
 before the crow put his shoes on,' and bustled 
 about to get things in order for breakfast. 
 
266 Storiea an& Xe^enfce 
 
 Her first resort was to the smoke-house. Scarce 
 had she opened the door, when master Jack, 
 tired of his confinement, and glad to be released 
 from darkness, gave a loud bray, and rushed 
 forth. Down dropped old Barbara ; the ani- 
 mal trampled over her, and made off for the 
 common. Poor Barbara ! She had never be- 
 fore seen a donkey ; and having read in the 
 Bible that the Devil went about like a roaring 
 lion, seeking whom he might devour, she took 
 it for granted that this was Beelzebub himself. 
 The kitchen was soon in a hubbub ; the servants 
 hurried to the spot. There lay old Barbara in 
 fits ; as fast as she got out of one, the thoughts 
 of the Devil came over her, and she fell into 
 another, for the good soul was devoutly super- 
 stitious. 
 
 ' ' As ill luck would have it, among those 
 attracted by the noise, was a little, cursed, fid- 
 gety, crabbed uncle of mine ; one of those 
 uneasy spirits that cannot rest quietly in their 
 beds in the morning, but must be up early, to 
 bother the household. He was only a kind 
 of half-uncle, after all, for he had married my 
 father's sister ; yet he assumed great authority 
 on the strength of this left-handed relationship, 
 and was a universal intermeddler and family 
 pest. This prying little busybody soon ferreted 
 out the truth of the story, and discovered, by 
 
Ralpb Rinawoofc 267 
 
 hook and by crook, that I was at the bottom 
 of the affair, and had locked up the donkey in 
 the smoke-house. He stopped to inquire no 
 farther, for he was one of those testy curmud- 
 geons with whom unlucky boys are always in 
 the wrong. leaving old Barbara to wrestle in 
 imagination with the Devil, he made for my 
 bedchamber, where I still lay wrapped in rosy 
 slumbers, little dreaming of the mischief I 
 had done, and the storm about to break over 
 me. 
 
 * * In an instant I was awakened by a shower 
 of thwacks, and started up in wild amazement. 
 I demanded the meaning of this attack, but 
 received no other reply than that I had mur- 
 dered the housekeeper ; while my uncle con- 
 tinued whacking away during my confusion. 
 I seized a poker, and put myself on the de- 
 fensive. I was a stout boy for my years, while 
 my uncle was a little wiffet of a man ; one that 
 in Kentucky we would not call even an ' indi- 
 vidual ' ; nothing more than a * remote cir- 
 cumstance/ I soon, therefore, brought him to 
 a parley, and learned the whole extent of the 
 charge brought against me. I confessed to 
 the donkey and the smoke-house, but pleaded 
 not guilty of the murder of the housekeeper. 
 I soon found out that old Barbara was still 
 alive. She continued under the doctor's 
 
268 Stories anD 
 
 hands, however, for several days ; and when- 
 ever she had an ill turn, my uncle would seek 
 to give me another flogging. I appealed to 
 my father, but got no redress. I was consid- 
 ered an * unlucky boy,' prone to all kinds of 
 mischief; so that prepossessions were against 
 me, in all cases of appeal. 
 
 " I felt stung to the soul at all this. I had 
 been beaten, degraded, and treated with slight- 
 ing when I complained. I lost my usual good 
 spirits and good-humor; and, being out of 
 temper with everybody, fancied everybody out 
 of temper with me. A certain wild, roving 
 spirit of freedom, which I believe is as inherent 
 in me as it is in the partridge, was brought into 
 sudden activity by the checks and restraints 
 I suffered. * I '11 go from home,' thought I, 
 ' and shift for myself.' Perhaps this notion 
 was quickened by the rage for emigrating to 
 Kentucky which was at that time prevalent 
 in Virginia. I had heard such stories of the 
 romantic beauties of the country, of the abun- 
 dance of game of all kinds, and of the glorious 
 independent life of the hunters who ranged its 
 noble forests, and lived by the rifle, that I was 
 as much agog to get there as boys who live in 
 seaports are to launch themselves among the 
 wonders and adventures of the ocean. 
 
 "After a time, old Barbara got better in 
 
TRalpb IRingwooD 269 
 
 mind and body, and matters were explained to 
 her ; and she became gradually convinced that 
 it was not the Devil she had encountered. 
 When she heard how harshly I had been 
 treated on her account, the good old soul was 
 extremely grieved, and spoke warmly to my 
 father in my behalf. He had himself remarked 
 the change in my behavior, and thought pun- 
 ishment might have been carried too far. He 
 sought, therefore, to have some conversation 
 with me ; and to soothe my feelings ; but it 
 was too late. I frankly told him the course of 
 mortification that I had experienced, and the 
 fixed determination I had made to go from 
 home. 
 
 ' ' ' And where do you mean to go ? ' 
 
 '"To Kentucky.' 
 
 "'To Kentucky ! Why, you know nobody 
 there.' 
 
 ' ' * No matter ; I can soon make acquaint- 
 ances.' 
 
 " 'And what will you do when you get 
 there ? ' 
 
 "'Hunt!' 
 
 "My father gave a long, low whistle, and 
 looked in my face with a serio-comic expres- 
 sion. I was not far in my teens, and to talk of 
 setting off alone for Kentucky, to turn hunter, 
 seemed doubtless the idle prattle of a boy. 
 
270 Stories 
 
 He was little aware of the dogged resolution of 
 my character ; and his smile of incredulity but 
 fixed me more obstinately in my purpose. I 
 assured him I was serious in what I said, and 
 would certainly set off for Kentucky in the 
 spring. 
 
 " Month after month passed away. My 
 father now and then adverted slightly to what 
 had passed between us ; doubtless for the pur- 
 pose of sounding me. I always expressed the 
 same grave and fixed determination. By de- 
 grees he spoke to me more directly on the 
 subject, endeavoring earnestly but kindly to 
 dissuade me. My only reply was, ' I had 
 made up my mind.' 
 
 " Accordingly, as soon as the spring had 
 fairly opened, I sought him one day in his 
 study, and informed him I was about to set 
 out for Kentucky, and had come to take my 
 leave. He made no objection, for he had ex- 
 hausted persuasion and remonstrance, and 
 doubtless thought it best to give way to my 
 humor, trusting that a little rough experience 
 would soon bring me home again. I asked 
 money for my journey. He went to a chest, 
 took out a long green silk purse, well filled, and 
 laid it on the table. I now asked for a horse 
 and servant. 
 
 "'A horse!' said my father, sneeringly, 
 
"Kalpb "RingwooD 271 
 
 ' why, you would not go a mile without racing 
 him, and breaking your neck ; and as to a 
 servant, you cannot take care of yourself, 
 much less of him.' 
 
 " ' How am I to travel, then ? ' 
 
 " * Why, I suppose you are man enough to 
 travel on foot.' 
 
 "'He spoke jestingly, little thinking I 
 would take him at his word ; but I was 
 thoroughly piqued in respect to my enterprise ; 
 so I pocketed the purse, went to my room, 
 tied up three or four shirts in a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, put a dirk in my bosom, girt a couple 
 of pistols round my waist, and felt like a 
 knight-errant armed cap-a-pie, and ready to 
 rove the world in quest of adventures. 
 
 "My sister (I had but one) hung round 
 me and wept, and entreated me to stay. I 
 felt my heart swell in my throat ; but I gulped 
 it back to its place, and straightened myself 
 up : I would not suffer myself to cry. I at 
 length disengaged myself from her, and got to 
 the door. 
 
 "'When will you come back?' cried she. 
 
 "'Never, by heavens!' cried I, 'until I 
 come back a member of Congress from Ken- 
 tucky. I am determined to show that I am 
 not the tail-end of the family. ' 
 
 4 ' Such was my first outset from home. You 
 
272 Storiee anD 
 
 may suppose what a greenhorn I was, and how 
 Httle I knew of the world I was launching 
 into. 
 
 " I do not recollect any incident of impor- 
 tance, until I reached the borders of Pennsyl- 
 vania. I had stopped at an inn to get some 
 refreshment ; as I was eating in a back room, 
 I overheard two men in the bar-room con- 
 jecture who and what I could be. One de- 
 termined, at length, that I was a runaway 
 apprentice, and ought to be stopped, to which 
 the other assented. When I had finished my 
 meal, and paid for it, I went out at the back 
 door, lest I should be stopped by my super- 
 visors. Scorning, however, to steal off like 
 a culprit, I walked round to the front of the 
 house. One of the men advanced to the front 
 door. He wore his hat on one side, and had 
 a consequential air that nettled me. 
 
 ' * ' Where are you going, youngster ? ' de- 
 manded he. 
 
 " 'That's none of your business ! ' replied 
 I, rather pertly. 
 
 "'Yes, but it is though! You have run 
 away from home, and must give an account 
 of yourself.' 
 
 "He advanced to seize me, when I drew 
 forth a pistol. ' If you advance another step, 
 I '11 shoot you ! ' 
 
IRalpb TRfngwoofc 273 
 
 " He sprang back as if he had trodden upon 
 a rattle-snake, and his hat fell off in the move- 
 ment. 
 
 ' ' ' I*et him alone ! ' cried his companion ; 
 'he's a foolish mad-headed boy, and don't 
 know what he 's about. He '11 shoot you, 
 you may rely on it.' 
 
 " He did not need any caution in the mat- 
 ter ; he was afraid even to pick up his hat ; 
 so I pushed forward on my way without moles- 
 tation. This incident, however, had its effect 
 upon me. I became fearful of sleeping in any 
 house at night, lest I should be stopped. I 
 took my meals in the houses, in the course 
 of the day, but would turn aside at night into 
 some wood or ravine, make a fire and sleep 
 before it. This I considered was true hunter's 
 style, and I wished to inure myself to it. 
 
 "At length I arrived at Brownsville, leg- 
 weary and wayworn, and in a shabby plight, 
 as you may suppose, having been ' camping 
 out ' for some nights past. I applied at some 
 of the inferior inns, but could gain no admis- 
 sion. I was regarded for a moment with a 
 dubious eye, and then informed they did not 
 receive foot-passengers. At last I went boldly 
 to the principal inn. The landlord appeared 
 as unwilling as the rest to receive a vagrant 
 boy beneath his roof ; but his wife interfered 
 
274 Stories an& Xegenfcs 
 
 in the midst of his excuses, and, half elbow- 
 ing him aside, 
 
 "'Where are you going, my lad?' said 
 she. 
 
 " ' To Kentucky.' 
 
 " ' What are you going there for ? 9 
 
 '"To hunt,' 
 
 " She looked earnestly at me for a moment 
 or two. 'Have you a mother living?* said 
 she at length. 
 
 " ' No, madam ; she has been dead for some 
 time.' 
 
 " ' I thought so ! ' cried she, warmly. ' I 
 knew if you had a mother living, you would 
 not be here.' From that moment the good 
 woman treated me with a mother's kindness. 
 
 ' { I remained several days beneath her roof, 
 recovering from the fatigue of my journey. 
 While here, I purchased a rifle, and practised 
 daily at a mark, to prepare myself for a hunt- 
 er's life. When sufficiently recruited in 
 strength I took leave of my kind host and 
 hostess, and resumed my journey. 
 
 " At Wheeling I embarked in a flat-bottomed 
 family boat, technically called a broad-horn, 
 a prime river conveyance in those days. In 
 this ark for two weeks I floated down the 
 Ohio. The river was as yet in all its wild 
 beauty. Its loftiest trees had not been thin- 
 
Ralpb IRtngwoofc 275 
 
 ned out. The forest overhung the water's 
 edge, and was occasionally skirted by im- 
 mense canebrakes. Wild animals of all kinds 
 abounded. We heard them rushing through 
 the thickets and plashing in the water. Deer 
 and bears would frequently swim across the 
 river ; others would come down to the bank, 
 and gaze at the boat as it passed. I was inces- 
 santly on the alert with my rifle ; but, some- 
 how or other, the game was never within shot. 
 Sometimes I got a chance to land and try my 
 skill on shore. I shot squirrels, and small 
 birds, and even wild turkeys ; but though I 
 caught glimpses of deer bounding away 
 through the woods, I never could get a fair 
 shot at them. 
 
 * ' In this way we glided in our broad-horn 
 past Cincinnati, the 'Queen of the West,' as 
 she is now called, then a mere group of log- 
 cabins ; and the site of the bustling city of 
 Louisville, then designated by a solitary 
 house. As I said before, the Ohio was as yet 
 a wild river ; all was forest, forest, forest ! 
 Near the confluence of Green River with the 
 Ohio I landed, bade adieu to the broad-horn, 
 and struck for the interior of Kentucky. I 
 had no precise plan ; my only idea was to 
 make for one of the wildest parts of the 
 country. I had relatives in Lexington and 
 
276 Stories anD 
 
 other settled places, to whom I thought it 
 probable my father would write concerning 
 me ; so, as I was full of manhood and inde- 
 pendence, and resolutely bent on making my 
 way in the world without assistance or con- 
 trol, I resolved to keep clear of them all. 
 
 " In the course of my first day's trudge I 
 shot a wild turkey, and slung it on my back 
 for provisions. The forest was open and clear 
 from underwood. I saw deer in abundance, 
 but always running, running. It seemed to 
 me as if these animals never stood still. 
 
 " At length I came to where a gang of half- 
 starved wolves were feasting on the carcass of 
 a deer which they had run down, and snarl- 
 ing and snapping, and fighting like so many 
 dogs. They were all so ravenous and intent 
 upon their prey that they did not notice me, 
 and I had time to make my observations. 
 One, larger and fiercer than the rest, seemed 
 to claim the larger share, and to keep the 
 others in awe. If any one came too near him 
 while eating, he would fly off, seize and shake 
 him, and then return to his repast. 'This,' 
 thought I, ' must be the captain ; if I can 
 kill him, I shall defeat the whole army.' I 
 accordingly took aim, fired, and down dropped 
 the old fellow. He might be only shamming 
 dead ; so I loaded and put a second ball 
 
Ralpb IRinawooD 277 
 
 through him. He never budged ; all the rest 
 ran off, and my victory was complete. 
 
 " It would not be easy to describe my tri- 
 umphant feelings on this great achievement. 
 I marched on with renovated spirit, regarding 
 myself as absolute lord of the forest. As night 
 drew near, I prepared for camping. My first 
 care was to collect dry wood, and make a 
 roaring fire to cook and sleep by, and to frighten 
 off wolves, and bears, and panthers. I then 
 began to pluck my turkey for supper. I had 
 camped out several times in the early part of 
 my expedition ; but that was in comparatively 
 more settled and civilized regions, where there 
 were no wild animals of consequence in the 
 forest. This was my first camping out in the 
 real wilderness, and I was soon made sensible 
 of the loneliness and wildness of my situation. 
 
 * c In a little while a concert of wolves com- 
 menced ; there might have been a dozen or 
 two, but it seemed to me as if there were 
 thousands. I never heard such howling and 
 whining. Having prepared my turkey, I di- 
 vided it into two parts, thrust two sticks into 
 one of the halves, and planted them on end 
 before the fire, the hunter's mode of roasting. 
 The smell of roast meat quickened the appe- 
 tites of the wolves, and their concert became 
 truly infernal. They seemed to be all around 
 
278 Stories an& XegenDs 
 
 me, but I could only now and then get a 
 glimpse of one of them, as he came within the 
 glare of the light. 
 
 " I did not much care for the wolves, who 
 I knew to be a cowardly race, but I had heard 
 terrible stories of panthers, and began to fear 
 their stealthy prowlings in the surrounding 
 darkness. I was thirsty, and heard a brook 
 bubbling and tinkling along at no great dis- 
 tance, but absolutely dared not go there, lest 
 some panther might lie in wait and spring 
 upon me. By-and-by a deer whistled. I had 
 never heard one before, and thought it must 
 be a panther. I now felt uneasy lest he might 
 climb the trees, crawl along the branches over- 
 head, and plump down upon me; so I kept 
 my eyes fixed on the branches, until my head 
 ached. I more than once thought I saw fiery 
 eyes glaring down from among the leaves. At 
 length I thought of my supper, and turned to 
 see if my half turkey was cooked. In crowd- 
 ing so near the fire, I had pressed the meat 
 into the flames, and it was consumed. I had 
 nothing to do but roast the other half, and take 
 better care of it. On that half I made my 
 supper, without salt or bread. I was still so 
 possessed with the dread of panthers, that I 
 could not close my eyes all night, but lay 
 watching the trees until daybreak, when all 
 
IRalpb IRinawoofc 279 
 
 my fears were dispelled with the darkness ; 
 and as I saw the morning sun sparkling down 
 through the branches of the trees, I smiled 
 to think how I suffered myself to be dismayed 
 by sounds and shadows ; but I was a young 
 woodsman, and a stranger in Kentucky. 
 
 "Having breakfasted on the remainder of 
 my turkey and slaked my thirst at the bub- 
 bling stream, without farther dread of panthers, 
 I resumed rny wayfaring with buoyant feelings. 
 I again saw deer, but, as usual, running, run- 
 ning ! I tried in vain to get a shot at them, 
 and began to fear I never should. I was gaz- 
 ing with vexation after a herd in full scamper, 
 when I was startled by a human voice. Turn- 
 ing round I saw a man at a short distance from 
 me in a hunting-dress. 
 
 " ' What are you after, my lad ? ' cried he. 
 
 " ' Those deer,' replied I, pettishly ; ' but it 
 seems as if they never stand still. ' 
 
 * ' Upon that he burst out laughing. ' Where 
 are you from ? ' said he. 
 
 "'From Richmond.' 
 
 ' ' ' What ! In old Virginny ? ' 
 
 "' The same.' 
 
 " ' And how on earth did you get here ? ' 
 
 " ' I landed at Green River from a broad- 
 horn.' 
 
 5 * And where are your companions? ' 
 
28o Stories 
 
 ( I have none.' 
 
 " 'What! all alone?' 
 
 " 'Yes.' 
 
 " ' Where are you going ? ' 
 
 "'Anywhere.' 
 
 " ' And what have you come here for ? ' 
 
 " 'To hunt.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said he, laughingly, ' you '11 make 
 a real hunter ; there 's no mistaking that ! 
 Have you killed anything ? ' 
 
 " ' Nothing but a turkey ; I can't get within 
 shot of a deer ; they are always running.' 
 
 '"Oh, I'll tell you the secret of that. 
 You 're always pushing forward, and starting 
 the deer at a distance, and gazing at those that 
 are scampering ; but you must step as slow 
 and silent and cautious as a cat, and keep your 
 eyes close around you, and lurk from tree to 
 tree, if you wish to get a chance at deer. But 
 come, go home with me. My name is Bill 
 Smithers ; I live not far off ; stay with me a 
 little while, and I '11 teach 3^ou how to hunt.' 
 
 " I gladly accepted the invitation of honest 
 Bill Smithers. We soon reached his habita- 
 tion, a mere log-hut, with a square hole for a 
 window, and a chimney made of sticks and 
 clay. Here he lived, with a wife and child. 
 He had ' girdled ' the trees for an acre or two 
 around, preparatory to clearing a space for 
 
Ralpb IRtngwooD 281 
 
 corn and potatoes. In the meantime he main- 
 tained his family entirely by his rifle, and I 
 soon found him to be a first-rate huntsman. 
 Under his tutelage I received my first effective 
 lessons in ' woodcraft. ' 
 
 "The more I knew of a hunter's life, the 
 more I relished it. The country, too, which 
 had been the promised land of my boyhood, did 
 not, like most promised lands, disappoint me. 
 No wilderness could be more beautiful than 
 this part of Kentucky in those times. The 
 forests were open and spacious, with noble 
 trees, some of which looked as if they had stood 
 for centuries. There were beautiful prairies, 
 too, diversified with groves and clumps of 
 trees, which looked like vast parks, and in 
 which you could see the deer running, at a 
 great distance. In the proper season, these 
 prairies would be covered in many places with 
 wild strawberries, where your horse's hoofs 
 would be dyed to the fetlock. I thought there 
 could not be another place in the world equal 
 to Kentucky ; and I think so still. 
 
 ' ' After I had passed ten or twelve days with 
 Bill Smithers, I thought it time to shift my 
 quarters, for his house was scarce large enough 
 for his own family, and I had no idea of being 
 an encumbrance to any one. I accordingly 
 made up my bundle, shouldered my rifle, took 
 
282 Stories and XegenDs 
 
 a friendly leave of Smithers and his wife, and 
 set out in quest of a Nimrod of the wilderness, 
 one John Miller, who lived alone, nearly forty 
 miles off, and who I hoped would be well 
 pleased to have a hunting companion. 
 
 ' ' I soon found out that one of the most im- 
 portant items in woodcraft, in a new country, 
 was the skill to find one's way in the wilder- 
 ness. There were no regular roads in the 
 forests, but they were cut up and perplexed 
 by paths leading in all directions. Some of 
 these were made by the cattle of the settlers, 
 and were called ' stock-tracks,' but others 
 had been made by the immense droves of 
 buffaloes which roamed about the country 
 from the flood until recent times. These 
 were called buffalo-tracks, and traversed Ken- 
 tucky from end to end, like highways. 
 Traces of them may still be seen in uncul- 
 tivated parts, or deeply worn in the rocks 
 where they crossed the mountains. I was a 
 young woodsman, and sorely puzzled to dis- 
 tinguish one kind of track from the other, or 
 to make out my course through this tangled 
 labyrinth. While thus perplexed, I heard a 
 distant roaring and rushing sound ; a gloom 
 stole over the forest. On looking up, when I 
 could catch a stray glimpse of the sky, I be- 
 held the clouds rolled up like balls, the lower 
 
Ralpb 1Rin0woo& 283 
 
 part as black as ink. There was now and 
 then an explosion, like a burst of cannonry 
 afar off, and the crash of a falling tree. I had 
 heard of hurricanes in the woods, and surmised 
 that one was at hand. It soon came crashing 
 its way, the forest writhing, and twisting, and 
 groaning before it. The hurricane did not 
 extend far on either side, but in a manner 
 ploughed a furrow through the woodland, 
 snapping off or uprooting trees that had stood 
 for centuries, and filling the air with whirling 
 branches. I was directly in its course, and 
 took my stand behind an immense poplar, six 
 feet in diameter. It bore for a time the full 
 fury of the blast, but at length began to yield. 
 Seeing it falling, I scrambled nimbly round 
 the trunk like a squirrel. Down it went, bear- 
 ing down another tree with it. I crept under 
 the trunk as a shelter, and was protected from 
 other trees which fell around me, but was sore 
 all over, from the twigs and branches driven 
 against me by the blast. 
 
 ' ' This was the only incident of consequence 
 that occurred on my way to John Miller's, 
 where I arrived on the following day, and was 
 received by the veteran with the rough kind- 
 ness of a backwoodsman. He was a gray- 
 haired man, hardy and weather-beaten, with a 
 blue wart, like a great bead, over one eye, 
 
284 Stories anD Xegen&s 
 
 whence he was nick-named by the hunters, 
 'Blue-bead Miller.' He had been in these 
 parts from the earliest settlements, and had 
 signalized himself in the hard conflicts with 
 the Indians, which gained Kentucky the ap- 
 pellation of ' the Bloody Ground. ' In one of 
 these fights he had had an arm broken ; in 
 another he had narrowly escaped, when hotly 
 pursued, by jumping from a precipice thirty 
 feet high into a river. 
 
 * ' Miller willingly received me into his house 
 as an inmate, and seemed pleased with the 
 idea of making a hunter of me. His dwelling 
 was a small log-house, with a loft or garret of 
 boards, so that there was ample room for both 
 of us. Under his instruction, I soon made a 
 tolerable proficiency in hunting. My first ex- 
 ploit of any consequence was killing a bear. I 
 was hunting in company with two brothers, 
 when we came upon the track of Bruin, in a 
 wood where there was an undergrowth of 
 canes and grape-vines. He was scrambling 
 up a tree, when I shot him through the breast ; 
 he fell to the ground, and lay motionless. 
 The brothers sent in their dog, who seized the 
 bear by the throat. Bruin raised one arm, and 
 gave the dog a hug that crushed his ribs. 
 One yell, and all was over. I don't know 
 which was first dead, the dog or the bear. 
 
IRalpb IRinswoofc 285 
 
 The two brothers sat down and cried like 
 children over their unfortunate dog. Yet they 
 were mere rough huntsmen, almost as wild 
 and untamable as Indians ; but they were fine 
 fellows. 
 
 " By degrees I became known, and some- 
 what of a favorite among the hunters of the 
 neighborhood ; that is to say, men who lived 
 within a circle of thirty or forty miles, and 
 came occasionally to see John Miller, who was 
 a patriarch among them. They lived widely 
 apart, in log-huts and wigwams, almost with 
 the simplicity of Indians, and wellnigh as 
 destitute of the comforts and inventions of 
 civilized life. They seldom saw each other ; 
 weeks, and even months would elapse, without 
 their visiting. When they did meet, it was 
 very much after the manner of Indians ; loiter- 
 ing about all day, without having much to 
 say, but becoming communicative as evening 
 advanced, and sitting up half the night before 
 the fire, telling hunting-stories, and terrible 
 tales of the fights of the Bloody Ground. 
 
 ' ' Sometimes several would join in a distant 
 hunting expedition, or rather campaign. Ex- 
 peditions of this kind lasted from November 
 until April, during which we laid up our stock 
 of summer provisions. We shifted our hunt- 
 ing-camps from place to place, according as we 
 
286 Stories an& 
 
 found the game. They were generally pitched 
 near a run of water, and close by a canebrake, 
 to screen us from the wind. One side of our 
 lodge was open towards the fire. Our horses 
 were hoppled and turned loose in the cane- 
 brakes, with bells round their necks. One of 
 the party stayed at home to watch the camp, 
 prepare the meals, and keep off the wolves ; 
 the others hunted. When a hunter killed a 
 deer at a distance from the camp, he would 
 open it and take out the entrails ; then, climb- 
 ing a sapling, he would bend it down, tie the 
 deer to the top, and let it spring up again, so 
 as to suspend the carcass out of reach of the 
 wolves. At night he would return to the 
 camp, and give an account of his luck. The 
 next morning early he would get a horse out 
 of the canebrake and bring home his game. 
 That day he would stay at home to cut up the 
 carcass, while the others hunted. 
 
 " Our days were thus spent in silent and 
 lonely occupations. It was only at night that 
 we would gather together before the fire, and 
 be sociable. I was a novice, and used to listen 
 with open eyes and ears to the strange and 
 wild stories told by the old hunters, and be- 
 lieved everything I heard. Some of their 
 stories bordered upon the supernatural. They 
 believed that their rifles might be spellbound, 
 
IRalpb IRingwooD 287 
 
 so as not to be able to kill a buffalo, even 
 at arm's length. This superstition they had 
 derived from the Indians, who often think the 
 white hunters have laid a spell upon their 
 rifles. Miller partook of this superstition, and 
 used to tell of his rifle's having a spell upon 
 it ; but it often seemed to me to be a shuffling 
 way of accounting for a bad shot. If a hunter 
 grossly missed his aim, he would ask, * Who 
 shot last with his rifle ? ' and hint that he 
 must have charmed it. The sure mode to dis- 
 enchant the gun was to shoot a silver bullet 
 dut of it. 
 
 " By the opening of spring we would gen- 
 erally have quantities of bear's meat and veni- 
 son salted, dried, and smoked, and numerous 
 packs of skins. We would then make the 
 best of our way home from our distant hunt- 
 ing-grounds, transporting our spoils, sometimes 
 in canoes along the rivers, sometimes on horse- 
 back over land, and our return would often be 
 celebrated by feasting and dancing, in true 
 backwoods style. I have given you some idea 
 of our hunting ; let me now give you a sketch 
 of our frolicking. 
 
 " It was on our return from a winter's hunt- 
 ing in the neighborhood of Green River, when 
 we received notice that there was to be a grand 
 frolic at Bob Mosely's to greet the hunters. 
 
288 Stories anD 
 
 This Bob Mosely was a prime fellow through- 
 out the country. He was an indifferent hunter, 
 it is true, and rather lazy, to boot ; but then 
 he could play the fiddle, and that was enough 
 to make him of consequence. There was no 
 other man within a hundred miles that could 
 play the fiddle, so there was no having a regu- 
 lar frolic without Bob Mosely. The hunters, 
 therefore, were always ready to give him a 
 share of their game in exchange for his music, 
 and Bob was always ready to get up a carousal 
 whenever there was a party returning from a 
 hunting expedition. The present frolic was to 
 take place at Bob Mosely's own house, which 
 was on the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the Muddy, 
 which is a branch of Rough Creek, which is a 
 branch of Green River. 
 
 " Everybody was agog for the revel at Bob 
 Mosely's; and as all the fashion of the neigh- 
 borhood was to be there, I thought I must 
 brush up for the occasion. My leathern hunt- 
 ing-dress, which was the only one I had, was 
 somewhat the worse for wear, it is true, and 
 considerably japanned with blood and grease ; 
 but I was up to hunting expedients. Getting 
 into a periogue, I paddled off to a part of the 
 Green River where there was sand and clay, 
 that might serve for soap ; then, taking off my 
 dress, I scrubbed and scoured it, until I thought 
 
IRalpb IRtngwoofc 289 
 
 it looked very well. I then put it on the end 
 of a stick, and hung it out of the periogue to 
 dry, while I stretched myself very comfortably 
 on the green bank of the river. Unluckily a 
 flaw struck the periogue, and tipped over the 
 stick ; down went my dress to the bottom of 
 the river, and I never saw it more. Here was 
 I, left almost in a state of nature. I managed 
 to make a kind of Robinson Crusoe garb of 
 undressed skins, with the hair on, which en- 
 abled me to get home with decency ; but my 
 dream of gayety and fashion was at an end ; 
 for how could I think of figuring in high life 
 at the Pigeon Roost, equipped like a mere 
 Orson ? 
 
 ' ' Old Miller, who really began to take some 
 pride in me, was confounded when he under- 
 stood that I did not intend to go to Bob 
 Mosely's ; but when I told him my misfortune, 
 and that I had no dress, ' By the powers,' 
 cried he, * but you shall go, and you shall be 
 the best dressed and the best mounted lad 
 there ! ' 
 
 ' ' He immediately set to work to cut out and 
 make up a hunting-shirt, of dressed deer-skin, 
 gayly fringed at the shoulders, and leggins 
 of the same, fringed from hip to heel. He 
 then made me a rakish raccoon-cap, with a 
 flaunting tail to it, mounted me on his best 
 
290 Stories anfc 
 
 horse ; and I may say, without vanity, that I 
 was one of the smartest fellows that figured on 
 that occasion at the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the 
 Muddy. 
 
 " It was no small occasion, either, let me 
 tell you. Bob Mosely's house was a tolerably 
 large bark shanty, with a clapboard roof ; and 
 there were assembled all the young hunters 
 and pretty girls of the country for many a 
 mile round. The young men were in their 
 best hunting-dresses, but not one could com- 
 pare with mine ; and my raccoon-cap, with its 
 flowing tail, was the admiration of everybody. 
 The girls were mostly in doe-skin dresses ; 
 for there was no spinning and weaving as yet 
 in the woods, nor any need of it. I never saw 
 girls that seemed to me better dressed, and I 
 was somewhat of a judge, having seen fash- 
 ions at Richmond. We had a hearty dinner, 
 and a merry one ; for there was Jemmy Kiel, 
 famous for raccoon-hunting, and Bob Tarleton, 
 and Wesley Pigman, and Joe Taylor, and 
 several other prime fellows for a frolic, that 
 made all ring again, and laughed that you 
 might have heard them a mile. 
 
 "After dinner we began dancing, and were 
 hard at it when, about three o'clock in the 
 afternoon, there was a new arrival the two 
 daughters of old Simon Schultz ; two young 
 
291 
 
 ladies that affected fashion and late hours. 
 Their arrival had nearly put an end to all our 
 merriment. I must go a little round about in 
 my story to explain to you how that happened. 
 
 " As old Schultz, the father, was one day 
 looking in the canebrakes for his cattle, he 
 came upon the track of horses. He knew they 
 were none of his, and that none of his neigh- 
 bors had horses about that place. They must 
 be stray horses, or must belong to some travel- 
 ler who had lost his way, as the track led no- 
 where. He accordingly followed it up, until 
 he came to an unlucky peddler, with two or 
 three pack-horses, who had been bewildered 
 among the cattle-tracks, and had wandered 
 for two or three days among woods and cane- 
 brakes, until he was almost famished. 
 
 ' * Old Schultz brought him to his house, fed 
 him on venison, bear's meat, and hominy, and 
 at the end of a week put him in prime con- 
 dition. The peddler could not sufficiently ex- 
 press his thankfulness, and when about to 
 depart, inquired what he had to pay. Old 
 Schultz stepped back with surprise. ' Stranger, ' 
 said he, ' you have been welcome under my 
 roof. I 've given you nothing but wild meat 
 and hominy, because I had no better, but have 
 been glad of your company. You are welcome 
 to stay as long as you please ; but, by Zounds! 
 
2Q2 Stories anD Xegenfce 
 
 if any one offers to pay Simon Schultz for food, 
 he affronts him ! ' So saying, he walked out 
 in a huff". 
 
 ' * The peddler admired the hospitality of his 
 host, but could not reconcile it to his conscience 
 to go away without making some recompense. 
 There were honest Simon's two daughters, 
 two strapping, red-haired girls. He opened 
 his packs and displayed riches before them of 
 which they had no conception ; for in those 
 days there were no country stores in those parts, 
 with their artificial finery and trinketry ; and 
 this was the first peddler that had wandered 
 into that part of the wilderness. The girls 
 were for a time completely dazzled, and knew 
 not what to choose ; but what caught their 
 eyes most were two looking-glasses, about the 
 size of a dollar, set in gilt tin. They had 
 never seen the like before, having used no 
 other mirror than a pail of water. The ped- 
 dler presented them these jewels without the 
 least hesitation ; nay, he gallantly hung them 
 round their necks by red ribbons, almost as 
 fine as the glasses themselves. This done, he 
 took his departure, leaving them as much as- 
 tonished as two princesses in a fairy-tale, that 
 have received a magic gift from an enchanter. 
 
 ' * It was with these looking-glasses hung 
 round their necks as lockets, by red ribbons, 
 
IRalpb IRinswoofc 293 
 
 that old Schultz's daughters made their ap- 
 pearance at three o'clock in the afternoon, at 
 the frolic at Bob Mosely's, on the Pigeon-Roost 
 Fork of the Muddy. 
 
 * ' By the powers, but it was an event ! Such 
 a thing had never before been seen in Ken- 
 tucky. Bob Tarleton, a strapping fellow, 
 with a head like a chestnut-burr, and a look 
 like a boar in an apple-orchard, stepped up, 
 caught hold of the looking-glass of one of the 
 girls, and gazing at it for a moment, cried out, 
 ' Joe Taylor, come here ! come here ! I' 11 be 
 darn'd if Patty Schultz ain't got a locket that 
 you can see your face in, as clear as in a spring 
 of water ! ' 
 
 "In a twinkling all the young hunters 
 gathered round old Schultz's daughters. I, 
 who knew what looking-glasses were, did not 
 budge. Some of the girls who sat near me 
 were excessively mortified at finding them- 
 selves thus deserted. I heard Peggy Pugh say 
 to Sally Pigman, ' Goodness knows it 's well 
 Schultz's daughters is got them things round 
 their necks, for it 's the first time the young 
 men crowded round them ! ' 
 
 " I saw immediately the danger of the case. 
 We were a small community, and could not 
 afford to be split up by feuds. So I stepped 
 up to the girls, and whispered to them : 
 
294 Stories anD OLeaen&0 
 
 Polly,' said I, ' those lockets are powerful 
 fine, and become you amazingly, but you don't 
 consider that the country is not advanced 
 enough in these parts for such things. You 
 and I understand these matters, but these peo- 
 ple don't. Fine things like these may do very 
 well in the old settlements, but they won't 
 answer at the Pigeon -Roost Fork of the 
 Muddy. You had better lay them aside for 
 the present, or we shall have no peace.' 
 
 " Polly and her sister luckily saw their 
 error ; they took off the lockets, laid them 
 aside, and harmony was restored ; otherwise, 
 I verily believe there would have been an end 
 of our community. Indeed, notwithstanding 
 the great sacrifice they made on this occasion, I 
 do not think old Schultz's daughters were ever 
 much liked afterwards among the young 
 women. 
 
 "This was the first time that looking-glasses 
 were ever seen in the Green River part of 
 Kentucky. 
 
 " I had now lived some time with old Miller, 
 and had become a tolerably expert hunter. 
 Game, however, began to grow scarce. The 
 buffalo had gathered together, as if by uni- 
 versal understanding, and had crossed the 
 Mississippi, never to return. Strangers kept 
 pouring into the country, clearing away the 
 
"Ralpb "Ringwoofc 295 
 
 forests, and building in all directions. The 
 hunters began to grow restive. Jemmy Kiel, 
 the same of whom I have already spoken for 
 his skill in raccoon catching, came to me one 
 day. ' I can't stand this any longer,' said he, 
 ' we 're getting too thick here. Simon Schultz 
 crowds me so that I have no comfort of my 
 life/ 
 
 " * Why, how you talk ! ' said I ; ' Simon 
 Schultz lives twelve miles off.' 
 
 ' ' No matter ; his cattle run with mine, and 
 I 've no idea of living where another man's 
 cattle can run with mine. That 's too close 
 neighborhood ; I want elbow room. This 
 country, too, is growing too poor to live in ; 
 there 's no game ; so two or three of us have 
 made up our minds to follow the buffalo to the 
 Missouri, and we should like to have you of 
 the party. ' Other hunters of my acquaintance 
 talked in the same manner. This set me think- 
 ing ; but the more I thought, the more I was 
 perplexed. I had no one to advise with ; old 
 Miller and his associates knew of but one mode 
 of life, and I had no experience in any other, 
 but I had a wider scope of thought. When 
 out hunting alone, I used to forget the sport, 
 and sit for hours together on the trunk of a 
 tree, with rifle in hand, buried in thought, 
 and debating with myself: 'Shall I go with 
 
296 Stories and 
 
 Jemmy Kiel and his company, or shall I 
 remain here ? If I remain here, there will soon 
 be nothing left to hunt. But am I to be a 
 hunter all my life? Have not I something 
 more in me than to be carrying a rifle on my 
 shoulder, day after day, and dodging about 
 after bears, and deer, and other brute beasts ? ' 
 My vanity told me I had ; and I called to mind 
 my boyish boast to my sister, that I would 
 never return home until I returned a member 
 of Congress from Kentucky ; but was this the 
 way to fit myself for such a station ? 
 
 "Various plans passed through my mind, 
 but they were abandoned almost as soon as 
 formed. At length I determined on becoming 
 a lawyer. True it is, I knew almost nothing. 
 I had left school before I had learnt beyond the 
 'Rule of Three.' 'Never mind,' said I to 
 myself, resolutely, ' I am a terrible fellow for 
 hanging on to anything when I 've once made 
 up my mind ; and if a man has but ordinary 
 capacity, and will set to work with heart and 
 soul, and stick to it, he can do almost any- 
 thing.' With this maxim, which has been 
 pretty much my main stay throughout life, I 
 fortified myself in my determination to attempt 
 the law. But how was I to set about it? I 
 must quit this forest life, and go to one or 
 other of the towns, where I might be able to 
 
IRalpb IRfngwoofr 297 
 
 study and to attend the courts. This, too, 
 required funds. I examined into the state of 
 my finances. The purse given me by my 
 father had remained untouched, in the bottom 
 of an old chest up in the loft, for money was 
 scarcely needed in these parts. I had bar- 
 gained away the skins acquired in hunting, 
 for a horse and various other matters, on 
 which, in case of need, I could raise funds. I 
 therefore thought I could make shift to main- 
 tain myself until I was fitted for the bar. 
 
 "I informed my worthy host and patron, 
 old Miller, of my plan. He shook his head at 
 my turning my back upon the woods when I 
 was in a fair way of making a first-rate hunter ; 
 but he made no effort to dissuade me. I ac- 
 cordingly set off in September, on horseback, 
 intending to visit Lexington, Frankfort, and 
 other of the principal towns, in search of a 
 favorable place to prosecute n^ studies. My 
 choice was made sooner than I expected. I 
 had put up one night at Bardstown, and 
 found, on inquiry, that I could get comfortable 
 board and accommodation in a private family for 
 a dollar and a half a week. I liked the place, 
 and resolved to look no farther. So the next 
 morning I prepared to turn my face homeward, 
 and take my final leave of forest life. 
 
 "I had taken my breakfast, and was wait- 
 
298 Stories and 
 
 ing for my horse, when, in pacing up and down 
 the piazza., I saw a young girl seated near a 
 window, evidently a visitor. She was very 
 pretty, with auburn hair and blue eyes, and was 
 dressed in white. I had seen nothing of the 
 kind since I had left Richmond, and at that 
 time I was too much of a boy to be much 
 struck by female charms. She was so delicate 
 and dainty-looking, so different from the hale, 
 buxom, brown girls of the woods ; and then 
 her white dress ! it was perfectly dazzling ! 
 Never was poor youth more taken by surprise 
 and suddenly bewitched. My heart yearned 
 to know her ; but how was I to accost her ? 
 I had grown wild in the woods, and had none 
 of the habitudes of polite life. Had she been 
 like Peggy Pugh, or Sally Pigman, or any 
 other of my leathern-dressed belles of the 
 Pigeon Roost, I should have approached her 
 without dread ; nay, had she been as fair as 
 Schultz's daughters, with their looking-glass 
 lockets, I should not have hesitated ; but that 
 white dress and those auburn ringlets, and 
 blue eyes, and delicate looks quite daunted 
 while they fascinated me. I don't know what 
 put it into my head, but I thought, all at once, 
 that I would kiss her ! It would take a long 
 acquaintance to arrive at such a boon, but I 
 might seize upon it by sheer robbery. Nobody 
 
299 
 
 knew me here. I would just step in, snatch a 
 kiss, mount my horse, and ride off. She would 
 not be the worse for it ; and that kiss oh ! I 
 should die if I did not get it ! 
 
 ' ' I gave no time for the thought to cool, but 
 entered the house, and stepped lightly into the 
 room. She was seated with her back to the 
 door, looking out at the window, and did not 
 hear my approach. I tapped her chair, and as 
 she turned and looked up, I snatched as sweet 
 a kiss as ever was stolen, and vanished in a 
 twinkling. The next moment I was on horse- 
 back, galloping homeward, my very ears tin- 
 gling at what I had done. 
 
 " On my return home, I sold my horse and 
 turned everything to cash, and found, with the 
 remains of the paternal purse, that I had nearly 
 four hundred dollars, a little capital which I 
 resolved to manage with the strictest economy. 
 
 ' ' It was hard parting with old Miller, who 
 had been like a father to me ; it cost me, too, 
 something of a struggle to give up the free, 
 independent, wild- wood life I had hitherto led ;, 
 but I had marked out my course, and have 
 never been one to flinch or turn back. 
 
 " I footed it sturdily to Bardstown, took pos- 
 session of the quarters for which I had bar- 
 gained, shut myself up, and set to work with 
 might and main to study. But what a task I 
 
300 Stories anD 
 
 had before me ! I had everything to learn ; 
 not merely law, but all the elementary branches 
 of knowledge. I read and read for sixteen 
 hours out of the four-and- twenty, but the more 
 I read the more I became aware of my own 
 ignorance, and shed bitter tears over my de- 
 ficiency. It seemed as if the wilderness of 
 knowledge expanded and grew more perplexed 
 as I advanced. Every height gained only 
 revealed a wider region to be traversed, and 
 nearly filled me with despair. I grew moody, 
 silent, and unsocial, but studied on doggedly 
 and incessantly. The only person with whom 
 I held any conversation, was the worthy man 
 in whose house I was quartered. He was 
 honest and well-meaning, but perfectly igno- 
 rant, and I believe would have liked me much 
 better if I had not been so much addicted to 
 reading. He considered all books filled with 
 lies and impositions, and seldom could look 
 into one without finding something to rouse 
 his spleen. Nothing put him into a greater 
 passion than the assertion that the world turned 
 on its own axis every four-and-twenty hours. 
 He swore it was an outrage upon common 
 sense. ' Why, if it did,' said he, * there would 
 not be a drop of water in the well by morning, 
 and all the milk and cream in the dairy would 
 be turned topsy-turvy ! ' And then to talk 
 
IRalpb IRtnswooD 301 
 
 of the earth going round the sun ! ' How 
 do they know it ? I 've seen the sun rise 
 every morning and set every evening for more 
 than thirty years. They must not talk to me 
 about the earth's going round the sun ! ' 
 
 ' ' At another time he was in a perfect fret at 
 being told the distance between the sun and 
 moon. ' How can any one tell the distance ? ' 
 cried he. 'Who surveyed it? who carried 
 the chain ? By Jupiter ! they only talk this 
 way before me to annoy me. But then there 's 
 some people of sense who give in to this 
 cursed humbug ! There 's Judge Broadnax, 
 now, one of the best lawyers we have ; isn't 
 it surprising he should believe in such stuff? 
 Why, sir, the other day I heard him talk of 
 the distance from a star he called Mars to the 
 sun ! He must have got it out of one or other 
 of those confounded books he 's so fond of 
 reading ; a book some impudent fellow has 
 written, who knew nobody could swear the 
 distance was more or less.' 
 
 "For my own part, feeling my own defi- 
 ciency in scientific lore, I never ventured to 
 unsettle his conviction that the sun made 
 his daily circuit round the earth ; and for 
 aught I said to the contrary, he lived and 
 died in that belief. 
 
 "I had been about a year at Bardstown, 
 
302 Stories and ZegenDs 
 
 living thus studiously and reclusely, when, 
 as I was one day walking the street, I met 
 two young girls, in one of whom I immedi- 
 ately recalled the little beauty whom I had 
 kissed so impudently. She blushed up to the 
 eyes, and so did I ; but we both passed on 
 without further sign of recognition. This 
 second glimpse of her, however, caused an 
 odd fluttering about my heart. I could not 
 get her out of my thoughts for days. She 
 quite interfered with my studies. I tried to 
 think of her as a mere child, but it would not 
 do ; she had improved in beauty, and was 
 tending toward womanhood : and then I my- 
 self was but little better than a stripling. 
 However, I did not attempt to seek after her, 
 or even to find out who she was, but returned 
 doggedly to my books. By degrees she faded 
 from my thoughts, or if she did cross them 
 occasionally, it was only to increase my de- 
 spondency, for I feared that, with all my exer- 
 tions, I should never be able to fit myself for 
 the bar, or enable myself to support a wife. 
 
 ' ' One cold stormy evening I was seated, in 
 dumpish mood, in the bar-room of the inn, 
 looking into the fire and turning over uncom- 
 fortable thoughts, when I was accosted by 
 someone who had entered the room without 
 my perceiving it. I looked up, and saw before 
 
Ralpb IttnQWOoD 303 
 
 me a tall, and, as I thought, pompous-looking 
 man, arrayed in smallclothes and knee- 
 buckles, with powdered head, and shoes nicely 
 blacked and polished ; a style of dress unpar- 
 alleled in those days in that rough country. I 
 took a pique against him from the very portli- 
 ness of his appearance and stateliness of his 
 manner, and bristled up as he accosted me. 
 He demanded if my name was not Ringwood. 
 
 "I was startled, for I supposed myself 
 perfectly incog. ; but I answered in the affirm- 
 ative. 
 
 ' ' ' Your family, I believe, lives in Rich- 
 mond.' 
 
 "My gorge began to rise. 'Yes, sir,' 
 replied I, sulkily, ' my family does live in 
 Richmond.' 
 
 " 'And what, may I ask, has brought you 
 into this part of the country ? ' 
 
 ' ' ' Zounds, sir ! ' cried I, starting on my 
 feet, 'what business is it of yours? How 
 dare 3^ou to question me in this manner ? ' 
 
 ' * The entrance of some persons prevented 
 a reply ; but I walked up and down the bar- 
 room, fuming with conscious independence 
 and insulted dignity, while the pompous- 
 looking personage, who had thus trespassed 
 upon my spleen, retired without proffering 
 another word. 
 
304 Stories an& 
 
 "The next day, while seated in my room, 
 someone tapped at the door, and, on being 
 bid to enter, the stranger in the powdered 
 head, smallclothes, and shining shoes and 
 buckles, walked in with ceremonious courtesy. 
 
 " My boyish pride was again in arms, but 
 he subdued me. He was formal, but kind 
 and friendly. He knew my family and under- 
 stood my situation, and the dogged struggle 
 I was making. A little conversation, when 
 my jealous pride was once put to rest, drew 
 everything from me. He was a lawyer of 
 experience and of extensive practice, and 
 offered at once to take me with him and direct 
 my studies. The offer was too advantageous 
 and gratifying not to be immediately accepted. 
 From that time I began to look up. I was 
 put into a proper track, and was enabled to 
 study to a proper purpose. I made acquaint- 
 ance, too, with some of the young men of 
 the place who were in the same pursuit, and 
 was encouraged at finding that I could ' hold 
 my own ' in argument with them. We insti- 
 tuted a debating-club, in which I soon became 
 prominent and popular. Men of talents, en- 
 gaged in other pursuits, joined it, and this 
 diversified our subjects and put me on various 
 tracks of inquiry. Ladies, too, attended 
 some of our discussions, and this gave them 
 
IRalpb IRingwoofc 305 
 
 a polite tone and had an influence on the 
 manners of the debaters. My legal patron 
 also may have had a favorable effect in cor- 
 recting any roughness contracted in my hunt- 
 er's life. He was calculated to bend me in 
 an opposite direction, for he was of the old 
 school ; quoted ' Chesterfield ' on all occa- 
 sions, and talked of Sir Charles Grandison, 
 who was his beau ideal. It was Sir Charles 
 Grandison, however, Kentuckyized. 
 
 1 ' I had always been fond of female society. 
 My experience, however, had hitherto been 
 among the rough daughters of the backwoods- 
 men, and I felt an awe of young ladies in ' store 
 clothes,' delicately brought up. Two or three 
 of the married ladies of Bardstown, who had 
 heard me at the debating-club, determined that 
 I was a genius, and undertook to bring me out. 
 I believe I really improved under their hands, 
 became quiet where I had been shy or sulky, 
 and easy where I had been impudent. 
 
 1 * I called to take tea one evening with one 
 of these ladies, when, to my surprise, and 
 somewhat to my confusion, I found with her 
 the identical blue-eyed little beauty, whom 1 
 had so audaciously kissed. I was formally in- 
 troduced to her, but nether of us betrayed any 
 sign of previous acquaintance, except by blush- 
 ing to the eyes. While tea was getting ready, 
 
306 Stories anO XegenOe 
 
 the lady of the house went out of the room to 
 give some directions, and left us alcne. 
 
 ' * Heavens and earth, what a situation ! I 
 would have given all the pittance I was worth, 
 to have been in the deepest dell of the forest. 
 I felt the necessity of saying something in 
 excuse of my former rudeness, but I could not 
 conjure up an idea, nor utter a word. Every 
 moment matters were growing worse. I felt 
 at one time tempted to do as I had done when 
 I robbed her of the kiss, bolt from the room, 
 and take to flight ; but I was chained to the 
 spot, for I really longed to gain her good- will. 
 
 " At length I plucked up courage, on seeing 
 that she was equally confused with myself, and 
 walking desperately up to her, I exclaimed : 
 
 " * I have been trying to muster up some- 
 thing to say to you, but I cannot. I feel that 
 I am in a horrible scrape. Do have pity on 
 me, and help me out of it ! ' 
 
 " A smile dimpled about her mouth, and 
 played among the blushes of her cheek. She 
 looked up with a shy but arch glance of the 
 eye, that expressed a volume of comic recollec- 
 tion ; we both broke into a laugh, and from 
 that moment all went on well. 
 
 " A few evenings afterward I met her at a 
 dance, and prosecuted the acquaintance. I 
 soon became deeply attached to her, paid my 
 
"Kalpb TRingwooD 307 
 
 court regularly, and before I was nineteen 
 years of age had engaged myself to marry her. 
 I spoke to her mother, a widow lady, to ask 
 her consent. She seemed to demur ; upon 
 which, with my customary haste, I told her 
 there would be no use in opposing the match, 
 for if her daughter chose to have me, I would 
 take her, in defiance of her family, and the 
 whole world. 
 
 * ' She laughed, and told me I need not give 
 myself any uneasiness ; there would be no 
 unreasonable opposition . She knew my family, 
 and all about me. The only obstacle was, that 
 I had no means of supporting a wife, and she 
 had nothing to give with her daughter. 
 
 ' ' No matter ; at that moment everything 
 was bright before me. I was in one of my 
 sanguine moods. I feared nothing, doubted 
 nothing. So it was agreed that I should 
 prosecute my studies, obtain a license, and as 
 soon as I should be fairly launched in business, 
 we would be married. 
 
 ' ' I now prosecuted my studies with redoubled 
 ardor, and was up to my ears in law, when I 
 received a letter from my father, who had heard 
 of me and my whereabouts. He applauded 
 the course I had taken, but advised me to lay 
 a foundation of general knowledge, and offered 
 to defray my expenses if I would go to college. 
 
so8 Stories an& Xegenfcs 
 
 I felt the want of a general education, and was 
 staggered with this offer. It militated some- 
 what against the self-dependent course I had 
 so proudly, or rather conceitedly, marked out 
 for myself, but it would enable me to enter 
 more advantageously upon my legal career. 
 I talked over the matter with the lovely girl 
 to whom I was engaged. She sided in opinion 
 with my father, and talked so disinterestedly, 
 yet tenderly, that if possible, I loved her more 
 than ever. I reluctantly, therefore, agreed to 
 go to college for a couple of years, though it 
 must necessarily postpone our union. 
 
 " Scarcely had I formed this resolution, when 
 her mother was taken ill, and died, leaving 
 her without a protector. This again altered all 
 my plans. I felt as if I could protect her. I 
 gave up all idea of collegiate studies ; per- 
 suaded myself that by dint of industry and 
 application I might overcome the deficiencies 
 of education, and resolved to take out a license 
 as soon as possible. 
 
 " That very autumn I was admitted to the 
 bar, and within a month afterward was mar- 
 ried. We were a young couple, she not 
 much above sixteen, I not quite twenty, 
 and both almost without a dollar in the world. 
 The establishment which we set up was suited 
 to our circumstances : a log-house, with two 
 
IRalpb IRiitQWOoD 309 
 
 small rooms ; a bed, a table, a half-dozen 
 chairs, a half-dozen knives and forks, a half- 
 dozen spoons ; everything by half-dozens ; a 
 little Delft ware ; everything in a small way : 
 we were so poor, but then so happy ! 
 
 " We had not been married many days when 
 court was held at a country town , about twenty- 
 five miles distant. It was necessary for me to 
 go there, and put myself in the way of busi- 
 ness ; but how was I to go ? I had expended 
 all my means on our establishment ; and then, 
 it was hard parting with my wife so soon after 
 marriage. However, go I must. Money must 
 be made, or we should soon have the wolf at 
 the door. I accordingly borrowed a horse, 
 and borrowed a little cash, and rode off from 
 my door, leaving my wife standing at it, and 
 waving her hand after me. Her last look, so 
 sweet and beaming, went to my heart. I felt 
 as if I could go through fire and water for her. 
 
 4 * I arrived at the county town on a cool 
 October evening. The inn was crowded, for 
 the court was to commence on the following 
 day. I knew no one, and wondered how I, a 
 stranger and a mere youngster, was to make 
 my way in such a crowd, and to get business. 
 The public room was thronged with the idlers 
 of the country, who gather together on such 
 occasions. There was some drinking going 
 
Stories an& 
 
 forward, with much noise, and a little alterca- 
 tion. Just as I entered the room, I saw a 
 rough bully of a fellow, who was partly in- 
 toxicated, strike an old man. He came swag- 
 gering by me, and elbowed me as he passed. 
 I immediately knocked him down, and kicked 
 him into the street. I needed no better intro- 
 duction. In a moment I had a dozen rough 
 shakes of the hand and invitations to drink, 
 and found myself quite a personage in this 
 rough assembly. 
 
 1 ' The next morning the court opened. I 
 took my seat among the lawyers, but felt as a 
 mere spectator, not having a suit in progress 
 or prospect, not having any idea where busi- 
 ness was to come from. In the course of the 
 morning, a man was put at the bar charged 
 with passing counterfeit money, and was 
 asked if he was ready for trial. He answered 
 in the negative. He had been confined in a 
 place where there were no lawyers, and had 
 not had an opportunity of consulting any. 
 He was told to choose counsel from the law- 
 yers present, and to be ready for trial on the 
 following day. He looked round the court, 
 and selected me. I was thunderstruck. I 
 could not tell why he should make such a 
 choice. I, a beardless youngster, unpractised 
 at the bar, perfectly unknown. I felt diffi- 
 
"Kalpb IRingwooD 311 
 
 dent, yet delighted, and could have hugged 
 the rascal. 
 
 ' ' Before leaving the court, he gave me one 
 hundred dollars in a bag, as a retaining fee. 
 I could scarcely believe my senses ; it seemed 
 like a dream. The heaviness of the fee spoke 
 but lightly in favor of his innocence, but that 
 was no affair of mine. I was to be advocate, 
 not judge, nor jury. I followed him to jail, 
 and learned from him all the particulars of his 
 case : thence I went to the clerk's office, and 
 took minutes of the indictment. I then ex- 
 amined the law on the subject, and prepared 
 my brief in my room. All this occupied me 
 until midnight, when I went to bed, and tried 
 to sleep. It was all in vain. Never in my 
 life was I more wide awake. A host of 
 thoughts and fancies kept rushing through my 
 mind ; the shower of gold that had so unex- 
 pectedly fallen into my lap ; the idea of my 
 poor little wife at home, that I was to astonish 
 with my good fortune ! But then the awful 
 responsibility I had undertaken ! to speak for 
 the first time in a strange court ; the expecta- 
 tions the culprit had evidently formed of my 
 talents ; all these, and a crowd of similar no- 
 tions, kept whirling through my mind. I 
 tossed about all night, fearing the morning 
 would find me exhausted and incompetent ; in 
 
Stones anD 
 
 a word, the day dawned on me, a miserable 
 fellow ! 
 
 " I got up feverish and nervous. I walked 
 out before breakfast, striving to collect my 
 thoughts, and tranquillize my feelings. It was 
 a bright morning ; the air was pure and frosty. 
 I bathed my forehead and my hands in a beau- 
 tiful running stream ; but I could not allay the 
 fever heat that raged within. I returned to 
 breakfast, but could not eat. A single cup of 
 coffee formed my repast. It was time to go to 
 court, and I went there with a throbbing heart. 
 I believe if it had not been for the thoughts 
 of my little wife, in her lonely log-house, I 
 should have given back to the man his hun- 
 dred dollars, and relinquished the cause. I 
 took my seat, looking, I am convinced, more 
 like a culprit than the rogue I was to defend. 
 
 1 ' When the time came for me to speak, my 
 heart died within me. I rose embarrassed and 
 dismayed, and stammered in opening my 
 cause. I went on from bad to worse, and felt as 
 if I was going down hill. Just then the pub- 
 lic prosecutor, a man of talents, but somewhat 
 rough in his practice, made a sarcastic remark 
 on something I had said. It was like an elec- 
 tric spark, and ran tingling through every 
 vein in my body. In an instant my diffidence 
 was gone. My whole spirit was in arms. I 
 
313 
 
 answered with promptness and bitterness, for I 
 felt the cruelty of such an attack upon a novice 
 in my situation. The public prosecutor made 
 a kind of apology ; this, from a man of his 
 redoubted powers, was a vast concession. I 
 renewed my argument with a fearless glow ; 
 carried the case through triumphantly, and the 
 man was acquitted. 
 
 ' * This was the making of me. Everybody 
 was curious to know who this new lawyer was, 
 that had thus suddenly risen among them, 
 and bearded the attorney-general at the very 
 outset. The story of my dbut at the inn, on 
 the preceding evening, when I had knocked 
 down a bully, and kicked him out of doors, 
 for striking an old man, was circulated, with 
 favorable exaggerations. Even my very beard- 
 less chin and juvenile countenance were in my 
 favor, for the people gave me far more credit 
 than I really deserved. The chance business 
 which occurs in our country courts came throng- 
 ing upon me. I was repeatedly employed in 
 other causes ; and by Saturday night, when 
 the court closed, and I had paid my bill at the 
 inn, I found myself with a hundred and fifty 
 dollars in silver, three hundred dollars in notes, 
 and a horse that I afterwards sold for two hun- 
 dred dollars more. 
 
 " Never did miser gloat on his money with 
 
314 Stories an& XegenDs 
 
 more delight. I locked the door of my room, 
 piled the money in a heap upon the table, 
 walked round it, sat with my elbows on the 
 table and my chin upon my hands, and gazed 
 upon it. Was I thinking of the money ? No ! 
 I was thinking of my little wife at home. An- 
 other sleepless night ensued ; but what a night 
 of golden fancies and splendid air-castles ! As 
 soon as morning dawned, I was up, mounted 
 the borrowed horse with which I had come to 
 court, and led the other, which I had received 
 as a fee. All the way I was delighting myself 
 with the thoughts of the surprise I had in 
 store for my little wife ; for both of us had 
 expected nothing but that I should spend all 
 the money I had borrowed, and should return 
 in debt. 
 
 " Our meeting was joyous, as you may sup- 
 pose ; but I played the part of the Indian 
 hunter, who, when he returns from the chase, 
 never for a time speaks of his success. She 
 had prepared a snug little rustic meal for me, 
 and while it was getting ready, I seated my- 
 self at an old-fashioned desk in one corner, 
 and began to count over my money and put it 
 away. She came to me before I had finished 
 and asked who I had collected the money for. 
 
 " 'For myself, to be sure,' replied I, with 
 affected coolness ; * I made it at court. ' 
 
Ralpb "RingwooD 315 
 
 " She looked me for a moment in the face, 
 incredulously. I tried to keep my counte- 
 nance, and to play Indian, but it would not do. 
 My muscles began to twitch ; my feelings all 
 at once gave way. I caught her in my arms ; 
 laughed, cried, and danced about the room, 
 like a crazy man. From that time forward, 
 we never wanted for money. 
 
 ' ' I had not been long in successful practice, 
 when I was surprised one day by a visit from 
 my woodland patron, old Miller. The tidings 
 of my prosperity had reached him in the wil- 
 derness, and he had walked one hundred and 
 fifty miles on foot to see me. By that time I had 
 improved my domestic establishment and had 
 all things comfortable about me. He looked 
 around him with a wondering eye, at what he 
 considered luxuries and superfluities ; but sup- 
 posed they were all right, in my altered circum- 
 stances. He said he did not know, upon the 
 whole, but that I acted for the best. It is true, if 
 game had continued plenty, it would have been 
 a folly for me to quit a hunter's life ; but hunting 
 was pretty nigh done up in Kentucky. The buf- 
 falo had gone to Missouri ; the elk were nearly 
 gone also ; deer, too, were growing scarce ; 
 they might last out his time, as he was growing 
 old, but they were not worth setting up life 
 upon. He had once lived on the borders of 
 
316 Stories an> 
 
 Virginia. Game grew scarce there ; he fol- 
 lowed it up across Kentucky, and now it was 
 again giving him the slip ; but he was too old 
 to follow it farther. 
 
 " He remained with us three days. My wife 
 did everything in her power to make him com- 
 fortable ; but at the end of that time he said he 
 must be off again to the woods. He was tired 
 of the village, and of having so many people 
 about him. He accordingly returned to the 
 wilderness, and to hunting life. But I fear he 
 did not make a good end of it ; for I understand 
 that a few years before his death he married 
 Sukey Thomas, who lived at the White Oak 
 Run." 
 
Semfnoles. 
 
 FROM the time of the chimerical cruisings 
 of old Ponce de I^eon in search of the 
 Fountain of Youth ; the avaricious ex- 
 pedition of Pamphilo de Narvaez in 
 quest of gold ; and the chivalrous enterprise of 
 Hernando de Soto, to discover and conquer a 
 second Mexico, the natives of Florida have 
 been continually subjected to the invasions and 
 encroachments of white men. They have re- 
 sisted them perseveringly but fruitlessly, and 
 are now battling amidst swamps and morasses, 
 for the last foothold of their native soil, with all 
 the ferocity of despair. Can we wonder at the 
 bitterness of a hostility that has been handed 
 down from father to son for upward of three 
 centuries, and exasperated by the wrongs and 
 miseries of each succeeding generation ? The 
 very name of the savages with whom we are 
 fighting, betokens their fallen and homeless 
 condition. Formed of the wrecks of once 
 317 
 
318 Stories and ILegenfcs 
 
 powerful tribes, and driven from their ancient 
 seats of prosperity and dominion, they are 
 known by the name of the Seminoles, or 
 " Wanderers." 
 
 Bartram, who travelled through Florida in 
 the latter part of the last century, speaks of 
 passing through a great extent of ancient In- 
 dian fields, now silent and deserted, overgrown 
 with forests, orange groves, and rank vegeta- 
 tion, the site of the ancient Alachua, the capi- 
 tal of a famous and powerful tribe, who in days 
 of old could assemble thousands at bull-play 
 and other athletic exercises ' ' over these then 
 happy fields and green plains." "Almost 
 every step we take, ' ' adds he, ' * over these fer- 
 tile heights, discovers the remains and traces 
 of ancient human habitations and cultivation. ' ' 
 
 We are told that about the year 1763, when 
 Florida was ceded by the Spaniards to the 
 English, the Indians generally retired from the 
 towns and the neighborhood of the whites, and 
 burying themselves in the deep forests, intricate 
 swamps and hommocks, and vast savannahs 
 of the interior, devoted themselves to a pastoral 
 life, and the rearing of horses and cattle. 
 These are the people that received the name of 
 the Seminoles, or Wanderers, which they still 
 retain. 
 
 Bartram gives a pleasing picture of them at 
 
Scminolee 319 
 
 the time he visited them in their wilderness, 
 where their distance from the abodes of the 
 white man gave them a transient quiet and 
 security. " This handful of people," says he, 
 "possesses a vast territory, all East and the 
 greatest part of West Florida, which being 
 naturally cut and divided into thousands of 
 islets, knolls, and eminences, by the innumer- 
 able rivers, lakes, swamps, vast savannahs, and 
 ponds, form so many secure retreats and tem- 
 porary dwelling-places that effectually guard 
 them from any sudden invasions or attacks 
 from their enemies ; and being such a swampy, 
 hommocky country, furnishes such a plenty 
 and variety of supplies for the nourishment 
 of varieties of animals, that I can venture to 
 assert, that no part of the globe so abounds with 
 wild game, or creatures fit for the food of man. 
 " Thus they enjoy a superabundance of the 
 necessaries and conveniences of life, with the 
 security of person and property, the two great 
 concerns of mankind. The hides of deer, 
 bears, tigers, and wolves, together with honey, 
 wax, and other productions of the country, 
 purchase their clothing, equipage, and domestic 
 utensils from the whites. They seem to be free 
 from want or desires. No cruel enemy to 
 dread ; nothing to give them disquietude, but 
 the gradual encroachments of the white people. 
 
320 Stories anfc XegenDs 
 
 Thus contented and undisturbed, they appear 
 as blithe and free as the birds of the air, and 
 like them as volatile and active, tuneful and 
 vociferous. The visage, action, and deport- 
 ment of the Seminoles form the most striking 
 picture of happiness in this life ; joy, content- 
 ment, love, and friendship, without guile or 
 affectation, seem inherent in them, or predom- 
 inant in their vital principle, for it leaves them 
 with but the last breath of life. . . . They are 
 fond of games and gambling, and amuse them- 
 selves like children, in relating extravagant 
 stories, to cause surprise and mirth." * 
 
 The same writer gives an engaging picture 
 of his treatment by these savages : 
 
 ' * Soon after entering the forests, we were 
 met in the path by a small company of Indians, 
 smiling and beckoning to us long before we 
 joined them. This was a family of Talaha- 
 sochte, who had been out on a hunt, and were 
 returning home loaded with barbecued meat, 
 hides, and honey. Their company consisted 
 of the man, his wife and children, well mounted 
 on fine horses, with a number of pack-horses. 
 The man offered us a fawn-skin of honey, 
 which I accepted, and at parting presented him 
 with some fish-hooks, sewing needles, etc. 
 
 "On our return to camp in the evening, 
 
 * Bertram's Travels in North America. 
 
Seminolee 321 
 
 we were saluted by a party of young Indian 
 warriors, who had pitched their tents on a 
 green eminence near the lake, at a small dis- 
 tance from our camp, under a little grove of 
 oaks and palms. This company consisted of 
 seven young Serninoles, under the conduct of a 
 young prince or chief of Talahasochte, a town 
 southward in the Isthmus. They were all 
 dressed and painted with singular elegance, 
 and richly ornamented with silver plates, 
 chains, etc., after the Seminole mode, with 
 waving plumes of feathers on their crests. On 
 our coming up to them, they arose and shook 
 hands ; we alighted, and sat a while with them 
 by their cheerful fire. 
 
 !< The young prince informed our chief that 
 he was in pursuit of a young fellow who had 
 fled from the town, carrying off with him one 
 of his favorite young wives. He said, merrily, 
 he would have the ears of both of them before 
 he returned. He was rather above the middle 
 stature, and the most perfect human figure I 
 ever saw ; of an amiable, engaging counte- 
 nance, air, and deportment ; free and familiar in 
 conversation, yet retaining a becoming grace- 
 fulness and dignity. We arose, took leave of 
 them, and crosssed a little vale, covered with a 
 charming green turf, already illuminated by 
 the soft light of the full moon. 
 
322 Stories anD Xegente 
 
 " Soon after joining our companions at camp, 
 our neighbors, the prince and his associates, 
 paid us a visit. We treated them with the 
 best fare we had, having till this time preserved 
 our spirituous liquors. They left us with 
 perfect cordiality and cheerfulness, wishing us 
 a good repose, and retired to their own camp. 
 Having a band of music with them, consisting 
 of a drum, flutes, and a rattle-gourd, they 
 entertained us during the night with their 
 music, vocal and instrumental. 
 
 " There is a languishing softness and melan- 
 choly air in the Indian convivial songs, espe- 
 cially of the amorous class, irresistibly moving 
 attention, and exquisitely pleasing, especially 
 in their solitary recesses, when all Nature is 
 silent." 
 
 Travellers who have been among them, in 
 more recent times, before they had embarked 
 in their present desperate struggle, represent 
 them in much the same light ; as leading a 
 pleasant, indolent life, in a climate that re- 
 quired little shelter or clothing, and where the 
 spontaneous fruits of the earth furnished sub- 
 sistence without toil. A cleanly race, delight- 
 ing in bathing, passing much of their time 
 under the shade of their trees, with heaps of 
 oranges and other fine fruits for their refresh- 
 ment ; talking, laughing, dancing, and sleep- 
 
Seminoles 323 
 
 ing. Every chief had a fan hanging to his 
 side, made of feathers of the wild turkey, the 
 beautiful pink-colored crane, or the scarlet 
 flamingo. With this he would sit and fan 
 himself with great stateliness, while the young 
 people danced before him. The women joined 
 in the dances with the men, excepting the war- 
 dances. They wore strings of tortoise-shells 
 and pebbles round their legs, which rattled in 
 cadence to the music. They were treated with 
 more attention among the Seminoles than 
 among most Indian tribes. 
 
<S>rfafn of tbe TKUbfte, tbe IRefc, an& tbe 
 Blacfe 
 
 SEMINOI,E TRADITION. 
 
 WHBN the Floridas were erected into 
 a territory of the United States, 
 one of the earliest cares of the 
 Governor, William P. Duval, was 
 directed to the instruction and civilization of 
 the natives. For this purpose he called a 
 meeting of the chiefs, in which he informed 
 them of the wish of their Great Father at 
 Washington that they should have schools 
 and teachers among them, and that their chil- 
 dren should be instructed like the children of 
 white men. The chiefs listened with their 
 customary silence and decorum to a long 
 speech, setting forth the advantages that 
 would accrue to them from this measure, and 
 when he had concluded, begged the interval 
 of a day, to deliberate on it. 
 
 On the following day a solemn convoca- 
 324 
 
TKabfte, IRefc, an& ;J3lacfc dlben 325 
 
 tion was held, at which one of the chiefs 
 addressed the Governor in the name of all the 
 rest. " My brother," said he, " we have been 
 thinking over the proposition of our Great 
 Father at Washington, to send teachers and 
 set up schools among us. We are very thank- 
 ful for the interest he takes in our welfare ; 
 but after much deliberation have concluded to 
 decline his offer. What will do very well for 
 white men, will not do for red men. I know 
 you white men say we all come from the same 
 father and mother, but you are mistaken. We 
 have a tradition handed down from our fore- 
 fathers, and we believe it, that the Great 
 Spirit, when he undertook to make men, made 
 the black man ; it was his first attempt, and 
 pretty well for a beginning ; but he soon saw 
 he had bungled ; so he determined to try his 
 hand again. He did so, and made the red 
 man. He liked him much better than the 
 black man, but still he was not exactly what 
 he wanted. So he tried once more, and made 
 the white man ; and then he was satisfied. 
 You see, therefore, that you were made last, 
 and that is the reason I call you my youngest 
 brother. 
 
 " When the Great Spirit had made the three 
 men, he called them together and showed them 
 three boxes. The first was filled with books, 
 
326 Stories an& legends 
 
 and maps, and papers ; the second with bows 
 and arrows, knives and tomahawks ; the third 
 with spades, axes, hoes, and hammers. ' These, 
 my sons,* said he, ' are the means by which 
 you are to live ; choose among them according 
 to your fancy.' 
 
 "The white man, being the favorite, had 
 the first choice. He passed by the box of 
 working-tools without notice ; but when he 
 came to the weapons for war and hunting, he 
 stopped and looked hard at them. The red 
 man trembled, for he had set his heart upon 
 that box. The white man, however, after 
 looking upon it for a moment, passed on, and 
 chose the box of books and papers. The red 
 man's turn came next, and you may be sure 
 he seized with joy upon the bows and arrows 
 and tomahawks. As to the black man, he 
 had no choice left, but to put up with the box 
 of tools. 
 
 " From this it is clear that the Great Spirit 
 intended the white man should learn to read 
 and write, to understand all about the moon 
 and stars, and to make everything, even rum 
 and whiskey. That the red man should be a 
 first-rate hunter, and a mighty warrior, but he 
 was not to learn anything from books, as the 
 Great Spirit had not given him any ; nor was 
 he to make rum and whiskey, lest he should 
 
lIDlbite, IRefc, and JSlacfc /ften 327 
 
 kill himself with drinking. As to the black 
 man, as he had nothing but working- tools, it 
 was clear he was to work for the white and 
 red man, which he has continued to do. 
 
 "We must go according to the wishes of 
 the Great Spirit, or we shall get into trouble. 
 To know how to read and write is very good 
 for white men, but very bad for red men. It 
 makes white men better, but red men worse. 
 Some of the Creeks and Cherokees learnt to 
 read and write, and they are the greatest rascals 
 among all the Indians. They went on to 
 Washington, and said they were going to see 
 their Great Father, to talk about the good of 
 the nation. And when they got there, they 
 all wrote upon a little piece of paper, without 
 the nation at home knowing anything about 
 it. And the first thing the nation at home 
 knew of the matter, they were called together 
 by the Indian agent, who showed them a 
 little piece of paper, which he told them was 
 a treaty which their brethren had made in 
 their name with their Great Father at Wash- 
 ington. And as they knew not what a treaty 
 was, he held up the little piece of paper, and 
 they looked under it, and lo ! it covered a great 
 extent of country, and they found that their 
 brethren, by knowing how to read and write, 
 had sold their houses, and their lands, and 
 
328 
 
 Stories 
 
 the graves of their fathers ; and that the white 
 man, by knowing how to read and write, had 
 gained them. Tell our Great Father at Wash- 
 ington, therefore, that we are very sorry we 
 cannot receive teachers among us ; for reading 
 and writing, though very good for white men s 
 is very bad for Indians." 
 
TOe Conspiracy of IReamatbla, 
 
 AN AUTHENTIC SKETCH. 
 
 IN the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval> and 
 other commissioners on the part of the 
 United States, concluded a treaty with the 
 chiefs and warriors of the Florida Indians, 
 by which the latter, for certain considerations, 
 ceded all claims to the whole territory, except- 
 ing a district in the eastern part, to which 
 they were to remove, and within which they 
 were to reside for twenty years. Several of 
 the chiefs signed the treaty with great reluc- 
 tance ; but none opposed it more strongly than 
 Neamathla, principal chief of the Mickasook- 
 ies, a fierce and warlike people, many of them 
 Creeks by origin, who lived about the Mick- 
 asookie lake. Neamathla had always been 
 active in those depredations on the frontiers 
 of Georgia, which had brought vengeance 
 and ruin on the Seminoles. He was a remark- 
 able man ; upward of sixty years of age, 
 329 
 
330 Stories anD Xegenfcs 
 
 about six feet high, with a fine eye, and a 
 strongly marked countenance, over which he 
 possessed great command. His hatred of the 
 white men appeared to be mixed with con- 
 tempt ; on the common people he looked down 
 with infinite scorn. He seemed unwilling to 
 acknowledge any superiority of rank or dignity 
 in Governor Duval, claiming to associate with 
 him on terms of equality, as two great chief- 
 tains. Though he had been prevailed upon 
 to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at it. 
 In one of his frank conversations with Gov- 
 ernor Duval, he observed: "This country 
 belongs to the red man ; and if I had the 
 number of warriors at my command that this 
 nation once had, I would not leave a white 
 man on my lands. I would exterminate the 
 whole. I can say this to you, for you can 
 understand me ; you are a man ; but I would 
 not say it to your people. They 'd cry out I 
 was a savage, and would take my life. They 
 cannot appreciate the feelings of a man that 
 loves his country." 
 
 As Florida had but recently been erected 
 into a territory, everything as yet was in rude 
 and simple style. The Governor, to make 
 himself acquainted with the Indians, and to 
 be near at hand to keep an eye upon them, 
 fixed his residence at Tallahassee, near the 
 
Conspiracy of fleamatbla 331 
 
 Fowel towns, inhabited by the Mickasookies. 
 His government palace for a time was a mere 
 log-house, and he lived on hunter's fare. The 
 village of Neamathla was but about three miles 
 off, and thither the Governor occasionally rode, 
 to visit the old chieftain. In one of these visits 
 he found Neamathla seated in his wigwam, in 
 the centre of the village, surrounded by his 
 warriors. The Governor had brought him 
 some liquor as a present, but it mounted 
 quickly into his brain, and rendered him quite 
 boastful and belligerent. The theme ever 
 uppermost in his mind was the treaty with 
 the whites. " It was true," he said, " the red 
 men had made such a treaty, but the white 
 men had not acted up to it. The red men had 
 received none of the money and the cattle that 
 had been promised them ; the treaty, there- 
 fore, was at an end, and they did not mean to 
 be bound by it." 
 
 Governor Duval calmly represented to him 
 that the time appointed in the treaty for the 
 payment and delivery of the money and the 
 cattle had not yet arrived. This the old chief- 
 tain knew full well, but he chose, for the 
 moment, to pretend ignorance. He kept on 
 drinking and talking, his voice growing louder 
 and louder, until it resounded all over the vil- 
 lage. He held in his hand a long knife, with. 
 
332 Stories 
 
 which he had been rasping tobacco ; this he 
 kept flourishing backward and forward, as he 
 talked, by way of giving effect to his words, 
 brandishing it at times within an inch of the 
 Governor's throat. He concluded his tirade 
 by repeating that the country belonged to the 
 red men, and that sooner than give it up, his 
 bones and the bones of his people should bleach 
 upon its soil. 
 
 Duval knew that the object of all this blus- 
 ter was to see whether he could be intimidated. 
 He kept his eye, therefore, fixed steadily on 
 the chief, and the moment he concluded with 
 his menace, seized him by the bosom of his 
 hunting-shirt, and clenching his other fist : 
 
 "I 've heard what you have said," replied 
 he. * ' You made a treaty, yet you say your 
 bones shall bleach before you comply with it. 
 As sure as there is a sun in heaven, your bones 
 shall bleach if you do not fulfil every article of 
 that treaty ! I '11 let you know that I amyfotf 
 here, and will see that you do your duty." 
 
 Upon this the old chieftain threw himself 
 back, burst into a fit of laughing, and declared 
 that all he had said was in joke. The Gov- 
 ernor suspected, however, that there was a 
 grave meaning at the bottom of this jocularity. 
 
 For two months everything went on smooth- 
 ly ; the Indians repaired daily to the log-cabin 
 
Conspiracy of fleamatbla 333 
 
 palace of the Governor at Tallahassee, and ap- 
 peared perfectly contented. All at once they 
 ceased their visits, and for three or four days 
 not one was to be seen. Governor Duval 
 began to apprehend that some mischief was 
 brewing. On the evening of the fourth day, 
 a chief named Yellow-Hair, a resolute, intelli- 
 gent fellow, who had always evinced an attach- 
 ment for the Governor, entered his cabin about 
 twelve o'clock at night, and informed him, 
 that between four and five hundred warriors, 
 painted and decorated, were assembled to hold 
 a secret war-talk at Neamathla's town. He 
 had slipped off to give intelligence, at the risk 
 of his life, and hastened back lest his absence 
 should be discovered. 
 
 Governor Duval passed an anxious night 
 after this intelligence. He knew the talent 
 and the daring character of Neamathla ; he 
 recollected the threats he had thrown out ; he 
 reflected that about eighty white families were 
 scattered widely apart over a great extent of 
 country, and might be swept away at once, 
 should the Indians, as he feared, determine to 
 clear the country. That he did not exagger- 
 ate the dangers of the case, has been proved 
 by the horrid scenes of Indian warfare which 
 have since desolated that devoted region. 
 After a night of sleepless cogitation, Duval 
 
334 Stories an& 
 
 determined on a measure suited to his prompt 
 and resolute character. Knowing the admira- 
 tion of the savages for personal courage, he 
 determined, by a sudden surprise, to endeavor 
 to overawe and check them. It was hazarding 
 much ; but where so many lives were in jeop- 
 ardy, he felt bound to incur the hazard. 
 
 Accordingly, on the next morning, he set 
 off on horseback, attended merely by a white 
 man, who had been reared among the Semi- 
 noles, and understood their language and man- 
 ners, and who acted as interpreter. They 
 struck into an Indian "trail," leading to Nea- 
 mathla's village. After proceeding about half 
 a mile, Governor Duval informed the inter- 
 preter of the object of his expedition. The 
 latter, though a bold man, paused and remon- 
 strated. The Indians among whom they were 
 going were among the most desperate and dis- 
 contented of the nation. Many of them were 
 veteran warriors, impoverished and exasper- 
 ated by defeat, and ready to set their lives at 
 any hazard. He said that if they were hold- 
 ing a war-council, it must be with desperate 
 intent, and it would be certain death to intrude 
 among them. 
 
 Duval made light of his apprehensions ; he 
 said he was perfectly well acquainted with the 
 Indian character, and should certainly proceed. 
 
Conspiracy of Ifteamatbla 335 
 
 So saying, he rode on. When within half a 
 mile of the village, the interpreter addressed 
 him again in such a tremulous tone, that Duval 
 turned and looked him in the face. He was 
 deadly pale, and once more urged the Governor 
 to return, as they would certainly be massacred 
 if they proceeded. 
 
 Duval repeated his determination to go on, 
 but advised the other to return, lest his pale 
 face should betray fear to the Indians, and 
 they might take advantage of it. The inter- 
 preter replied that he would rather die a thou- 
 sand deaths than have it said he had deserted 
 his leader when in peril. 
 
 Duval then told him he must translate faith- 
 fully all he should say to the Indians, without 
 softening a word. The interpreter promised 
 faithfully to do so, adding that he well knew, 
 when they were once in the town, nothing but 
 boldness could save them. 
 
 They now rode into the village and advanced 
 to the council-house. This was rather a group 
 of four houses, forming a square, in the centre 
 of which was a great council-fire. The houses 
 were open in front toward the fire, and closed 
 in the rear. At each corner of the square 
 there was an interval between the houses for 
 ingress and egress. In these houses sat the 
 old men and the chiefs ; the young men were 
 
336 Stories anD 
 
 gathered round the fire. Neamathla presided 
 at the council, elevated on a higher seat than 
 the rest. 
 
 Governor Duval entered by one of the cor- 
 ner intervals, and rode boldly into the centre 
 of the square. The young men made way for 
 him ; an old man who was speaking, paused 
 in the midst of his harangue. In an instant 
 thirty or forty rifles were cocked and levelled. 
 Never had Duval heard so loud a click of trig- 
 gers ; it seemed to strike to his heart. He 
 gave one glance at the Indians, and turned off 
 with an air of contempt. He did not dare, he 
 says, to look again, lest it might affect his 
 nerves, and on the firmness of his nerves every- 
 thing depended. 
 
 The chief threw up his arm. The rifles 
 were lowered. Duval breathed more freely ; 
 he felt disposed to leap from his horse, but re- 
 strained himself, and dismounted leisurely. 
 He then walked deliberately up to Neamathla, 
 and demanded, in an authoritative tone, what 
 were his motives for holding that council. 
 The moment he made this demand, the orator 
 sat down. The chief made no reply, but hung 
 his head in apparent confusion. After a mo- 
 ment's pause, Duval proceeded : 
 
 " I am well aware of the meaning of this 
 
Conspiracy of Ifteamatbla 337 
 
 war-council, and deem it my duty to warn you 
 against prosecuting the schemes you have been 
 devising. If a single hair of a white man in 
 this country falls to the ground, I will hang 
 you and your chiefs on the trees around your 
 council-house ! You cannot pretend to with- 
 stand the power of the white men. You are 
 in the palm of the hand of your Great Father 
 at Washington, who can crush you like an 
 egg-shell ! You may kill me ; I am but one 
 man ; but recollect, white men are numerous 
 as the leaves on the trees. Remember the fate 
 of your warriors whose bones are whitening in 
 battlefields. Remember your wives and chil- 
 dren who perished in swamps. Do you want 
 to provoke more hostilities ? Another war 
 with the white men, and there will not be a 
 Seminole left to tell the story of his race." 
 
 Seeing the effect of his words, he concluded 
 by appointing a day for the Indians to meet 
 him at St. Mark's and give an account of their 
 conduct. He then rode off, without giving 
 them time to recover from their surprise. 
 That night he rode forty miles to Appalachicola 
 River, to the tribe of the same name, who were 
 in feud with the Seminoles. They promptly 
 put two hundred and fifty warriors at his dis- 
 posal, whom he ordered to be at St. Mark's at 
 
338 Stories and XegenDs 
 
 the appointed day. He sent out runners also, 
 and mustered one hundred of the militia to re- 
 pair to the same place, together with a number 
 of regulars from the army. All his arrange- 
 ments were successful. 
 
 Having taken these measures, he returned to 
 Tallahassee, to the neighborhood of the con- 
 spirators, to show them that he was not afraid. 
 Here he ascertained, through Yellow-Hair, 
 that nine towns were disaffected, and had been 
 concerned in the conspiracy. He was careful 
 to inform himself, from the same source, of the 
 names of the warriors in each of those towns 
 who were most popular, though poor and des- 
 titute of rank and command. 
 
 When the appointed day was at hand for the 
 meeting at St. Mark's, Governor Duval set off 
 with Neamathla, who was at the head of eight 
 or nine hundred warriors, but who feared to 
 venture into the fort without him. As they 
 entered the fort, and saw troops and militia 
 drawn up there, and a force of Appalachicola 
 soldiers stationed on the opposite bank of the 
 river, they thought they were betrayed, and 
 were about to fly, but Duval assured them they 
 were safe, and that when the talk was over 
 they might go home unmolested. 
 
 A grand talk was now held, in which the 
 late conspiracy was discussed. As he had 
 
Conspiracy ot Ifteamatbla 339 
 
 foreseen, Neamathla and the other old chiefs 
 threw all the blame upon the young men. 
 " Well," replied Duval, " with us white men, 
 when we find a man incompetent to govern 
 those under him, we put him down and ap- 
 point another in his place. Now, as you all 
 acknowledge you cannot manage your young 
 men, we must put chiefs over them who can." 
 So saying, he deposed Neamathla first, ap- 
 pointing another in his place ; and so on with 
 all the rest, taking care to substitute the war- 
 riors who had been pointed out to him as poor 
 and popular ; putting medals round their 
 necks, and investing them with great cere- 
 mony. The Indians were surprised and de- 
 lighted at finding the appointments fall upon 
 the very men they would themselves have 
 chosen, and hailed them with acclamations. 
 The warriors thus unexpectedly elevated to 
 command, and clothed with dignity, were se- 
 cured to the interests of the Governor, and 
 sure to keep an eye on the disaffected. As to 
 the great chief Neamathla, he left the country 
 in disgust, and returned to the Creek Nation, 
 who elected him a chief of one of their towns. 
 Thus by the resolute spirit and prompt sagac- 
 ity of one man, a dangerous conspiracy was 
 completely defeated. Governor Duval was 
 afterwards enabled to remove the whole nation, 
 
340 Stories 
 
 through his own personal influence, without 
 the aid of the General Government. 
 
 NOTE. The foregoing anecdotes concerning the 
 Seminoles were gathered in conversation with Gov- 
 ernor Duval (the original of Ralph Ringwood). 
 
Count Iflan Dorm 
 
 DURING the minority of Louis XV., 
 while the Duke of Orleans was 
 Regent of France, a young Flemish 
 nobleman, the Count Antoine Joseph 
 Van Horn, made his sudden appearance in 
 Paris, and by his character, conduct, and the 
 subsequent disasters in which he became in- 
 volved, created a great sensation in the high 
 circles of the proud aristocracy. He was 
 about twenty-two years of age, tall, finely 
 formed, with a pale, romantic countenance, 
 and eyes of remarkable brilliancy and wildness. 
 He was one of the most ancient and highly 
 esteemed families of European nobility, being 
 of the line of the Princes of Horn and Overique, 
 sovereign Counts of Hautekerke, and heredi- 
 tary Grand Veneurs of the empire. 
 
 The family took its name from the little town 
 and seigneurie of Horn, in Brabant ; and was 
 known as early as the eleventh century among 
 
342 Storiee 
 
 the little dynasties of the Netherlands, and 
 since that time, by a long line of illustrious 
 generations. At the peace of Utrecht, when 
 the Netherlands passed under subjection to 
 Austria, the house of Van Horn came under 
 the domination of the Emperor. At the time 
 we treat of, two of the branches of this ancient 
 house were extinct ; the third and only sur- 
 viving branch was represented by the reign- 
 ing prince, Maximilian Emanuel Van Horn, 
 twenty-four years of age, who resided in 
 honorable and courtly style on his hereditary 
 domains at Baussigny, in the Netherlands, and 
 his brother, the Count Antoine Joseph, who 
 is the subject of this memoir. 
 
 The ancient house of Van Horn, by the 
 intermarriage of its various branches with the 
 noble families of the Continent, had become 
 widely connected and interwoven with the 
 high aristocracy of Europe. The Count An- 
 toine, therefore, could claim relationship to 
 many of the proudest names in Paris. In fact, 
 he was grandson, by the mother's side, of the 
 Prince de L,igne, and even might boast of af- 
 finity to the Regent (the Duke of Orleans) 
 himself. There were circumstances, however, 
 connected with his sudden appearance in 
 Paris, and his previous story, that placed him 
 in what is termed ' ' a false position " ; a word 
 
Count Dan 1born 343 
 
 of baleful significance in the fashionable vocab- 
 ulary of France. 
 
 The young Count had been captain in the 
 service of Austria, but had been cashiered for 
 irregular conduct, and for disrespect to Prince 
 L,ouis of Baden, commander-in-chief. To 
 check him in his wild career, and bring him 
 to sober reflection, his brother the Prince 
 caused him to be arrested, and sent to the old 
 castle of Van Wert, in the domains of Horn. 
 This was the same castle in which, in former 
 times, John Van Horn, Stadtholder of Guel- 
 dres, had imprisoned his father ; a circumstance 
 which has furnished Rembrandt with the sub- 
 ject of an admirable painting. The governor 
 of the castle was one Van Wert, grandson of 
 the famous John Van Wert, the hero of many 
 a popular song and legend. It was the in- 
 tention of the Prince that his brother should 
 be held in honorable durance, for his object 
 was to sober and improve, not to punish and 
 afflict him. Van Wert, however, was a stern, 
 harsh man, of violent passions. He treated the 
 youth in a manner that prisoners and offenders 
 were treated in the strongholds of the robber 
 counts of Germany in old times ; confined him 
 in a dungeon, and inflicted on him such hard- 
 ships and indignities, that the irritable tempera- 
 ment of the young count was roused to con- 
 
344 Stories anD 
 
 tinual fury, which ended in insanity. For six 
 months was the unfortunate youth kept in this 
 horrible state, without his brother the Prince 
 being informed of his melancholy condition, or 
 of the cruel treatment to which he was sub- 
 jected. At length, one day, in a paroxysm of 
 frenzy, the Count knocked down two of his 
 jailers with a beetle, escaped from the castle 
 of Van Wert, and eluded all pursuit ; and after 
 roving about in a state of distraction, made his 
 way to Baussigny, and appeared like a spectre 
 before his brother. 
 
 The Prince was shocked at his wretched, 
 emaciated appearance, and his lamentable state 
 of mental alienation. He received him with 
 the most compassionate tenderness, lodged him 
 in his own room, appointed three servants to 
 attend and watch over him day and night, and 
 endeavored, by the most soothing and affection- 
 ate assiduity, to atone for the past act of rigor, 
 with which he reproached himself. When he 
 learned, however, the manner in which his un- 
 fortunate brother had been treated in confine- 
 ment, and the course of brutalities that had led 
 to his mental malady, he was aroused to indig- 
 nation. His first step was to cashier Van Wert 
 from his command. That violent man set the 
 Prince at defiance, and attempted to maintain 
 himself in his government and his castle, by 
 
Cbe Count Wan 1born 345 
 
 instigating the peasants, for several leagues 
 round, to revolt. His insurrection might have 
 been formidable against the power of a petty 
 prince ; but he was put under the ban of the 
 empire, and seized as a state prisoner. The 
 memory of his grandfather, the oft-sung John 
 Van Wert, alone saved him from a gibbet ; 
 but he was imprisoned in the strong tower of 
 Hornop-Zee. There he remained until he was 
 eighty-two years of age, savage, violent, and 
 unconquered to the last ; for we are told that 
 he never ceased fighting and thumping as long 
 as he could close a fist or wield a cudgel. 
 
 In the meantime, a course of kind and gen- 
 tle treatment and wholesome regimen, and, 
 above all, the tender and affectionate assidu- 
 ity of his brother the Prince, produced the 
 most salutary effects upon Count Antoine. 
 He gradually recovered his reason ; but a 
 degree of violence seemed always lurking at 
 the bottom of his charcter, and he required to 
 be treated with the greatest caution and mild- 
 ness, for the least contradiction exasperated 
 him. 
 
 In this state of mental convalescence he be- 
 gan to find the supervision and restraints of 
 brotherly affection insupportable ; so he left 
 the Netherlands furtively, and repaired to 
 Paris, whither, in fact, it is said he was called 
 
346 Stories and 
 
 by motives of interest, to make arrangements 
 concerning a valuable estate which he inher- 
 ited from his relative the Princess d'Epinay. 
 
 On his arrival in Paris, he called upon the 
 Marquis of Crequi, and other of the high no- 
 bility with whom he was connected. He was 
 received with great courtesy ; but, as he 
 brought no letters from his elder brother, the 
 Prince, and as various circumstances of his 
 previous history had transpired, they did not 
 receive him into their families, nor introduce 
 him to their ladies. Still they flted him in 
 bachelor style, gave him gay and elegant sup- 
 pers at their separate apartments, and took 
 him to their boxes at the theatres. He was 
 often noticed, too, at the doors of the most 
 fashionable churches, taking his stand among 
 the young men of fashion ; and at such times 
 his tall, elegant figure, his pale but handsome 
 countenance, and his flashing eyes, distin- 
 guished him from among the crowd, and the 
 ladies declared that it was almost impossible 
 to support his ardent gaze. 
 
 The Count did not afflict himself much at 
 his limited circulation in the fastidious circles 
 of the high aristocracy. He relished society 
 of a wilder and less ceremonious cast ; and 
 meeting with loose companions to his taste, 
 soon ran into all the excesses of the capital, in 
 
Count IDan tbocn 347 
 
 that most licentious period. It is said that, 
 in the course of his wild career, he had an 
 intrigue with a lady of quality, a favorite of 
 the Regent, that he was surprised by that 
 prince in one of his interviews, that sharp 
 words passed between them, and that the jeal- 
 ousy and vengeance thus awakened ended only 
 with his life. 
 
 About this time, the famous Mississippi 
 scheme of Law was at its height, or rather it 
 began to threaten that disastrous catastrophe 
 which convulsed the whole financial world. 
 Every effort was making to keep the bubble 
 inflated. The vagrant population of France 
 was swept off from the streets at night, and 
 conveyed to Havre de Grace, to be shipped to 
 the projected colonies ; even laboring people 
 and mechanics were thus crimped and spirited 
 away. As Count Antoine was in the habit of 
 sallying forth at night, in disguise, in pursuit 
 of his pleasures, he came near being carried 
 off by a gang of crimps ; it seemed, in fact, 
 as if they had been lying in wait for him, as 
 he had experienced very rough treatment at 
 their hands. Complaint was made of his case 
 by his relation, the Marquis de Crequi, who 
 took much interest in the youth ; but the Mar- 
 quis received mysterious intimations not to 
 interfere in the matter, but to advise the Count 
 
348 Stories anfc SLegenfcs 
 
 to quit Paris immediately : " If he lingers he 
 is lost ! ' ' This has been cited as a proof that 
 vengeance was dogging at the heels of the 
 unfortunate youth, and only watching for an 
 opportunity to destroy him. 
 
 Such opportunity occurred but too soon. 
 Among the loose companions with whom the 
 Count had become intimate, were two who 
 lodged in the same hotel with him. One was 
 a youth only twenty years of age, who passed 
 himself off as the Chevalier d'Btampes, but 
 whose real name was Lestang, the prodigal son 
 of a Flemish banker. The other, named Lau- 
 rent de Mille, a Piedmontese, was a cashiered 
 captain, and at the time an esquire in the ser- 
 vice of the dissolute Princess de Carignan, who 
 kept gambling-tables in her palace. It is prob- 
 able that gambling propensities had brought 
 these young men together, and that their losses 
 had driven them to desperate measures ; cer- 
 tain it is, that all Paris was suddenly astounded 
 by a murder which they were said to have com- 
 mitted. What made the crime more startling, 
 was, that it seemed connected with the great 
 Mississippi scheme, at that time the fruitful 
 source of all kinds of panics and agitations. 
 A Jew, a stock-broker, who dealt largely in 
 shares of the bank of Law, founded on the Mis- 
 sissippi scheme, was the victim. The story of 
 
Gbe Count \t)an 1born 349 
 
 his death is variously related. The darkest 
 account states, that the Jew was decoyed by 
 these young men into an obscure tavern, under 
 pretext of negotiating with him for bank shares, 
 to the amount of one hundred thousand crowns, 
 which he had with him in his pocket-book. 
 I^estang kept watch upon the stairs. The 
 Count and De Mille entered with the Jew into 
 a chamber. In a little while there were heard 
 cries and struggles from within. A waiter 
 passing by the room, looked in, and seeing the 
 Jew weltering in his blood, shut the door again, 
 double-locked it, and alarmed the house. I/e- 
 stang rushed down stairs, made his way to the 
 hotel, secured his most portable effects, and 
 fled the country. The Count and De Mille en- 
 deavored to escape by the window, but were 
 both taken, and conducted to prison. 
 
 A circumstance which occurs in this part of 
 the Count's story, seems to point him out as a 
 fated man. His mother, and his brother, the 
 Prince Van Horn, had received intelligence 
 some time before, at Baussigny, of the dissolute 
 life the Count was leading at Paris, and of his 
 losses at play. They despatched a gentleman 
 of the Prince's household to Paris, to pay the 
 debts of the Count, and persuade him to return 
 to Flanders ; or, if he should refuse, to obtain 
 an order from the Regent for him to quit the 
 
350 Stories and 
 
 capital. Unfortunately the gentleman did not 
 arrive at Paris until the day after the murder. 
 The news of the Count's arrest and imprison- 
 ment, on a charge of murder, caused a violent 
 sensation among the high aristocracy. All 
 those connected with him, who had treated 
 him hitherto with indifference, found their 
 dignity deeply involved in the question of 
 his guilt or innocence. A general convocation 
 was held at the hotel of the Marquis de Crequi, 
 of all the relatives and allies of the house of 
 Horn. It was an assemblage of the most proud 
 and aristocratic personages of Paris. Inquiries 
 were made into the circumstances of the affair. 
 It was ascertained beyond a doubt, that the Jew 
 was dead, and that he had been killed by sev- 
 eral stabs of a poniard. In escaping by the 
 window, it was said that the Count had fallen, 
 and been immediately taken ; but that De 
 Mille had fled through the streets, pursued by 
 the populace, and had been arrested at some 
 distance from the scene of the murder ; that 
 the Count had declared himself innocent of the 
 death of the Jew, and that he had risked his 
 own life in endeavoring to protect him ; but 
 that De Mille, on being brought back to the 
 tavern, confessed to a plot to murder the bro- 
 ker, and rob him of his pocket-book, and incul- 
 pated the Count in the crime. 
 
Count Wan 1born 351 
 
 Another version of the story was, that the 
 Count Van Horn had deposited with the bro- 
 ker bank shares to the amount of eighty-eight 
 thousand livres ; that he had sought him in 
 this tavern, which was one of his resorts, and 
 had demanded the shares ; that the Jew had 
 denied the deposit; that a quarrel had ensued, in 
 the course of which the Jew struck the Count 
 in the face ; that the latter, transported with 
 rage, had snatched up a knife from a table and 
 wounded the Jew in the shoulder ; and that 
 thereupon De Mille, who was present, and who 
 had likewise been defrauded by the broker, fell 
 on him, and despatched him with blows of a 
 poniard, and seized upon his pocket-book ; 
 that he had offered to divide the contents of the 
 latter with the Count, pro rata, of what the 
 usurer had defrauded them ; that the latter had 
 refused the proposition with disdain ; and that, 
 at a noise of persons approaching, both had 
 attempted to escape from the premises, but had 
 been taken. 
 
 Regard the story in any way they might, 
 appearances were terribly against the Count, 
 and the noble assemblage was in great conster- 
 nation. What was to be done to ward off so 
 foul a disgrace and to save their illustrious 
 escutcheons from this murderous stain of 
 blood ? Their first attempt was to prevent the 
 
352 Stories anD 
 
 affair from going to trial, and their relative 
 from being dragged before a criminal tribunal, 
 on so horrible and degrading a charge. They 
 applied therefore, to the Regent, to intervene 
 his power, to treat the Count as having acted 
 under an access of his mental malady, and to 
 shut him up in a madhouse. The Regent was 
 deaf to their solicitations. He replied, coldly, 
 that if the Count was a madman, one could not 
 get rid too quickly of madmen who were furi- 
 ous in their insanity. The crime was too pub- 
 lic and atrocious to be hushed up, or slurred 
 over ; justice must take its course. 
 
 Seeing there was no avoiding the humiliating 
 scene of a public trial, the noble relatives of the 
 Count endeavored to predispose the minds of 
 the magistrates before whom he was to be ar- 
 raigned. They accordingly made urgent and 
 eloquent representations of the high descent, 
 and noble and powerful connections of the 
 Count ; set forth the circumstances of his early 
 history, his mental malady, the nervous irrita- 
 bility to which he was subject, and his extreme 
 sensitiveness to insult or contradiction. By 
 these means they sought to prepare the judges 
 to interpret every thing in favor of the Count ; 
 and, even if it should prove that he had inflicted 
 the mortal blow on the usurer, to attribute it 
 to access of insanity provoked by insult. 
 
Count Wan f>orn 353 
 
 To give full effect to these representations, 
 the noble conclave determined to bring upon 
 the judges the dazzling rays of the whole 
 assembled aristocracy. Accordingly, on the 
 day that the trial took place, the relations of 
 the Count, to the number of fifty-seven persons, 
 of both sexes and of the highest rank, repaired 
 in a body to the Palace of Justice, and took 
 their stations in a long corridor which led to the 
 court-room. Here, as the judges entered, they 
 had to pass in review this array of lofty and 
 noble personages, who saluted them mournfully 
 and significantly as they passed. Any one 
 conversant with the stately pride and jealous 
 dignity of the French noblesse of that day, 
 may imagine the extreme state of sensitiveness 
 that produced this self-abasement. It was 
 confidently presumed, however, by the noble 
 suppliants, that having once brought them- 
 seves to this measure, their influence over the 
 tribunal would be irresistible. There was one 
 lady present, however, Madame de Beauffre- 
 mont, who was affected with the Scottish gift 
 of second sight, and related such dismal and 
 sinister apparitions as passing before her eyes, 
 that many of her female companions were filled 
 with doleful presentiments. 
 
 Unfortunately for the Count, there was an- 
 other interest at work, more powerful even 
 23 
 
354 Storfee anD 
 
 than the high aristocracy. The infamous but 
 all-potent Abbe" Dubois, the grand favorite and 
 bosom counsellor of the Regent, was deeply in- 
 terested in the scheme of L,aw and the prosperity 
 of his bank, and of course in the security of the 
 stock-brokers. Indeed, the Regent himself is 
 said to have dipped deep in the Mississippi 
 scheme. Dubois and I^aw, therefore, exerted 
 their influence to the utmost to have the tragic 
 affair pushed to the extremity of the law, and 
 the murderer of the broker punished in the 
 most signal and appalling manner. Certain 
 it is, the trial was neither long nor intricate. 
 The Count and his fellow-prisoner were 
 equally inculpated in the crime, and both 
 were condemned to a death the most horrible 
 and ignominious to be broken alive on the 
 wheel ! 
 
 As soon as the sentence of the court was 
 made public, all the nobility, in any degree 
 related to the house of Van Horn, went into 
 mourning. Another grand aristocratical as- 
 semblage was held, and a petition to the Re- 
 gent, on behalf of the Count, was drawn out 
 and left with the Marquis de Crequi for signa- 
 ture. This petition set forth the previous in- 
 sanity of the Count, and showed that it was an 
 hereditary malady in his family. It stated va- 
 rious circumstances in mitigation of his offence, 
 
Count Wan f)otn 355 
 
 and implored that his sentence might be com- 
 muted to perpetual imprisonment. 
 
 Upward of fifty names of the highest nobility, 
 beginning with the Prince de L,igne, and in- 
 cluding cardinals, archbishops, dukes, mar- 
 quises, etc., together with ladies of equal rank, 
 were signed to this petition. By one of the 
 caprices of human pride and vanity, it became 
 an object of ambition to get enrolled among 
 the illustrious suppliants ; a kind of testimonial 
 of noble blood, to prove relationship to a mur- 
 derer ! The Marquis de Crequi was absolutely 
 besieged by applicants to sign, and had to re- 
 fer their claims to this singular honor to the 
 Prince de Ligne, the grandfather of the Count. 
 Many who were excluded were highly incensed, 
 and numerous feuds took place. Nay, the 
 affronts thus given to the morbid pride of 
 some aristocratical families, passed from gen- 
 eration to generation ; for, fifty years after- 
 ward, the Duchess of Mazarin complained of 
 a slight which her father had received from 
 the Marquis de Crequi, which proved to be 
 something connected with the signature of 
 this petition. 
 
 This important document being completed, 
 the illustrious body of petitioners, male and 
 female, on Saturday evening, the eve of Palm 
 Sunday, repaired to the Palais Royal, the 
 
356 Stories anD 
 
 residence of the Regent, and were ushered with 
 great ceremony, but profound silence, into his 
 hall of council. They had appointed four of 
 their number as deputies to present the petition, 
 viz. : the Cardinal de Rohan, the Duke de 
 Havre, the Prince de lyigne, and the Marquis 
 de Crequi. After a little while, the deputies 
 were summoned to the cabinet of the Regent. 
 They entered, leaving the assembled petitioners 
 in a state of the greatest anxiety. As time 
 slowly wore away, and the evening advanced, 
 the gloom of the company increased. Several 
 of the ladies prayed devoutly ; the good Prin- 
 cess of Armagnac told her beads. 
 
 The petition was received by the Regent 
 with a most unpropitious aspect. " In asking 
 the pardon of the criminal," said he, "you 
 display more zeal for the house of Van Horn 
 than for the service of the King. ' ' The noble 
 deputies enforced the petition by every argu- 
 ment in their power. They supplicated the 
 Regent to consider that the infamous punish- 
 ment in question would reach not merely the 
 person of the condemned, not merely the 
 house of Van Horn, but also the genealogies 
 of princely and illustrious families, in whose 
 armorial bearings might be found quarterings 
 of this dishonored name. 
 
 "Gentlemen," replied the Regent, "it ap- 
 
Count Dan 1born 357 
 
 pears to me the disgrace consists in the crime, 
 rather than in the punishment." 
 
 The Prince de L4gne spoke with warmth : 
 " I have in my genealogical standard," said 
 he, "four escutcheons of Van Horn, and of 
 course have four ancestors of that house. I 
 must have them erased and effaced, and there 
 would be so many blank spaces, like holes, in 
 my heraldic ensigns. There is not a sovereign 
 family which would not suffer through the 
 rigor of your Royal Highness ; nay, all the 
 world knows that in the thirty-two quarterings 
 of Madame, your mother, there is an escutcheon 
 of Van Horn." 
 
 "Very well," replied the Regent, "I will 
 share the disgrace with you, gentlemen." 
 
 Seeing that a pardon could not be obtained, 
 the Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de 
 Crequi left the cabinet ; but the Prince de 
 Ligne and the Duke de Havre" remained behind. 
 The honor of their houses, more than the life 
 of the unhappy Count, was the great object of 
 their solicitude. They now endeavored to ob- 
 tain a minor grace. They represented that in 
 the Netherlands and in Germany there was an 
 important difference in the public mind as to 
 the mode of inflicting the punishment of death 
 upon persons of quality. That decapitation 
 had no influence on the fortunes of the family 
 
358 Stories anfc 
 
 of the executed, but that the punishment of the 
 wheel was such an infamy, that the uncles, 
 aunts, brothers, and sisters of the criminal, 
 and his whole family, for three succeeding 
 generations, were excluded from all noble 
 chapters, princely abbeys, sovereign bishoprics, 
 and even Teutonic commanderies of the Order 
 of Malta. They showed how this would oper- 
 ate immediately upon the fortunes of a sister 
 of the Count, who was on the point of being 
 received as a canoness into one of the noble 
 chapters. 
 
 While this scene was going on in the cabi- 
 net of the Regent, the illustrious assemblage 
 of petitioners remained in the hall of council, 
 in the most gloomy state of suspense. The 
 re-entrance from the cabinet of the Cardinal 
 de Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi, with 
 pale, downcast countenances, had struck a 
 chill into every heart. Still they lingered 
 until near midnight, to learn the result of the 
 after application. At length the cabinet con- 
 ference was at an end. The Regent came 
 forth and saluted the high personages of the 
 assemblage in a courtly manner. One old 
 lady of quality, Madame de Guy on, whom he 
 had known in his infancy, he kissed on the 
 cheek, calling her his "good aunt." He 
 made a most ceremonious salutation to the 
 
Count Wan f>orn 359 
 
 stately Marchioness de Crequi, telling her he 
 was charmed to see her at the Palais Royal, 
 1 ' a compliment very ill-timed, ' ' said the Mar- 
 chioness, * ' considering the circumstance which 
 brought me there." He then conducted the 
 ladies to the door of the second saloon, and 
 there dismissed them, with the most ceremo- 
 nious politeness. 
 
 The application of the Prince de Ligne and 
 the Duke de Havre, for a change of the mode 
 of punishment, had, after much difficulty, been 
 successful. The Regent had promised sol- 
 emnly to send a letter of commutation to the 
 attorney-general, on Holy Monday, the 25th 
 of March, at 5 o'clock in the morning. Ac- 
 cording to the same promise, a scaffold would 
 be arranged in the cloister of the Conciergerie, 
 or prison, where the Count would be beheaded 
 on the same morning, immediately after hav- 
 ing received absolution. This mitigation of 
 the form of punishment gave but little conso- 
 lation to the great body of petitioners, who 
 had been anxious for the pardon of the youth ; 
 it was looked upon as all-important, however, 
 by the Prince de Ligne, who, as has been 
 before observed, was exquisitely alive to the 
 dignity of his family. 
 
 The Bishop of Bayeux and the Marquis de 
 Crequi visited the unfortunate youth in prison. 
 
3&o Stories anD 
 
 He had just received the communion in the 
 chapel of the Conciergerie, and was kneeling 
 before the altar, listening to a mass for the 
 dead, which was performed at his request. 
 He protested his innocence of any intention to 
 murder the Jew, but did not deign to allude 
 to the accusation of robbery. He made the 
 Bishop and the Marquis promise to see his 
 brother the Prince, and inform him of this his 
 dying asseveration. 
 
 Two other of his relations, the Prince Re- 
 becq-Moutmorency and the Marshal Van Isen- 
 ghien, visited him secretly, and offered him 
 poison, as the means of evading the disgrace 
 of a public execution. On his refusing to take 
 it, they left him with high indignation. " Mis- 
 erable man ! " said they, "you are fit only to 
 perish by the hand of the executioner ! ' ' 
 
 The Marquis de Crequi sought the execu- 
 tioner of Paris, to bespeak an easy and decent 
 death for the unfortunate youth. "Do not 
 make him suffer, ' ' said he ; " uncover no part 
 of him but the neck, and have his body placed 
 in a coffin before you deliver it to his family." 
 The executioner promised all that was re- 
 quested, but declined a rouleau of a hundred 
 louis-d'ors which the Marquis would have put 
 into his hand. " I am paid by the King for 
 fulfilling my office," said he ; and added, that 
 
Cbe Count \Dan f>orn 361 
 
 he had already refused a like sum offered by 
 another relation of the Marquis. 
 
 The Marquis de Crequi returned home in a 
 state of deep affliction. There he found a let- 
 ter from the Duke de St. Simon, the familiar 
 friend of the Regent, repeating the promise of 
 that Prince, that the punishment of the wheel 
 should be commuted to decapitation. 
 
 " Imagine," says the Marchioness de Cre- 
 qui, who in her memoirs gives a detailed 
 account of this affair, ' ' imagine what we ex- 
 perienced, and what was our astonishment, 
 our grief, and indignation, when, on Tuesday 
 the 26th of March, an hour after midday, word 
 was brought us that the Count Van Horn had 
 been exposed on the wheel in the Place de 
 Greve, since half-past six in the morning, on 
 the same scaffold with the Piedmontese, De 
 Mille, and that he had been tortured previous 
 to execution ! ' ' 
 
 One more scene of aristocratic pride closed 
 this tragic story. The Marquis de Crequi, on 
 receiving this astounding news, immediately 
 arrayed himself in the uniform of a general 
 officer, with his cordon of nobility on the coat. 
 He ordered six valets to attend him in grand 
 livery, and two of his carriages, each with six 
 horses, to be brought forth. In this sumptu- 
 ous state he set off for the Place de Greve, 
 
362 Stories anD XegenDs 
 
 where he had been preceded by the Princes 
 de lyigne, de Rohan, de Croiiy, and the Duke 
 de Havre. 
 
 The Count Van Horn was already dead, 
 and it was believed that the executioner had 
 had the charity to give him the coup de grdce, 
 or " death-blow," at eight o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. At five o'clock in the evening, when 
 the Judge Commissary left his post at the 
 Hotel de Ville, these noblemen, with their 
 own hands, aided to detach the mutilated 
 remains of their relation ; the Marquis de 
 Crequi placed them in one of his carriages, 
 and bore them off to his hotel, to receive the 
 last sad obsequies. 
 
 The conduct of the Regent in this affair 
 excited general indignation. His needless 
 severity was attributed by some to vindictive 
 jealousy ; by others to the persevering machi- 
 nations of Law and the Abbe Dubois. The 
 house of Van Horn, and the high nobility of 
 Flanders and Germany, considered themselves 
 flagrantly outraged ; many schemes of ven- 
 geance were talked of, and a hatred engendered 
 against the Regent that followed him through 
 life, and was wreaked with bitterness upon 
 his memory after his death. 
 
 The following letter is said to have been 
 written to the Regent by the Prince Van 
 
Count Dan fjorn 363 
 
 Horn, to whom the former had adjudged the 
 confiscated effects of the Count : 
 
 "I do not complain, sir, of the death of 
 my brother, but I complain that your Royal 
 Highness has violated in his person the rights 
 of the kingdom, the nobility, and the nation. 
 I thank you for the confiscation of his effects ; 
 but I should think myself as much disgraced 
 as he, should I accept any favor at your hands. 
 / hope that God and the King may render to 
 you as strict justice as you have rendered to my 
 unfortunate brother" 
 
2>on Juan : H Spectral IResearcfo, 
 
 " I have heard of spirits walking with aerial bodies, 
 and have been wondered at by others ; but I must 
 only wonder at myself, for, if they be not mad, I 'me 
 come to my own buriall." 
 
 SHIRLEY'S " WITTY FAIRIE ONE." 
 
 EVERYBODY has heard of the fate of 
 Don Juan, the famous libertine of Se- 
 ville, who, for his sins against the fair 
 sex and other minor peccadilloes, was 
 hurried away to the infernal regions. His 
 story has been illustrated in play, in panto- 
 mime, and farce, on every stage in Christendom, 
 until at length it has been rendered the theme 
 of the opera of operas, and embalmed to end- 
 less duration in the glorious music of Mozart. 
 I well recollect the effect of this story upon 
 my feelings in my boyish days, though repre- 
 sented in grotesque pantomime ; the awe with 
 which I contemplated the monumental statue 
 364 
 
Stories anD XegenDs 365 
 
 on horseback of the murdered commander, 
 gleaming by pale moonlight in the convent 
 cemetery ; how my heart quaked as he bowed 
 his marble head, and accepted the impious 
 invitation of Don Juan ; how each footfall 
 of the statue smote upon my heart, as I heard 
 it approach, step by step, through the echoing 
 corridor, and beheld it enter, and advance, a 
 moving figure of stone, to the supper- table ! 
 But then the convivial scene in the charnel- 
 house, where Don Juan returned the visit of 
 the statue, was offered a banquet of skulls and 
 bones, and on refusing to partake, was hurled 
 into a yawning gulf under a tremendous 
 shower of fire ! These were accumulated 
 horrors enough to shake the nerves of the 
 most pantomime-loving school-boy. Many 
 have supposed the story of Don Juan a mere 
 fable. I myself thought so once ; but ' ' seeing 
 is believing." I have since beheld the very 
 scene where it took place, and now to indulge 
 any doubt on the subject, would be prepos- 
 terous. 
 
 I was one night perambulating the streets 
 of Seville, in company with a Spanish friend, a 
 curious investigator of the popular traditions 
 and other good-for-nothing lore of the city, and 
 who was kind enough to imagine he had met, 
 in me, with a congenial spirit. In the course 
 
366 2>on 3uan 
 
 of our rambles, we were passing by a heavy 
 dark gateway, opening into the courtyard of 
 a convent, when he laid his hand upon my 
 arm : * ' Stop ! ' ' said he ; ' ' this is the convent 
 of San Francisco ; there is a story connected 
 with it, which I am sure must be known to 
 you. You cannot but have heard of Don Juan 
 and the marble statue." 
 
 4 'Undoubtedly," replied I; "it has been 
 familiar to me from childhood." 
 
 "Well, then, it was in the cemetery of this 
 convent that the events took place." 
 
 "Why, you do not mean to say that the 
 story is founded on fact ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Undoubtedly it is. The circumstances of 
 the case are said to have occurred during the 
 reign of Alfonso XI. Don Juan was of the 
 noble family of Tenorio, one of the most illus- 
 trious houses of Andalusia. His father, Don 
 Diego Tenorio, was a favorite of the King, and 
 his family ranked among the veintecuatros, or 
 magistrates, of the city. Presuming on his 
 high descent and powerful connections, Don 
 Juan set no bounds to his excesses ; no female, 
 high or low, was sacred from his pursuit ; and 
 he soon became the scandal of Seville. One 
 of his most daring outrages was, to penetrate 
 by night into the palace of Don Gonzalo de 
 Ulloa, Commander of the Order of Calatrava, 
 
Stories and XegenDs 367 
 
 and attempt to carry off his daughter. The 
 household was alarmed ; a scuffle in the dark 
 took place ; Don Juan escaped, but the unfortu- 
 nate commander was found weltering in his 
 blood, and expired without being able to name 
 his murderer. Suspicions attached to Don 
 Juan ; he did not stop to meet the investiga- 
 tions of justice and the vengeance of the power- 
 ful family of Ulloa, but fled from Seville, and 
 took refuge with his uncle, Don Pedro Tenorio, 
 at that time ambassador at the court of Naples. 
 Here he remained until the agitation occasioned 
 by the murder of Don Gonzalo had time to 
 subside ; and the scandal which the affair 
 might cause to both the families of Ulloa and 
 Tenorio had induced them to hush it up. Don 
 Juan, however, continued his libertine career 
 at Naples, until at length his excesses forfeited 
 the protection of his uncle the ambassador, and 
 obliged him again to flee. He had made his 
 way back to Seville, trusting that his past mis- 
 deeds were forgotten, or rather trusting to his 
 dare-devil spirit and the power of his family, to 
 carry him through all difficulties. 
 
 " It was shortly after his return, and while 
 in the height of his arrogance, that on visiting 
 this very convent of Francisco, he beheld on a 
 monument the equestrian statue of the mur- 
 dered commander, who had been buried with- 
 
368 2>on 5uan 
 
 in the walls of this sacred edifice, where the 
 family of Ulloa had a chapel. It was on this 
 occasion that Don Juan, in a moment of im- 
 pious levity, invited the statue to the banquet, 
 the awful catastrophe of which has given such 
 celebrity to his story." 
 
 " And pray how much of this story," said I, 
 ' ' is believed in Seville ? ' ' 
 
 * ' The whole of it by the populace, with 
 whom it has been a favorite tradition since 
 time immemorial, and who crowd to the 
 theatres to see it represented in dramas written 
 long since by Tyrso de Molina, and another 
 of our popular writers. Many in our higher 
 ranks also, accustomed from childhood to this 
 story, would feel somewhat indignant at hear- 
 ing it treated with contempt. An attempt has 
 been made to explain the whole, by asserting 
 that, to put an end to the extravagances of Don 
 Juan, and to pacify the family of Ulloa, with- 
 out exposing the delinquent to the degrading 
 penalties of justice, he was decoyed into this 
 convent under false pretext, and either plunged 
 into a perpetual dungeon, or privately hurried 
 out of existence ; while the story of the statue 
 was circulated by the monks, to account for his 
 sudden disappearance. The populace, however, 
 are not to be cajoled out of a ghost-story by 
 any of these plausible explanations ; and the 
 
Stories and TLcQenbs 369 
 
 marble statue still strides the stage, and Don 
 Juan is still plunged into the infernal regions, 
 as an awful warning to all rake-helly young- 
 sters, in like case offending. " 
 
 While my companion was relating these 
 anecdotes, we had traversed the exterior court- 
 yard of the convent, and made our way into 
 a great interior court, partly surrounded by 
 cloisters and dormitories, partly by chapels, 
 and having a large fountain in the centre. 
 The pile had evidently once been extensive 
 and magnificent ; but it was for the greater 
 part in ruins. By the light of the stars, and 
 of twinkling lamps placed here and there in the 
 chapels and corridors, I could see that many 
 of the columns and arches were broken ; the 
 walls were rent and riven ; while burnt beams 
 and rafters showed the destructive effects of 
 fire. The whole place had a desolate air ; the 
 night breeze rustled through grass and weeds 
 flaunting out of the crevices of the walls, or 
 from the shattered columns ; the bat flitted 
 about the vaulted passages, and the owl 
 hooted from the ruined belfry. Never was 
 any scene more completely fitted for a ghost- 
 story. 
 
 While I was indulging in picturings of the 
 fancy, proper to such a place, the deep chant 
 of the monks from the convent church came 
 
370 Don Suan 
 
 swelling upon the ear. " It is the vesper ser- 
 vice, ' ' said my companion ; * ' follow me. ' ' 
 
 Leading the way across the court of the 
 cloisters, and through one or two ruined pas- 
 sages, he reached the portal of the church, 
 and pushing open a wicket, cut in the folding- 
 doors, we found ourselves in the deep arched 
 vestibule of the sacred edifice. To our left 
 was the choir, forming one end of the church, 
 and having a low vaulted ceiling, which gave 
 it the look of a cavern. About this were 
 ranged the monks, seated on stools, and chant- 
 ing from immense books placed on music- 
 stands, and having the notes scored in such 
 gigantic characters as to be legible from every 
 part of the choir. A few lights on these 
 music-stands dimly illumined the choir, 
 gleamed on the shaven heads of the monks, 
 and threw their shadows on the walls. They 
 were gross, blue-bearded, bullet-headed men, 
 with bass voices, of deep metallic tone, that 
 reverberated out of the cavernous choir. 
 
 To our right extended the great body of the 
 church. It was spacious and lofty ; some of 
 the side chapels had gilded grates, and were 
 decorated with images and paintings, repre- 
 senting the sufferings of our Saviour. Aloft 
 was a great painting by Murillo, but too much 
 in the dark to be distinguished. The gloom 
 
Stories and Xegenfcs 371 
 
 of the whole church was but faintly relieved 
 by the reflected light from the choir, and the 
 glimmering here and there of a votive lamp 
 before the shrine of the saint. 
 
 As my eye roamed about the shadowy pile, 
 it was struck with the dimly seen figure of a 
 man on horseback, near a distant altar. I 
 touched my companion, and pointed to it : 
 "The spectre statue ! " said I. 
 
 " No," replied he ; " it is the statue of the 
 blessed St. lago ; the statue of the comman- 
 der was in the cemetery of the convent, and 
 was destroyed at the time of the conflagration. 
 But," added he, " as I see you take a proper 
 interest in these kind of stories, come with me 
 to the other end of the church, where our 
 whisperings will not disturb these holy fathers 
 at their devotions, and I will tell you another 
 story that has been current for some genera- 
 tions in our city, by which you will find that 
 Don Juan is not the only libertine that has 
 been the object of supernatural castigation in 
 Seville." 
 
 I accordingly followed him with noiseless 
 tread to the farther part of the church, where 
 we took our seats on the steps of an altar 
 opposite to the suspicious-looking figure on 
 horseback, and there, in a low, mysterious 
 voice, he related to me the following narrative : 
 
372 Don 3uan 
 
 " There was once in Seville a gay young 
 fellow, Don Manuel de Manara by name, who, 
 having come to a great estate by the death of 
 his father, gave the reins to his passions, and 
 plunged into all kinds of dissipation. Like 
 Don Juan, whom he seemed to have taken for 
 a model, he became famous for his enterprises 
 among the fair sex, and was the cause of doors 
 being barred and windows grated with more 
 than usual strictness. All in vain. No bal- 
 cony was too high for him to scale : no bolt 
 nor bar was proof against his efforts ; and his 
 very name was a word of terror to all the jeal- 
 ous husbands and cautious fathers of Seville. 
 His exploits extended to country as well as 
 city ; and in the village dependent on his cas- 
 tle scarce a rural beauty was safe from his arts 
 and enterprises. 
 
 ' ' As he was one day ranging the streets of 
 Seville, with several of his dissolute compan- 
 ions, he beheld a procession, about to enter the 
 gate of a convent. In the centre was a young 
 female, arrayed in the dress of a bride ; it was 
 a novice, who having accomplished her year of 
 probation, was about to take the black veil, 
 and consecrate herself to heaven. The com- 
 panions of Don Manuel drew back, out of re- 
 spect to the sacred pageant ; but he pressed 
 forward with his usual impetuosity, to gain a 
 
Stories anD 3LcgenDs 373 
 
 near view of the novice. He almost jostled 
 her, in passing through the portal of the church, 
 when, on her turning round, he beheld the 
 countenance of a beautiful village girl, who 
 had been the object of his ardent pursuit, but 
 who had been spirited secretly out of his reach 
 by her relatives. She recognized him at the 
 same moment, and fainted, but was borne 
 within the grate of the chapel. It was sup- 
 posed the agitation of the ceremony' and the 
 heat of the throng had overcome her. After 
 some time, the curtain which hung within the 
 grate was drawn up : there stood the novice, 
 pale and trembling, surrounded by the abbess 
 and the nuns. The ceremony proceeded ; the 
 crown of flowers was taken from her head, she 
 was shorn of her silken tresses, received the 
 black veil, and went passively through the re- 
 mainder of the ceremony. 
 
 ' ' Don Manuel de Manara, on the contrary, was 
 roused to fury at the sight of this sacrifice. His 
 passion, which had almost faded away in the ab- 
 sence of the object, now glowed with tenfold 
 ardor, being inflamed by the difficulties placed in 
 his way, and piqued by the measures which had 
 been taken to defeat him. Never had the ob- 
 ject of his pursuit appeared so lovely and desir- 
 able as when within the grate of the convent ; 
 and he swore to have her, in defiance of heaven 
 
374 Don 5uan 
 
 and earth. By dint of bribing a female servant 
 of the convent, he contrived to convey letters 
 to her, pleading his passion in the most elo- 
 quent and seductive terms. How successful 
 they were, is only a matter of conjecture ; cer- 
 tain it is, he undertook one night to scale the 
 garden-wall of the convent, either to carry off 
 the nun, or gain admission to her cell. Just 
 as he was mounting the wall, he was suddenly 
 plucked back, and a stranger, muffled in a 
 cloak, stood before him. 
 
 " * Rash man, forbear ! ' cried he ; 'is it not 
 enough to have violated all human ties? 
 Wouldst thou steal a bride from heaven ! ' 
 
 * * The sword of Don Manuel had been drawn 
 on the instant, and furious at this interruption, 
 he passed it through the body of the stranger, 
 who fell dead at his feet. Hearing approach- 
 ing footsteps, he fled the fatal spot, and mount- 
 ing his horse, which was at hand, retreated to 
 his estate in the country, at no great distance 
 from Seville. Here he remained throughout 
 the next day, full of horror and remorse, dread- 
 ing lest he should be known as the murderer 
 of the deceased, and fearing each moment the 
 arrival of the officers of justice. 
 
 "The day passed, however, without moles- 
 tation ; and as the evening advanced, unable 
 any longer to endure this state of uncertainty 
 
Stories an& XcgenDs 375 
 
 and apprehension, he ventured back to Seville. 
 Irresistibly his footsteps took the direction of 
 the convent, but he paused and hovered at a 
 distance from the scene of blood. Several per- 
 sons were gathered round the place, one of 
 whom was busy nailing something against the 
 con vent- wall. After a while they dispersed, 
 and one passed near to Don Manuel. The lat- 
 ter addressed him with hesitating voice. 
 
 * * ' Senor, ' said he, ' may I ask the reason of 
 yonder throng ? ' 
 
 11 ' A cavalier,' replied the other, 'has been 
 murdered. ' 
 
 11 ' Murdered ! ' echoed Don Manuel ; * and 
 can you tell me his name ? ' 
 
 " ' Don Manuel de Manara,' replied the 
 stranger, and passed on. 
 
 " Don Manuel was startled at this mention 
 of his own name, especially when applied to 
 the murdered man. He ventured, when it was 
 entirely deserted, to approach the fatal spot. 
 A small cross had been nailed against the wall, 
 as is customary in Spain, to mark the place 
 where a murder has been committed ; and j ust 
 below it he read, by the twinkling light of a 
 lamp : ' Here was murdered Don Manuel de 
 Manara. Pray to God for his soul ! ' 
 
 * ' Still more confounded and perplexed by 
 this inscription, he wandered about the streets 
 
Bon 
 
 until the night was far advanced, and all was 
 still and lonely. As he entered the principal 
 square, the light of torches suddenly broke on 
 him, and he beheld a grand funeral procession 
 moving across it. There was a great train of 
 priests, and many persons of dignified appear- 
 ance, in ancient Spanish dresses, attending as 
 mourners, none of whom he knew. Accosting 
 a servant who followed in the train, he de- 
 manded the name of the defunct. 
 
 " * Don Manuel de Manara,' was the reply ; 
 and it went cold to his heart. He looked, and 
 indeed beheld the armorial bearings of his 
 family emblazoned on the funeral escutcheons. 
 Yet not one of his family was to be seen among 
 the mourners. The mystery was more and 
 more incomprehensible. 
 
 " He followed the procession as it moved 
 on to the cathedral. The bier was deposited 
 before the high altar ; the funeral service was 
 commenced, and the grand organ began to 
 peal through the vaulted aisles. 
 
 " Again the youth ventured to question this 
 awful pageant. 'Father,' said he, with trem- 
 bling voice, to one of the priests, * who is this 
 you are about to inter ? ' 
 
 " * Don Manuel de Manara ! ' replied the 
 priest. 
 
 " ' Father,' cried Don Manuel, impatiently. 
 
Stories and 3LegenD0 377 
 
 ' you are deceived. This is some imposture. 
 Know that Don Manuel de Manara is alive 
 and well, and now stands before you. /am 
 Don Manuel de Manara ! ' 
 
 ' ' ' Avaunt, rash youth ! ' cried the priest, 
 ' know that Don Manuel de Manara is dead ! 
 is dead ! is dead ! and we are all souls 
 from purgatory, his deceased relatives and 
 ancestors, and others that have been aided by 
 masses from his family, who are permitted to 
 come here and pray for the repose of his soul ! ' 
 
 "Don Manuel cast round a fearful glance 
 upon the assemblage in antiquated Spanish 
 garbs, and recognized in their pale and ghastly 
 countenances the portraits of many an ancestor 
 that hung in the family picture-gallery . He 
 now lost all self-command, rushed up to the 
 bier, and beheld the counterpart of himself, 
 but in the fixed and livid lineaments of death. 
 Just at that moment the whole choir burst 
 forth with a * Requiescat in pace? that shook 
 the vaults of the cathedral. Don Manuel sank 
 senseless on the pavement. He was found 
 there early the next morning by the sacristan,, 
 and conveyed to his home. When sufficiently 
 recovered, he sent for a friar, and made a full 
 confession of all that had happened. 
 
 "'My son,' said the friar, 'all this is a 
 miracle and a mystery intended for thy con- 
 
378 2>on 
 
 version and salvation. The corpse thou hast 
 seen was a token that thou hadst died to sin 
 and the world ; take warning by it, and hence- 
 forth live to righteousness and heaven ! ' 
 
 ' ' Don Manuel did take warning by it. 
 Guided by the counsels of the worthy friar, 
 he disposed of all his temporal affairs, dedi- 
 cated the greater part of his wealth to pious 
 uses, especially to the performance of masses 
 for souls in purgatory, and finally, entering a 
 convent, became one of the most zealous and 
 exemplary monks in Seville." 
 
 While my companion was relating this story, 
 my eyes wandered, from time to time, about 
 the dusky church. Methought the burly coun- 
 tenances of the monks in the distant choir 
 assumed a pallid, ghastly hue, and their deep 
 metallic voices a sepulchral sound. By the 
 time the story was ended, they had ended 
 their chant, and, extinguishing their lights, 
 glided, one by one, like shadows, through a 
 small door in the side of the choir. A deeper 
 gloom prevailed over the church ; the figure 
 opposite me on horseback grew more and more 
 spectral, and I almost expected to see it bow 
 its head. 
 
 " It is time to be off," said ni3 T companion, 
 " unless we intend to sup with the statue." 
 
 " I have no relish for such fare nor such 
 
Stories and XescnDs 379 
 
 company," replied I; and following my com- 
 panion, we groped our way through the mould- 
 ering cloisters. As we passed by the ruined 
 cemetery, keeping up a casual conversation, 
 by way of dispelling the loneliness of the scene, 
 I called to mind the words of the poet : 
 
 " The tombs 
 
 And monumental caves of death look cold, 
 And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart 8 
 Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice ; 
 Nay, speak and let me hear thy voice ; 
 Mine own affrights me with its echoes." 
 
 There wanted nothing but the marble statue 
 of the commander, striding along the echoing 
 cloisters, to complete the haunted scene. 
 
 Since that time, I never fail to attend the 
 theatre whenever the story of Don Juan is rep- 
 resented, whether in pantomime or opera. In 
 the sepulchral scene, I feel myself quite at 
 home ; and when the statue makes his appear- 
 ance, I greet him as an old acquaintance. 
 When the audience applaud, I look round 
 upon them with a degree of compassion. 
 ' ' Poor souls ! " I say to myself, * ' they think 
 they are pleased ; they think they enjoy this 
 piece, and yet they consider the whole as a 
 fiction ! How much more would they enjoy 
 it, if, like me, they knew it to be true and had 
 seen the very place ! ' ' 
 
of tbe Ensulpbefc Convent 
 
 AT the dark and melancholy period when 
 Don Roderick the Goth and his chiv- 
 alry were overthrown on the banks of 
 the Guadalete, and all Spain was over- 
 run by the Moors, great was the devastation 
 of churches and convents throughout that pious 
 kingdom. The miraculous fate of one of those 
 holy piles is thus recorded in an authentic 
 legend of those days. 
 
 On the summit of a hill, not very distant 
 from the capital city of Toledo, stood an ancient 
 convent and chapel, dedicated to the invocation 
 of Saint Benedict, and inhabited by a sister- 
 hood of Benedictine nuns. This holy asylum 
 was confined to females of noble lineage. The 
 younger sisters of the highest families were 
 here given in religious marriage to their Sav- 
 iour, in order that the portions of their elder 
 sisters might be increased, and they enabled 
 to make suitable matches on earth ; or that 
 380 
 
Stories anfc TLcQcnbs 381 
 
 the family wealth might go undivided to elder 
 brothers, and the dignity of their ancient houses 
 be protected from decay. The convent was 
 renowned, therefore, for enshrining within 
 its walls a sisterhood of the purest blood, the 
 most immaculate virtue, and most resplen- 
 dent beauty, of all Gothic Spain. 
 
 When the Moors overran the kingdom, there 
 was nothing that more excited their hostility 
 than these virgin asylums. The very sight of 
 a convent spire was sufficient to set their Mos- 
 lem blood in a foment, and they sacked it with 
 as fierce a zeal as though the sacking of a nun- 
 nery were a sure passport to Elysium. 
 
 Tidings of such outrages, committed in 
 various parts of the kingdom, reached this 
 noble sanctuary, and filled it with dismay. 
 The danger came nearer and nearer ; the infidel 
 hosts were spreading all over the country ; 
 Toledo itself was captured ; there was no flying 
 from the convent, and no security within its 
 walls. 
 
 In the midst of this agitation, the alarm was 
 given one day, that a great band of Saracens 
 were spurring across the plain. In an instant 
 the whole convent was a scene of confusion. 
 Some of the nuns wrung their fair hands at 
 the windows ; others waved their veils, and 
 uttered shrieks, from the tops of the towers, 
 
382 Gbe BngulpbeD Convent 
 
 vainly hoping to draw relief from a country 
 overrun by the foe. The sight of these inno- 
 cent doves thus fluttering about their dove- 
 cote, but increased the zealot fury of the 
 whiskered Moors. They thundered at the 
 portal, and at every blow the ponderous gates 
 trembled on their hinges. 
 
 The nuns now crowded round the abbess. 
 They had been accustomed to look up to her 
 as all-powerful, and they now implored her 
 protection. The mother abbess looked with a 
 rueful eye upon the treasures of beauty and 
 vestal virtue exposed to such imminent peril. 
 Alas ! how was she to protect them from 
 the spoiler ! She had, it is true, experienced 
 many signal interpositions of Providence in her 
 individual favor. Her early days had been 
 passed amid the temptations of a court, where 
 her virtue had been purified by repeated trials, 
 from none of which had she escaped but by 
 miracle. But were miracles never to cease? 
 Could she hope that the marvellous protection 
 shown to herself would be extended to a whole 
 sisterhood? There was no other resource. 
 The Moors were at the threshold ; a few mo- 
 ments more, and the convent would be at their 
 mercy. Summoning her nuns to follow her, 
 she hurried into the chapel, and throwing her- 
 self on her knees before the image of the blessed 
 
Stocice and ILcgenDs 383 
 
 Mary, "Oh, holy I,ady ! " exclaimed she, 
 "oh, most pure and immaculate of virgins! 
 thou seest our extremity. The ravager is at 
 the gate, and there is none on earth to help us ! 
 L,ook down with pity, and grant that the earth 
 may gape and swallow us, rather than that 
 our cloister vows should suffer violation ! ' ' 
 
 The Moors redoubled their assault upon the 
 portal ; the gates gave way, with a tremendous 
 crash ; a savage yell of exultation arose ; when 
 of a sudden the earth yawned, down sank the 
 convent, with its cloisters, its dormitories, and 
 all its nuns. The chapel tower was the last 
 that sank, the bell ringing forth a peal of 
 triumph in the very teeth of the infidels. 
 
 Forty years had passed and gone, since the 
 period of this miracle. The subjugation of 
 Spain was complete. The Moors lorded it 
 over city and country ; and such of the Chris- 
 tian population as remained, and were per- 
 mitted to exercise their religion, did it in 
 humble resignation to the Moslem sway. 
 
 At this time, a Christian cavalier of Cordova, 
 hearing that a patriotic band of his country- 
 men had raised the standard of the cross in 
 the mountains of the Asturias, resolved to 
 join them, and unite in breaking the yoke of 
 bondage. Secretly arming himself and capar- 
 isoning his steed, he set forth from Cordova, 
 
384 Gbe JBnguIpbeD Convent 
 
 and pursued his course by unfrequented mule- 
 paths, and along the dry channels made by 
 winter torrents. His spirit burned with indig- 
 nation, whenever, on commanding a view 
 over a long sweeping plain, he beheld the 
 mosque swelling in the distance, and the Arab 
 horsemen careering about, as if the rightful 
 lords of the soil. Many a deep-drawn sigh 
 and heavy groan, also, did the good cavalier 
 utter, on passing the ruins of churches and 
 convents desolated by the conquerors. 
 
 It was on a sultry midsummer evening, 
 that this wandering cavalier, in skirting a 
 hill thickly covered with forest, heard the 
 faint tones of a vesper-bell sounding melodi- 
 ously in the air, and seeming to come from 
 the summit of the hill. The cavalier crossed 
 himself with wonder at this unwonted and 
 Christian sound. He supposed it to proceed 
 from one of those humble chapels and hermit- 
 ages permitted to exist through the indul- 
 gence of the Moslem conquerors. Turning 
 his steed up a narrow path of the forest, he 
 sought this sanctuary, in hopes of finding a 
 hospitable shelter for the night. As he ad- 
 vanced, the trees threw a deep gloom around 
 him, and the bat flitted across his path. The 
 bell ceased to toll, and all was silence. 
 
 Presently a choir of female voices came 
 
Stories and Xesenfcs 385 
 
 stealing sweetly through the forest, chanting 
 the evening service, to the solemn accompani- 
 ment of an organ. The heart of the good 
 cavalier melted at the sound, for it recalled 
 the happier days of his country. Urging for- 
 ward his weary steed, he at length arrived at 
 a broad grassy area, on the summit of the hill, 
 surrounded by the forest. Here the melodious 
 voices rose in full chorus, like the swelling of 
 the breeze ; but whence they came, he could 
 not tell. Sometimes they were before, some- 
 times behind him ; sometimes in the air, some- 
 times as if from within the bosom of the 
 earth. At length they died away, and a holy 
 stillness settled on the place. 
 
 The cavalier gazed around with bewildered 
 eye. There was neither chapel nor convent, 
 nor humble hermitage, to be seen ; nothing 
 but a moss-grown stone pinnacle, rising out 
 of the centre of the area, surmounted by a 
 cross. The green sward appeared to have 
 been sacred from the tread of man or beast, 
 and the surrounding trees bent toward the 
 cross, as if in adoration. 
 
 The cavalier felt a sensation of holy awe. 
 He alighted, and tethered his steed on the 
 skirts of the forest, where he might crop the 
 tender herbage ; then approaching the cross, 
 he knelt and poured forth his evening prayers 
 
386 be BngulpbeO Convent 
 
 before this relic of the Christian days of Spain. 
 His orisons being concluded, he laid himself 
 down at the foot of the pinnacle, and reclining 
 his head against one of its stones, fell into a 
 deep sleep. 
 
 About midnight he was awakened by the 
 tolling of a bell, and found himself lying 
 before the gate of an ancient convent. A 
 train of nuns passed by, each bearing a taper. 
 He rose and followed them into the chapel ; 
 in the centre was a bier, on which lay the 
 corpse of an aged nun. The organ performed 
 a solemn requiem, the nuns joining in chorus. 
 When the funeral service was finished, a me- 
 lodious voice chanted, ' ' Requiescat in pace ! ' ' 
 "May she rest in peace!" The lights 
 immediately vanished ; the whole passed 
 away as a dream ; and the cavalier found 
 himself at the foot of the cross, and beheld, 
 by the faint rays of the rising moon, his steed 
 quietly grazing near him. 
 
 When the day dawned he descended the 
 hill, and following the course of a small brook, 
 came to a cave, at the entrance of which was 
 seated an ancient man, in hermit's garb, with 
 rosary and cross, and a beard that descended 
 to his girdle. He was one of those holy 
 anchorites permitted by the Moors to live 
 unmolested in the dens and caves, and humble 
 
Storiee an& Xegenfcs 387 
 
 hermitages, and even to practise the rites 
 of their religion. The cavalier, dismounting, 
 knelt and craved a benediction. He then re- 
 lated all that had befallen him in the night, and 
 besought the hermit to explain the mystery. 
 
 " What thou hast heard and seen, my son," 
 replied the other, ' ' is but a type and shadow 
 of the woes of Spain." 
 
 He then related the foregoing story of the 
 miraculous deliverance of the convent. 
 
 " Forty years," added the holy man, "have 
 elapsed since this event, yet the bells of that 
 sacred edifice are still heard, from time 
 to time, sounding from underground, together 
 with the pealing of the organ and the chanting 
 of the choir. The Moors avoid this neighbor- 
 hood, as haunted ground, and the whole place, 
 as thou mayst perceive, has become covered 
 with a thick and lonely forest. ' ' 
 
 The cavalier listened with wonder to the 
 story. For three days and nights did he keep 
 vigils with the holy man beside the cross ; but 
 nothing more was to be seen of nun or convent. 
 It is supposed that, forty years having elapsed, 
 the natural lives of all the nuns were finished, 
 and the cavalier had beheld the obsequies of 
 the last. Certain it is, that from that time, bell, 
 and organ, and choral chant have never more 
 been heard. 
 
388 ftbe Engulpbefc Convent 
 
 The mouldering pinnacle, surmounted by the 
 cross, remains an object of pious pilgrimage. 
 Some say that it anciently stood in front of the 
 convent, but others that it was the spire which 
 remained above ground, when the main body 
 of the building sank, like the topmast of some 
 tall ship that has foundered. These pious 
 believers maintain that the convent is miracu- 
 lously preserved entire in the centre of the 
 mountain, where, if proper excavations were 
 made, it would be found, with all its treasures, 
 and monuments, and shrines, and relics, and 
 the tombs of its virgin nuns. 
 
 Should any one doubt the truth of this 
 marvellous interposition of the Virgin, to pro- 
 tect the vestal purity of her votaries, let him 
 read the excellent work entitled Espana Tri- 
 umphante, written by Fray Antonio de Sancta 
 Maria, a barefoot friar of the Carmelite order, 
 and he will doubt no longer. 
 
TTbe pbantom fslanb* 
 
 "Break, Phantsie, from thy cave of cloud, 
 
 And wave thy purple wings, 
 Now all thy figures are allowed, 
 And various shapes of things. 
 Create of airy forms a stream ; 
 
 It must have blood and naught of phlegm ; 
 And though it be a waking dream, 
 Yet let it like an odor rise 
 
 To all the senses here, 
 And fall like sleep upon their eyes, 
 Or music on their ear." 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 " r i ^HBRE are more things in heaven and 
 
 earth than are dreamed of in our 
 
 A philosophy, ' ' and among these may 
 
 be placed that marvel and mystery of 
 
 the seas, the Island of St. Brandan. Those who 
 
 have read the history of the Canaries, the for- 
 
 tunate islands of the ancients, may remember 
 
 the wonders told of this enigmatical island. 
 
 Occasionally it would be visible from their 
 
 shores, stretching away in the clear bright 
 
 389 
 
390 Stories an& XegenDs 
 
 west, to all appearance substantial like them- 
 selves, and still more beautiful. Expeditions 
 would launch forth from the Canaries to ex- 
 plore this land of promise. For a time its 
 sungilt peaks and long, shadowy promontories 
 would remain distinctly visible, but in propor- 
 tion as the voyagers approached, peak and 
 promontory would gradually fade away until 
 nothing would remain but blue sky above and 
 deep blue water below. Hence this mysterious 
 isle was stigmatized by ancient cosmographers 
 with the name of Aprositus or the Inaccessible. 
 The failure of numerous expeditions sent in 
 quest of it, both in ancient and modern days, 
 has at length caused its very existence to be 
 called in question, and it has been rashly pro- 
 nounced a mere optical illusion, like the Fata 
 Morgana of the Straits of Messina, or has been 
 classed with those unsubstantial regions known 
 to mariners as Cape Fly Away and the coast of 
 Cloud Land. 
 
 Let us not permit, however, the doubts of 
 worldly-wise sceptics to rob us of all the glori- 
 ous realms owned by happy credulity in days 
 of yore. Be assured, O reader of easy faith ! 
 thou for whom it is my delight to labor be 
 assured that such an island actually exists, and 
 has from time to time been revealed to the 
 gaze and trodden by the feet of favored mor- 
 
pbantom HalanD 391 
 
 tals. Historians and philosophers may have 
 their doubts, but its existence has been fully 
 attested by that inspired race, the poets ; who, 
 being gifted with a kind of second sight, are 
 enabled to discern those mysteries of nature 
 hidden from the eyes of ordinary men. To 
 this gifted race it has ever been a kind of won- 
 der-land. Here once bloomed, and perhaps 
 still blooms, the famous garden of the Hes- 
 perides, with its golden fruit. Here, too, the 
 sorceress Armida had her enchanted garden, 
 in which she held the Christian paladin, Ri- 
 naldo, in delicious but inglorious thraldom, as 
 set forth in the immortal lay of Tasso. It was 
 in this island that Sycorax the witch held 
 sway, when the good Prospero and his infant 
 daughter Miranda were wafted to its shores. 
 Who does not know the tale as told in the 
 magic page of Shakespeare? The isle was 
 then 
 
 "full of noises, 
 
 Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt 
 not." 
 
 The island, in fact, at different times, has been 
 under the sway of different powers, genii of 
 earth, and air, and ocean, who have made it 
 their shadowy abode. Hither have retired 
 many classic but broken-down deities, shorn 
 
39 2 Stories an> 
 
 of almost all their attributes, but who once 
 ruled the poetic world. Here Neptune and 
 Amphitrite hold a diminished court, sovereigns 
 in exile. Their ocean-chariot, almost a wreck, 
 lies bottom upward in some sea-beaten cavern ; 
 their pursy Tritons and haggard Nereids bask 
 listlessly like seals about the rocks. Some- 
 times those deities assume, it is said, a shadow 
 of their ancient pomp, and glide in state about 
 a summer sea ; and then, as some tall India- 
 man lies becalmed with idly flapping sail, her 
 drowsy crew may hear the mellow note of the 
 Triton's shell swelling upon the ear as the 
 invisible pageant sweeps by. 
 
 On the shores of this wondrous isle the 
 kraken heaves its unwieldy bulk and wallows 
 many a rood. Here the sea-serpent, that 
 mighty but much-contested reptile, lies coiled 
 up during the intervals of its revelations to the 
 eyes of true believers. Here even the Flying 
 Dutchman finds a port, and casts his anchor, 
 and furls his shadowy sail, and takes a brief 
 repose from his eternal cruisings. 
 
 In the deep bays and harbors of the island 
 lies many a spellbound ship, long since given 
 up as lost by the ruined merchant. Here, too, 
 its crew, long, long bewailed in vain, lie sleep- 
 ing from age to age in mossy grottos, or wan- 
 der about in pleasing oblivion of all things. 
 
Cbe pbantom tTelanD 393 
 
 Here in caverns are garnered up the priceless 
 treasures lost in the ocean. Here sparkles in 
 vain the diamond and flames the carbuncle. 
 Here are piled up rich bales of Oriental silks, 
 boxes of pearls, and piles of golden ingots. 
 
 Such are some of the marvels related of this 
 island, which may serve to throw light upon 
 the following legend, of unquestionable truth, 
 which I recommend to the implicit belief of 
 the reader. 
 
Bfcalantafco of tbe Seven Cities. 
 
 A LEGEND OF ST. BRANDAN. 
 
 IN the early part of the fifteenth century, 
 when Prince Henry of Portugal, of worthy 
 memory, was pushing the career of dis- 
 covery along the western coast of Africa, 
 and the world was resounding with reports of 
 golden regions on the mainland, and new-found 
 islands in the ocean, there arrived at Lisbon 
 an old bewildered pilot of the seas, who had 
 been driven by tempests, he knew not whither, 
 and raved about an island far in the deep, 
 upon which he had landed, and which he had 
 found peopled with Christians, and adorned 
 with noble cities. 
 
 The inhabitants, he said, haying never be- 
 fore been visited by a ship, gathered round, 
 and regarded him with surprise. They told 
 him they were descendants of a band of Chris- 
 tians, who fled from Spain when that country 
 was conquered by the Moslems. They were 
 
 394 
 
Bfcalanta&o of tbe Seven Cities 395 
 
 curious about the state of their fatherland, and 
 grieved to hear that the Moslems still held 
 possession of the kingdom of Granada. They 
 would have taken the old navigator to church, 
 to convince him of their orthodoxy ; but, either 
 through lack of devotion, or lack of faith 
 in their words, he declined their invitation, 
 and preferred to return on board of his ship. 
 He was properly punished. A furious storm 
 arose, drove him from his anchorage, hurried 
 him out to sea, and he saw no more of the 
 unknown island. 
 
 This strange story caused great marvel in 
 Lisbon and elsewhere. Those versed in his- 
 tory remembered to have read, in an ancient 
 chronicle, that, at the time of the conquest of 
 Spain, in the eighth century, when the blessed 
 cross was cast down and the crescent erected 
 in its place, and when Christian churches were 
 turned into Moslem mosques, seven bishops, 
 at the head of seven bands of pious exiles, had 
 fled from the peninsula, and embarked in quest 
 of some ocean island, or distant land, where 
 they might found seven Christian cities, and 
 enjoy their faith unmolested. 
 
 The fate of these saints-errant had hitherto 
 remained a mystery, and their story had faded 
 from memory ; the report of the old tempest- 
 tossed pilot, however, revived this long- for- 
 
396 Stories an> 
 
 gotten theme; and it was determined by the 
 pious and enthusiastic that the island thus ac- 
 cidentally discovered was the identical place 
 of refuge whither the wandering bishops had 
 been guided by a protecting Providence, and 
 where they had folded their flocks. 
 
 This most excitable of worlds has always 
 some darling object of chimerical enterprise ; 
 the " Island of the Seven Cities " now awak- 
 ened as much interest and longing among 
 zealous Christians as has the renowned city 
 of Timbuctoo among adventurous travellers, 
 or the Northeast passage among hardy navi- 
 gators ; and it was a frequent prayer of the 
 devout, that these scattered and lost portions 
 of the Christian family might be discovered 
 and reunited to the great body of Christendom. 
 
 No one, however, entered into the matter 
 with half the zeal of Don Fernando de Ulmo, 
 a young cavalier of high standing in the Por- 
 tuguese court, and of most sanguine and ro- 
 mantic temperament. He had recently come 
 to his estate, and had run the round of all 
 kinds of pleasures and excitements when this 
 new theme of popular talk and wonder pre- 
 sented itself. The Island of the Seven Cities 
 became now the constant subject of his thoughts 
 by day, and his dreams by night ; it even ri- 
 valled his passion for a beautiful girl, one of 
 
Cbe B&alantafco of tbe Seven Cities 397 
 
 the greatest belles of Lisbon, to whom he was 
 betrothed. At length his imagination became 
 so inflamed on the subject, that he determined 
 to fit out an expedition, at his own expense, 
 and set sail in quest of this sainted island. It 
 could not be a cruise of any great extent ; for, 
 according to the calculations of the tempest- 
 tossed pilot, it must be somewhere in the lati- 
 tude of the Canaries, which at that time, when 
 the new world was as yet undiscovered, formed 
 the frontier of ocean enterprise. Don Fer- 
 nando applied to the crown for countenance 
 and protection. As he was a favorite at court, 
 the usual patronage was readily extended to 
 him ; that is to say, he received a commission 
 from the king, Don loam II., constituting him 
 Adalantado, or military governor, of any coun- 
 try he might discover, with the single proviso, 
 that he should bear all the expenses of the dis- 
 covery, and pay a tenth of the profits to the 
 crown. 
 
 Don Fernando now set to work in the true 
 spirit of a projector. He sold acre after acre 
 of solid land, and invested the proceeds in 
 ships, guns, ammunition, and sea-stores. Even 
 his old family mansion in Lisbon was mort- 
 gaged without scruple, for he looked forward 
 to a palace in one of the Seven Cities, of which 
 he was to be Adalantado. This was the age 
 
398 Stories an& 
 
 of nautical romance, when the thoughts of all 
 speculative dreamers were turned to the ocean. 
 The scheme of Don Fernando, therefore, drew 
 adventurers of every kind. The merchant 
 promised himself new marts of opulent traffic ; 
 the soldier hoped to sack and plunder some 
 one or other of those Seven Cities ; even the 
 fat monk shook off the sleep and sloth of the 
 cloister, to join in a crusade which promised 
 such increase to the possessions of the Church. 
 One person alone regarded the whole project 
 with sovereign contempt and growing hostility. 
 This was Don Ramiro Alvarez, the father of 
 the beautiful Serafina, to whom Don Fernando 
 was betrothed. He was one of those perverse, 
 matter-of-fact old men, who are prone to oppose 
 everything speculative and romantic. He had 
 no faith in the Island of the Seven Cities ; re- 
 garded the projected cruise as a crack-brained 
 freak ; looked with angry eye and internal 
 heart-burning on the conduct of his intended 
 son-in-law, chaffering away solid lands for 
 lands in the moon ; and scoffingly dubbed him 
 Adalantado of Cloud I^and. In fact, he had 
 never really relished the intended match, to 
 which his consent had been slowly extorted 
 by the tears and entreaties of his daughter. 
 It is true he could have no reasonable objec- 
 tions to the youth, for Don Fernando was the 
 
BDalanta&o of tbe Seven Cities 399 
 
 very flower of Portuguese chivalry. No one 
 could excel him at the tilting match, or the rid- 
 ing at the ring ; none was more bold and dex- 
 terous in the bull-fight ; none composed more 
 gallant madrigals in praise of his lady's 
 charms, or sang them with sweeter tones to 
 the accompaniment of her guitar; nor could 
 any one handle the castanets and dance the 
 bolero with more captivating grace. All these 
 admirable qualities and endowments, however, 
 though they had been sufficient to win the 
 heart of Serafina, were nothing in the eyes of 
 her unreasonable father. Oh Cupid, god of 
 lyove ! why will fathers always be so unrea- 
 sonable ? 
 
 The engagment to Serafina had threatened 
 at first to throw an obstacle in the way of the 
 expedition of Don Fernando, and for a time 
 perplexed him in the extreme. He was pas- 
 sionately attached to the young lady ; but he 
 was also passionately bent on this romantic 
 enterprise. How should he reconcile the two 
 passionate inclinations ? A simple and obvious 
 arrangement at length presented itself, marry 
 Serafina, enjoy a portion of the honeymoon at 
 once, and defer the rest until his return from 
 the discovery of the Seven Cities ! 
 
 He hastened to make known this most ex- 
 cellent arrangement to Don Ramiro, when the 
 
400 Stories anfc 
 
 long-smothered wrath of the old cavalier burst 
 forth. He reproached him with being the dupe 
 of wandering vagabonds and wild schemers, 
 and with squandering all his real possessions, 
 in pursuit of empty bubbles. Don Fernando 
 was too sanguine a projector, and too young a 
 man, to listen tamely to such language. He 
 acted with what is technically called * * becom- 
 ing spirit. ' ' A high quarrel ensued ; Don 
 Ramiro pronounced him a madman, and for- 
 bade all further intercourse with his daughter 
 until he should give proof of returning sanity 
 by abandoning this madcap enterprise ; while 
 Don Fernando flung out of the house, more 
 bent than ever on the expedition, from the idea 
 of triumphing over the incredulity of the 
 greybeard, when he should return success- 
 ful. Don Ramiro' s heart misgave him. Who 
 knows, thought he, but this crack-brained vis- 
 ionary may persuade my daughter to elope with 
 him, and share his throne in this unknown par- 
 adise of fools ? If I could only keep her safe 
 until his ships are fairly out at sea ! 
 
 He repaired to her apartment, represented to 
 her the sanguine, unsteady character of her 
 lover and the chimerical value of his schemes, 
 and urged the propriety of suspending all inter- 
 course with him until he should recover from 
 his present hallucination. She bowed her head 
 
Hbe B&alanta&o of tbe Seven Cities 401 
 
 as if in filial acquiescence, whereupon he folded 
 her to his bosom with parental fondness and 
 kissed away a tear that was stealing over her 
 cheek, but as he left the chamber quietly 
 turned the key in the lock ; for though he was 
 a fond father and had a high opinion of the 
 submissive temper of his child, he had a still 
 higher opinion of the conservative virtues of 
 lock and key, and determined to trust to them 
 until the caravels should sail. Whether the 
 damsel had been in anywise shaken in her faith 
 as to the schemes of her lover by her father's 
 eloquence, tradition does not say ; but certain 
 it is, that, the moment she heard the key turn 
 in the lock, she became a firm believer in the 
 Island of the Seven Cities. 
 
 The door was locked ; but her will was un- 
 confined. A window of the chamber opened 
 into one of those stone balconies, secured by 
 iron bars, which project like huge cages from 
 Portuguese and Spanish houses. Within this 
 balcony the beautiful Serafina had her birds 
 and flowers, and here she was accustomed to 
 sit on moonlight nights as in a bower, and 
 touch her guitar and sing like a wakeful night- 
 ingale. From this balcony an intercourse was 
 now maintained between the lovers, against 
 which the lock and key of Don Ramiro were 
 
 of no avail. All day would Fernando be occu- 
 
 26 
 
402 Storiee an& 
 
 pied hurrying the equipments of his ships, but 
 evening found him in sweet discourse beneath 
 his lady's window. 
 
 At length the preparations were completed. 
 Two gallant caravels lay at anchor in the 
 Tagus ready to sail at sunrise. Late at night 
 by the pale light of a waning moon the lover 
 had his last interview. The beautiful Serafina 
 was sad at heart and full of dark forebodings ; 
 her lover full of hope and confidence. ' ' A few 
 short months, ' ' said he, ' ' and I shall return 
 in triumph . Thy father will then blush at his 
 incredulity, and hasten to welcome to his 
 house the Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 
 The gentle lady shook her head. It was 
 not on this point she felt distrust. She was a 
 thorough believer in the Island of the Seven 
 Cities, and so sure of the success of the enter- 
 prise that she might have been tempted to join 
 it had not the balcony been high and the 
 grating strong. Other considerations induced 
 that dubious shaking of the head. She had 
 heard of the inconstancy of the seas, and the 
 inconstancy of those who roam them. Might 
 not Fernando meet with other loves in foreign 
 ports ? Might not some peerless beauty in one 
 or other of those Seven Cities efface the image 
 of Serafina from his mind ? Now let the truth 
 be spoken, the beautiful Serafina had reason 
 
Gbe 2lDalanta&o of tbe Seven Cities 403 
 
 for her disquiet. If Don Fernando had any 
 fault in the world, it was that of being rather 
 inflammable and apt to take fire from every 
 sparkling eye. He had been somewhat of a 
 rover among the sex on shore, what might he 
 be on sea ? 
 
 She ventured to express her doubt, but he 
 spurned at the very idea. ' ' What ! be false 
 to Serafina ! He bow at the shrine of another 
 beauty? Never! never!" Repeatedly did 
 he bend his knee, and smite his breast, and 
 call upon the silver moon to witness his sincer- 
 ity and truth. 
 
 He retorted the doubt, " Might not Serafina 
 herself forget her plighted faith ? Might not 
 some wealthier rival present himself while he 
 was tossing on the sea ; and, backed by her 
 father's wishes, win the treasure of her hand ! " 
 
 The beautiful Serafina raised her white arms 
 between the iron bars of the balcony, and, like 
 her lover, invoked the moon to testify her 
 vows. Alas ! how little did Fernando know 
 her heart. The more her father should op- 
 pose, the more would she be fixed in faith. 
 Though years should intervene, Fernando on 
 his return would find her true. Even should 
 the salt sea swallow him up (and her eyes shed 
 salt tears at the very thought), never would 
 she be the wife of another ! Never, never, 
 
404 Stories an> 
 
 NEVER ! She drew from her finger a ring 
 gemmed with a ruby heart, and dropped it 
 from the balcony, a parting pledge of con- 
 stancy. 
 
 Thus the lovers parted with many a tender 
 word and plighted vow. But will they keep 
 those vows ? Perish the doubt ! Have they 
 not called the constant moon to witness ? 
 
 With the morning dawn the caravels dropped 
 down the Tagus, and put to sea. They steered 
 for the Canaries, in those days the regions of 
 nautical discovery and romance, and the out- 
 posts of the known world, for as yet Columbus 
 had not steered his daring barks across the 
 ocean. Scarce had they reached those lati- 
 tudes when they were separated by a violent 
 tempest. For many days was the caravel of 
 Don Fernando driven about at the mercy of 
 the elements ; all seamanship was baffled, 
 destruction seemed inevitable, and the crew 
 were in despair. All at once the storm sub- 
 sided ; the ocean sank into a calm ; the clouds 
 which had veiled the face of heaven were sud- 
 denly withdrawn, and the tempest-tossed mar- 
 iners beheld a fair and mountainous island, 
 emerging as if by enchantment from the 
 murky gloom. They rubbed their eyes and 
 gazed for a time almost incredulously, yet 
 there lay the island spread out in lovely land- 
 
BDalantafco of tbe Seven Cities 405 
 
 scape, with the late stormy sea laving its shores 
 with peaceful billows. 
 
 The pilot of the caravel consulted his maps 
 and charts ; no island like the one before him 
 was laid down as existing in those parts ; it is 
 true he had lost his reckoning in the late storm, 
 but, according to his calculations, he could not 
 be far from the Canaries ; and this was not one 
 of that group of islands. The caravel now lay 
 perfectly becalmed off the mouth of a river, 
 on the banks of which, about a league from 
 the sea, was descried a noble city, with lofty 
 walls and towers, and a protecting castle. 
 
 After a time, a stately barge with sixteen 
 oars was seen emerging from the river, and ap- 
 proaching the caravel. It was quaintly carved 
 and gilt ; the oarsmen were clad in antique 
 garb, their oars painted of a bright crimson, and 
 they came slowly and solemnly, keeping time 
 as they rowed to the cadence of an old Spanish 
 ditty. Under a silken canopy in the stern sat 
 a cavalier richly clad, and over his head was a 
 banner bearing the sacred emblem of the cross. 
 
 When the barge reached the caravel, the cav- 
 alier stepped on board. He was tall and gaunt ; 
 with a long Spanish visage, moustaches that 
 curled up to his eyes, and a forked beard. He 
 wore gauntlets reaching to his elbows, a Toledo 
 blade strutting out behind, with a basket hilt, 
 
4o6 Stories and Xegenfcs 
 
 in which he carried his handkerchief. His air 
 was lofty and precise, and bespoke indisputably 
 the hidalgo. Thrusting out a long spindle leg, 
 he took off a huge sombrero, and swaying it 
 until the feather swept the ground, accosted 
 Don Fernando in the old Castilian language, 
 and with the old Castilian courtesy, welcoming 
 him to the Island of the Seven Cities. 
 
 Don Fernando was overwhelmed with aston- 
 ishment. Could this be true ? Had he really 
 been tempest-driven to the very land of which 
 he was in quest ? 
 
 It was even so. That very day the inhabi- 
 tants were holding high festival in commemo- 
 ration of the escape of their ancestors from the 
 Moors. The arrival of the caravel at such a 
 juncture was considered a good omen, the ac- 
 complishment of an ancient prophecy through 
 which the island was to be restored to the great 
 community of Christendom. The cavalier be- 
 fore him was grand chamberlain, sent by the 
 alcayde to invite him to the festivities of the 
 capital. 
 
 Don Fernando could scarce believe that this 
 was not all a dream. He made known his 
 name and the object of his voyage. The grand 
 chamberlain declared that all was in perfect ac- 
 cordance with the ancient prophecy, and that 
 the moment his credentials were presented, he 
 
Gbe Bfcalanta&o of tbe Seven Cities 407 
 
 would be acknowledged as the Adalantado of 
 the Seven Cities. In the meantime the day 
 was waning ; the barge was ready to convey 
 him to the land and would as assuredly bring 
 him back. 
 
 Don Fernando' s pilot, a veteran of the seas, 
 drew him aside and expostulated against his 
 venturing, on the mere word of a stranger, to 
 land in a strange barge on an unknown shore. 
 Who knows, Senor, what land this is, or what 
 people inhabit it ? " 
 
 Don Fernando was not to be dissuaded. Had 
 he not believed in this island when all the world 
 doubted ? Had he not sought it in defiance of 
 storm and tempest, and was he now to shrink 
 from its shores when they lay before him in 
 calm weather ? In a word, was not faith the 
 very corner-stone of his enterprise ? 
 
 Having arrayed himself, therefore, in gala 
 dress befitting the occasion, he took his seat in 
 the barge. The grand chamberlain seated 
 himself opposite. The rowers plied their oars, 
 and renewed the mournful old ditty, and the 
 gorgeous but unwieldy barge moved slowly 
 through the water. 
 
 The night closed in before they entered the 
 river, and swept along past rock and promon- 
 tory, each guarded by its tower. At every post 
 they were challenged by the sentinel. 
 
408 Stories and XegenDs 
 
 " Who goes there?" 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 "Welcome, Sefior Adalantado. Pass on.'* 
 Entering the harbor they rowed close by an 
 armed galley of ancient form. Soldiers with 
 crossbows patrolled the deck. 
 " Who goes there? " 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 " Welcome, Senor Adalantado. Pass on." 
 They landed at a broad flight of stone steps, 
 leading up between two massive towers, ancl 
 knocked at the water-gate. A sentinel, in an- 
 cient steel casque, looked from the barbican. 
 " Who is there?" 
 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 11 Welcome, Senor Adalantado." 
 The gate swung open, grating upon rusty 
 hinges. They entered between two rows of 
 warriors in Gothic armor, with crossbows, 
 maces, battle-axes, and faces old-fashioned as 
 their armor. There were processions through 
 the streets, in commemoration of the landing 
 of the seven Bishops and their followers, and 
 bonfires at which effigies of losel Moors expi- 
 ated their invasion of Christendom by a kind 
 of auto-da-fe. The groups round the fires, un- 
 couth in their attire, looked like the fantastic 
 figures that roam the streets in Carnival time. 
 Even the dames who gazed down from Gothic 
 
Gbe Bfcalanta&o of tbe Seven Cities 409 
 
 balconies hung with antique tapestry, resem- 
 bled effigies dressed up in Christmas mum- 
 meries. Everything, in short, bore the stamp 
 of former ages, as if the world had suddenly 
 rolled back for several centuries. Nor was 
 this to be wondered at. Had not the Island 
 of the Seven Cities been cut off from the rest 
 of the world for several hundred years ; and 
 were not these the modes and customs of 
 Gothic Spain before it was conquered by the 
 Moors ? 
 
 Arrived at the palace of the alcayde, the 
 grand chamberlain knocked at the portal. The 
 porter looked through a wicket, and demanded 
 who was there. 
 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 
 The portal was thrown wide open. The 
 grand chamberlain led the way up a vast, 
 heavily moulded, marble staircase, and into a 
 hall of ceremony, where was the alcayde with 
 several of the principal dignitaries of the city, 
 who had a marvellous resemblance, in form 
 and feature, to the quaint figures in old illu- 
 minated manuscripts. 
 
 The grand chamberlain stepped forward and 
 announced the name and title of the stranger 
 guest, and the extraordinary nature of his 
 mission. The announcement appeared to cre- 
 ate no extraordinary emotion or surprise, but. 
 
410 Stories anD 
 
 to be received as the anticipated fulfilment of 
 a prophecy. 
 
 The reception of Don Fernando, however, 
 was profoundly gracious, though in the same 
 style of stately courtesy which everywhere 
 prevailed. He would have produced his cre- 
 dentials, but this was courteously declined. 
 The evening was devoted to high festivity ; 
 the following day, when he should enter the 
 port with his caravel, would be devoted to 
 business, when the credentials would be re- 
 ceived in due form, and he inducted into office 
 as Adalantado of the Seven Cities. 
 
 Don Fernando was now conducted through 
 one of those interminable suites of apartments, 
 the pride of Spanish palaces, all furnished in 
 a style of obsolete magnificence. In a vast 
 saloon, blazing with tapers, was assembled all 
 the aristocracy and fashion of the city, stately 
 dames and cavaliers, the very counterpart of 
 the figures in the tapestry which decorated the 
 walls. Fernando gazed in silent marvel. It 
 was a reflex of the proud aristocracy of Spain 
 in the time of Roderick the Goth. 
 
 The festivities of the evening were all in the 
 style of solemn and antiquated ceremonial. 
 There was a dance, but it was as if the old 
 tapestry were put in motion, and all the figures 
 moving in stately measure about the floor. 
 
BDalantafco ot tbe Seven Cities 411 
 
 There was one exception, and one that told 
 powerfully upon the susceptible Adalantado. 
 The alcayde's daughter such a ripe, melting 
 beauty ! Her dress, it is true, like the dresses 
 of her neighbors, might have been worn before 
 the flood, but she had the black Andalusian 
 eye, a glance of which, through its long dark 
 lashes, is irresistible. Her voice, too, her man- 
 ner, her undulating movements, all smacked 
 of Andalusia, and showed how female charms 
 may be transmitted from age to age, and clime 
 to clime, without ever going out of fashion. 
 Those who know the witchery of the sex, in 
 that most amorous part of amorous old Spain, 
 may judge of the fascination to which Don Fer- 
 nando was exposed, as he joined in the dance 
 with one of its most captivating descendants. 
 
 He sat beside her at the banquet ! such an 
 old-world feast ! such obsolete dainties ! At 
 the head of the table the peacock, that bird of 
 state and ceremony, was served up in full 
 plumage on a golden dish. As Don Fernando 
 cast his eyes down the glittering board, what 
 a vista presented itself of odd heads and head- 
 dresses ; of formal bearded dignitaries and 
 stately dames, with castellated locks and 
 towering plumes ! Is it to be wondered at 
 that he should turn with delight from these 
 antiquated figures to the alcayde's daughter, 
 
412 Stories an> XegenDs 
 
 all smiles and dimples, and melting looks and 
 melting accents ? Beside, for I wish to give 
 him every excuse in my power, he was in a 
 particularly excitable mood from the novelty 
 of the scene before him, from this realization 
 of all his hopes and fancies, and from frequent 
 draughts of the wine-cup, presented to him at 
 every moment by officious pages during the 
 banquet. 
 
 In a word there is no concealing the matter 
 before the evening was over, Don Fernando 
 was making love outright to the alcayde's 
 daughter. They had wandered together to a 
 moon-lit balcony of the palace, and he was 
 charming her ear with one of those love-ditties 
 with which, in a like balcony, he had sere- 
 naded the beautiful Serafina. 
 
 The damsel hung her head coyly. "Ah! 
 Sefior, these are nattering words ; but you 
 cavaliers, who roam the seas, are unsteady as 
 its waves. To-morrow you will be throned in 
 state, Adalantado of the Seven Cities; and 
 will think no more of the alcayde's daughter." 
 
 Don Fernando in the intoxication of the 
 moment called the moon to witness his sincer- 
 ity. As he raised his hand in adjuration, the 
 chaste moon cast a ray upon the ring that 
 sparkled on his finger. It caught the damsel's 
 eye. " Signor Adalantado," said she archly, 
 
Bdalantado of tbe Seven Cities 413 
 
 11 1 have no great faith in the moon, but give 
 me that ring upon your finger in pledge of the 
 truth of what you profess. ' ' 
 
 The gallant Adalantado was taken by sur- 
 prise ; there was no parrying this sudden 
 appeal ; before he had time to reflect, the ring 
 of the beautiful Serafina glittered on the finger 
 of the alcayde's daughter. 
 
 At this eventful moment the chamberlain 
 approached with lofty demeanor, and an- 
 nounced that the barge was waiting to bear 
 him back to the caravel. I forbear to relate 
 the ceremonious partings with the alcayde and 
 his dignitaries, and the tender farewell of the 
 alcayde's daughter. He took his seat in the 
 barge opposite the grand chamberlain. The 
 rowers plied their crimson oars in the same 
 slow and stately manner, to the cadence of 
 the same mournful old ditty. His brain was 
 in a whirl with all that he had seen, and his 
 heart now and then gave him a twinge as he 
 thought of his temporary infidelity to the beau- 
 tiful Serafina. The barge sallied out into the 
 sea, but no caravel was to be seen ; doubtless 
 she had been carried to a distance by the current 
 of the river. The oarsmen rowed on ; their 
 monotonous chant had a lulling effect. A 
 drowsy influence crept over Don Fernando. 
 Objects swam before his eyes. The oarsmen 
 
414 Stories anfc 
 
 assumed odd shapes as in a dream. The grand 
 chamberlain grew larger and larger, and taller 
 and taller. He took off his huge sombrero, 
 and held it over the head of Don Fernando, 
 like an extinguisher over a candle. The latter 
 cowered beneath it ; he felt himself sinking in 
 the socket. 
 
 1 * Good night ! Seiior Adalantado of the 
 Seven Cities ! " said the grand chamberlain. 
 
 The sombrero slowly descended Don Fer- 
 nando was extinguished ! 
 
 How long he remained extinct no mortal 
 man can tell. When he returned to conscious- 
 ness, he found himself in a strange cabin, sur- 
 rounded by strangers. He rubbed his eyes, 
 and looked round him wildly. Where was 
 he? On board a Portuguese ship, bound to 
 lyisbon. How came he there ? He had been 
 taken senseless from a wreck drifting about 
 the ocean. 
 
 Don Fernando was more and more con- 
 founded and perplexed. He recalled, one by 
 one, everything that had happened to him in 
 the Island of the Seven Cities, until he had 
 been extinguished by the sombrero of the 
 grand chamberlain. But what had happened 
 to him since ? What had become of his car- 
 avel ? Was it the wreck of her on which he 
 had been found floating ? 
 
BDalantaDo ot tbe Seven Cities 415 
 
 The people about him could give no infor- 
 mation on the subject. He entreated them to 
 take him to the Island of the Seven Cities, 
 which could not be far off ; told them all that 
 had befallen him there ; that he had but to land 
 to be received as Adalantado ; when he would 
 reward them magnificently for their services. 
 
 They regarded his words as the ravings of 
 delirium, and in their honest solicitude for the 
 restoration of his reason, administered such 
 rough remedies that he was fain to drop the 
 subject and observe a cautious taciturnity. 
 
 At length they arrived in the Tagus, and 
 anchored before the famous city of I/isbon. 
 Don Fernando sprang joyfully on shore, and 
 hastened to his ancestral mansion. A strange 
 porter opened the door, who knew nothing of 
 him or his family ; no people of the name had 
 inhabited the house for many a year. 
 
 He sought the mansion of Don Ramiro. 
 He approached the balcony beneath which he 
 had bidden farewell to Serafina. Did his eyes 
 deceive him ? No ! There was Serafina her- 
 self among the flowers in the balcony. He 
 raised his arms toward her with an exclama- 
 tion of rapture. She cast upon him a look of 
 indignation, and, hastily retiring, closed the 
 casement with a slam that testified her dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
416 Stories 
 
 Could she have heard of his flirtation with 
 the alcayde's daughter? But that was mere 
 transient gallantry. A moment's interview 
 would dispel every doubt of his constancy. 
 
 He rang at the door ; as it was opened by 
 the porter he rushed up-stairs ; sought the 
 well-known chamber, and threw himself at the 
 feet of Serafina. She started back with af- 
 fright, and took refuge in the arms of a youth- 
 ful cavalier. 
 
 " What mean you, Sefior," cried the latter, 
 ' ' by this intrusion ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' What right have you to ask the question ? ' ' 
 demanded Don Fernando fiercely. 
 
 " The right of an affianced suitor ! " 
 
 Don Fernando started and turned pale. 
 " Oh, Serafina ! Serafina ! " cried he, in a tone 
 of agony ; "is this thy plighted constancy ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Serafina ? What mean you by Serafina, 
 Sefior? If this be the lady you intend, her 
 name is Maria. ' ' 
 
 ' ' May I not believe my senses ? May I not 
 believe my heart ? ' ' cried Don Fernando. ' ( Is 
 not this Serafina Alvarez, the original of yon 
 portrait, which, less fickle than herself, still 
 smiles on me from the wall ? ' ' 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " cried the young lady, cast- 
 ing her eyes upon the portrait. " He is talk- 
 ing of my great-grand mother ! ' ' 
 
Cbe B&alantafco of tbe Seven Cities 417 
 
 An explanation ensued, if that could be 
 called an explanation which plunged the un- 
 fortunate Fernando into tenfold perplexity. 
 If he might believe his eyes, he saw before 
 him his beloved Serafina ; if he might believe 
 his ears, it was merely her hereditary form 
 and features, perpetuated in the person of her 
 great-granddaughter . 
 
 His brain began to spin. He sought the 
 office of the Minister of Marine, and made a 
 report of his expedition, and of the Island of 
 the Seven Cities, which he had so fortunately 
 discovered. Nobody knew anything of such 
 an expedition, or such an island. He declared 
 that he had undertaken the enterprise under a 
 formal contract with the crown, and had re- 
 ceived a regular commission, constituting him 
 Adalantado. This must be matter of record, 
 and he insisted loudly that the books of the 
 department should be consulted. The wordy 
 strife at length attracted the attention of an 
 old gray -headed clerk, who sat perched on a 
 high stool, at a high desk, with iron-rimmed 
 spectacles on the top of a thin, pinched nose, 
 copying records into an enormous folio. He 
 had wintered and summered in the department 
 for a great part of a century, until he had al- 
 most grown to be a piece of the desk at which 
 he sat ; his memory was a mere index of offi- 
 
4i 8 Stories anD 
 
 cial facts and documents, and his brain was 
 little better than red tape and parchment. 
 After peering down for a time from his lofty 
 perch, and ascertaining the matter in contro- 
 versy, he put his pen behind his ear, and de- 
 scended. He remembered to have heard 
 something from his predecessor about an ex- 
 pedition of the kind in question, but then it 
 had sailed during the reign of Don loam II. , 
 and he had been dead at least a hundred years. 
 To put the matter beyond dispute, however, 
 the archives of the Torre do Tombo, that 
 sepulchre of old Portuguese documents, were 
 diligently searched, and a record was found of 
 a contract between the crown and one Fer- 
 nando de Ulmo, for the discovery of the Island 
 of the Seven Cities, and of a commission se- 
 cured to him as Adalantado of the country he 
 might discover. 
 
 "There!" cried Don Fernando, triumph- 
 antly, "there you have proof, before your 
 own eyes, of what I have said. I am the 
 Fernando de Ulmo specified in that record. 
 I have discovered the Island of the Seven 
 Cities, and am entitled to be Adalantado, 
 according to contract." 
 
 The story of Don Fernando had certainly, 
 what is pronounced the best of historical 
 foundation, documentary evidence ; but when 
 
BDalantafco of tbe Seven Cities 419 
 
 a man, in the bloom of youth, talked of events 
 that had taken place above a century previ- 
 ously, as having happened to himself, it is no 
 wonder that he was set down for a madman. 
 
 The old clerk looked at him from above 
 and below his spectacles, shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, stroked his chin, reascended his lofty 
 stool, took the pen from behind his ears, and 
 resumed his daity and eternal task, copying 
 records into the fiftieth volume of a series of 
 gigantic folios. The other clerks winked at 
 each other shrewdly, and dispersed to their 
 several places, and poor Don Fernando, thus 
 left to himself, flung out of the office, almost 
 driven wild by these repeated perplexities. 
 
 In the confusion of his mind, he instinctively 
 repaired to the mansion of Alvarez, but it was 
 barred against him. To break the delusion 
 under which the youth apparently labored, 
 and to convince him that the Serafina about 
 whom he raved was really dead, he was con- 
 ducted to her tomb. There she lay, a stately 
 matron, cut out in alabaster ; and there lay 
 her husband beside her ; a portly cavalier, in 
 armor ; and there knelt, on each side, the 
 effigies of a numerous progeny, proving that 
 she had been a fruitful vine. Even the very 
 monument gave evidence of the lapse of time ; 
 the hands of her husband, folded as if in 
 
420 Stories anfc 
 
 prayer, had lost their fingers, and the face of 
 the once lovely Serafina was without a nose. 
 
 Don Fernando felt a transient glow of indig- 
 nation at beholding this monumental proof 
 of the inconstancy of his mistress ; but who 
 could expect a mistress to remain constant 
 during a whole century of absence? And 
 what right had he to rail about constancy, 
 after what had passed between himself and 
 the alcayde's daughter? The unfortunate 
 cavalier performed one pious act of tender 
 devotion ; he had the alabaster nose of Sera- 
 fina restored by a skilful statuary, and then 
 tore himself from the tomb. 
 
 He could now no longer doubt the fact that, 
 somehow or other, he had skipped over a 
 whole century during the night he had spent 
 at the Island of the Seven Cities ; and he was 
 now as complete a stranger in his native city, 
 as if he had never been there. A thousand 
 times did he wish himself back to that wonder- 
 ful island, with its antiquated banquet halls, 
 where he had been so courteously received ; 
 and now that the once young and beautiful 
 Serafina was nothing but a great-grandmother 
 in marble, with generations of descendants, 
 a thousand times would he recall the melting 
 black eyes of the alcayde's daughter, who 
 doubtless, like himself, was still flourishing 
 
BfcalantaDo of tbe Seven Cities 421 
 
 in fresh juvenility, and breathe a secret wish 
 that he was seated by her side. 
 
 He would at once have set on foot another 
 expedition, at his own expense, to cruise in 
 search of the sainted island, but his means 
 were exhausted. He endeavored to rouse 
 others to the enterprise, setting forth the 
 certainty of profitable results, of which his 
 own experience furnished such unquestionable 
 proof. Alas ! no one would give faith to his 
 tale ; but looked upon it as the feverish dream 
 of a shipwrecked man. He persisted in his 
 efforts ; holding forth in all places and all 
 companies, until he became an object of jest 
 and jeer to the light-minded, who mistook his 
 earnest enthusiasm for a proof of insanity ; 
 and the very children in the streets bantered 
 him with the title of "The Adalantado of 
 the Seven Cities." 
 
 Finding all efforts in vain, in his native city 
 of I^isbon, he took shipping for the Canaries, 
 as being nearer the latitude of his former cruise, 
 and inhabited by people given to nautical 
 adventure. Here he found ready listeners to 
 his story ; for the old pilots and mariners of 
 those parts were notorious island-hunters, and 
 devout believers in all the wonders of the seas. 
 Indeed, one and all treated his adventure as a 
 common occurrence, and turning to each other, 
 
422 Stories and 
 
 with a sagacious nod of the head, observed, 
 " He has been at the Island of St. Brandan." 
 
 They then went on to inform him of that 
 great marvel and enigma of the ocean ; of its 
 repeated appearance to the inhabitants of their 
 islands ; and of the many but ineffectual expe- 
 ditions that had been made in search of it. 
 They took him to a promontory of the island 
 of Palma, whence the shadowy St. Brandan 
 had oftenest been descried, and they pointed 
 out the very tract in the west where its moun- 
 tains had been seen. 
 
 Don Fernando listened with rapt attention. 
 He had no longer a doubt that this mysterious 
 and fugacious island must be the same with 
 that of the Seven Cities ; and that some super- 
 natural influence connected with it had oper- 
 ated upon himself, and made the events of a 
 night occupy the space of a century. 
 
 He endeavored, but in vain, to rouse the 
 islanders to another attempt at discovery ; they 
 had given up the phantom island as indeed in- 
 accessible. Fernando, however, was not to be 
 discouraged. The idea wore itself deeper and 
 deeper in his mind, until it became the engross- 
 ing subject of his thoughts and object of his 
 being. Every morning he would repair to the 
 promontory of Palma, and sit there throughout 
 the livelong day, in hopes of seeing the fairy 
 
BOalantaDo ot tbe Seven Cities 423 
 
 mountains of St. Brandan peering above the 
 horizon ; every evening he returned to his 
 home, a disappointed man, but ready to resume 
 his post on the following morning. 
 
 His assiduity was all in vain. He grew gray 
 in his ineffectual attempt ; and was at length 
 found dead at his post. His grave is still 
 shown in the island of Palma, and a cross is 
 erected on the spot where he used to sit and 
 look out upon the sea, in hopes of the reappear- 
 ance of the phantom island. 
 
 NOTE. For various particulars concerning 
 the Island of St. Brandan and the Island of the 
 Seven Cities, those ancient problems of the 
 ocean, the curious reader is referred to articles 
 under those heads in the Appendix to the 
 4 'Life of Columbus." 
 
 THE END. 
 
THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ 
 
 This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. 
 
 OCT16 1974 
 OCT15M 
 
 JAM 9 '86 R 
 
 JAN 3 1986 REC'D 
 
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